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Tag: “Roses” – John Singer Sargent
“Roses“ (c.1886)
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on a personal note, since I prefer longer
pieces, something I can sink my teeth
into – I like them when they’re long, I
always say – which led me into spending
33 years with Proust, for instance, page
by page, so that I could breathe it in, him,
I tend to veer towards music with several
movements, be they serial, as in sonatas,
symphonies, concertos, Classically
speaking, of course, or haphazard, as
in the more loosely associated suites
rather than smelling merely the rose,
as in a simple waltz, nocturne, étude,
I want to revel in the aroma of an
entire garden
therefore the three hours of Liszt‘s
even Wagner‘s daunting five hour
operas, individual portions of his
towering, indeed epic, four-part
these are high masses, and if you
subscribe to the faith, the experience
they allow can be transformational,
however such may still be,
nevertheless, a mere rose, a mere,
but epiphanic, rose, as is, for
inveterately, for me
a rose, a creation as unique as we
are, in our shared, however unevenly
apportioned, mortality, proud, sturdy,
protected by thorns, even, meanwhile,
as we are, in our own manner, against
our own existential vicissitudes
but vibrant, also, ever, drenched in
any of its several arresting colours,
fragrant, poised, full of perfect grace,
as we should be ourselves, I’ve told
myself, not only with regard to their
beauty, but to their inspiration,
whether a deity exists that we
might be beholden to, incidentally,
or not
Shostakovich has something poignant
to say about that, also Beethoven, but
that’s another story, for later, maybe,
however, either, powerfully
consequential
until then, l’important, as we sing in
or heed, it says, in other, but
nevertheless ever instructive words,
the wisdom of very nature
I live by it
R ! chard
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