________
on winning a Tony for “Black and Blue“,
1989, Ruth Brown said
“what I am is God’s gift to me,
and what I’ve made of myself
is my gift to Him”
words that easily could become a
resolution
we are gifts, think about it
all the very best
Richard
“Horace“
______
It isn’t like that Horace Life stresses us out
However many hundreds of decades later we’re told
to welcome anxiety is beneficial
and to quote honor our imperfections
You’ve got the Adriatic Sea We’ve got what
the Finger Lakes? Not quite as conducive
to worrying the infinite question so we worry
about other things equities statistics
I’m not really a wine man either
not in the unmixed sense where Alcibiades
might barge in any moment and out-naked us all
I’m an American so I prefer pig iron
Wildflowers abound somewhere I’m sure
I don’t know anything about flowers though
Few of us in the cities follow them
the way you seem to as if tracking currencies
But to speak to your point about an actual
battlefront approaching Main Street who knows?
Maybe we would resort to hookers and crack
per your suggestion I can’t say Horace I wish I could
______________
which “Ode” remains a mystery, so
one should suppose Michael Homolka
is “ripost[ing]” to Horace’s entire body
of odes, he wrote four books of them,
23 – 11 B.C.E., during the time of
Augustus
I found the Odes too steeped in
Roman and mythological arcana to
follow their uneasy referents, too
esoteric, I thought, to even look
them up, seems Michael Homolka
thought the same
but his “Ars Poetica“, if you’ll pardon
the expression, spoke directly to my
heart, “On style“, “On metre“, on
“How to be a good poet“, for
instance, topics I find irresistible
you’ll note that whereas I’ve used
commas ever to indicate pauses
in what I write, Homolka uses
spaces, if you’ll allow me that,
perhaps immodest, conjunction,
you’ll find these in his original
copy, WordPress won’t allow me
that, click here for that original
copy
he also allows himself question
marks, something I never do
go figure
you’ll also note his dramatic
monologue, my favourite, if
you haven’t already done so
Richard
psst: “None knows the reason why this curse
Was sent on him, this love of making verse.” – “Ars Poetica“, line 470
“Ophelia“ (1852)
_________
according to Suzanne Lummis Ophelia
“g[o]t outta town”
Suzanne Lummis is Ophelia here, this
is a dramatic monologue, I can’t tell you
how much I find that exciting
you’ll want to run to the source, of course,
to find pertinent references, so I’ve linked
a few for you from the text below to their
counterparts in “Hamlet“, if it’s coloured,
just click, otherwise a couple of asterisks
explain two probably too obvious items,
in which case you’ll forgive me my
infelicitous impertinence, my unintended
and hapless presumption
thanks
How I Didn’t Get Myself to a Nunnery
That girl they found ensconced in mud and loam,
she wasn’t me. Small wonder, though, they jumped.
To a conclusion. Water puffs you up,
and we pale Slavic girls looked much alike—
back then. Deprivation smooths you out.
Yes, that was the season of self-drowned maids,
heart-to-hearts with skulls, great minds overthrown.
And minds that could be great if they could just
come up for air. Not in that town. Something stank. *
But me, I drifted on. I like rivers.
And I’m all right with flowers. I floated
on a bed of roses—well, O.K., rue
and columbine. It bore me up not down.
That night I made a circle with my thumb
and finger, like a lens, and peered through it
at the moon—mine, all mine. My kissed-white moon.
“Moon River wider than a . . .” Mancini/
Mercer wrote that, sure, but I wrote it first.
You wonder where I’m going with all this?
Where water goes. It empties into sea.
Sold! I’d take it—the sea or a fresh life.
Some other life. A good man—good enough,
fair—fished me out. He’d come to quench his thirst.
No sun-god prince,* of course, like him I’d loved,
still loved. (Some loves don’t die; not even murder
kills them.) I married his thatched hut, hatched chicks—
kids running underfoot. Don’t cry for me,
Denmark. I’d learned the art of compromise
back there, in the black castle—then came blood,
ghosts. Something in me burst. If not lover,
father, king, ** then whom can you trust? Alone,
I took up some playing cards. I played them
into skinny air. A voice said, Swim or drown.
It said: Your house caught fire, flood, caught fear—
it’s coming down. No one loves you now, here.
By land or water, girl, get outta town.
