Sometimes a simple melody can be more than enough.
Frank Lacy and 10³²K (FL, trombone; Kevin Ray, bass; Andrew Drury, percussion), “I’ll Be Right Here Waiting” (S. McCall), live, Troy, N.Y., 2016
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lagniappe
reading table
from the mist
stinging insects
emerge—Kobayashi Issa, 1763-1827 (translated from Japanese by David G. Lanoue)
It was, I recall, a cloudless morning in Chicago, as it was in New York. I had a hearing scheduled in federal court, but then, after the second plane hit, court was cancelled. We sat in front of the TV, unable to turn away.
William Basinski, “Disintegration Loop 1.1,” 2001
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lagniappe
reading table
Photograph from September 11
by Wislawa Szymborska (1923-2012; MCOTD Hall of Fame), translated from Polish by Clare Cavanagh and Stanislaw BaranczakThey jumped from the burning floors—
one, two, a few more,
higher, lower.The photograph halted them in life,
and now keeps them
above the earth toward the earth.Each is still complete,
with a particular face
and blood well hidden.There’s enough time
for hair to come loose,
for keys and coins
to fall from pockets.They’re still within the air’s reach,
within the compass of places
that have just opened.I can do only two things for them—
describe this flight
and not add a last line.
Aretha testifies
Live, Detroit (New Bethel Church), 1987
Need a break from listening to yourself?
Kaija Saariaho (1952-), Nocturne for solo violin (1994)
Alexi Kenney (violin), live, New York, 2016
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John Ashbery (July 28, 1927-September, 3, 2017)
Whatever we’re dealing with catches us
in mid-reconsideration. It’s beautiful,
my lord, just not made to be repeated,
that’s all.***
It was a moment, what can I say.
—John Ashbery (1927-), “A Breakfast Radish,” “Domani, Dopodomani” (fragments), Breezeway (2015)
summer in the city
Blink-182, live, Chicago, 8/4/17
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John Ashbery (July 28, 1927-September, 3, 2017)
How little we know,
and when we know it!*****
We close in on ourselves,
then yelp that the world is awry.*****
We had macaroni for lunch every day
except Sunday, when a small quail was induced
to be served to us. Why do I tell you these things?
You are not even here.—”Like A Sentence,” “Tahiti Trot,” “This Room” (fragments)
another take
Morton Feldman (1927-1986; MCOTD Hall of Fame), Rothko Chapel (1971); Markus Creed (cond.), SWR Vokalensemble (Vocal Ensemble), et al., live, Germany (Cathedral of Speyer, Schwetzinger), 2017
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art beat: yesterday, Art Institute of Chicago
Paul Gauguin (1848-1903), Cup Decorated with the Figure of a Bathing Girl, 1887-88 (Gauguin: Artist as Alchemist, through September 10th)
*****
reading table
John Ashbery (July 28, 1927-September, 3, 2017)
What will it all be like in five years’ time
when you try to remember?—”For John Clare” (fragment)
one of the most absorbing pieces I know
Morton Feldman (1927-1986; MCOTD Hall of Fame), Rothko Chapel (1971); Ensemble Intercontemporain, live, Paris, 2017
(Rothko Chapel, located in Houston, reportedly was not damaged by Harvey.)
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John Ashbery (July 28, 1927-September, 3, 2017)
. . . as though wondering
whether forgetting
The whole thing might not, in the end, be the only solution.—Soonest Mended (fragment)
*****
random sights
yesterday, Chicago (Columbus Park)
soundtrack to a dream
John Luther Adams (1953-), The Light Within (2007); Faculty & Fellows, Bang on a Can Summer Music Festival at the Massachusetts Museum of Contemporary Art, North Adams, Mass., 2016
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John Ashbery (July 28, 1927-September, 3, 2017)
The bad news is the ship hasn’t arrived;
the good news is it hasn’t left yet.—He Who Loves And Runs Away (fragment; Planisphere, 2009)
*****
random sights
this morning, Chicago (Columbus Park)
sounds of Amsterdam
Michael Vatcher, percussion (Angels’ Share, sculpture exhibition, Herbert Nouens; Westerpark, Sculpture Park), 2014
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lagniappe
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John Ashbery, July 28, 1927-September, 3, 2017
Alcove (Planisphere, 2009)
Is it possible that spring could be
once more approaching? We forget each time
what a mindless business it is, porous like sleep,
adrift on the horizon, refusing to take sides, “mugwump
of the final hour,” lest an agenda—horrors!—be imputed to it,
and the whole point of its being spring collapse
like a hole dug in sand. It’s breathy, though,
you have to say that for it.And should further seasons coagulate
into years, like spilled, dried paint, why,
who’s to say we weren’t provident? We indeed
looked out for others as though they mattered, and they,
catching the spirit, came home with us, spent the night
in an alcove from which their breathing could be heard clearly.
But it’s not over yet. Terrible incidents happen
daily. That’s how we get around obstacles.
old school
Bessemer Sunset Four, “Lord I’m Troubled” (1928-30)
