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Category: pictures to ponder

the XVth International Tchaikovsky Competition‏

Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky

Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky

(1840 – 1893)

________

my musicologist friend alerted me to the
fact that since the 15th of this month, and
onwards till the 3rd of July, the XVth
International Tchaikovsky Competition
is
on, at which point I raced to my position,
got a front row seat, for you as well
should you decide to join me, at the gala
opening
, check it out, performed in the
Bolshoi Hall of the Moscow Conservatory,
in, of course, Moscow, no less

you’ll be reminded of the monumentality
of Tchaikovsky, his melodic sense, his
emotional power, his subtlety

also Russia’s

the introductory “Capriccio”, conducted
by Vladimir Fedoseyev, is rousing,
probably the best you’ll ever hear, though
it should’ve been called “espagnol” rather
than “italien”, I’ve always thought, there’s
even a redoubtable tambourinist – how
Spanish is that – you’ll want to watch out
for, however far from Spain he might, in
his quenched enthusiasm, seem

Tchaikovsky’s “Mélodie”, op. 42, no. 3,
played in all innocence by a 14-year-old,
a cherub in the guise of already an angel,
follows

the concert suite from his “Nutcracker”,
mastered by a 13-year-old with the
command of a prodigy, after that

you’ll remember Daniil Trifonov from
the 13th Rubinstein Competition, which
he won, accompanying a soprano here,
but you’ll also see him bring down the
house with his last two movements of
Tchaikovsky’s iconic 1st Piano Concerto

why would they have left out the
thunderous, wonderful first, I wonder

Daniil also won the last Tchaikovsky
Competition, the 14th, also in 2011

most of the program is in Russian,
with some considerations for a
perhaps interested English audience,
thanks to Valery Georgiev, a conductor
of considerable note, not at all the
vagrant here that he seems

my musicologist, who speaks everything,
understands the Russian, but it’s not
difficult to understand, the message
is one of harmony and peace

the opposite of war is not peace, they
are saying, it’s art, and specifically
here music, these are here actions to
unite, beyond borders, beyond creeds,
beyond even transgressions

they signal out Van Cliburn, who plays
all, incidentally, of Tchaikovsky’s 1st

I signal out Eurovision, the Tchaikovsky
Competition
, now in its XVth year

watch

Richard

a birthday wish

  "Happy Birthday"- Fernando Botero

Happy Birthday (1971)

Fernando Botero

_________

a friend of mine was eighty today,
she’s gone off to London to celebrate,
she didn’t want anyone to make a fuss

a fuss, I said, it’s your eightieth birthday,
one should make a fuss, she’s gone to
London anyway

from this side of the ocean, and indeed
from this side of the continent, it seemed
nevertheless remiss of me not say
something

but as in Hallmark cards, sometimes
the message is better in someone
else’s words, in this case Bob Dylan’s
but sung by Joan Baez, just click

May God bless and keep you always
May your wishes all come true
May you always do for others
And let others do for you
May you build a ladder to the stars
And climb on every rung
May you stay forever young
Forever young

May you grow up to be righteous
May you grow up to be true
May you always know the truth
And see the light surrounding you
May you always be courageous
Stand upright and be strong
May you stay forever young
Forever young

May your hands always be busy
May your feet always be swift
May you have a strong foundation
When the winds of changes shift
May your heart always be joyful
May your song always be sung
May you stay forever young
Forever young, forever young
May you stay forever young

Bob Dylan

happy birthday, dear friend, may you
live forever

Richard

“February”- Margaret Atwood‏

Arlen Redekop - "Cherry blossoms..."

Cherry blossoms have bloomed at the corner of Nelson and Bute in Vancouver, B.C., February 11, 2015

Arlen Redekop

_______

Vancouver has been unimpeachable this
February, my sister through her
intercession with my dad, who is as close
to us as heaven, must’ve brought along
with her the sun and the unfettered blue
sky from her otherwise wintry home

there has been rain but sparsely here,
just enough to wean spring blossoms
out of hiding, as pictured above

but we are aware that not everywhere is
the same

here’s what Margaret Atwood thinks of
February

____________

February

Winter. Time to eat fat
and watch hockey. In the pewter mornings, the cat,
a black fur sausage with yellow
Houdini eyes, jumps up on the bed and tries
to get onto my head. It’s his
way of telling whether or not I’m dead.
If I’m not, he wants to be scratched; if I am
He’ll think of something. He settles
on my chest, breathing his breath
of burped-up meat and musty sofas,
purring like a washboard. Some other tomcat,
not yet a capon, has been spraying our front door,
declaring war. It’s all about sex and territory,
which are what will finish us off
in the long run. Some cat owners around here
should snip a few testicles. If we wise
hominids were sensible, we’d do that too,
or eat our young, like sharks.
But it’s love that does us in. Over and over
again, He shoots, he scores! and famine
crouches in the bedsheets, ambushing the pulsing
eiderdown, and the windchill factor hits
thirty below, and pollution pours
out of our chimneys to keep us warm.
February, month of despair,
with a skewered heart in the centre.
I think dire thoughts, and lust for French fries
with a splash of vinegar.
Cat, enough of your greedy whining
and your small pink bumhole.
Off my face! You’re the life principle,
more or less, so get going
on a little optimism around here.
Get rid of death. Celebrate increase. Make it be spring.

Margaret Atwood

____________

truly

Richard