First the more negative one:

*****

goodbye, my love

by Charles Bukowski

deadly ash of everything
we’ve mauled it to pieces
ripped the head off
the arms
the legs
cut away the sexual organs
pissed on the heart

deadly ash of everything
everywhere
the sidewalks are now harder
the eyes of the populace crueler
the music more tasteless

ash
I’m left with pure
ash

first we pissed on the heart
now we piss on the ash.

from The People Look Like Flowers: New Poems

*****

I especially like:

everywhere
the sidewalks are now harder
the eyes of the populace crueler
the music more tasteless

ash
I’m left with pure
ash

I know it’s  kind of a downer but it captures a part of my current mood.

Then a longer one by Louise Glück.

*****

The Nest

A bird was making its nest.
In the dream, I watched it closely:
in my life, I was trying to be
a witness not a theorist.

The place you begin doesn’t determine
the place you end: the bird

took what it found in the yard,
its base materials, nervously
scanning the bare yard in early spring;
in debris by the south wall pushing
a few twigs with its beak.

Image
of loneliness: the small creature
coming up with nothing. Then
dry twigs. Carrying, one by one,
the twigs to the hideout.
Which is all it was then.

It took what there was:
the available material. Spirit
wasn’t enough.

And then it wove like the first Penelope
but toward a different end.
How did it weave? It weaved,
carefully but hopelessly, the few twigs
with any suppleness, any flexibility,
choosing these over the brittle, the recalcitrant.

Early spring, late desolation.
The bird circled the bare yard making
efforts to survive
on what remained to it.

It had its task:
to imagine the future. Steadily flying around,
patiently bearing small twigs to the solitude
of the exposed tree in the steady coldness
of the outside world.

I had nothing to build with.
It was winter: I couldn’t imagine
anything but the past. I couldn’t even
imagine the past, if it came to that.

And I didn’t know how I came here.
Everyone else much further along.
I was back at the beginning
at a time in life we can’t remember beginnings.

The bird
collected twigs in the apple tree, relating
each addition to existing mass.
But when was there suddenly mass?

It took what it found after the others
were finished.
The same materials – why should it matter
to be finished last? The same materials, the same
limited good. Brown twigs,
broken and fallen. And in one,
a length of yellow wool.

Then it was spring and I was inexplicably happy:
I knew where I was: on Broadway with my bag of groceries.
Spring fruit in the stores: first
cherries at Formaggio. Forsythia
beginning.

First I was at peace.
Then I was contented, satisfied.
And then flashes of joy.
And the season changed – for all of us,
of course.

And as I peered out my mind grew sharper.
And I remembered accurately
the sequence of my responses,
my eyes fixed on each thing
from the shelter of the hidden self:

first, I love it.
Then, I can use it.

from  Vita Nova by Louise Glück.

*****

Both poems are to me about a sort of desperation. One reacts with anger and despair, one with unreasonable optimism. I relate to both.

In “The Nest” I like this:

It weaved,
carefully but hopelessly, the few twigs
with any suppleness, any flexibility,
choosing these over the brittle, the recalcitrant.

and

It had its task:
to imagine the future. Steadily flying around,
patiently bearing small twigs to the solitude
of the exposed tree in the steady coldness
of the outside world.

and of course this part of the ending:

And as I peered out my mind grew sharper.
And I remembered accurately
the sequence of my responses,
my eyes fixed on each thing
from the shelter of the hidden self:

There is something compelling in the bird building its nest out of refuse. Just as there is something about trying to be human and fix one’s eyes “on each thing from the shelter of the hidden self…”

****************************************************************************************

Election Brings Seasoned Politicians to Congress – NYTimes.com

I’ve always thought term limits unnecessary. There are already term limits built into the system. We call them elections. According to this article, the new House of Representatives will include nine people who have already been in congress. God knows we need real leadership these days to sort out the partisan madness.

****************************************************************************************

Who Will Hold Colleges Accountable? – NYTimes.com

One sentence especially struck me in this article:

many students at traditional colleges showed no improvement in critical thinking, complex reasoning and writing,

****************************************************************************************

Bradley Manning lawyer: soldier’s treatment a blemish on nation’s history | World news | guardian.co.uk

Not so much coverage in the US media of the first time Manning’s lawyer speaks out in public. Hmmmm. Let’s see. Oh  I remember, the media is pissed at him. Margaret Sulliven (NYT Public Editor) covers the bad coverage well:

An Empty Seat in the Courtroom – NYTimes.com

****************************************************************************************

I’m beginning to think this might be an annual occurrence:  My disenfranchisement with church and its banality. Could it be related to the season?

