A Word Child

Woven Hand.

2011-07-20T22:51:00.002+02:00

Favourite poems pt.11

2011-02-01T22:38:00.002+01:00

Emily Dickinson - Hope is the Thing with Feathers
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land
And on the strangest sea;
Yet never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

Simian

2011-01-13T14:02:00.004+01:00

Many, many years ago, when MTV still played music videos, there was a show called MTV:New presented by a blonde scandinavian guy called Lars or something like that. It was through that show that I discovered many a good band, the most important of them is Simian. Back in 2001 I saw the video for One Dimension and completely fell in love. Later that year I managed to see them live in Amsterdam (Crossing Border festival) and it was seriously the best thing I'd ever heard/seen. They are still the best live band I've ever had the fortune of watching, my favourite gig was at the 2002 edition of London Calling, again in Amsterdam. I think I probably forced Simian on almost all of my friends, and I don't remember a single person disliking them!

Nowadays, many people are aware of Simian Mobile Disco, but don't know that they were once a band (although the Mobile Disco is obviously two people and there were four in Simian). And even when they do know they were a band, this is usually because of their last album, We Are Your Friends and the songs "La Breeze" and "Never Be Alone". I love that album and those songs, they are wonderful, but nothing compared to their earlier stuff. Simian started out as more of an electro-folk outfit, making incredibly beautiful, small, heartwarming/breaking songs. Here are some of my favourites:

The Wisp

Round and Around

Turn Around

Over the Hills

Reasons

young person's guide to classical music

2011-01-04T00:15:00.003+01:00

For a while I'd been toying with the idea of making a blog dedicated solely to classical music. I find the internet (and other media) to really be lacking in places for young people who love classical music to go. There aren't many blogs about classical music that I find particularely inspiring (although I love John Adams' blog so much, and The Rest is Noise will always be one of my favourite websites) and very few that talk about classical music specifically from the viewpoint of someone young (and by young I mean under 35). And I decided that instead of complaining about it I should just try to contribute something. So here is my new blog: A Young Person's Guide to Classical Music. There's two posts on there that I wrote today, and I will try to post every monday (and as always, feedback is appreciated).

I will still continue to post in this blog though, don't worry!

The Sorrows of Young Werther

2010-12-28T20:07:00.002+01:00

There's a lot of books that I love. Usually when someone asks me for my absolute favourite I go for The Name of the Rose by Umberto Eco, because it sort of has everything I love (well-written, nerdy, murder mystery, crazy-ass church things, mentions of Abelard etc), but that's not the book I want to talk about today. I was thinking about how all art forms can make the world a more beautiful place, and there are certainly some books that have done this for me. One of the first books that really wowed me because of the beauty of language is Goethe's The Sorrows of Young Werther (Die Leiden des jungen Werther).

The book is a series of letters that Werther sends to his friend Wilhelm, he mainly talks about the village he is staying at and about the girl he falls in love with, Lotte. And really, nothing much happens in the book at all but you don't even notice, because Goethe was such an extraordinary writer. You get dragged into the story and into the emotions and the love, and for me the book was nearly impossible to put down. The language is very colourful and I know there will be plenty of people who find it overly flamboyant but well, that just sucks for them.

I know that the book promted copycat suicides (Werther effect anyone?) and the story is incredibly sad, Werther is a miserable young man, but still, I find the book to be of almost unparalleled beauty. Here are some passages that I love (difficult to pick any, every page is quotable!):

In other respects I am very well off here. Solitude in this terrestrial paradise is a genial balm to my mind, and the young spring cheers with its bounteous promises my oftentimes misgiving heart. Every tree, every bush, is full of flowers; and one might wish himself transformed into a butterfly, to float about in this ocean of perfume, and find his whole existence in it.

[...]

In vain do I stretch out my arms toward her when I awaken in the morning from my weary slumbers. In vain do I seek for her at night in my bed, when some innocent dream has happily deceived me, and placed her near me in the fields, when I have seized her hand and covered it with countless kisses. And when I feel for her in the half confusion of sleep, with the happy sense that she is near, tears flow from my oppressed heart; and, bereft of all comfort, I weep over my future woes.

[...]

Oh, the brilliant wretchedness, the weariness, that one is doomed to witness among the silly people whom we meet in society here! The ambition of rank! How they watch, how they toil, to gain precedence! What poor and contemptible passions are displayed in their utter nakedness! We have a woman here, for example, who never ceases to entertain the company with accounts of her family and her estates. Any stranger would consider her a silly being, whose head was turned by her pretensions to rank and property; but she is in reality even more ridiculous, the daughter of a mere magistrate's clerk from this neighbourhood. I cannot understand how human beings can so debase themselves.

[...]

I turned my sorrowful eyes toward a favourite spot, where I was accustomed to sit with Charlotte beneath a willow after a fatiguing walk. Alas! it was covered with water, and with difficulty I found even the meadow. And the fields around the hunting-lodge, thought I. Has our dear bower been destroyed by this unpitying storm? And a beam of past happiness streamed upon me, as the mind of a captive is illumined by dreams of flocks and herds and bygone joys of home! But I am free from blame. I have courage to die! Perhaps I have,—but I still sit here, like a wretched pauper, who collects fagots, and begs her bread from door to door, that she may prolong for a few days a miserable existence which she is unwilling to resign.

If you're interested in reading it, you can actually find it online at the Project Gutenburg here.

Favourite poems pt.10

2010-12-24T21:12:00.002+01:00

Anna Ackmatova - To Many
(translation by Sergei Roy)
I am your voice, through me your temper rings,
And I am a reflection of your face.
In vain, the futile flutterings of your wings,
For I will stay with you in any case.

That is the reason you love me so greedily
Me in my feebleness and in my sins,
And that was why you gladly gave to me
The fairest and the finest of your sons.
And that was why in all these endless days
You never asked me where he was; instead
You filled with acrid fumes of empty praise
My house from which its heart and soul had fled.
You plead now: none could be as close to me,
No other love could be as misbegotten...

The way a shadow would from substance flee,
The way the soul aspires the flesh to leave -
That's how, these days, I want to be forgotten.

Music in 2010.

2010-12-18T22:51:00.020+01:00

Sorry it has been so long since my last entry, but I am actually working on something that's taking up more time than I figured (but I promise it'll appear on here soon!). But, in the meantime, I thought that it might be a good time to post some end-of-the-year lists, musically related ones that is. Although I don't think I will surprise anyone.

FAVOURITE ALBUMS

1. Black Rebel Motorcycle Club - Beat the Devil's Tattoo
What a surprise! I really don't think I need to explain just how much I love this band, but I will say that I don't understand why this album doesn't appear in any end of the year lists (then again, I don't think I've ever agreed with any end-of-year lists by music journalists), because it really is a FANTASTIC album. I think it's their best, and that's saying something. It has some of my absolute favourite songs of the year and only one song I don't particularely like (Bad Blood just bores me), it's nice and loud (sorry neighbours) and just so good. Words always fail me when talking about this band. Favourite song: "Half State" is pretty EPIC.

