On one stave, for a small instrument, the man writes a whole world of the deepest thoughts and most powerful feelings. If I imagined that I could have created, even conceived the piece, I am quite certain that the excess of excitement and earth-shattering experience would have driven me out of my mind.
—Johannes Brahms (1833-1897), on Bach’s Chaconne, in a letter to Clara Schumann (translated from German)
Johann Sebastian Bach (1685-1750), Cello Suite No. 5 in C minor; Hidemi Suzuki (cello), live, Netherlands (Amsterdam), 2017
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lagniappe
radio
One of my favorite musical events begins today: the annual Bach Festival on WKCR-FM (Columbia University), where it’ll be all Bach, all the time, until midnight New Year’s Eve.
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musical thoughts
It may well be that some composers do not believe in God. All of them, however, believe in Bach.
Johann Sebastian Bach (1685-1750), Chaconne (Partita No. 2 in D Minor); Ivry Gitlis (violin), live, Tokyo, 1990
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lagniappe
reading table
Try to Praise the Mutilated World
by Adam Zagajewski (1945-)
(translated from Polish by Clare Cavanagh)
Try to praise the mutilated world.
Remember June’s long days,
and wild strawberries, drops of rosé wine.
The nettles that methodically overgrow
the abandoned homesteads of exiles.
You must praise the mutilated world.
You watched the stylish yachts and ships;
one of them had a long trip ahead of it,
while salty oblivion awaited others.
You’ve seen the refugees going nowhere,
you’ve heard the executioners sing joyfully.
You should praise the mutilated world.
Remember the moments when we were together
in a white room and the curtain fluttered.
Return in thought to the concert where music flared.
You gathered acorns in the park in autumn
and leaves eddied over the earth’s scars.
Praise the mutilated world
and the gray feather a thrush lost,
and the gentle light that strays and vanishes
and returns.