Hard to say.

I do know that my schedule this previous semester combined with increasing duties at church left me pretty exhausted and burned out. Hopefully today I can do some recovering since today is my first Monday off in ages. Monday is the day I prefer to take off because Sundays take so much out of me.

Yesterday was no exception.

Sometimes making music with volunteers seems to be mostly a battle. A battle of wits and a battle where I try to stay one step ahead of people who resist and bully. I am repelled when people choose to make beauty a battle.

I tend to offer some guidance and then when it is ignored find as much peace in myself as I can.

I suspect this is the introvert in me.

Yesterday after church I couldn’t get away fast enough. People and their concerns grated physically on my skin. I needed to be away from what seemed to me as the banality of incoherent prayer.

In the afternoon yesterday Eileen and I attended Rhonda Edgington’s Advent organ recital. (Hi Rhonda!) She played music that I am familiar with and fond of. It was a delight to hear her. She is an excellent player.

Afterwards Eileen took me for drinks and hors d’oeuvres. Eileen admitted that she had been thinking this would be a good for us earlier. It was.

****************************************************************************************

The Chill of Loneliness – NYTimes.com

So yesterday afternoon I took some time and read in a novel I am reading and admiring: May We Be Forgiven by A. M. Homes.

I read sections of it aloud to Eileen. This book’s brutality and desperation is an antidote to the banality I am seeing around lately.

Anyway, in one section the main character Harold Silver goes to visit his extremely pathological brother George at a mental clinic. He has come at the bidding of the crazy doctors. The doctors believe his visit will be good for George (who is a deranged TV executive and has murdered his wife). At one point the doctors insist that George and Harold engage in some “team building” exercises. The first one (transporting a balloon from one point to another with just their bodies) is uneventful.

But in the second one in which the doctors, George and Harold toss a football around George goes berserk,  tackles Harold and begins severely beating him.

After Harold leaves the clinic, he gets a weird phone call from his (and George’s) lawyer informing him that “the hospital asked me to inform you that you are not to visit again; they said you were threatening to the patient and staff.”

“I was physically attacked by George.”

“They saw things differently. In their eyes you provoked him, you wouldn’t throw the ball to him, you spoke only to the doctors and not to him, yo belittled him and made him feel left out and like there is something wrong with him.”

“Oh my God, that is so crazy. They’re nuts. It’s a freak show up there….”

This little scene popped to mind when I read this sentence in the article linked above:

“Research by the Purdue University psychologist Kip Williams, who programs these avatars to refrain from tossing the ball to certain human subjects, has shown that people feel bad when left out.”

****************************************************************************************

Justice Scalia Hearts Jack Bauer – Law Blog – WSJ

This is an old article that was linked in from a recent report I read. It horrifies me that a man as obviously brilliant (though misguided) as Scalia references an insipid TV show as a defense for the indefensible.

****************************************************************************************

A Tepid ‘Welcome Back’ for Spanish Jews – NYTimes.com

500 years later.

****************************************************************************************

 Art and Commerce Meet in Miami Beach – NYTimes.com

Interesting written report. Makes me want to read some of the art critics mentioned in it.

****************************************************************************************

Two poems from this morning’s reading.

First the ending of one of Ai’s long poems in her book Dread.

The poem is called “Intercourse” and is dedicated to John Kennedy Jr.

It seems to describe the poet meeting Kennedy (He is called John in the poem) in a erotic encounter in a dream.

She can’t believe it’s him, but he quickly disappears.

The poem ends with this wonderful image: (it is the voice of the dream lover speaking)

*****

… I sink into a puddle of saltwater,

as you finally relent and call my name.

It’s too late. I came and went

in the same instant it took you to realize

you’d captured your prize only to lose him

as  he slipped between your things,

but could not penetrate the sealed landscape,

where celebrity creates an alternate reality.

There fact and fiction lie

one atop the other fucking furiously,

when one surrenders unconditionally,

the other dies.

*****

from “Intercourse” by Ai

The other poem is by Raymond Carver.

*****

Rain

Woke up this morning with
a terrific urge to lie in bed all day
and read. Fought against it for a minute.

Then looked out the window at the rain.
And gave over. Put myself entirely
in the keep of this rainy morning.

Would I live my life over again?
Make the same unforgivable mistakes?
Yes, given half a chance.

