I Weep at a Love Triangle’s End

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I look at you all see the love there that’s sleeping
While my guitar gently weeps
I look at the floor and I see it needs sweeping
Still my guitar gently weeps.*

When I found the beautiful lady, still seductive and beautiful, recumbent in her bed, a cantata of sweet moments that we shared in our youth replayed like a most harmonious acoustic song from long ago.

Her distinct perfume of a masterly crafted sweet wood and oil enriched the space between us. My fingers itched to touch her and relive our sensuous operas of emotional expression — operas of great pleasure and pain.

I don’t know why nobody told you
How to unfold your love
I don’t know how someone controlled you
They bought and sold you.*

Fifty years ago, my long chestnut hair tickled her shining flesh as she let me run my fingers up and down her long melodious neck while my other hand worked to fuse her magic to a crescendo of lusty passion. She responded to  me as much as I responded to her.

I learned how to pull and pluck her strings so that we both found harmonious satisfaction between my touch, my words, and her body.

Let me introduce to you Gibson, one of the great loves of my life. We met in a bay area music store in 1969. We fit well together. We were an instant pair. Gibson came home with me.

Together we fused my words to her resonance and she helped me explore and then sing my songs about lost loves, corrupt humans, desire and broken hearts.

I look at the world and I notice it’s turning
While my guitar gently weeps
With every mistake we must surely be learning
Still my guitar gently weeps.*

Bold in youth, we paired up with the famous and infamous songsters of the time, we went back to school to learn more about each other, and we offered our talents to youth in need. Because of Gibson, I added another love to a budding triangle of fervor to the song, to the creative, to the heart and soul of this now aging woman.

Our love triangle and life’s natural complications left Gibson in the shadows and brought into dominance, Hamilton, a fine and large entity of endless musicality.

I don’t know how you were diverted
You were perverted too
I don’t know how you were inverted
No one alerted you. *

Over the years my fingers softened, as has my body. Last summer I thought to reintegrate Gibson into my life. She was in her bed,  so seductive and beautiful — until — until I lifted her into my arms and found her neck broken.

Broken Neck

In near terror, I rushed Gibson to an emergency room of sorts. “Can she be healed, fixed, repaired?” I queried the long-haired and bearded man behind the counter. He cringed when I showed Gibson’s hideous break.

“Yes, we can replace her neck,” he comforted me.

I told him I’d bring her back  in another week or so. Meanwhile, life got in the way and a year has passed. Recently, I sat next to Gibson and wondered what to do. Was I willing to grow new callouses? Was I willing to start all over to discover how to please her? Did I really have the time and energy to continue with my endless practice to better play  Hamilton — that baby grand piano in her own special room? Or was it time to let Gibson go?

I placed a Craigslist ad. Within 24 hours several folks, bold in youth, offered to purchase Gibson and bring her back to her glorious past. I took the money and asked Spouse to carry her to her new home.  Even with her broken neck, I’m comforted knowing that Gibson can grow whole and unbroken again, and fill another with song. But I swear I heard her gently weep at our parting.

I look at you all, see the love there that’s sleeping
I look from the wings at the play you are staging.
While my guitar gently weeps
Look at you all
As I’m sitting here doing nothing but aging
Still my guitar gently weeps. *

While my Gibson J-50 guitar gently weeped, so did I. Was it the memories? Was it the simple act of love lost? Was it the end of a heartfelt love triangle? I’m without an answer. Yet I revel in the hope that Lady Gibson will continue her musical prowess to others for another 50 years.

 

* Songwriters: George Harrison / John Lennon / Paul McCartney
While My Guitar Gently Weeps lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, The Bicycle Music Company

1 reply »

  1. Wow, Charmaine. You had and played a Gibson J-50. I didn’t know that. I bought a used Martin D28 in the mid-1970s, which was my first steel string guitar. I still have it and I still love it and still play it. I bought two new Martin’s about three years ago. And I love and treasure them all. ❤️

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