There is much more strength in a man who reveals himself only when it is necessary. I have suffered from being alone, but because I have been able to keep my secret I have overcome the suffering of loneliness … And, today, there is no greater joy than to live alone and unknown. My deepest joy is to write. To accept the world and to accept pleasure—but only when I am stripped bare of everything. I should not be worthy to love the bare and empty beaches if I could not remain naked in the presence of myself. For the first time I can understand the meaning of the word happiness without any ambiguity. It is a little different from what men normally mean when they say: ‘I am happy.’ A certain persistence in despair finally gives birth to joy … And if I now feel that I have come to a turning point in my life, this not because of what I have won but because of what I have lost. Within me, I feel a deep and intense strength that will enable me to live as I intend. If, today, I feel so distant from everything, it is because I have strength only to love and to admire. Life with its face of tears and sun, life in the salt sea and on warm stones, life as I love and understand it—as I caress it I feel my love and despair gathering strength within me. Today is not like a resting place between ‘yes’ and ‘no.’ It is both ‘yes’ and ‘no.’ ‘No,’ and rebellion against everything which is not tears and sunlight. ‘Yes’ to my life, whose future promise I now feel within myself for the first time.
Georges Bizet - “Votre Toast, Je Peux Vous Le Rendre” / Chanson Du Toréador (Carmen)
Lawrence Tibbett, Baritone; Giulio Setti, Conductor
with Metropolitan Opera Chorus and Metropolitan Opera House Orch.
Recorded on April 8, 1929.
“I’ve got to face it. I don’t react the way I used to. I don’t weep properly anymore. Something has changed inside me, as it has around me. The streets are deserted. There’s scarcely anyone left in the cities, or the countryside, or the forests. The sky is clearer now, but still without colour. Years of endless wind have swept away the stench of mass graves. Some sights still upset me, others not. I seem to be on the verge of a sob, but nothing comes. I’ll have to go and see the tear-fixer.”
Artist: Nina Simone
Southern trees bear strange fruit,
Blood on the leaves and blood at the root,
Black body swinging in the Southern breeze,
Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees.
Pastoral scene of the gallant South,
The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth,
Scent of magnolia sweet and fresh,
Then the sudden smell of burning flesh!
Here is fruit for the crows to pluck,
For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck,
For the sun to rot, for the trees to drop,
Here is a strange and bitter crop.
What would it be like to be inside an imagist’s image? Pound’s Tristan, his 1916 attempt at a Noh drama, suggests an answer: it would be a condition where nothing is solid, nothing is determinite — a condition at the knife-edge, at the metamorphic quick, where the subway train is just about to turn into the black bough. Pound’s play is a theatrical presentation of life inside Wagner’s Tristan chord: a chord that demands harmonic resolution yet remains suspended, incapable of resolving, incapable of construing itself, at once creeping upward and diminishing ever further into its own private hypospace — an endless frustration. Because the whole spectacle is one image, the whole action is only the arbitrary spinning-out of a multi-dimensional stasis into a metamorphosis.
—Daniel Albright, ‘Early Cantos I-XLI’
“Nevertheless, life is pleasant, life is tolerable. Tuesday follows Monday; then comes Wednesday. The mind grows rings; the identity becomes robust; pain is absorbed in growth. Opening and shutting, shutting and opening, with increasing hum and sturdiness, the haste and fever of youth are drawn into service until the whole being seems to expand in and out like the mainspring of a clock. How fast the stream flows from January to December! We are swept on by the torrent of things grown so familiar that they cast no shadow. We float, we float…”
Virginia Woolf, The Waves
Menahan Street Band: “BIrds”Artist: Menahan Street Band
Sergei Prokofiev - Romeo and Juliet
Op. 64 Act I, No 13 Dance Of The Knights
Performance by the Boston Symphony Orchestra with Seiji OzawaArtist: Sergei Prokofiev