*****

from Where Water Comes Together with Other Water by Raymond Carver

These two poems neatly parse my mood. The first addresses my reoccurring wrestling with the concept of celebrity. I like how Ai evokes the image that fact and fiction are both on top of each other and how each negates the other. I don’t entirely buy it of course but it is compact way to think about it.

Both poems are melancholy. Melancholia dogged my steps most of the day yesterday.

The misfortunes of my extended family weigh on me.

In the afternoon I dropped by my Mom’s room at the nursing home with books for her to read. I systematically take her old books to the library, enter them in a list I keep of  the books she has read or had the chance to read, search for new ones and then check them out and take them to her.

The room was dark, shades drawn. The bed was unmade. Mom was sitting in her chair sleeping probably. I suspect she is wrestling with depression. I sat with her a bit. I gently chatted with her. She told me she had skipped lunch and stayed in her room. They brought her a bit of food which she presumably ate. When I asked her why she said she wasn’t hungry. When she got up to go to her bathroom, I opened the shades and rainy light poured into the room.

When she came back I interested her in my brother the priest’s latest newsletter which his church had mailed her. She asked for her glasses and looked through it.

Then I booted up her little laptop and showed her some family pics on Facebook.

By the time I was leaving she was feeling hungry (she said). I asked her to go for a little walk which she did. She didn’t bother with her shoes and walked around with me in her stocking feet.

While we were walking the halls of her nursing home I asked her what she was thinking about these days. “Not much,” she replied.

****************************************************************************************

UN climate talks in Doha reach agreement – Middle East – Al Jazeera English

Key points of the Doha deal – Middle East – Al Jazeera English

I first read this articles online about Climate Talks going on. This morning I found some more articles:

Ignoring Planetary Peril, Profound ‘Disconnect’ Between Science and Doha – NYTimes.com

This article seems to try to justify the weak coverage of the talks in the US media.

I had to read an Australian article to find out that “The United States has never ratified the agreement. Round two, which will take effect on January 1 and run until 2020, has been further weakened by the withdrawal of Russia, Canada and Japan.”

This is from the following link:

Doha climate talks fall short, critics say

****************************************************************************************

Harlem to Say Goodbye to the Lenox Lounge – NYTimes.com

A careful reading of this article shows that it’s possible the new owners will preserve much about the lounge.

****************************************************************************************

Dinosaurs and Denial – NYTimes.com

This article reminded me of a conversation I had with my brilliant cousin who is an engineer and works for the government in DC. Even with his excellent technical mind he firmly believes in creationism. Has been to the museum described in this article.

****************************************************************************************

So. A couple of days without ballet classes. I suppose they will invite me back next semester, but one really never knows. The chair usually emails me when she starts thinking about the schedule. It is a relief not to have to do a class every day of the week, Monday through Friday.

Yesterday instead of toddling off to do my usual Friday 8:30 AM, I made Eileen and me breakfast. I miss cooking so it was fun. She had the day off as well.

I wonder if improvising daily does anything to my impulse to compose. I haven’t written anything in a while. I’m usually inspired to write for specific musicians. I keep eyeing my piano trio and thinking it would be fun to write for us. Even though the musicians don’t really like “contemporary” classical music they have both played my compositions and arrangements in the past and seemed to enjoy them.

It’s been a few years since I have been invited to play at the local coffee shop. I can only wonder why. I think that the owner’s insistence that he man the sound system for gigs sabotaged me last time. The sound people were musicians from another band, much younger of course. They seemed unfriendly. They also did a very poor job.

I keep fantasizing if I were to do something like that again in public I would insist on good sound reproduction. Listeners expect a smooth mixed balance.

I also keep thinking of an interview I saw of a famous studio bass player. She said she had quit playing in public because no one really wanted to see an old grandmother up there playing. She may be on to something.

I do realize that much of music performance these days is about perception not sound. People often fall in love with the celebrities more than the music. So it seems.

I do find music continues to be more and more satisfying to me. I have to face the fact that I have blocked myself in, venue wise. I have deliberately continued to be that boy who sat in his father’s empty church in love with the sounds he found under his hands from the piano.

Eileen and I were talking yesterday about my need for solitude, my need to be alone with my music. It is something than anchors me, that’s for sure.

I do know that one cannot do music only alone.

Music demands to be heard by listeners. It demands to be done by groups of people. At this point, it seems that church is serving for me in this way.  It is my only venue really. That and the internet, I guess.