2. Wovenhand - The Threshingfloor
I will never love Wovenhand as much as I love 16 Horsepower. Really, I won't, probably because Wovenhand are just a bit more polished. But this album is wonderful, it's bleak, gloomy but strangely reassuring and warm. Nobody does creepy-and-depressing-yet-comforting as well as David Eugene Edwards, that's for sure.
Favourite song: "The Threshingfloor"

"The Threshingfloor"

3. Foals - Total Life Forever
I love Foals. I find them exciting and inspiring and intriguing and they just make me want to dance. This album is quite different from their first, in that it seems to have more layers and is more complex, yet it also has some of the most poppy songs (Miami, This Orient) they've written. (Un)surprisingly enough, those are really the only two songs I don't love (Miami has grown on me though), all the others are so good and perhaps even beautiful. They also translate so well live, which is always a plus! Favourite song: "What Remains" but I can't seem to find that on youtube, so have my second favourite, "Total Life Forever".

4.Hot Hot Heat - Future Breeds
Not gonna lie, their last album Happines Ltd wasn't so good. I mean, strings that sound like a crappy synthesizer are never a good idea. Ever. Happiness Ltd had some amazing tracks but just less than stellar recordings. But Future Breeds is like good old-fashioned Hot Hot Heat again!! Only.. more mature and maybe even a bit better. It's still happy danceable ridiculously-catchy indie-pop with the familiar vocals of Steve Bays, and sometimes there is really nothing better to listen to. Definitely their best effort since Make up the Breakdown. Favourite song: "Future Breeds"

5. She and Him - Volume Two.
I can't help it, I love Zooey Deschanel and M.Ward's beautiful pop songs. There's a certain innocence about them, and listening to this album feels like putting a warm blanket around me, it's comforting and uplifting and relaxing. Favourite song: "Over it Over Again"

FAVOURITE SONGS NOT ON THESE ALBUMS
(Otherwise top 5 would be just BRMC...)
1. Janelle Monáe - Tightrope
C'mon, JUST LOOK AT THIS. SHE IS THE MOST BADASS PERSON IN THE WORLD:

2. Micah P. Hinson - The Striking Before the Storm
This is such an incredibly lovely song, reminds me of why I love Micah's music so much. Micah P. Hinson and the Pioneer Saboteurs (it's my #6 album of the year) has some amazing songs, like "2's and 3's" and "My God, My God" and "Watchers, Tell Us of the Night", but none of them are as good as "The Striking Before the Storm".

3. Sarah Blasko - No Turning Back
I know that officially this album was released in 2009, but it wasn't released here till 2010 so I think I can count one of her songs! There's a bunch I love on As Day Follows Night like "All I Want", "Bird on a Wire", "Hold on My Heart" and "Lost and Defeated", but "No Turning Back" is my favourite, I think.

4. Sia - Stop Trying
What can I say, I'm just a sucker for a good pop song. And for Sia's voice.

5. Gogol Bordello - Sun is On My Side
Usually my favourite Gogol Bordello songs are the hyperactive ones you can jump to like a manic (especially Mishto!) but this song is just so simple and lovely.

FAVOURITE SHOWS
1. Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, Batschkapp Frankfurt [22-11-2010]
2. Shostakovich's Eleventh Symphony, De Doelen Rotterdam [19-11-2010]
3. Raskatov's "A Dog's Heart", Stopera Amsterdam [18-06-2010]
4. Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, Batschkapp, Frankfurt [23-11-2010]
5. Foals, Melkweg Amsterdam [29-11-2010]

Favourite poems pt.9

2010-11-28T23:05:00.003+01:00

William Butler Yeats - Aedh Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven
Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

Frankfurt adventures or Why it makes sense to see your favourite band in Schopenhauer's resting place.

2010-11-25T23:39:00.023+01:00

Musica est exercitium metaphysices occultum nescientis se philosophari animi.
(music is an unconscious exercise in metaphysics in which the mind does not know it is philosophizing)

Originally I thought I would just write a pretty basic review going “omg omg omg they played Martyr and Annabel Lee and River Styx and I danced so much”, but that just wouldn’t even remotely cover just how much these past few days have meant to me. I know I get obsessive about music, I know it’s alienating to some, but I also know that there’s a lot of people who know exactly what it feels like. And it happens that one of the first times I read something that really resonated with me, was when I first came across Schopenhauer’s metaphysics of music. It was one of the first times (I can’t say first time, because that would’ve been when I read George Steiner’s Errata) that my obsessive love/feelings for music were explained in a way that made sense to me. And so, I find it incredibly fitting that I get to see the band that does this to me like no other (apart from Shosty, obviously) in the city where Schopenhauer is buried.

Something that has occupied me for as long as I can remember is the question of why I (and many other) experience music so much more intensely that any other art, what makes it different? What is it about sound that can somehow bring forth such intensity of emotion? Although I haven’t yet found an answer that I find completely satisfactory, Schopenhauer’s descriptions and explanations of the musical experience come close..ish. Because he acknowledges the fact (in my mind) that music is experienced more intensely than other arts, and he places it above other arts for precisely that reason. He tries to explain what makes music so different, but here his metaphysics come in and thereby also the impossibility of proving his theory right (which he actually admits). Still, I understand what he’s trying to say, and he has certainly been a massive influence on my thinking, and thereby on my life. Here’s some quotes that I like (all from the third part of The World as Will and Representation):

“[Music] stands quite apart from all the other [forms of art]. In it we do not recognize the copy, the repetition, of nay Idea of the inner nature of the world. Yet it is such a great and exceedingly fine art, its effect on man’s innermost nature is so powerful, and it is so completely and profoundly understood by him in his innermost being as an entirely universal language, whose distinctness surpasses even that of the world of perception itself, that in it we certainly have to look for more than that exercitium arithmeticae occultum nescientis se numerare animi [an unconscious exercise in arithmetic in which the mind does not know it is counting] which Leibniz took it to be.“

“[…] Where the aesthetic effect is the thing we have in mind, we must attribute to music a far more serious and profound significance that refers to the innermost being of the world and of our own self. […] That in some sense music must be related to the world as the depiction to the thing depicted, as the copy to the original, we can infer from the analogy with the remaining arts, to all of which this character is peculiar; from their effect on us, it can be inferred that that of music is on the whole of the same nature, only stronger, more rapid, more necessary and infallible. Further, its imitative reference to the world must be very profound, infinitely true, and really striking since it is instantly understood by everyone […]”

“[..] Music does not express this or that particular and definite pleasure, this or that affliction, pain, sorrow, horror, gaiety, merriment or peace of mind, but joy, pain, sorrow, horror, gaiety, merriment, peace of mind themselves, to a certain extent in the abstract, their essential nature, without any accessories, and so also without the motives for them. Nevertheless, we understand them perfectly in this extracted quintessence. Hence it arises that our imagination is so easily stirred by music [...]."

And this is precisely why travelling to see a band you love is worth it (especially if that band is Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, obviously). Because it's an experience beyond any other. Hearing songs like Martyr, Annabel Lee (I cried, couldn't help it), Beat the Devil's Tattoo, Half State, Ain't No Easy Way, Shadow's Keeper, Rifles etc. that is exactly what life is about. The high of hearing an unexpected favourite song (MARTYR) live, the anticipation of hearing good oldies (Whatever Happened to My Rock 'n' Roll, Berlin etc etc) that you know will make you smile and dance, the feeling that you are a part of something important, that is what gigs can give you. And of course, the feeling of community, the enjoyment of seeing hundred other people singing and jumping and dancing along, the finding each other in your love for music. Is there anything more beautiful? I think not. After the gigs I had this urge to hug everyone, but I was smelly and dirty and so was everyone else so obviously I didn't. But I can honestly say that nothing makes me feel happier than having experiences like those two gigs in Frankfurt. And no, I will never stop posting about how much music means to me, and no, I will not stop talking about Black Rebel Motorcycle Club. But I do think it's necessary to end this post with some BRMC music (assuming you have heard the ones I've posted here already). Put on your headphones, turn the sound up and close your eyes.

