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Month: September 2011

Live, From New York!

Live, From New York!

Well, not quite. But we do have an expressive report from Robert Mueller regarding his evening on the town and a concert performance of New York musicians/composers. As George Spencer mentions in the comments, Robert seems to sync his prose meter (quite naturally) with the music he heard — without stretching the metaphor.

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 On a different note: Brian O’Nolan, otherwise known as Flann O’Brien, was born a century ago as of October 5th of this year. The author of The Third Policeman and At Swim-Two-Birds is one of my all-time favorites, and deserving of quite a big ruckus on his centennial. An excerpt from an article on the subject by Mark O’Connell, from The New Yorker:

 

September 23, 2011

The Flann O’Brien Centenary

Flann O'Brien
Flann O’Brien

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October 5th will mark the hundredth anniversary of the birth of one of the great comic geniuses, and one of the most inspired literary

Click to continue . . .
The Springtime of the Gods

The Springtime of the Gods

Funeral of Shelley, by Louis Édouard Fournier. 1889
Funeral of Shelley, by Louis Édouard Fournier. 1889

 

The Death of Shelley

 

The death of Shelley
Fell like the proverbial star
Like the star that shot
Across the womb

Of the world
For three nights
— Three nights without
A crescent moon to fear

As humans once feared
The rebirth of kings

When god died once more
That hue was already
Outmoded

And it would be outmoded again
With Janis and Jimi and Morrison’s

Hotel

We’re too weary of cults
To start another

We’re too jaded
To feel the stab of prophetic youth

Of potential unmet
Of genius flamed out

Like the proverbial rocket
Across the heavens
One too many
Times

Our gods should be young
But we seek the old
The comfortably simple
The Yahwehist hell and brimstone

 

— The world is hopeless
Because it struggles
To outlast its potential
Its spark of genius

Its first and only spring

 

 

— by Douglas Pinson

 

Between the Notes

Between the Notes

Bang on the Chasm

 

by Robert Mueller

 

 

I am wondering about new jazz and new art music, and separating them entirely for the convenience of entertaining these thoughts. I am thinking about consorting with a difference even though what I have to say about one has to be true of the other (again assuming for the purpose that they are separate). Specifically as a matter of degree I want to distinguish new jazz as a living production that arrives currently, spontaneously in the club or spontaneously also at a jam session or recording session, from the same scenario for new art music, which comes to us as a product, or object, that, when it arrives, may arrive in a public performance, but not currently. Rather, there is a delay, for reflection to take place, and even if it were to take place in the few moments after the performance has ended (that is, right then and there), it nevertheless arrives Click to continue . . .

The Journey to Indwell

The Journey to Indwell

Lunar Eclipse. Photo by Oliver Stein.

 

The Blessing

 

Take me across
Thy bullet

Time

Take me across and then back again
To say Yes as Nietzsche said yes
To feel Yes as others dive and run

And shake life like a tree
The messiah inside us all
No other

No other exists

But our own hidden cancer
Our own hourglass

One’s own bargain with the sands
On the shore we tread on surging horseback
Or gingerly
Like a frightened

Quivering reed

Say Yes to it all once again
The pain coursing through

the blood the bones

The unbounded loss of lovers and friends
The unguided descent into hells too deep
To recover

The unquiet questioning of purpose
And ruse

Of endless games we play
Shouting excuses for the main
For the main errors

For the shock of what we did
For the flaws within our subtle
All too subtle

Gift to the gods of delusion . . .… Click to continue . . .