“Death is nothing at all…” – Henry Scott Holland
Richibi’s Weblog
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Category: reflections on love
November 9, 2019
meet again!”
October 28, 2019
“Requiem” – Antonin Dvorak
Chartres Cathedral – View from south-east
_____________________
for Donna
a few days before a dear friend was due
to pass away, which is to say with medical
assistance, I had taped from television,
whether coincidentally or not, Antonin
Dvorak’s “Requiem”, though I hadn’t yet
listened to it
on the day of the procedure, I lit candles,
put the music on, and sat in attendance
as its flights of angels s[a]ng [her] to
[her] rest
the piece is somber, probably reserved for
somber occasions, but upon their instance,
the work is glorious, and salutary
here, it is performed at the Cathedral
of Chartres, suffused with the solemnity
and the splendour appropriate to such
a fateful moment
may you journey forth in peace,
dear friend
R ! chard
September 15, 2019
“The Seven Last Words of Our Saviour on the Cross” – Joseph Haydn
“Lord´s Crucifixion“ (1990)
George Stefanescu
____________
my sister is not well, her situation,
though blessed throughout with
grace, is dire, in such moments I
turn to music for consolation, for
courage, and for a serene
acquiescence to whatever might
be the outcome, the hour that I
spend thus with her becomes in
that light a meditation, a mass,
a private prayer
I’ve lit a trinity of candles in her
honour, one nearby for our dad,
gone these already thirty years,
on something of an altar I’ve
fashioned, however all the while
unconsciously, about my
fireplace, by their flickering
silence, I find a place for
solemn contemplation
“The Seven Last Words of Our
Saviour on the Cross“ is to my
mind Haydn’s greatest
masterpiece, its subject is
self-explanatory, but you might
want to read again here what I
wrote about it earlier for
greater context
it is sung in the Oratorio de la
Santa Cueva, the Oratory of
the Holy Cave, in Cádiz, Spain,
for which it had been originally
composed
it is transcendent
R ! chard
September 1, 2019
Symphony no 7 – Anton Bruckner
“Cathedral“ (1991)
George Stefanescu
_________
it’s funny, upon the imminent demise
of my only sister, I chose to listen to,
instinctively, for solace, Bruckner’s
Symphony no 7, lighting candles,
everywhere in my apartment, at
dusk, like settings, for my somber
reveries
listen, you might understand why
Bruckner was a profoundly Catholic
composer, composing liturgical
works expressive of his profound
beliefs, fit, aurally, for, indeed,
cathedrals, ceremonial, arresting
his 7th, grand and utterly convincing,
is not an ineffective consolation, is
not an easily disregarded promise
of something, however ephemerally
manifested, beyond the meagre
aspirations of merely faith
and which finally produces an epiphany,
a human understanding, that just being,
just responding to our condition, within
the confines of our station, is,
eventually, nothing short of grace
art, in other words, is praying
R ! chard
March 30, 2019
String Quartet no 15, Opus 144 – Dmitri Shostakovich
Title page and key monogram of “The Mountain Lover” (c. 1895)
Aubrey Beardsley
___________
after John passed away, I read, at a
gathering we had for him, something
that I’d written in his honour, it began,
adagios always remind me of John,
John was a dancer, he walked like
one
a few days later, immersed as I
was in memories of him while
mechanically washing some
dishes, I heard, from a symphony
I’d put on in the background to
keep me company in my reverie,
its adagio
I dried my hands, put my arms
around myself, and we danced
to the end of the movement, I’d
found, I understood, utterly, I
believed, miraculously, a key to
the very hereafter, adagios
would henceforth always
remind me of John
some time later, flipping aimlessly
through string quartets, of
Shostakovich among others, I
happened upon this one, his 15th
String Quartet, Opus 144, which
had, to my astonishment, not one,
not two, not three, not even four
nor five, but six whole adagios,
this was John talking, I knew,
I’ve loved it ever since
listen
R ! chard
psst:
String Quartet no 15, Opus 144
l – Elegy: Adagio
ll – Serenade: Adagio
lll – Intermezzo: Adagio
lV – Nocturne: Adagio
V – Funeral March: Adagio molto
Vl – Epilogue: Adagio
Dmitri Shostakovich
December 22, 2018
from act 4, scene 3 – Othello
when Desdemona learns that Othello
suspects her of adultery, she asks
her maidservant
Dost thou in conscience think,–tell me, Emilia,–
That there be women do abuse their husbands
In such gross kind?
Emilia, older, wiser, replies
There be some such, no question.
But I do think it is their husbands’ faults
If wives do fall: say that they slack their duties,
And pour our treasures into foreign laps,
Or else break out in peevish jealousies,
Throwing restraint upon us; or say they strike us,
Or scant our former having in despite;
Why, we have galls, and though we have some grace,
Yet have we some revenge. Let husbands know
Their wives have sense like them: they see and smell
And have their palates both for sweet and sour,
As husbands have. What is it that they do
When they change us for others? Is it sport?