Beat the Devil's Tattoo (live)

Martyr

The Line

Rifles

Music.

2010-11-19T16:42:00.001+01:00

For as long as I can remember I’ve been obsessed with music. My preference has certainly changed over the years and even though I cannot listen to some bands that I used to love anymore, I’d like to think that’s just part of growing up. And even with all of these changes, my love for music has not diminished, and I don’t think it ever will. I find it quite difficult to explain exactly why music means to much to me, mostly because I find that it goes beyond language. But still, I will give it a try, mostly because I sometimes fear that I’m alienating people by being so obsessive and not explaining things properly.

I could make this some sort of chronological account of what bands I’ve been obsessed with, but that’s not really the point. The point is that for me life is pointless without music. When I was younger this was not only because of the actual sounds, but also the feeling of a community, the feeling of recognition and acknowledgement, finding other people who are alike. Now that I am more confident in who I am, this community is still very pleasant but not so much a necessity anymore, even though I do still feel a great need to share music I love.

As someone who’s struggled with her body for as long as she can remember, music has often been the only medium through which I can actually feel and acknowledge my body. This may sound very abstract, but for a very long time I’ve thought of myself as a head, as thoughts and ideas, but not as a body (despite being aware of having one, feeling trapped). I therefore tried to avoid a lot of activities that reminded me of being a body, not the least of all those of the romantic kind. But music, music has always been a release for me. Whether it’s through dancing to bands or just moving like a spazz or just experiencing things, music is a physical experience.

My mind is always going on and on and on and on, and even though I don’t worry that much anymore and the thoughts aren’t negative, it can be exhausting sometimes. If I read a book, I play it over and over again in my head, if I read a philosophical article I’ll be thinking about it for ages. There’s so many decisions to be made every single day, and for some people it’s easy, but I tend to overthink everything. It’s therefore quite pleasant to not be thinking much at all. It’s why I enjoy watching tv and movies so much, I get to turn my mind of and have someone’s elses ideas entertain me. But most tv shows and movies are entertaining on a profoundly superficial level, and although they stop my thoughts, they don’t make me feel all that much (with some obvious exceptions like The Fall).

But music, music makes me feel everything. It makes me feel every inch of my body and makes me feel overwhelming love and sadness and pain and fury and happiness. There is nothing that makes me feel more (alive, perhaps) than a Shostakovich symphony or seeing Black Rebel Motorcycle Club live. Nothing that makes me feel more aware of myself as a body, yet also goes far beyond that, and makes me just feel. And there is no experience in this world more powerful or beautiful than that.

16 Horsepower

2010-11-09T12:08:00.009+01:00

Back in 2000 I was watching Pinkpop coverage on TV and saw this:

American Wheeze

It gave me goosebumps and I was incredibly intrigued. I learned the band was called 16 Horsepower but kind of forgot about them, or maybe I was kind of turned off by the fact that they were religious (c'mon, I was an angry 14-year old!). So even though I never forgot their name, they remained in my list of bands-to-check-out-properly, and never moved to the bands-I-love. That is, until last year. I was in my favourite local record store and I was bored and wanted to buy something, so I decided to get some 16 Horsepower. I bought their live album Hoarse. I think it stayed in my CD player for about two months, and I must've played it twice every day. It was a proper musical revelation for me. There is something so incredibly intense yet creepy about their music, and I love David Eugene Edwards's voice so much even though he scares me. They are now definitely in my top 5 favourite bands and I think I listen to one of their albums every week (favourite is definitely Sackcloth 'n' Ashes).

I think it's a genre of music (apparently called "gothic americana") that is certainly not for everyone, as it's quite creepy and disheartening (but strangely comforting to me), and perhaps some people will not enjoy DEE's voice. But, to me they are one of the best bands ever. I wish I would've only realised this sooner so I could've seen them live. Anyway, here are some of my favourites songs by them:

Scrawled in Sap

Black Soul Choir

Beyond the Pale

South Pennsylvania Waltz (live)

They are also responsible for my favourite cover song ever: Joy Division's Day of the Lords. You'd think Joy Division were depressive and creepy, but they're Disney-material compared to 16 Horsepower (although I may be biased because I don't actually like Joy Division):

Enjoy!

Petrus Abaelardus aka King Bitch of the 12th Century.

2010-11-04T21:43:00.010+01:00

I am so sorry it's been so long since I've written anything in here! I've been stressed out and distracted and busy with sorting some things out. I'll try and write here more regularely though. As I've probably said before, the point of this blog is really that I get to share things that I love. I think I'm quite lucky to be the kind of person that gets passionate about a lot of things, and who wants to share that passion. These things usually go in phases, but there's some constant factors, and one of them is Petrus Abaelardus of Peter Abelard, and this post is about him.

Obviously the love story of Abelard & Héloise is pretty well-known but that's not what I'm interested in anyway. I first really came across Abelard in one of my classes at Reading, about the twelfth century. It was by my favourite professor ever (Malcolm Barber) and I really didn't expect it to be as interesting as it was. But mostly I learned that Abelard was amazing and hilarious and that St. Bernard was the biggest bitch ever. I think I even wrote this on my written exam at the end of the year, haha. I ended up writing my thesis about him and although it wasn't a particularly great scholarly piece (god knows how I got a first) I did enjoy it so much. It was on his condemnation at the Council of Soissons in 1121, and whether or not it was a justified condemnation on grounds of his work (the Theologia ‘Summi Boni’) or if, like he himself said, people just had a grudge against him and therefore condemned this work. I obviously won’t go into details here because I don’t think it’s that interesting for everyone (it is for me though), but it is definitely one of my favourite topics that I’ve written on.

My absolutely favourite work by him is the Historia Calamitatum because it's basically "OMGZ EVERYONE HATES ME BUT I'M SO AWESOME EVERYONE IS SO STUPID" but cleverly disguised as something more intelligent. Like so:

"My own teaching gained so much prestige and authority from this that the strongest supporters of my master who had hitherto been the most violent among my attackers now flocked to join my school. [...] Within a few days of my taking over the teaching of dialectic, William [his former teacher William of Champeaux] was eaten up with jealousy and consumed with anger to an extent it is difficult to convey, and, being unable to control the violence of his resentment for long, he made another artful attempt to banish me."

[...]

"But the abbey to which I had withdrawn was completely worldly and depraved, with an abbot whose pre-eminent position was matched by his evil living and notorious reputation. On several occasions I spoke out boldly in criticism of their intolerably foul practices, both in private and in public, and made myself such a burden and nuisance to them all that they gladly seized on the daily importunities of my pupils as a pretext for having my removed from their midst.”

[...]