* i.e. Hamlet, of course, prince of Denmark
** Hamlet, Polonius, Claudius
our debt to Shakespeare in literature
is enormous, after even 400 years –
“Hamlet” was written in 1602 – his
literary form, his countless neologisms,
his stories, his blueprints, transformed
into ballets, paintings as above, operas,
have become our myths, our moral and
philosophical standard, our modern
Olympus, the measure of our time,
our epoch, Shakespeare is our “Iliad“
only Beethoven in music has ever
matched this, in the visual arts, no
one
you’ll notice that the poem itself is a
monologue, in answer, in homage, to
Shakespeare, it’s in iambic pentameter,
also his wont
mine too, incidentally
Richard
____________
one is a lonely number
but let there be four – 11:11 – and the
angels are passing, a.m. or p.m.
two is the natural minimum from which
grows three, a pyramid, also a trinity,
or even a Trinity
then four, which is solid, foursquare,
even cubic, therefore a house
five, a pentagon, authority
many is a polyptych, representing a
multiplicity, metaphysically a polis, a
community, from the Greek for “many
folds”, or, extrapolating, manifold
twelve, a dozen, and so forth
numbers, in other words, talk, signify
within a context something specific to
that context that is not stated but
instinctively ever understood, animals
flee when confronted with uncomfortable
numbers
but countless they also shimmer, like
stars, a panoply, a myriad
also like works of art
therefore the polyptych above, do click,
for a magnificent reproduction, see it
bring together parts of a whole, in one
place, at one time, and transcending
imaginatively even earthly dimensions,
for our contemplation
therefore also “Vingt regards sur l’Enfant
Jésus“, which I spoke of in my last posting,
my first to this, my second day of C…mas
you get art and music through the senses,
instinctively, unlike the murkier medium
of words, which can be cryptic
numbers speak louder, which is to say,
than ever words
read my lips
Richard
“Nativity“ (c. 1311)
____
just in time for C***mas, a sublime
piece on the Nativity of Christ as
profound, dare I say, as any High,
or even Midnight, Mass
Olivier Messiaen, one of, to my mind,
the greatest composers of the XXth
Century, was also a devout Catholic,
the organist at the Église de la Sainte
-Trinité in Paris, his music is imbued
with Catholic sentiment, the idea of
holiness
he seems to me a reincarnation, nearly,
of the great organist at the Augustinian
monastery of Sankt Florian in Upper
Austria, Anton Bruckner, no other
composers, after Bach, have been so
inspired specifically by their religious
faith
Bruckner builds cathedrals with his
music, notably out of his eleven
symphonies
Messiaen, a century later, performs,
instead, sacraments, attends to the
intricacies of their consecrations
“Vingt regards sur l’Enfant Jésus“ is
a succession of twenty perspectives
upon the child Jesus, linked by their
intention rather than by a common
musical theme, as would be the case
in a set of variations, the only other
form that would contain so many
movements
it is atonal, arhythmic, and does not
present the evident repetitions that
Classically would have given the
music a sense of structure, it seems
to me to be trying rather to describe
the iridescence of starlight, the
majesty of the enveloping night,
the gathering, and worshipful
confederation, of the host angels
Richard
psst:
the 20 movements –
1. Regard du Père (“Contemplation of the Father”)
2. Regard de l’étoile (“Contemplation of the star”)
3. L’échange (“The exchange”)
4. Regard de la Vierge (“Contemplation of the Virgin”)
5. Regard du Fils sur le Fils (“Contemplation of the Son upon the Son”)
6. Par Lui tout a été fait (“Through Him everything was made”)
7. Regard de la Croix (“Contemplation of the Cross”)
8. Regard des hauteurs (“Contemplation of the heights”)
9. Regard du temps (“Contemplation of time”)
10. Regard de l’Esprit de joie (“Contemplation of the joyful Spirit”)
11. Première communion de la Vierge (“The Virgin’s first communion”)
12. La parole toute-puissante (“The all-powerful word”)
13. Noël (“Christmas”)
14. Regard des Anges (“Contemplation of the Angels”)
15. Le baiser de l’Enfant-Jésus (“The kiss of the Infant Jesus”)
16. Regard des prophètes, des bergers et des Mages (“Contemplation of the prophets, the shepherds and the Magi”)
17. Regard du silence (“Contemplation of silence”)
18. Regard de l’Onction terrible (“Contemplation of the awesome Anointing”)
19. Je dors, mais mon cœur veille (“I sleep, but my heart keeps watch”)
20. Regard de l’Église d’amour (“Contemplation of the Church of love”)
“Mozart Mix“ (1991)
_______
in a movie,“Victor Victoria”, that should’ve
gotten more Oscars than it finally did,
“Le Jazz Hot“ sizzles, Henry Mancini
received one for the music, Lesley Anne
Warren should’ve too for her incandescent
moll
lock the door, she says to Julie Andrews,
in an otherwise compromising moment,
a line one should never forget
in Julie Andrews’ category, who could’ve
taken it away from Meryl Streep for
“Sophie’s Choice”
but jazz here is a misnomer, jazz merely
dolls up in this number an otherwise
entirely Classical structure, the melody
is right out of Mozart, rigid rhythm,
unflinching tonality, and repetition after
repetition, you can sing along just as you
can for Mozart, try doing that with anyone
after him, try to hum along with real jazz
but I’ll entirely agree that this
whatever-it-is is hot, steaming
catch the astounding vocal glissando
at the very end, just before the final
whispered recitative, riveting
Richard
common blackbird (turdus merula)
________________
while we’re on the subject of birdsong,
it would be incorrect not to mention
Olivier Messiaen, the composer I think
to be the most representative of the
late XXth-Century, with the addition,
however, of George Crumb only lately,
whom I blush to say I’d never heard
of till then, a lacuna culturala, as
we say in Italian, of the very
greatest proportions
“Le merle noir“ is Messiaen‘s earliest
work specifically devoted to birds,
his later “Catalogue d’oiseaux“ lists
thirteen birds, and lasts nearly
three hours
listen to “Le merle noir“ first, you’ll
even want to watch it for taking place
in the Église du Bon Secours in Paris,
June 7, 2012, flanked by dour,
though highly decorative, clergy
Yvonne Loriod, Messiaen’s wife, plays
the entire “Catalogue…“, but behind a
detail from Bosch’s “Garden of Earthly
Delights“, which remains throughout
glumly static
if we think of this as music, which
indeed I do do, where are tempi,
where are tonalities, where even are
identifiable repetitions, how do we
define, then, music
this is not an easy proposition
think about it
good luck
Richard
a friend writes
Date: Sun, 16 Nov 2014 21:30:02 -0800
Subject: Re: songs of some birds
From: lynne……
To: richibi……….
