Five musicians you can see and at least ten more that are forever invisible.
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Stone-cutters fighting time with marble, you foredefeated
Challengers of oblivion
Eat cynical earnings, knowing rock splits, records fall down,
The square-limbed Roman letters
Scale in the thaws, wear in the rain. The poet as well
Builds his monument mockingly;
For man will be blotted out, the blithe earth die, the brave sun
Die blind and blacken to the heart:
Yet stones have stood for a thousand years, and pained
thoughts found
The honey of peace in old poems.
— Robinson Jeffers
His soul stretched tight across the skies
That fade behind a city block,
Or trampled by insistent feet
At four and five and six o’clock;
And short square fingers stuffing pipes,
And evening newspapers, and eyes
Assured of certain certainties,
The conscience of a blackened street
Impatient to assume the world.
I am moved by fancies that are curled
Around these images, and cling:
The notion of some infinitely gentle
Infinitely suffering thing.
Wipe your hand across your mouth, and laugh;
The worlds revolve like ancient women
Gathering fuel in vacant lots.
— Eliot
I CELEBRATE myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.
I loafe and invite my soul,
I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.
My tongue, every atom of my blood, form’d from this soil, this
air,
Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their
parents the same,
I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin,
Hoping to cease not till death.
— Walt Whitman
The scientists are in terror
and the European mind stops
Wyndham Lewis chose blindness
rather than have his mind stop.
Night under wind mid garofani,
the petals are almost still
Mozart, Linnaeus, Sulmona,
When one’s friends hate each other
how can there be peace in the world?
Their asperities diverted me in my green time.
A blown husk that is finished
but the light sings eternal
a pale flare over marshes
where the salt hay whispers to tide’s change
Time, space,
neither life nor death is the answer.
And of man seeking good,
doing evil.
In meiner Heimat
where the dead walked
and the living were made of cardboard.
Gerard Van der Leun
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Thanks for this. I’ve had all I can take of what the sites I check are noting. It’s awful out there, which is why I wind up here.
I saw the Paul Winter Consort in 1991(?). They were playing in Paoli PA. At a high school It was a bit of magic.
Gawd how I love my Klipsch… Thanks Gerard!
Saw the Paul Winter Consort in the 90’s at Fountain St Church in Grand Rapids MI, a gorgeous large classic structure, almost cathedral-like. During a pause Paul wandered in darkness all the way around to the balcony facing the chancel. Like I said, a large church.
As his part resumed that ghostly, tremelo-less clarinet wafted up seeming from nowhere, yards and yards from the stage, from the end of the knave. Then the light came up and there he was.
Icarus was sort of a theme song of the more connected, optimistic, less divided times of 40 years ago. Oregon’s version became the classic and Towner’s added more virtuosity. Burton played it on the vibes.
We can’t make music like that anymore – progressivism has bred evil and traditional America has cartooned itself so badly it’s unrecognizable. Both wail pretense and narcissism. That and the song are heartbreaking in retrospect.
https://youtu.be/jb_DdOygfmk
https://youtu.be/38k2W5UFyjM
https://youtu.be/Cw13k3TIDF4