Yesterday I did listen to the music of the musicians in the article I linked: “Chucho Valdés and Gonzalo Rubalcaba from Cuba, Danilo Pérez from Panama and Egberto Gismonti from Brazil.” I found myself seeking live recordings of their work.

In the Spotify mini-bio of Egberto Gismonti, it mentioned that he was influenced by Villa-Lobos.

I pulled out my little Dover piano collection of his work and played through several pieces. They were beautiful and if my piano sounded better I might have made a YouTube video of some of them. Maybe I’ll do that today.

****************************************************************************************

Alan Moore’s Neonomicon censored by US library | Books | guardian.co.uk

Never head of this. Instantly interlibrary loaned it.

***************************************************************************************

GOP, Koch Brothers Sneak Attack Guts Labor Rights in Michigan | The Nation

This morning I am feeling gluttonous, gluttonous for beauty.

Reading poems by seven poets first thing in the morning. There’s always at least one good one or one that hits me.

****************************************************************************************

The Swan

by Mary Oliver

Across the wide waters
something comes
floating–a slim
and delicateship, filled
with white flowers–
and it moves
on its miraculous muscles

And then there was this short story in this month’s New Yorker:

Steven Millhauser: “A Voice in the Night” : The New Yorker

The story is divided into three alternating sections: a retelling of the story of Samuel being called by the Lord in the night, an old man’s recollection of himself as a boy and his reaction to the story, and the same old man’s wrestling with insomnia and his own past.

There’s a lot of waiting in these stories. I put it up on the Facebook Grace Music Ministry page. I like how it deals with the idea of vocation quite a bit. Holy crap. I keep returning to Christianity. Helplessly I guess.

My ambivalence reminds me of Jonah and his bible story.

He keeps getting it all wrong. He gets thrown in the whale (big fish) for refusing to do what he is meant to do: prophecy to the people of Ninevah. After he is finally convinced to do this, they try to reform and don’t end up paying consequences for their sins. He ends up seeking shade from a plant which God causes to be destroyed by a worm to give Jonah an object lesson in undeserved grace. Jonah probably doesn’t get it.

Neither do I. But I continue to find myself connecting to the Christian story despite my own disbelief.

I also feel gluttonous because yesterday I spent a lot of time with Mendelssohn. My piano trio is learning two movements by him: the Finale of his early piano trio and the first movement of the later one. They are gorgeous full of lovely themes and beauty.

I rehearsed the Finale myself at the piano yesterday and then the trio rehearsed the other movement together.

Before that our oboist joined us and we rehearsed the Frescobaldi Canzoni we have been learning.

This is all nice stuff.

The group agreed to allow me to look for more music that would fit our instrumentation (Oboe, Violin, Cello, Keyboard).

The only caveat is (since I am seeking only music we all enjoy) to avoid contemporary music.

This is a small price for me to pay to have these wonderful chamber music experiences.

I can explore the musics these people aren’t as interested in by myself.

Which is more beauty that I experienced yesterday as I worked on some Messiaen organ movements from his Nativity Suite.

***************************************************************************************

Origin of the Romani People Pinned Down | LiveScience

The Roma or Gypsies have lived on the margins of European society for centuries. They marched alongside the Jews and other groups to Hitler’s death showers.

***************************************************************************************

BBC News – Netflix rebuked for Facebook post

This perplexes me. Is it another case of society being behind the curve?

****************************************************************************************

Chucho Valdés and Gonzalo Rubalcaba at Carnegie – NYTimes.com

I bookmarked this to check out the performers on Spotify and YouTube.

****************************************************************************************

Dave Brubeck, Jazz Musician, Dies at 91 – NYTimes.com

This man had a huge impact on my musicianship. I started out playing from his piano books and at one of my last coffee house gigs performed “Blue Rondo A La Turk” a piece I have loved for ages.

****************************************************************************************

Lincoln Against the Radicals | Jacobin

Steven Spielberg’s White Men of Democracy « Corey Robin

‘Lincoln’ versus history: Screening out the past – Opinion – Al Jazeera English

Sooprise sooprise. History is distorted by the new Lincoln movie. I think it is astute to realize that this movie is about current American politics not history. But it’s unfortunate that it perpetuates so many myths of the Civil War and Lincoln.

****************************************************************************************

I was playing my last fall term ballet class yesterday. Lately my improvs have been more rhythmic. I think melody of course, but I have been trying to come up with an interesting beat and a simple melody. Then as I am required to repeat it over and over for the ballet combination I begin to riff on it more and more sort of like a jazz improv or something.