“When it become apparent that God had granted me the gift for interpreting the Scriptures as well as secular literature, the numbers in my school began to increase for both subjects, while elsewhere they diminished rapidly. This roused the envy and hatred of the other heads of schools against me; they set out to disparage me in whatever way they could, and two of them especially were always attacking me behind my back […]”

Obviously his arrogance is pretty annoying, but I don’t think he was that far off, really. Although he was very much a thinker of his time, he was an extremely intelligent one and I have no doubt that he influenced many many people, as he still is doing now! For me one of the things I love most about my degree(s) is that I learn so many things that I start being passionate about. I am hoping to do more medieval philosophy/theology one day so I can study Abelard even more intensely. In the meantime, I hope I've at least made some of you interested in him! I can recommend lots of books, but I think that the Historia Calamitatum is the only "fun" (non-philosophical/theological) read, howeverrrr, M.T. Clanchy wrote an amazing book called Abelard: A Medieval Life which teaches you lots about Abelard as well as the twelfth century in general, and it's an easy read.

Numbness.

2010-09-21T22:23:00.007+02:00

I spend quite a lot of time watching TV. Admittedly a lot less now that I'm busy/studying again, but it used to be my most common past-time. Partly this is because there's tv shows that I absolutely LOVE, and that make me feel happier. But perhaps just as often, unfortunately, I just get glued to the screen and spend hours watching things that I don't even particularely like. And I know that I'm not alone in this. I think some of the most popular tv shows are just popular because no one really cares about them either way, you don't care enough to turn away, and when you come across it you sort of keep watching. But the more I think about it, the more this saddens me.

Similarely I am online a lot. And again, this is partly because there are sites and blogs that I love, but mostly I just spend my time browsing and reading things I don't even really care about. Hours can go by without feeling anything, just clicking and clicking and reading this and that not caring. It scares me how easily I can go on automatic time-wasting pilot when on my computer.

The worst life I can imagine is one filled with boredom. Thankfully I don't get bored easily, so I don't think this is a fate I'll have to fear. But perhaps it's just as bad to spend a life consuming things you don't particularely care about, things that don't make you feel anything. When you love or hate something, it gives you energy, it gives you a will to live, it makes you feel alive, it gives meaning to life. I identify myself by the things I love and hate, the easiest description of myself would be saying that I love Shostakovich, my bunny, the sea, dresses, Arnulf Rainer, Robert Levon Been, loud music, philosophy and Lee Pace, and that I hate misogyny, Geert Wilders, Mozart and willful ignorance. Among other things, obviously there's a lot more. These are all a part of who I am, they are important to me (the love much more than the hate, but I think that goes without saying. I dislike the word hate anyway, I think I strongly dislike a lot more things than I hate. Too much hate is toxic).

So why, if I can enjoy things very intensely, do I still spend time watching all these random things that make me feel nothing? I don't know. Part of the reason why I started this blog is so that I can focus on things I love, and pay more attention to them, and try to share the love with others, but I think I have to be more serious about this. And therefore I have promised to myself that I will not spend any more time watching/listening to/reading numbing things. Instead I will focus my time on educating myself and on doing things I love. Because my life is too short and too important to waste.

Favourite poems, pt.8

2010-09-21T13:04:00.002+02:00

Gerrit Achterberg - Thebe
Met leven toegerust voor beiden,
liep ik vannacht de gangen in,
die naar u leiden.
Het ondergronds geburchte droeg
een stilte, die met tegenzin
mijn tred verdroeg.

De muren stonden als verzadigd
van ruige schimmel; lucht en licht,
voorgoed beschadigd,
beten mij uit; de wil alleen
bij u te zijn in 't jongst gericht,
hield mij ter been.

Het labyrinth verliep in schroeven
van eender, blinder cirkeling.
U ten behoeve?
Ik weet niet meer hoe lang ik ging.
Hoe brachten zij, die u begroeven,
zover een ding?

Totdat mijn voeten op u stuitten:
uit een volslagen duisternis
zag ik uw ogen opensplijten;
uw handen, die ik niet kon tillen,
voelde ik langs het leven strelen,
dat in mij sloeg;
uw mond, in dood verholen, vroeg.

Een taal waarvoor geen teken is
in dit heelal,
verstond ik voor de laatste maal.
Maar had geen adem meer genoeg
en ben gevlucht in dit gedicht:
noodtrappen naar het morgenlicht,
vervaald en veel te vroeg.

Micah P. Hinson

2010-09-10T19:34:00.009+02:00

In 2004 American singer-songwriter Micah P. Hinson released Micah P. Hinson and the Gospel of Progress, and this is still my absolute all-time favourite album. There's always a risk and usually dissapointment involved when you love an artist's first album so ridiculously much. For me personally his albums since then (The Baby and the Satellite, Micah P. Hinson and the Opera Circuit, Micah P. Hinson and the Red Empire Orchestra, All Dressed Up and Smelling of Strangers and Micah P. Hinson and the Pioneer Saboteurs) have let me down a little. But only a little, because every single one of his album has amazingly good songs, and I still play all of them regularely. There's an undeniable charm to his music, but it's also very intense and emotional. You can hear that he puts his soul into his music and this works really well with his incredible talent as a singer, guitarist and song-writer. (He has also recorded the only Beatles cover ever that I can listen to, they usually make me want to throw my stereo out the window.)

I didn't see him live until 2005 or 2006 I think, it was in London (somewhere in Camden) and it was just him and some guy on mouth organ. I was seriously blown away, because Micah has one of those voices that apparently doesn't record well, live it's even more beautiful and even more powerful. He's also pretty damn charming. For some strange reason I've only seen him live 3 times even though he's been around here more often, but I was always ill or had no money or had another stupid reason. This october he is playing The Netherlands again, in Groningen and Ottersum. Both of these places are reeaally far away from me so I'm afraid I'll probably miss him again but I cannot stress enough how AMAZING this guy is live and how you will NOT regret seeing him. Honest!

Here are some of my favourite songs;

From Micah P. Hinson and the Gospel of Progress:

Stand in My Way

The Day Texas Sank to the Bottom of the Sea (a long one but SO GOOD)

From Micah P. Hinson and the Opera Circuit:

Diggin' A Grave (starts after 15 seconds)

Don't Leave Me Now!

From Micah P. Hinson and the Red Empire Orchestra:

When We Embraced

From Micah P. Hinson and the Pioneer Saboteurs:

2's and 3's

From the Yard of Blonde Girls 7":

Yard of Blonde Girls (Tim Buckley cover)

(Youtube is slightly dissapointing right now as I can't find two of my favourite songs one there; "The Day the Volume Won" and "The Striking Before the Storm". But I uploaded The Striking Before the Storm here.)

Classical concerts.

2010-09-07T17:50:00.004+02:00

I go to quite a lot of classical concerts. I love a lot of classical music and seeing it live is absolutely uncomparable to listening to records/cds. However, as a young person I often don't quite feel at home at these concert halls. The ones I've frequently been to are the Queen Elizabeth Hall in London, De Doelen in Rotterdam and the Concertgebouw in Amsterdam. I know the buildings by heart, I could sleepwalk my way there, I know what the acoustics are like, I have favourite conductors/performers everywhere, but still there's always a certain feeling of discomfort.

