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Tag: W.S. Graham

Wednesday, January 15th

sounds of Algeria, France, and the United States

Mohamed Lamouri, “Billie Jean” (M. Jackson), live, Paris, 2015

 

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lagniappe

random sights

yesterday, Oak Park, Ill.

Tuesday, January 14th

what’s new

One-word review: Wow!

Fay Victor (vocals), Baba Israel (vocals), Marc Ribot (guitar), Ingrid Laubrock (tenor saxophone), Kris Davis (piano), live (Celebration of the Life of Steve Dalachinsky), New York (Winter Jazz Fest), 1/11/19

 

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lagniappe

random sights

other day, Chicago

*****

reading table

I speak across the vast
Dialogues in which we go
To clench my words against
Time or the lack of time
Hoping that for a moment
They will become for me
A place I can think in
And think anything in,
An aside from the monstrous.

***

This is no other place
Than where I am, between
This word and the next.

—W. S. Graham (1918-1986), from “The Dark Dialogues”

Thursday, September 19th

sounds of New York
day four

Nicolas Jaar (1990-, DJ), live, New York, 2013

 

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lagniappe

reading table

What is the language using us for?

—W. S. Graham (1918-1986), from the poem so titled

Monday, September 16th

sounds of New York
day one

Jason Kao Hwang Human Rites Trio (JKH, compositions, violin, viola; Ken Filiano, bass; Andrew Drury, drums), live, New York, 7/16/19

 

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lagniappe

reading table

Today is very nothing like / Any other day that once soared / In this place.

—W.S. Graham (1918-1986), from “The Don Brown Route”

Tuesday, July 16th

He played as if his life depended on it.

Glenn Gould (1932-1982, piano), playing Bach’s Partita No. 2 in C minor (The Art of Piano, 1999)

 

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lagniappe

reading table

Happiness has never been one of my great aspirations.

—poet W.S. Graham (1918-1986, quoted in London Review of Books, 7/18/19)

Saturday, December 1st

what’s new

David Leon (alto saxophone, compositions) & Ingrid Laubrock (tenor saxophone), live, New York, 11/29/18

 

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lagniappe

reading table

The Constructed Space
by W. S. Graham (1918-1986)

Meanwhile surely there must be something to say,
Maybe not suitable but at least happy
In a sense here between us two whoever
We are. Anyhow here we are and never
Before have we two faced each other who face
Each other now across this abstract scene
Stretching between us. This is a public place
Achieved against subjective odds and then
Mainly an obstacle to what I mean.

It is like that, remember. It is like that
Very often at the beginning till we are met
By some intention risen up out of nothing.
And even then we know what we are saying
Only when it is said and fixed and dead.
Or maybe, surely, of course we never know
What we have said, what lonely meanings are read
Into the space we make. And yet I say
This silence here for in it I might hear you.

I say this silence or, better, construct this space
So that somehow something may move across
The caught habits of language to you and me.
From where we are it is not us we see
And times are hastening yet, disguise is mortal.
The times continually disclose our home.
Here in the present tense disguise is mortal.
The trying times are hastening. Yet here I am
More truly now this abstract act become.

Saturday, February 24th

two takes

“Things Have Changed” (B. Dylan)

Bob Dylan, live

 

*****

Bettye LaVette, 2018

 

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lagniappe

reading table

An Entertainment for W.S. Graham for Him
Having Reached Sixty-Five
by W.S. Graham (1918-1986)

What are you going to do
With what is left of yourself
Now among the rustling
Of your maybe best years?
This is not an auto-elegy
With me pouring my heart
Out into where you
Differently stand or sit
On the Epidaurus steps.
What shall I say to myself
Having put myself down
On to a public page?

Where am I going now?
And where are you going
Tricked into reading
Words of my later life?
Let me pretend you are
Roughly of my age.
Are you a boy or a girl?
And what has happened to you?

Look at the chirping various
Leaves of Mr Graham’s
Spanking summer. Where are
You at? I know my face
Has changed. My hair has blanched
Into a wrong disguise
Sitting on top of my head.

Beside each other perched
On the Epidaurus steps.
Where am I going to go?
Shall I rise to follow
The thin sound of the goats
Tinkling their bells?

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