I think it is: and doth affection breed it?
I think it doth: is’t frailty that thus errs?
It is so too: and have not we affections,
Desires for sport, and frailty, as men have?
Then let them use us well: else let them know,
The ills we do, their ills instruct us so.
“fall” in the second verse, for this is
indeed a poem, in iambic pentameter,
could easily be replaced by “fail“,
nearly even calls out for it,
homophones but for the timbre of
their vowels
say that their husbands slack, she says,
then lists the several manners in which
husbands might betray their marital
duties, by “foreign“, she means “other“,
foreign to the family circle
“laps“, incidentally, is a wonderful
metaphor to accompany “treasures“,
suggesting intimate physical contact,
much more so, say, than “hands“
would’ve, for instance, been
“restraint” means conditions, stress,
impositions
“scant our former having“, to diminish
that which formerly had been given,
of either material or psychological
goods – “having” is a noun here, not
a participle
“in despite“, which is to say, “out of
spite“
“galls“, a synecdoche for internal
organs, a synecdoche, the word
that means a part which signifies
the whole
“affection” is “lust“
we’re equal partners, Shakespeare
says, men and women, in a shared
humanity, indeed Shakespeare is
one of the first Humanists after
centuries of religious subjugation,
centuries of the suppression of
independent thought, a defining
notion, not incidentally, of the
Renaissance
R ! chard
November 11, 2018
“A Delicate Balance” – Edward Albee
“Theatre Drama“
Kuzma Petrov-Vodkin
___________
there are only a very few 20th-Century
American playwrights who’ve weathered
the rigours of time, two with several
successes, Eugene O’Neill, and
Tennessee Williams, but only one to
tower above those two with only one
work to outmatch them, Edward Albee,
his “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?“
is every inch a king
this is not an impossible feat, Margaret
Mitchell wrote her only book, “Gone
with the Wind“, a contemporary “Iliad“,
which will find its rightful place again
in world literature, note, when our own
too reverberant still times cede to the
concerns of another, less pertinently
fraught era, like reading “War and
Peace“, for instance, now that
Napoleon is long gone
“Gone with the Wind“, quick, name
another 20th-Century novel to top it,
seconds are too long, “Gone with
the Wind” is in our bloodstream,
like Walt Disney or Marilyn Monroe,
even if you’ve never read it, which
you should
but Edward Albee wrote another play
which deserves some attention, and
with redoubtable performances from
both the consummate ever Katharine
Hepburn, and from our own Canadian
tower of unutterable talent, Kate Reid,
abetted by masterful presentations
from no less than the revered Paul
Scofield and the iconic Joseph Cotten
when their supporting numbers come
up, here is a show to watch for, if
nothing else, those individual stellar
contributions
but “A Delicate Balance“, also an
incontestable masterpiece, is about
friendship, and tells a lesson you’ll
not soon forget, friendship is more
than, for better or for worse, just
knowing each other, it says, an
idiosyncratic, indeed recurrent,
Albee theme
cinematography, note, is, here,
dreadful, though actually in that
manner conceived, however
improbably, by an otherwise
noteworthy director, you’ll even
think they’ve shrunk his frame
but visual style shouldn’t let you
forego the play’s profound substance,
nor the triumphant work of its illustrious
cast, at the very top, mostly, of their
considerable, even defining, powers
watch
R ! chard
November 7, 2018
happy birthday, Joni Mitchell
“Nuages“ / “Clouds“
Fernand Léger
_________
for Lajla, and, of course, Joni
in my German class in Dresden, I
was asked, since I was from
Canada, to translate into German
a Canadian song, my teacher
suggested something of Joni
Mitchell, someone she profoundly,
she said, admired, was I the one
to choose “Both Sides Now“, or
was she, I can’t remember, but
that was the song I translated
“Rows and floes of angel hair
And ice cream castles in the air
And feather canyons everywhere
I’ve looked at clouds that way
But now they only block the sun
They rain and snow on everyone
So many things I would have done
But clouds got in my way
I’ve looked at clouds from both sides now
From up and down, and still somehow
It’s cloud illusions I recall
I really don’t know clouds at all
Moons and Junes and Ferris wheels
The dizzy dancing way you feel
As every fairy tale comes real
I’ve looked at love that way
But now it’s just another show
You leave ’em laughing when you go
And if you care, don’t let them know
Don’t give yourself away
I’ve looked at love from both sides now
From give and take, and still somehow
It’s love’s illusions I recall
I really don’t know love at all
Tears and fears and feeling proud
To say “I love you” right out loud
Dreams and schemes and circus crowds
I’ve looked at life that way
But now old friends are acting strange
They shake their heads, they say I’ve changed
Well something’s lost, but something’s gained
In living every day
I’ve looked at life from both sides now
From win and lose and still somehow
It’s life’s illusions I recall
I really don’t know life at all
I’ve looked at life from both sides now