A lot of this is to do with the fact that about 80% of people who go to these concerts are over 50, white, and dressed up (although moreso in Amsterdam than in Rotterdam and London). It is such an elitist place in so many ways, and I don't like it. Because with it comes the association that these concerst are expensive (both London and Rotterdam usually have cheap tickets, and the Concertgebouw has really cheap ones for young people), that the music is boring/only for old people (modern classical music is unbelievably exciting and LOUD) and that you get frowned upon if you walk in with just jeans and a t-shirt. The strange thing is that I love dressing up and often dress up on "normal" days but whenever I go to a classical concert I feel the need to wear trainers or motorcycle boots or anything else that screams "CASUAL". I don't want to be uptight and fit this mold. I want concert halls to become like regular venues, I want people to move along to the music, I want them to relax, I want them to wear whatever they feel like wearing, I want non-white and young people to feel welcome and comfortable in these places, I want these concert halls to be for people of all backgrounds. Will this ever happen? I don't know, I really don't. I try to do my part my encouraging more young people to go to the Concertgebouw in Amsterdam, and by educating my friends about classical music and how exciting it is. And then maybe one day going to the Concertgebouw will be just like going to the Paradiso.

But I will say this, one of the things that I do appreciate at classical concerts is that no one talks while the music is being played.

And here's some exciting music for your enjoyment:

Nietzsche.

2010-09-02T20:19:00.006+02:00

I currently feel slightly incapable of writing a proper new blog entry, because all that's on my mind at the moment is BRMC and I already did a post on them. But at the same time I know that when someone doesn't post on their blog regularely enough it loses momentum and readers. I don't doubt that I'll have some inspiration soon, but in the meantime I will leave you with this:

“Honesty would lead to nausea and suicide. But now our honesty has a counterforce that helps us avoid such consequences: art, as the good will to appearance. […] As an aethetic phenomenon existence is still bearable to us, and art furnishes us with the eye and hand and above all the good conscience to be able to make such a phenomenon of ourselves. At times we need to have a rest from ourselves by looking at and down ourselves and, from an artistic distance, laughing at ourselves or crying at ourselves; we have to discover the hero no less than the fool in our passion for knowledge; we must now and then be pleased about our folly in order to be able to stay pleased about our wisdom! And precisely because we are at bottom grave and serious human beings and more weights than human beings, nothing does us as much good as the fool’s cap: we need it against ourselves - we need all exuberant, floating, dancing, mocking, childish and blissful art lest we lose that freedom over things that our ideal demands of us.”
- Friedrich Nietzsche, The Gay Science

Favourite poems, pt.7

2010-08-28T22:22:00.002+02:00

Denise Levertov - Variation on a Theme by Rilke
A certain day became a presence to me;
there it was, confronting me--a sky, air, light:
a being. And before it started to descend
from the height of noon, it leaned over
and struck my shoulder as if with
the flat of a sword, granting me
honor and a task. The day's blow
rang out, metallic--or it was I, a bell awakened,
and what I heard was my whole self
saying and singing what it knew: I can.

Black Rebel Motorcycle Club

2010-08-25T20:19:00.007+02:00

Photo by Juri Hiensch

If you would just know me through this blog you would probably get the impression that I only listen to classical music. But as it happens Shostakovich is somewhat of an exception because although I love classical music, I spend most of my days listening to non-classical stuff. Somehow I find it much harder to write about, maybe because I am convinced that everyone should love Shostakovich but acknowledge that with non-classical music there's perhaps more room for subjectivity. In my head anyway. But despite all this I decided that it's about time I do a post on Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, the best band in the world right now (see, subjectivity!).

I bought their first self-titled album around the time it came out and loved it, especially Rifles, As Sure as the Sun and Red Eyes and Tears, and it's been in my cd player quite regularely since that time. I was kind of stupid though, and didn't realise just how much I loved them and therefore didn't buy their second or third album until a few years later. Realising my mistake I tried to quickly catch up and bought Take Them On, On Your Own, Howl, Baby 81 and then of course The Effects of 333, the live album and Beat the Devil´s Tattoo (my favourite of theirs!) as soon as those came out. I love every single one of these albums, apart from The Effects which just kind of confuses me, really.

What is it that I love about them? Well, first and foremost I am just entirely and completely in love with Robert Levon Been and his amazing bassguitar. Some bands rely on melodies, some rely on noise, some rely on rhythm, but BRMC, for me, rely on the bass. As a (rather average, admittedly) bassplayer this automatically makes me happy, but it's not just that. As a listener I mostly respond to low sounds, I dance along to the bass, I am just a bass-y person I guess? And I'm not trying to discount Peter's and Nick's and also Leah's contributions to the band, but it's just that for me Robert is absolutely essential. I think I might have a to do a blog entry on his basslines to be honest. But this is not that entry.

This is about their songs and their music and their unquestionable passion. I've seen a lot of bands live, and most of them I really enjoyed, but there are very few that are as intensen as BRMC. In fact, I might say that they are the most intense live band I have ever seen (perhaps Simian during their Chemistry is What We Are tour were just as intense). This intensity is an almost entirely physical experience, but it's also the feeling of there not being anything in the world at that moment apart from their music. An aesthetic experience pur sang perhaps.

But that's enough talking. Listen to some songs:

From BRMC:

Red Eyes and Tears (live)

From Take Them On, On Your Own:

Suddenly

From Howl:

Weight of the World

From Baby 81:

Killing the Light

From Beat the Devil's Tattoo:

River Styx

Aya

Annabel Lee (live)

I hope you enjoy them as much as I do.

Favourite poems, pt.6

2010-08-22T21:11:00.002+02:00

Sylvia Plath - Electra on Azalea Path
The day you died I went into the dirt,
Into the lightless hibernaculum
Where bees, striped black and gold, sleep out the blizzard
Like hieratic stones, and the ground is hard.
It was good for twenty years, that wintering -
As if you never existed, as if I came
God-fathered into the world from my mother's belly:
Her wide bed wore the stain of divinity.
I had nothing to do with guilt or anything
When I wormed back under my mother's heart.

Small as a doll in my dress of innocence
I lay dreaming your epic, image by image.
Nobody died or withered on that stage.
Everything took place in a durable whiteness.
The day I woke, I woke on Churchyard Hill.
I found your name, I found your bones and all
Enlisted in a cramped necropolis
your speckled stone skewed by an iron fence.

In this charity ward, this poorhouse, where the dead
Crowd foot to foot, head to head, no flower
Breaks the soil. This is Azalea path.
A field of burdock opens to the south.
Six feet of yellow gravel cover you.
The artificial red sage does not stir
In the basket of plastic evergreens they put
At the headstone next to yours, nor does it rot,
Although the rains dissolve a bloody dye:
The ersatz petals drip, and they drip red.

Another kind of redness bothers me:
The day your slack sail drank my sister's breath
The flat sea purpled like that evil cloth
My mother unrolled at your last homecoming.
I borrow the silts of an old tragedy.
The truth is, one late October, at my birth-cry
A scorpion stung its head, an ill-starred thing;
My mother dreamed you face down in the sea.

The stony actors poise and pause for breath.
I brought my love to bear, and then you died.
It was the gangrene ate you to the bone
My mother said: you died like any man.
How shall I age into that state of mind?
I am the ghost of an infamous suicide,
My own blue razor rusting at my throat.
O pardon the one who knocks for pardon at
Your gate, father - your hound-bitch, daughter, friend.
It was my love that did us both to death.