As I watched the dancers move with simplicity and elegance yesterday I thought of the many time I have played for dancing in my life. And the many times I have performed music in general.

If I try to remember my early music performing experiences one of the earliest was playing my rusted cornet for the Sunday School class at the Church of God in Greeneville Tennessee where my Dad was the minister.  That’s how we called him those days: the minister.

I had forgotten to empty my spit valve so from the first note the sound was garbled.

I didn’t know what to do so I just played the entire melody through as I had planned gargling away on it. Mortifying. The woman who was leading the class tried to smooth it over by saying it must be hard just to play “one of those things.” Her name was Maxine Humphries and she spoke with a soft southern accent. She probably still does. Back then she was a local radio announcer and practically a village star in Greeneville.

Probably I had other early performances in churches. I don’t remember them like that one.

There is a family story about my uncle Dave, my Dad’s oldest brother, attending college classes with my grandfather Benjamin at the new Church of God college in Anderson Indiana. Dave was precocious in the way of first-borns.  He tagged along with his dad and sang and impressed the other students and the teachers.

I don’t remember any other stories about him or my Dad or my uncle Jonnie about doing music as a kid.

Of course all three men were musicians.

Dad and Jonnie were trained and did a lot of performing. I got the idea that Uncle Dave did his music for fun and joy. At his 80th birthday when he was in full blown Alzheimers he jumped up and sang the Internationale in full voice startling everyone.

I miss him.

By the time we moved to Flint Michigan in 1963 I must have been playing both piano and cornet, mostly by ear. I remember some listening experiences at this stage, playing in the school band, but not much performing at church other than maybe singing in a choir.

I remember enjoying playing piano alone at church. Something I still do but now I’ve added organ.

In high school I played in a pick up wedding band called Guy and the Versatiles.

I played trumpet and a bit of electric piano. Mostly I remember Guy (who was younger than me) sneaking drinks at wedding receptions then being drunk enough to puke on my shoes.

I also remember working with other high school musicians and dancers. Specifically I remember playing for dancers and singers who were hired to play the Flint Republican Party Convention. It was at this convention that I got my first time of playing with actual Jazz musicians. The Sherm Mitchell trio was booked for the convention as well. When the dancers danced I played piano and they played along (as I remember). Sherm Mitchell played trombone and Jazz oboe. He made a big impression on me.

Toward the end of high school I was playing some weekend gigs where we would rent a trailer in Flint and drive to Oscoda to perform on the Air Base there.  What I remember about these performances is how much fun it was to improvise on the tunes we played. I’m sure there was dance.

Later I was in a house band in a bar in East Tawas. This may have been the first time I really thought about the dancing going on while I played. Since we were the house band we would see the regulars each weekend jump up and start dancing on the first song. I liked that.

So yesterday being relieved that my semester was coming to an end and playing for my last class I was thinking about how much I enjoy improvising so that people can dance whether it’s classical ballet or thinking about the many dancers I have played for and with over the years.

****************************************************************************************

Despite Bob Dole’s Wish, Republicans Reject Disabilities Treaty – NYTimes.com

Democrats make me crazy but Republicans seem to live on a different planet these days.

****************************************************************************************

China – Tibetan Monk Kills Himself in Fiery Protest – NYTimes.com

More than 90 Tibetans have set themselves on fire since 2009

****************************************************************************************

Nasrin Sotoudeh, Iranian Rights Advocate, Ends Hunger Strike – NYTimes.com

There are some brave people in the world.

****************************************************************************************

How Crash Cover-Up Altered China’s Succession – NYTimes.com

This reads like a novel.

****************************************************************************************

Henri Matisse’s Rare 1935 Etchings for James Joyce’s Ulysses | Brain Pickings

Cool or what?

****************************************************************************************

I am disappointed in this. I had hoped that the people who made this from Burgess’s play would take advantage of the aural and add the actual Beethoven music (in snippets of course) that fit each of the four sections of the story. Bah.

BBC iPlayer – Drama on 3: Napoleon Rising

****************************************************************************************

finally — apologies if you tried to click on this video yesterday and it didn’t work. I thought I had clicked the switch to make it public, but apparently I hadn’t. Thank yous (and specific apologies) to Johnny Keene for emailing me about this).

I don’t know what’s gotten into me, but I now have seven (seven!) books of poetry laying around my comfy chair. I have reading a bit in each one. Poems by Bukowski, Eliot, Mary Oliver, Louise Glück, Adrienne Rich, Ai and Raymond Carver.

