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Tag: Wallace Stevens

Thursday, July 28th

percussion festival
day four

Augusta Read Thomas (1964-), Resounding Earth (2012)
Third Coast Percussion, live

#1


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#2


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#3


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#4


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lagniappe

reading table

In my room, the world is beyond my understanding;/ But when I walk I see that it consists of three or four/ hills and a cloud.

—Wallace Stevens (1879-1955), from “Of the Surface of Things”

Thursday, December 26th

what’s new

Julianna Barwick, live (studio performance), Seattle, 11/22/13

“Look Into Your Own Mind”


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“Crystal Lake”


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lagniappe

reading table

The Snow Man
by Wallace Stevens (1879-1955)

One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;

And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter

Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,

Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place

For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.

*****

Stevens’s poems force us, as great poems always do, to live in the occasion of their language—not simply to extract a ‘meaning’ from the language. The point is not so much to understand the poems (for when we understand something, we don’t need it anymore, and we don’t read it again); the point is to inhabit the poems. By doing so, we recognize that our humanity is not constituted by our ‘mastery’ of something. It is constituted by our willingness to humble ourselves to the ‘mystery’ of something.

James Longenbach

Thursday, February 28th

serendipity

Something I just bumped into.

Trio WAZ (Ed Wilkerson, tenor saxophone; Tatsu Aoki, bass; Michael Zerang, drums), live, Michigan (Lakeside, concert presented by Portoluz), 2010


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lagniappe

musical thoughts

Color.

Texture.

Density.

Sometimes they’re more important than melody, or harmony, or rhythm.

*****

reading table

“The Snow Man”
by Wallace Stevens (1879-1955)

One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;

And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter

Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,

Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place

For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.

Monday, January 28th

old school

Lee Fields & The Expressions, “Faithful Man,” 2012

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lagniappe

reading table

[W]e live in a place/That is not our own and, much more, not ourselves.

—Wallace Stevens (1879-1955), “Notes Toward a Supreme Fiction”

Saturday, 8/6/11

sounds of India
(an occasional series)

All knotted up?

You’ve come to the right place.

Nikhil Banerjee (1931-1986), sitar
Live, Raag Malkauns (excerpt)

Vodpod videos no longer available.

The best way to listen to this?

Here’s what I suggest: somewhere out of the way, headphones, eyes closed.

At the end you’ll be a different person than you were at the beginning.

(That’s a good thing, right?)

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More? Here. And here. And here.

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lagniappe

reading table

The house was quiet and the world was calm.
The reader became the book; and summer night

Was like the conscious being of the book.
The house was quiet and the world was calm.

The words were spoken as if there was no book,
Except that the reader leaned above the page,

Wanted to lean, wanted much to be
The scholar to whom his book is true, to whom

The summer night is like a perfection of thought.
The house was quiet because it had to be.

The quiet was part of the meaning, part of the mind:
The access of perfection to the page.

And the world was calm. The truth in a calm world,
In which there is no other meaning, itself

Is calm, itself is summer and night, itself
Is the reader leaning late and reading there.

—Wallace Stevens, “The House Was Quiet and the World Was Calm”

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