Pushing Daisies

2010-08-16T21:40:00.008+02:00

I watch a lot of TV shows, and I love a lot of TV shows. I think it's safe to say, however, that I have never loved a TV show as much as I love Pushing Daisies. It is perfect in pretty much every way, and not just because Lee Pace is in it. It's well-written, well-acted, funny, interesting, bizarre, the settings and costumes are beautiful etc etc etc. I love Ned and Chuck as a couple, because despite not being able to touch they make it work and make it romantic. Emerson is absolutely hilarious, Olive is so charming and ridiculous, Vivian & Lily are the aunts everyone'd want to have. I don't know if I should explain the story, but it can be summarized by one of Ned's quotes anyway "My name is Ned. I live a simple life. I wake pies and make the dead. That was creepy. I make pies and wake the dead." So yes, it's about a dead-waking pie-maker who works together with a kickass private investigator to solve ridiculous murders.

Whenever I feel sad I always put on an episode (usually The Smell of Success or Circus, Circus or The Fun in Funeral or you know, any other). Unfortunately there are only 22 episodes and I could rant on and on about how stupid it is that there's so much crap on TV but something as amazing and original as Pushing Daisies got cancelled after only two seasons, but let's not go there. Instead, I will just make this a picspam (and no, not just of Lee Pace). Most pictures are from http://pieholers.tumblr.com/ or were randomly saved on my computer.

Roland Topor.

2010-08-08T19:24:00.003+02:00

A couple of years ago I was on holiday in Strasbourg with my parents. We visited the Museum of Modern Art, as we always do wherever we go, and there was an exhibition by an artist I had not heard of; Roland Topor. There were drawings, films, paintings, whole murals made by him and every single piece was AMAZING. (Although some were rather filthy, haha). I particularely remember a short films about giant slugs attacking cities and eating people, it was hilarious. This exhibition made me fall in love with his works, so afterwards I also read his books, including the fantastic Le Locataire Chimérique (you might've seen Roman Polanski's The Tenant which is based on the book), saw him in Werner Herzog's Nosferatu and quite obsessively looked everywhere for images of his art. What I still love above all are his drawings. This is why:

Favourite poems, pt.5

2010-08-05T16:29:00.002+02:00

Paul Celan - Todesfuge
Schwarze Milch der Frühe wir trinken sie abends
wir trinken sie mittags und morgens wir trinken sie nachts
wir trink und trinken
wir schaufeln ein Grab in den Lüften da liegt man nicht eng
Ein Mann wohnt im Haus der spielt mit den Schlangen der schreibt
der schreibt wenn es dunkelt nach Deutschland dein goldenes Haar Margarete
er schreibt es und tritt vor das Haus und es blitzen die Sterne er pfeift seine Rüden herbei
er pfeift seine Juden hervor lässt schaufeln ein Grab in der Erde
er befiehlt uns spielt auf nun zum Tanz

Schwarze Milch der Frühe wir trinken dich nachts
wir trinken dich morgens und mittags wir trinken dich abends
wir trinken und trinken
Ein Mann wohnt im Haus der spielt mit den Schlangen der schreibt
der schreibt wenn es dunkelt nach Deutschland dein goldenes Haar Margarete
Dein aschenes Haar Sulamith wir schaufeln ein Grab in den Lüften da liegt man nicht eng

Er ruft stecht tiefer ins Erdreich ihr einen ihr andern singet und spielt
er greift nach dem Eisen im Gurt er schwingts seine Augen sind blau
stecht tiefer die Spaten ihr einen ihr andern spielt weiter zum Tanz auf

Schwarze Milch der Frühe wir trinken dich nachts
wir trinken dich mittags und morgens wir trinken dich abends
wir trinken und trinken
ein Mann wohnt im Haus dein goldenes Haar Margarete
dein aschenes Haar Sulamith er spielt mit den Schlangen

Er ruft spielt süsser den Tod der Tod ist ein Meister aus Deutschland
er ruft streicht dunkler die Geigen dann steigt ihr als Rauch in die Luft
dann habt ihr ein Grab in den Wolken da liegt man nicht eng

Schwarze Milch der Frühe wir trinken dich nachts
wir trinken dich mittags der Tod ist ein Meister aus Deutschland
wir trinken dich abends und morgens wir trinken und trinken
der Tod ist ein Meister aus Deutschland sein Auge ist blau
er trifft dich mit bleierner Kugel er trifft dich genau
ein Mann wohnt im Haus dein goldenes Haar Margarete
er hetzt seine Rüden auf uns er schenkt uns ein Grab in der Luft
er spielt mit den Schlangen und träumet der Tod ist ein Meister aus Deutschland

dein goldenes Haar Margarete
dein aschenes Haar Sulamith

The Fall

2010-07-27T21:58:00.006+02:00

The most beautiful and exciting film I have ever seen in my life is Tarsem Singh's The Fall. Originally I only ordered it because Lee Pace (aka most beautiful man in the world) was in it, but the first time I saw it I completely fell in love. I've seen in at least 10 times now, and have made almost all of my friends and family watch it, but it still breaks my heart every single time. Catinca Untaru is undubitably the most extraordinary child actress I have ever seen, and Lee Pace is as good as ever. The film was shot in over 20 countries, and all financed by Tarsem himself. It's about an injured stuntman, Roy, and little girl, Alexandra who are both at the same hospital in LA, early in the 20th century. They strike up a friendship that is built on Roy's stories and Alexandra's imagination. It starts out reasonably happy and calm but soon we find out that things are not quite what they seem. Anyway, I don't want to post any spoilers because you all have to watch it, but I will entice you with some images:

Favourite poems, pt.4

2010-07-21T21:30:00.003+02:00

Denise Levertov - Action
I can lay down that history.
I can lay down the imaginary lists
of what to forget and what must be
done. I can shake the sun
out of my eyes and lay everything down
on the hot sand, and cross
the whispering threshold and walk
right into the clear sea, and float there,
my long hair floating, and fishes
vanishing all around me. Deep water.
Little by little one comes to know
the limits and depths of power.

Arnulf Rainer

2010-07-20T11:01:00.004+02:00

A couple of years ago, when I was still living in England, I went to the Tate Modern in London. It's a beautiful museum with lots of amazing paintings, including a rather fantastic surrealism section. But this time it was not the surrealist artists that got my heart beating faster, instead it was a painting by Arnulf Rainer called Wine Crucifix.

I could not stop staring at it, although I was aware of the fact that it is pretty scary/gruesome, for some reason it just really appealed to me. It is still my favourite painting to this day, and Arnulf Rainer is still my favourite artist. I don't know that much about him, other than that he was born in 1929 and apart from being an artist he also collect outsider art (art brut). He uses paint, photographs and has also made a lot of Übermalungen, which is basically drawings over old drawings (there's a fantastic book with his Übermalungen on Bible pictures). I might make another post sometime with some more actual information! Here are some of his works (I wish I had a scanner so I wouldn't have to rely on whatever's online):

Favourite poems, pt.3

2010-07-03T14:02:00.003+02:00

J.C. Bloem - Insomnia
Denkend aan de dood kan ik niet slapen,
En niet slapend denk ik aan de dood,
En het leven vliet gelijk het vlood,
En elk zijn is tot niet-zijn geschapen.

Hoe onmachtig klinkt het schriel `te wapen',
Waar de levenswil ten strijd mee noodt,
Naast der doodsklaroenen schrille stoot,
Die de grijsaards oproept met de knapen.

