sounds of New York
Right now, in the midst of a noisy criminal trial, nothing seems more appealing than something peaceful, something quiet.
Jürg Frey (1953-), Extended Circular Music No. 7; Singularity, live, New York, 2018
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lagniappe
reading table
I don’t know anything about consciousness. I just try to teach my students how to hear the birds sing.
James Carr (1942-2001), “The Dark End of the Street” (D. Penn, C. Moman), 1967
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Counting the Mad
by Donald Justice (1925-2004)
This one was put in a jacket,
This one was sent home,
This one was given bread and meat
But would eat none,
And this one cried No No No No
All day long.
This one looked at the window
As though it were a wall,
This one saw things that were not there,
This one things that were,
And this one cried No No No No
All day long.
This one thought himself a bird,
This one a dog,
And this one thought himself a man,
An ordinary man,
And cried and cried No No No No
All day long.
basement jukebox
James Carr (1942-2001), “To Love Somebody” (B. Gibb, R. Gibb), 1969
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lagniappe
reading table
Variations on a Text by Vallejo
by Donald Justice (1925-2004)
Me moriré en Paris con aguacero …
I will die in Miami in the sun,
On a day when the sun is very bright,
A day like the days I remember, a day like other days,
A day that nobody knows or remembers yet,
And the sun will be bright then on the dark glasses of strangers
And in the eyes of a few friends from my childhood
And of the surviving cousins by the graveside,
While the diggers, standing apart, in the still shade of the palms,
Rest on their shovels, and smoke,
Speaking in Spanish softly, out of respect.
I think it will be on a Sunday like today,
Except that the sun will be out, the rain will have stopped,
And the wind that today made all the little shrubs kneel down;
And I think it will be a Sunday because today,
When I took out this paper and began to write,
Never before had anything looked so blank,
My life, these words, the paper, the gray Sunday;
And my dog, quivering under a table because of the storm,
Looked up at me, not understanding,
And my son read on without speaking, and my wife slept.
Donald Justice is dead. One Sunday the sun came out,
It shone on the bay, it shone on the white buildings,
The cars moved down the street slowly as always, so many,
Some with their headlights on in spite of the sun,
And after awhile the diggers with their shovels
Walked back to the graveside through the sunlight,
And one of them put his blade into the earth
To lift a few clods of dirt, the black marl of Miami,
And scattered the dirt, and spat,
Turning away abruptly, out of respect.
sounds of England
Four Tet (AKA Kieran Hebden), BBC Radio 1 Essential Mix, 3/17/18
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reading table
there’s no shame
that you totter . . .
old chrysanthemum—Kobayashi Issa, 1763-1827 (translated from Japanese by David G. Lanoue)
sounds of Chicago
Jackie (AKA Jacqui) Verdell (1937-1991), “Too Close to Heaven” (following remarks by Jesse Jackson), live, Chicago, 1972
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lagniappe
random sights
other day, Chicago (Columbus Park)
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frosty night—
seven poor men
in a huddle—Kobayashi Issa, 1763-1827 (translated from Japanese by David G. Lanoue)
more
Laurie Anderson (with Bill Laswell [bass], Colin Stetson [bass saxophone], et al.), “Only An Expert” (L. Anderson), live (TV show), 2010
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A career in vestige management.
A dream job
back-engineering
shifts in salience.I’m so far
behind the curve
on this.So. Cal.
must connect with
so-calledto manufacture
the present.Ubiquity’s
the new in-jokebar-code hard-on,
a catch-phrase
in every segment.—Rae Armantrout (1947-), from “Manufacturing”
No one fired up this pianist—one of the most influential in the history of jazz—like this drummer.
Bill Evans Trio (BE [1929-1980], piano; Philly Joe Jones [1923-1985], drums; Marc Johnson [1953-], bass), “Nardis” (M. Davis), live, Italy (Umbria), 1978
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How many poems have gotten so much attention with so few words?
so much depends
upona red wheel
barrowglazed with rain
waterbeside the white
chickens—William Carlos Williams (1883-1963), “The Red Wheelbarrow”
basement jukebox
Johnny Burnette Trio, “The Train Kept A-Rollin,'” 1956
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distant sight—
in withered fields
a little house’s lamp—Kobayashi Issa, 1763-1827 (translated from Japanese by David G. Lanoue)
what’s new
More from this new album.
Joe Lovano (tenor saxophone, percussion), “One Time In,” published 2/11/19 (Trio Tapestry with Marilyn Crispell [piano], Carmen Castaldi [drums], 2019)
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Emily Dickinson, writing to her cousins (Louise and Frances Norcross) after the death of their father, closes with this (letter #278, poem #528 [Franklin], 1863):
Let Emily sing for you because she cannot pray.
‘Tis not that Dying hurts us so –
‘Tis Living – hurts us more –
But Dying – is a different way –
A kind behind the Door –The Southern Custom – of the Bird –
That ere the Frosts are due –
Accepts a better Latitude –
We – are the Birds – that stay.The Shiverers round Farmer’s doors –
For whose reluctant Crumb –
We stipulate – till pitying Snows
Persuade our Feathers Home
timeless
Soul Stirrers (feat. Sam Cooke, Paul Foster), live, Los Angeles, 1955
“I Have a Friend Above All Others,” “Be With Me Jesus”
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“Nearer My God to Thee”
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lagniappe
random sights
this morning, Oak Park, Ill.
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I am alive – I guess –
—Emily Dickinson (1830-1886), from 605 (Franklin)
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(Taking a break—back in a while.)