The other day on CBC Quirks and Quarks program they played the song of a type of thrush who’s name escapes me at the moment. It sounded like a nice bird song and then they slowed it way down and it sounded a lot like whale sounds but a far more musical with quite discernible notes.
hmmm..
.if I were to break up the sentences
in the foregoing paragraph
in some artistic fashion
would it then be poetry?
(I know, I’m such a cretin)
__________________
interesting
I think that good grammar is already
a move towards poetry, if not, indeed,
the quintessential ingredient, good
grammar has already in its stipulations
a cadence and an expressive flexibility,
in its declensions and conjugations
we are sloppy grammarians generally
your statement, “The other day on CBC Quirks and Quarks program they played the song of a type of thrush who’s name escapes me at the moment. It sounded like a nice bird song and then they slowed it way down and it sounded a lot like whale sounds but a far more musical with quite discernible notes.“,
corrected for grammatical aberrations,
“The other day on [the] CBC Quirks and Quarks program they played the song of a type of thrush who’s name escapes me at the moment. It sounded like a nice bird song and then they slowed it way down and it sounded a lot like whale sounds but […] far more musical with quite discernible notes.“,
sounds already musical when you
speak it out loud, cadential and
probably properly emotionally
inflected, if you put your intention
into it
a few artful turns could make it
luminous, even a poem
“hmmm..” yourself
Richard
“Untitled“ (1939)
_________
having wondered only recently about
bird song, whale song, can these be
considered singing when they are
essentially language, we think, and
not codified, technically constricted,
I see pertinently appear a study
suggesting birds follow a pentatonic
scale, our own musical basis,
harmonics between birds and
humans are apparently identical
this suggests that harmonics in
nature are as fundamental as
mathematics, we have somehow,
humans, diverged from what we
think of as singing, left rhythm
and tonality from our conversation
to produce uninflected prose and
monotony, language at the level
of atonal, arhythmic expression,
for better or for worse, corruption,
or refinement, evolution
I wonder, again, if prose is not
bad poetry, or has poetry evolved
into prose
should we feel shame or ingenuity,
do birds have their own divergent
degrees of poetry, do some, most
maybe, veer also towards the less
exacting prose
do some birds not sing, in other
words, or only sometimes maybe,
when mating, for instance,
something like how we croon
when we’re dating, put on our
very best airs
Richard
whales
____
we say that birds sing, despite the
fact that it is their ordinary language,
whales, upon our hearing them, seem
also to be singing
when we sing we alter our voices to
fit pitches and volume and rhythms
intentionally, otherwise we’re talking
what, then, is music, is bird song
music, whale song, is “Vox Balaenae“,
a composition by George Crumb, from
1971
if so, what do we mean by music, which
used to be, a long time ago it appears
now, melodic, recurrent and rhythmic
in “Vox Balaenae“, where is the music
we used to think of as music, though
harmonious it has the elements rather
of language, communication, instead
of the ordered outlay of composition
it is, however, indeed Classically laid,
with movements and everything, even
a set of variations, though interestingly
attended on either side, these, by, as it
were, book ends, a prologue and an
epilogue, literary terms, to reinforce
the idea of narration, there are three
movements
Prologue: Vocalise (…for the beginning of time)
Variations on Sea-Time [Sea Theme]
Archeozoic
Proterozoic
Paleozoic
Mesozoic
Cenozoic
Epilogue: Sea-Nocturne (…for the end of time)
a blue light in the performance suggests
a marine environment, masks dehumanize,
render everything “[a]rcheozoic”, extended
technique, unusual use of the instruments,
are instructions stated in the score
for a while I’ve been saying that prose is
just bad poetry, for a while I’ve been trying
to make poetry out of prose
how are we doing
Richard
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