Evenals een vrouw, die eens zich gaf,
Baren moet, of ze al dan niet wil baren,
Want het kind is groeiende in haar schoot,

Is elk wezen zwanger van de dood,
En het voorbestemde doel van 't paren
Is niet minder dan de wieg het graf.

Shostakovich.

2010-06-24T15:52:00.007+02:00

I love Shostakovich's music more than anything in this world. I grew up as a huge music fan and obsessive, but never had I experienced the kind of emotions that some of Shostakovich's works awaken in me. It's always difficult for me to really put into words what music means and what music does (this is the reason why I have a keen interest in philosophy that concerns the relationship between music and language), but maybe now is the time to try.

Just over two years ago I attempted to write an essay about whether Rorty's Contingency, Irony and Solidarity could be useful for our understand of music. I think I kind of failed proving the premise, but I did write some things that I still agree with; "The fictional world that is created in literature can only vaguely and in very abstract form be found in works of music. I can lose myself in both a book and a piece of music, but it is a different kind of loss of self. Whereas in works of literature one imagines oneself to be transposed into the world that is being described, musical experience involves a loss of self without a world that replaces the ‘real’ one. Schopenhauer described this experience when he wrote that through music we forget ourselves, and find ourselves without the principium individuationes. By listening to certain pieces of music we realise the will, we are no longer trapped in the world of representation. Although Schopenhauer’s theory of music is metaphysical, I still believe it to be a useful description of musical experience. There is an element of forgetting one’s identity, of being captivated by music. Do we not often lose ourselves in music, find ourselves unable to think, to talk about it? Does it not make us feel more complete and enlightened? This is the experience that Schopenhauer describes."

And this is exactly what I experience when listening to Shostakovich. But it is not all, I also feel that a lot of my emotions/thought/feelings can be described by his music just as well as by words, if not better. "For example, I cannot describe despair as well as the song ‘Winter’ from his From Jewish Folk Songs. I cannot describe my enthusiasm or passion any better than the first movement of the Fourth Symphony. I cannot describe my fears and frustrations as well as the ‘Allegro molto’ from the Eighth String Quartet. I cannot describe the confusion and silliness of life as well as the ‘Scherzo’ from the First Violin Concerto. In order to (re)describe myself, I need not merely words but also music. Indeed, these concepts that I have used to describe certain works, “despair”, “passion”, “fears” etc., fall short of the actual experience of my life, the musical works are a much more satisfactory description. As Scruton writes, music “touches the heart, but numbs the tongue”."

On to the music. A while ago I made a mix on 8tracks.com with a bunch of short Shostakovich pieces, you can listen to it here. But if you're lazy and don't want to click too much, here are bits of my four favourite Shostakovich pieces.

The Fourth Symphony. This was my first Shostakovich experience and I loved it SO MUCH. You need to turn the volume up though, it needs to be loud.

The Eleventh Symphony. This is the end of the last movement and it always KILLS me because it is so dark and brooding and beautiful. I cry pretty much every time I hear it, or at least get goosebumps.

"The Execution of Stepan Razin". This is a Cantata for Orchestra, Bass and Chorus that is 30 mins long. Obviously youtube doesn't like 30min-long videos, so this is the last bit of it, 9 minutes.

The Thirteenth Symphony. So dark and so beautiful, this first movement is set to the poem "Babi Yar" by Yevtushenko, definitely worth a read.

Favourite poems, pt.2

2010-06-21T15:24:00.004+02:00

T.S. Eliot - The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
S'io credesse che mia risposta fosse
A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,
Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
Ma per ciò che giammai di questo fondo
Non tornò vivo alcun, s'i' odo il vero,
Senza tema d'infamia ti rispondo.

Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherised upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question ...
Oh, do not ask, "What is it?"
Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the windowpanes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the windowpanes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

And indeed there will be time
To wonder, "Do I dare?" and, "Do I dare?"
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair--
(They will say: "How his hair is growing thin!")
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin--
(They will say: "But how his arms and legs are thin!")
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all--
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?

And I have known the eyes already, known them all--
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?

And I have known the arms already, known them all--
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
(But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!)
Is it perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?

. . . . .

Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows? . . .

I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.

. . . . .

And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep . . . tired . . . or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in
upon a platter,
I am no prophet--and here's no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.

And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it towards some overwhelming question,
To say: "I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all"--
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say: "That is not what I meant at all.
That is not it, at all."

And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor--
And this, and so much more?--
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
"That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all."

. . . . .

No!I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous--
Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old . . . I grow old . . .
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind?Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

Opera.

2010-06-20T21:26:00.007+02:00

I love opera. When I was younger I couldn't really handle the singing and thought it was all kind of ridiculous, but I've really grown into it. I've been lucky enough to see a handful of them the past few years and although there were obviously some I loved more than others, I've completely fallen in love with the genre. Not only does it contain some of the most beautiful music ever written, it is also a platform for astounding decors, costumes, acting and film. One of my favourite artists ever, Roland Topor created quite a few costumes and decors for opera, and so have many other great creative minds.

There are two operas that I would really like to focus on now though, The Nose by Dmitri Shostakovich as performed by the Metropolitan Opera in 2010, and A Dog's Heart by Alexander Raskatov as performed by De Nederlandse Opera in 2010. These operas are kind of similar in the sense that they are both based on famous short stories by famous Russian authors (Gogol and Boelgakov) and both are completely absurd, but wonderful.

Unfortunately I have not seen the Met's version of The Nose, but everyone who knows me knows that I am hugely obsessed with Shostakovich and his music. The Nose was performed 16 times in the Soviet Union before it was banned, and many thought the score was lost until thankfully some guys found it. It hasn't been performed much at all in the "western" world, but obviously the Met did so earlier this year. And I found a video of an interview with William Kentridge who did most of the art for it:

I think when you watch it you will understand why it is AMAZING. I am really bummed that I haven't been able to see this on stage, because even this small video makes me so excited. They seem to have blended the different art forms so well, it really is a spectacle.

Alexander Raskatov's A Dog's Heart was written specifically for the 2010 Holland Festival in (you guessed it) Holland. I was lucky enough to see it last friday and apart from the fact that the music is exhilirating and just... really my kind of thing, it was also such an amazing thing to watch. They created a sort of skeleton to represent the dog, which is simple but so effective. The sides of the stage were open so you could see all the extra's and the opera choir sitting but somehow this wasn't distracting at all. On stage they created a beautiful house for the doctor, but because of the many moving elements this could easily be transformed into something else entirely. The operation scenes were done so effectively (and were quite disgusting, I might add), but so was everything else, really. Here's a video of some of the people involved talking about it (including Simon McBurney the director, and Raskatov himself!!), and you can see the decor and dog as well. It is just as awesome as The Nose:

(Also, the opera choir had MEGAPHONES. This is the BEST IDEA EVER.)

Criminal Minds and women

2010-06-15T14:12:00.006+02:00

One of my favourite TV shows of these past few years is Criminal Minds. It's an extremely interesting, well-written and well-acted series about a bunch of FBI-profilers who kick unsub's asses. There's two main things that I love about it, the first is Dr. Spencer Reid (Matthew Gray Gubler), their resident socially-awkward genius who is beyond adorable and nerdy, and the second is the fact that there's 3 strong female characters on the show.

