Sun. April 13; 8 pm. Yanks at Boston just starting. Masters just ended. I'm achy. Been a busy week. Played Haydn's St. Cecilia Mass last night in Plainfield. Carol came Fri night to rehearsal. Sounded great, but alot of intense work. Then Sat am Baseball Parade for the kiddies. Then Brass Quintet in the afternoon. Today a Combined Bands concert in Chatham. Lotsa fun. Especially the combined tunes. Tomorrow am back to MSK to see Dr. Berman. See what's up for the future. My feet and legs are tired tonight.
So even though it's cool Spring is popping out all over Maplewood. As I drove on Valley Street Friday past the Golf course, then the Baseball fieldslooking so quafed. Amazing.We will get to the cherry blossoms Tuesday down in Belleville/Newark. It's been a joy for us to visit and photograph for years but Joe D and Essex County have put some care and money into the parks and the display is getting richer and more beautiful each year.
Last weekend we loved being with the Grands. Carol was there again today; 3rd week in a row. Helping Becky (she's due real soon) and playing with the kids. Bike riding etc. Thanks for keeping up with us. Gotta go eat. JIM
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5 comments:
I hope that tomorrow brings good news, Jim. Keep us posted. Lots of love and many prayers for a great report! Randi
We second Randi's wishes!!
Love,
Matt & Erica
Hi, Jim. Just heard your good report from Carol. Mazel Tov. Enjoy the beautiful, sunny weather today.
Love you,
Debra & Elfin
Jim,
I wanted to thank you for using my charts. Ed Rummel mentioned you and told me of the concert you had a program of that included my tunes.
Thanks,
Jay
Jim, I don't know if you remember that I sometimes read my poems at Of Many Things on Monday mornings, where we never stop thinking of you. Here are two I'll read at the next one, in a couple of weeks.
Peace and love, Carrie
CASALS PLAYS FROM BACH'S SIX SUITES FOR UNACCOMPANIED 'CELLO
Pau Casals' consort is
a wasp-waisted,
full-bosomed,
broad-hipped
'cello.
His knees embrace her.
Stubby fingers extended,
he takes up a lump of rosin
and his bow.
There's something sensual
in rosining a bow.
The tail hairs of stallions,
stroked against the amber pitch,
settle in a groove
made by their passage.
This rhythmic caress lays down
a lustrous powder
in its wake.
One hand reaching high,
the other gently plucking the strings,
he places his ear fast to
the instrument's scroll,
making very small adjustments to
the polished ebony tuning pegs,
listening with intensity
to each tiny change in pitch.
Casals' head bends forward
above his 'cello,
the neck of each nuzzling the other.
He begins to play.
There is a flow from the right shoulder
through the arm
to the bow.
This hand conducts the music.
The left hand moves with urgent purpose;
its fingers fondle, strike and pluck the strings.
His is a lover's song,
soaring with passion,
dancing with abandon.
Casals and the music are one.
This is the understanding born
of a long and ardent marriage.
Casals met the Suites
at the age of thirteen.
He read them through at once.
They became his daily sustenance.
This sole instrument is
a quartet of voices -
baritone and tenor,
alto, soprano.
Listen for the fifth voice.
Casals himself joins in
with a gut-felt, ardent groan.
He is enrapt.
Concentration pulls his mouth down,
into a capsized smile.
His round-lensed glasses,
sliding down his nose.,
reflect the lights.
His balding head gleams.
His listeners cannot stir.
They are breathing the music,
reverently, joyfully
there.
Carrie McLeod Howson
© April 10, 2008
SHIFT
I needed a hug.
While sitting on the stoop
in front of my daughter's house,
waiting for her and the children to come,
I was irritated by the noise
in my soundscape -
as noxious to my ears
as a stench is to the nose.
In my misery,
I wished to hear a breeze
rustling leaves,
a glee of birds,
the chatter of toddlers and nannies.
Instead, jets rumbled overhead.
My brother would have known the ailments
of passing cars
by their clatters and moans.
A great many had
unmuffled mufflers.
In the distance were honks,
the chirps and squeaks of car
doors, locking and unlocking,
the squeal of brakes.
Slowly, I unwound
and my perceptions altered.
In perfect silence a
dark blue butterfly
danced balletic sweeps
before my eyes.
I heard a dried magnolia petal
fall upon a stone.
I heard another frisk
across the lawn.
A door slammed
behind some running kids.
A dog barked.
A blue jay shrieked,
and a crow called.
An unknown bird complained
in peevish tones.
I heard a young child skipping
and teenagers laughing as
they walked home late from school.
I heard my grandchildren shouting,
"Nana! Nana!" as they ran
into my arms, and
enfolded me in theirs.
Carrie McLeod Howson
© April 16, 2008
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