Quite a crew. This morning I was struck how so many of them use narrative in their poetry: Bukowski, Carver and Ai especially. Eliot does this to some extent. Vita Nova by Louise Glück which is the book of hers I am currently reading uses mythology as a backdrop for her personal stuff.

Mary Oliver’s book Winter Hours seems to be a meditation in prose and poetry that I am finding very moving and helpful.

Examples from this morning’s reading:

A few years ago I heard a lecture about the Whitney family, especially about Gloria Vanderbilt Whitney, whose patronage established the museum of that name in New York City. The talk was given by Mrs. Whitney’s granddaughter, and she used a fine phrase when speaking of her family—of their sense of “inherited responsibility”—to do, of course, with received wealth and a sense of using it for public good. Ah! Quickly I slipped this phrase from the air and put it into my own pocket!

For it is precisely how I feel, who have inherited not measurable wealth but, as we all do who care for it, that immeasurable fund of thoughts and ideas, from writers and thinkers long gone into the ground—and, inseparable from those wisdoms because demanded by them by them, the responsibility to live thoughtfully and intelligently. To enjoy, to question—never to assume, or trample. Thus the great ones (my great ones, who may not be the same as your great ones) have taught me–to observe with passion, to think with patience, to live always care-ingly.

Here I want to say for me the “great ones” are composers and poets.

Forebears, models, spirits whose influence and teachings I am now inseparable from, and forever grateful for. I go nowhere, I arrive nowhere, without them. With them I live my life, with them I enter the event, I mold the meditation….

Oliver captures the way Bach and others linger in my day to day existence. I’m learning (relearning) a couple of Buxtehude pieces for a week from Sunday. One of them, the Jig Fugue as it is sometimes called, is one I have been playing for years.

I learned it out of the E. Power Biggs bastardized version many years ago. I had very little organ technique then but it has stayed with me all these years.

Yesterday I looked at a better version seriously. I am going to play it from a new edition (probably). At any rate, Buxtehude like Bach like T. S. Eliot and a long list of people are people to whom I am “forever grateful” in Oliver’s phrase. “I go nowhere, I arrive nowhere, without them. With  them I live my life…”

Another of these is Couperin. Here’s a little video I made yesterday of me playing a piece of his chosen at random. I do love his work.

Sorry about the sound.

****************************************************************************************

BBC iPlayer – Drama on 3: Napoleon Rising

This makes perfect sense. Burgess wrote his book in the mold of Beethoven’s third symphony which was written as a tribute to Beethoven (later disavowed when he declared himself emperor).  A radio play allows use of the music that inspired the biography. Cool.

****************************************************************************************

I have taken to reading books of poetry from the library and occasionally putting one that I find in a doc so that I can read it again.

Yesterday morning I found this one by Raymond Carver:

Happiness

So early it’s still almost dark out.
I’m near the window with coffee,
and the usual early morning stuff
that passes for thought.
When I see the boy and his friend
walking up the road
to deliver the newspaper.
They wear caps and sweaters,
and one boy has a bag over his shoulder.
They are so happy
they aren’t saying anything, these boys.
I think if they could, they would take
each other’s arm.
It’s early in the morning,
and they are doing this thing together.
They come on, slowly.
The sky is taking on light,
though the moon still hangs pale over the water.
Such beauty that for a minute
death and ambition, even love,
doesn’t enter into this.
Happiness. It comes on
unexpectedly. And goes beyond, really,
any early morning talk about it.

from Where Water Comes Together with Other Water

It captures the sense of well being that comes over me periodically. I didn’t post it yesterday because  of my own sadness. It seemed sort of out of kilter for that particular morning. But I’m gradually pulling out of that sadness so I thought I would put it up today.

I tried to take some of yesterday off.

Mondays are good days for me to coast, but this past term I have had an 8:30 AM class on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. So Monday has felt a bit relentless. Thankfully this term is almost over. I am grateful for the work (and the subsequent online access to excellent resources). So I’m not complaining too much.

I spent an hour last night with middle aged bass player. I had invited him to learn a few licks for Sunday. He doesn’t read music. He loves music though especially the Rolling Stones. While I was treadmilling yesterday I played a Rolling Stones playlist and thought of this guy.

Recently I listened to an academic type person talk about the movement of what he called the “eye” to the “aural.” For some reason he felt that we are moving into a time when we don’t use our eyes to read. He mentioned that many musicians don’t read music. He mentioned that many congregations sing their praise songs from memory or just from words on a screen. I didn’t quite get what he was trying to say.

