Vincent van Gogh died on 29 July, 1890. He was 37.
And I then: “Someone frames upon the keys
That exquisite nocturne, with which we explain
The night and moonshine; music which we seize
To body forth our own vacuity.”
She then: “Does this refer to me?”
“Oh no, it is I who am inane.”
-- TS Eliot
Softly, in the dusk, a woman is singing to me;
Taking me back down the vista of years, till I see
A child sitting under the piano, in the boom of the tingling strings
And pressing the small, poised feet of a mother who smiles as she sings
In spite of myself, the insidious mastery of song
Betrays me back, till the heart of me weeps to belong
To the old Sunday evenings at home, with winter outside
And hymns in the cosy parlour, the tinkling piano our guide.
So now it is vain for the singer to burst into clamour
With the great black piano appassionato. The glamour
Of childish days is upon me, my manhood is cast
Down in the flood of remembrance, I weep like a child for the past.
--DH Lawrence
Lt. Cmdr. H and family are on their way to their new home in Arkansas. Retirement at last. Godspeed.
I made a CD for the Cmdr. The title of the CD reads, "From Sacred to Rap." The featured song, of course, was Virgil Shouse rousing feet stomping bluegrass tune, the "Arkansas Traveler."
-- James Carnegie, Earl of Southesk (1827-1905)
Christoph Willibald von Gluck
German Opera and Classical Music Composer
(2 July, 1714 - 15 November, 1787)
Posts
All Comments