From up and down and still somehow
It’s life’s illusions I recall
I really don’t know life at all”
it could be my anthem
as it happened, Lajla, my teacher, who
who has since become a dear friend,
in fact, meine beste deutsche Freundin,
didn’t let me finish reading meinen
übergesetzten Text for the class, it
would’ve been too long
I still regret the unrecognized work
I did, but mostly I rue the fact that
the other students never got to
hear the sublime ending of the
song
R ! chard
July 15, 2018
at the movies – “Phaedra”
“Phaedra and Hippolytus“ (1802)
_____________
Phaedra, according to Greek myth, fell
in love with her stepson, and, of course,
ruined, for everyone, everything
she’s been represented in music by
composers from, at least, Rameau,
1733, to, here, now, Benjamin Britten,
1976, by way of even Tangerine
Dream, 1973, however peripherally,
and the hits just keep on coming
in literature, the story goes back to
Euripides, 480 – 406 BCE, through
Jean Racine, 1639 – 1699, poet at
the court of Louis XlV, the version
that I studied in French Literature,
along with, in English, Shakespeare,
who was doing courtiers, rather,
and royalty there, then, incidentally,
instead of the Continent’s iconic
Mediterranean figures – it remains
my favourite play in my mother
tongue, next to, for me, its only
other equal, “Cyrano de Bergerac“
but I’d never seen a production of
“Phaedra“ until this searing,
modern, rendition, set in, relatively
contemporary, Greece, London,
and Paris, with the irrepressible,
the irresistible, Melina Mercouri,
torrid temptress, the very goddess
Hera, here, and Anthony Perkins,
perfect as her suitor, a youth still,
pulsing with a young man’s
unbridled intentions
sparks fly, from moment to
incendiary moment – I had often
to pause to catch my breath –
portents of an inescapable, and
eventually epic, indeed mythic,
apocalypse
watch, if you dare
R ! chard
July 13, 2018
why I believe in music, or “I Was Born For This” – Austin Wintory
“Joan of Arc upon Coronation of Charles VII in the Cathedral of Reims“ (1854)
____________________
many years ago, while I was volunteering
at our hospital’s palliative care unit, nearby,
recently installed as a response to, among
other pressing preoccupations, but most
urgently then, the AIDS crisis, I was asked
to sit by a lady in profound distress, her
family, Western Buddhists, would go to
lunch while I would sit by her to comfort
her as much as I could
she was dishevelled, of course, completely
disconcerted, all ajitter, lost, and evidently
confused, in her profound isolation, not to
mention in the crumpled state of her
harried bed, unable to communicate, or
reason
I found a chair, sat by her with earnest
concentration, my partner had died
there, only recently, on that very unit,
and I was expressing, to all of those
concerned in his unparalleled care,
my unlimited appreciation
I lay a hand gently upon her arm, to let
her feel, at least, the safety that my
touch could allow, to let it settle on
her, however removed might be her
remaining consciousness, began to
sing quietly a chant I’d been intoning
from a creed I’d turned to for comfort
in my own personal anguish, at the
loss of my own friend, a call, an
invocation, the continuous iteration
of a line that brought solace, Om Nama
Shivaya, I prayed, over and over again,
with the greatest intention, whatever
that phrase might’ve, I’ve forgotten,
meant
she relented, found her space, little by
little she became, as though grace had
descended upon her, calm, by however
infinitesimal degrees, while I continued,
now, my hopeful, helpful, it appeared,
manifestly mystical, intervention
she had become restful, I’d
accomplished essentially, I gathered,
my primary mission, though I
continued, with some sense, perhaps
even a glow, of personal pride, my
soulful incantation
then in a voice not much louder than a
whisper, but much less distraught than
a moan, she began to join in with row,
row, row your boat, tunefully, over and
over again, accommodating herself,
though, naturally, exceedingly weakly,
to my rhythm, I felt I was experiencing,
right there, and then, through the
power of cadence, a miracle
when I looked back, upon hearing
behind me a rustle, standing at the
door was her family, wrapped in
equal consternation
here’s something with someone singing
in several inscrutable languages for
most of us, mostly, words from historical
texts, in Greek, Latin, Olde English,
Japanese, and French, “I Was Born For
This“
that title, of one of the segments of a
longer work, “Journey“, by a contemporary
composer, Austin Wintory, is indeed a
translation of Joan of Arc‘s words on the
cross, “Ne me plaignez pas. C’est pour cela
que je suis née.”, do not pity me, she says,
I was born for this, Joan of Arc, my own
personal Jesus
Shostakovich has an entire symphony,
his 14th, composed of music to
accompany classic poems, all in a
variety of foreign, to him, tongues, but
translated back into Russian for his
purpose in this particular, and not
uncommon, instance, a nevertheless
pointed reference to music as a superior,
more direct, communication – note, here,
the word, communication – it, the 14th,
is profound, extraordinary, read here
first, then listen
R ! chard
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