This article which I linked recently and finally read inspired me to go back to organizing my photos on my exterior hard drive. It also seems to speak a bit to what my academic acquaintance was thinking about.

A Lament for the Photo Album – NYTimes.com

My bass player from last night doesn’t really read music.

I try to encourage people to look at music and make sense out of the picture of sound it draws. I encourage guitarists to at least follow lyrics and/or get a sense of the larger form of the piece we are playing together.

I have high hopes that my work last night with this player will enable him to perform with us on a choral anthem Sunday which uses a repetitive (and important) bass lick throughout.

In the meantime, my predilection for literacy in general brings this poem by Adrienne Rich I read this morning to my mind:

Archaic
By Adrienne Rich

Cold wit leaves me cold
this time of the world Multifoliate disorders
straiten my gait Minuets don’t become me
Been wanting to get out see the sights
but the exits are slick with people
going somewhere fast
every one with a shared past
and a mot juste And me so out of step
with my late-night staircase inspirations my
utopian slant

Still, I’m alive here
in this village drawn in a tightening noose
of ramps and cloverleafs
but the old directions I drew up
for you
are obsolete

Here’s how
to get to me
I wrote
Don’t misconstrue the distance
take along something for the road
everything might be closed
this isn’t a modern place

You arrived starving at midnight
I gave you warmed-up food
poured tumblers of brandy
put on Les Barricades Myst¿rieuses
— the only jazz in the house
We talked for hours of barricades
lesser and greater sorrows
ended up laughing in the thicksilver
birdstruck light

from Telephone Ringing in the Labyrinth: Poems 2004-2006

Les Barricades Mystériuses is a piece by François Couperin that I play and love.

****************************************************************************************

Lies! Murder! Lexicography! Dictionary! – NYTimes.com

I love words. And I love articles that mention the Oxford English Dictionary. This article led me to this blog which I bookmarked to check in the future:

harm·less drudg·ery | life inside the dictionary

I relate to the quote mentioned in the first article and which gives the blog its name:

“If you saw how dictionary editors actually went about their day, you’d quickly understand why Samuel Johnson famously defined “lexicographer” as “a harmless drudge.”

Harmless drudgery….. archaic … this is how I see myself I guess. In a good way.

****************************************************************************************

Chinese Media Partly Retreat After Reports of Court Verdict – NYTimes.com

Fascinating to follow evolving law in China. I’m interested because my daughter lives there and my son-in-law teaches law there.

****************************************************************************************

Some new books from the New York Times Sunday Book Review

‘The Graphic Canon,’ Edited by Russ Kick – NYTimes.com

‘Glittering Images,’ by Camille Paglia – NYTimes.com

‘Gaudí Pop-Ups,’ by Courtney Watson McCarthy – NYTimes.com

‘Regarding Warhol – Sixty Artists, Fifty Years’ – NYTimes.com

****************************************************************************************

Q. and A.: Joe Queenan on Books Classic, Trashy and Otherwise – NYTimes.com

I’m always interested when a reader mentions a bunch of books.

Pete Townshend – By the Book – NYTimes.com

Whether they’re famous or not.

****************************************************************************************

100 Notable Books of 2012 – NYTimes.com

This is how my bookmarks on Digo appear. The list below the link represents titles I have either read or would like to read in the list.

****************************************************************************************

“Better Be Ready” is in the “work song” style of African American Spirituals. It also utilizes “call and response” which is an important contribution to subsequent American music.

Recently after a church service a woman came up to compliment the use of the day’s opening hymn. She said that she did not care for the African American Spirituals we had used that day but did appreciate the classic hymn we used for the procession.

I thanked her but pointed out what an important part of American heritage the spirituals were. That they were something to treasure whether we “liked” them or not. The whole thing left me feeling slightly soiled.

I admit that I was in a sort of bad mood when she approached me. But still. Yuck.

My personal feeling is that the American history of enslaving people and then the absorption of these people into our cultures and  histories is both a tragedy and a source of national identity and heritage.

I mean specifically the great works that draw on this mix of Europe and Africa and other places. I of course see the sorrow songs that are called spirituals as a deep source of authenticity and Americanism. Out of the evil of one human being owning another come these cries of the heart filled with beauty and wisdom.

And then there is Blues and Jazz both towering contributions to human culture.

Not to mention that the popular culture and music of the 20th (21st) century is informed by these three contributions: Spirituals, Blues and Jazz.