Jennifer Jereau (A.J. Cook) is the FBI-liason and although I have no idea what that means, she basically decides what cases they take on, and what baddies they're gonna catch. She is the one with most people skills (which is helpful because she does all the contact with the media as well), yet she completely holds her own in the team. In season 4 she became a mother, but returned to work pretty quickly, and her becoming a mother appears only to have added to the character.
Penelope Garcia (Kirsten Vangness) is the computer-geek of the team. She finds all the facts and details and everything else the team needs. She also appears to be the only character that is still affected by seein gruesome murders, which is quite.. refreshing. She has a really close friendships with Derek Morgan (Shemar Moore), who I suppose is the most "macho" of the men. I love their friendship because they are complete equals, they make fun of each other and make lots of inappropriate jokes.
Emily Prentiss (Paget Brewster) is the last one to join the team but she could kick everyone's ass. She speaks more languages than the other team members combined. In one episode she sacrifices herself to save Reid, how often do you see that a woman sacrifices herself to save a man (who she is not related to)? She is very serious in what she does, and extremely good at it.

There are hardly any comments in the show about the looks of these 3 female characters, and them being female appears irrelevant unless it can help them catch a baddie. They are completely equal to the men (although Hotch and Rossi are sort of "in charge", they still take JJ, Garcia and Prentiss as seriously as they do the others) and they are completely irreplacable in the team. Or so I thought.

Apparently A.J. Cook is fired and Paget Brewster will no longer be a full-time cast member. They will not be replaced, this decision is to "save money". Why saving money can only be done by axing female cast members is a mystery to you and me. But yet again it seems more proof that Hollywood is still a very sexist industry.

Those of you who are as upset/angry about this as I am; please sign the petition: http://www.petitiononline.com/cmwomen/petition.html

The sea and Iris Murdoch

2010-06-14T14:58:00.001+02:00

I grew up in a town about a 40 minute bike ride from the sea. Although it was so close, I didn't go there that often. I'm not a beach-person, and I don't like busy places. But sometimes, when it's not that hot, when it's late in the evening, there's nothing more relaxing and comforting than the sea. This is perhaps strange, because the sea is not necessarily calm, it is vast and uncontrollable, it could and would easily kill me. But I love the sea, I love wading in it, I love staring at it, I love dissapearing in the face of such great water.

I think that part of my love for Iris Murdoch comes from my love of the sea. The sea, or at least water, is a bit of a leitmotif in quite a few of her books, and her descriptions really resonate with me. Here are my two favourite examples;

“She came down to the edge of the sea, stepping into the strong running foam. The sea now seemed to be above her, a ragged wall of grey sliding curves and boiling white crests. A cold light as of its own making hung over the sea, a mist of instantly dissolving spray caught by some dull gleam from the rain-filled sky above. Not far out now, the tall weaves were breaking with a reocious booming sound, smashing themselves into the curling racing waters which rushed forward and as wildly receded.” (The Green Knight)

"The sea is golden, speckled with white points of light, lapping with a sort of mechanical self-satisfaction under a pale green sky. How huge it is, how empty, this great space for which I have been longing all my life." (The Sea, The Sea)

Camille Claudel - Sakountala

2010-06-11T00:59:00.001+02:00

This is one of the most beautiful and touching works of art I know. I am kind of biased because I love all of Camille Claudel's sculptures, but she really was one of the most talented artists from the last century. There's something about the body language of these two lovers that I find extremely comforting.

Favourite poems, pt.1

2010-06-10T18:57:00.002+02:00

Denise Levertov - Hymn to Eros
O Eros, silently smiling one, hear me.
Let the shadow of thy wings
brush me.
Let thy presence
enfold me, as if darkness
were swandown.
Let me see that darkness
lamp in hand,
this country become
the other country
sacred to desire.

Drowsy god,
slow the wheels of my thought
so that I listen only
to the snowfall hush of
thy circling.
Close my beloved with me
in the smoke ring of thy power,
that we way be, each to the other,
figures of flame,
figures of smoke,
figures of flesh
newly seen in the dusk.

Hélène Cixous "The Laugh of Medusa"

2010-06-10T18:51:00.001+02:00

“What strikes me is the infinite richness of their individual constitutions: you can’t talk about a female sexuality, uniform, homogeneous, classifiable into codes —any more than you can talk about one unconscious resembling another. Women’s imaginary is inexhaustible, like music, painting, writing: their stream of phantasms is incredible.
[…]
I wished that woman would write and proclaim this unique empire so that other women, other unacknowledged sovereigns, might exclaim: I, too, overflow; my desires have invented new desires, my body knows unheard-of songs. Time and again I, too, have felt so full of luminous torrents that I could burst —burst with forms much more beautiful than those which are put up in frames and sold for a stinking fortune. And I, too, said nothing, showed nothing; I didn’t open my mouth, I didn’t repaint my half of the world. I was ashamed. I was afraid, and I swallowed my shame and my fear. I said to myself: You are mad! What’ the meaning of these waves, these floods, these outbursts? Where is the ebullient, infinite woman who, immersed as she was in her naiveté, kept in the dark about herself, led into self-disdain by the great arm of parental-conjugal phallocentrism, hasn’t been ashamed of her strength? Who, surprised and horrified by the fantastic tumult of her drives (for she was made to believe that a well-adjusted normal woman has a…divine composure), hasn’t actually accused herself of being a monster? Who, feeling a funny desire stirring inside her (to sing, to write, to dare to speak, in short, to bring out something new), hasn’t thought she was sick? Well, her shameful sickness is that she resists death, that she makes trouble.
[…]
And why don’t you write? Write! Writing is for you, you are for you; your body is yours, take it. I know why you haven’t written. (And why I didn’t write before the age of twenty-seven.) Because writing is at once too high, too great for you, it’s reserved for the great —that is for ‘great men’; and it’s ‘silly’. Besides, you’ve written a little, but in secret. And it wasn’t good, because it was in secret, and because you punished yourself for writing, because you didn’t go all the way, or because you wrote, irresistibly, as when we would masturbate in secret, not to go further, but to attenuate the tension a bit, just enough to take the edge off. And then as soon as we come, we go and make ourselves feel guilty —so as to be forgiven; or to forget, to bury it until the next time….
[…]
Write your self. Your body must be heard. Only then will the immense resources of the unconscious spring forth. Our naphtha will spread, throughout the world, without dollars - black or gold - nonassessed values that will change the rules of the old game.
[…]
The Dark Continent is neither dark nor unexplorable. It is still unexplored only because we’ve been made to believe that it was too dark to be explorable. And because they want to make us believe that what interests us is the white continent, with its monuments to Lack. And we believed. They riveted us between two horrifying myths: between the Medusa and the abyss. That would be enough to see half the world laughing, except that it’s still going on. For the phallogocentric sublation is with us, and it’s militant, regenerating the old patterns, anchored in the dogma of castration. They haven’t changed a thing: they’ve theorized their desire for reality! Let the priests tremble, we’re going to show them our sexts!

Too bad for them, if they fall apart upon discovering that women aren’t men, or that the mother doesn’t have one. But isn’t this fear convenient for them? Wouldn’t the worst be, isn’t the worst, in truth, that women aren’t castrated, that they have only to stop listening to the Sirens (for the Sirens were men) for history to change its meaning? You only have to look at the Medusa straight on to see her. And she’s not deadly. She’s beautiful and laughing.”