It takes my breath away when I think I am in the presence of blindness to the beauty and importance of these and other human contributions.

Maybe I’m just grumpy.

***************************************************************************************

A Health Insurance Detective Story – NYTimes.com

if a seasoned personal-finance journalist can’t get a straight answer to a simple question, what chance do most people have of picking the right health insurance option?

****************************************************************************************

Nun Brings Music and Strong Message to Her Ministry – NYTimes.com

I don’t know this music but this is a very inspiring story to me.

****************************************************************************************

A Triumph of the Comic-Book Novel by Gabriel Winslow-Yost | The New York Review of Books

Review of book I am reading.

****************************************************************************************

A Lament for the Photo Album – NYTimes.com

Bookmarked to read.

****************************************************************************************

We saw off my daughters at the airport yesterday.

Parting is difficult, especially for my daughter Sarah who feels homesick quite a lot in England.  They managed to arrange the first leg of their journeys together and flew from Grand Rapids to O’Hare.

They texted and emailed a couple photos they took on the way.

Sarah just put up on Facebook that she is home.

While we were waiting for their plane, I succumbed and started 3 Word with Friends games (fake scrabble on Facebook) with Sarah’s significant other, Matthew, Elizabeth and Eileen.

This seems to be the primary way I will keep in touch with Matthew since he is shy of web camming and emailing and snail mailing and phone calling. What the heck. You take people where you find them.

He is excellent at Scrabble, also passionate and highly competitive.

I came home from the airport yesterday and managed to get some organ practice in. This is more fun than it has been since the organ guy came and tuned the organ and repaired some ciphers (sticking pipes).

****************************************************************************************

The Real Thomas Jefferson – NYTimes.com

I find it so annoying when people reassess historical figures using contemporary understandings and failing to make the leap of imagination about what it was like to be alive then. Certainly Jefferson had feet of clay, like all human beings. But his contribution is important regardless and is not negated by the fact that he failed to understand the evils of slavery and racism in his time like practically every other white person in America.

****************************************************************************************

On Religion – Andy Statman’s Search for God in Music – NYTimes.com

Will definitely be spotifying some of these musicians.

****************************************************************************************

Syria internet access restored after two-day blackout | World news | guardian.co.uk

I guess the rebels were wrong about the government blackout of internet being the first step in the final push to get rid of them?

****************************************************************************************

I had lunch with my friend Rhonda and the Hope Chapel Dean, Trygve Johnson. Rhonda arranged this so that we could meet him and talk about him doing an AGO meeting.

He looks a bit like Jason Jones (Semantha Bee’s husband).

I don’t think I was able to make sense to him when we conversed.

Rhonda said that sometime my connections from idea to idea can be difficult for people to follow.

Also that I talk a lot.

All true, I’m sure.

We watched “The Story of Mankind” last night. It was fascinatingly bad.

Three Marx brothers were in it.

Dennis Hopper was Napoleon.

Vincent Price was “Mr. Scratch.”

The movie was in color. Elizabeth googled it and it turns out to have been the Marx brothers last screen foray.

who knew?

****************************************************************************************

India to Revise Enforcement of Internet Law – NYTimes.com

Internet and Main Airport Shut Down in Syria – NYTimes.com

Internet stories.

****************************************************************************************

Cultivating Vultures to Restore a Mumbai Ritual – NYTimes.com

Vulture numbers are diminishing due in part to the fact people who are dying are using a tylenol like drug for pain which then harms the vultures when they eat them. I love this practice of having vultures destroy human corpses.

****************************************************************************************

60-Million-Year Debate on Grand Canyon’s Age – NYTimes.com

Geology in the news.

****************************************************************************************

Mickey Baker, Guitarist Whose Riffs Echo Today, Dies at 87 – NYTimes.com

***************************************************************************************

Rules for Targeted Killing – NYTimes.com

Drone rules. May it happen.

***************************************************************************************

Class Wars of 2012 – NYTimes.com

we are not all in this together; America’s top-down class warriors lost big in the election, but now they’re trying to use the pretense of concern about the deficit to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat.

***************************************************************************************

 The No. 10 Dashboard and Cybernetics – NYTimes.com

***************************************************************************************

‘I am bitterly, bitterly disappointed’: retired naval officer’s email to children in full – Telegraph

My U.K. daughter completely missed this.

****************************************************************************************

No Justice at Guantánamo – NYTimes.com

letter from DONALD J. GUTER, a retired Navy rear admiral, is president and dean of the South Texas College of Law.

****************************************************************************************