READIN

Sunday, December 13th, 2009

🦋 Visceral realism

I checked The Savage Detectives out from the library yesterday and started reading it. (This may have been a foolish decision: it looks as of 20 pages in, as if this book is going to devour my consciousness utterly, and for a long time; when I had been planning to spend the next two weeks working on an essay about Pamuk.) What joy! Every page is just delightful. But here's the thing: on nearly every page, Bolaño is telling me about source material that I ought to read if I want to really understand where he is coming from.

For example, on November 8, Madero writes: "I've discovered an amazing poem. They never said anything about its author, Efrén Rebolledo, in any of our literature classes," and goes on to quote El vampiro -- he says it haunts him in the same way as his reading of Pierre Louÿs -- and then on November 10, at the end of a truly breathtaking scene, he mentions 9 books that the 3 visceral realists he has met are carrying:

• Manifeste électrique aux paupiers de jupes -- an edition of poetry by "Michel Bulteau, Matthieu Messagier, Jean-Jacques Faussot, Jean-Jacques Nguyen That, and Gyl Bert-Ram-Soutrenom F.M., and other poets of the Electric Movement, our French counterparts (I think)."
• Sang de satin, by Michel Bulteau
• Nord d'éte naître opaque, by Mattieu Messagier
• Le parfait criminel, by Alain Jouffroy
• Le pays où tout est permis, by Sophie Podolski
• Cent mille milliards de poèmes, by Raymond Queneau
• Little Johnny's Confession, by Brian Patten
• Tonight at Noon, by Adrian Henri
• The Lost Fire Brigatde, by Spike Hawkins

A few more authors, from November 14: Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz is one of the earliest Mexican poets (unrelatedly, I am entranced by Madero's line from November 7, "I finished Aphrodite, the book by Louÿs, and now I'm reading the dead Mexican poets, my future colleagues.") -- Rodríguez wanted to name the visceral realists' magazine after her; and Laura Damián is (according to Rodríguez) "a poetess who died before she turned twenty, in 1972, and her parents established a prize in her memory."

posted morning of December 13th, 2009: 3 responses
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Saturday, December 12th, 2009

🦋 Imperfect

...another chapter in the annals of me learning Spanish comes with Juan Goytisolo's story "Los amigos" (from Para vivir aquí) -- two things about this story are, a very high proportion of the clauses have "we" as their subject -- so I'm getting used to another set of conjugations that I have not seen as much of so far -- and, it seems like a lot more of the verbs are in imperfect past tense than I'm used to. So that adds a new wrinkle, trying to figure out how to read that tense. The Spanish language courses say, imperfect indicative X == "was X'ing" -- this seems to generally work, although it would get extremely tedious to translate everything this way.

Until now I have recognized imperfect by the "-aba" ending -- verbs which end in -ar, which is most verbs, form their imperfect this way. But I come to find out, verbs which end in -ir and -er do not exhibit this behavior; their imperfect looks roughly like a preterite with -a tacked on to the end. I think I have been reading this, until now, as if it were a preterite -- this may account for why this story seems to have so much more imperfect in it. (Also: I had not realized that first person plural preterite construction is almost exactly the same as first person plural indicative -- when I started reading this story I thought it was being told in the present tense.)

I love the way Goytisolo opens stories. Look at this:

For the past six days I had not been getting a moment's rest. The rhythm of life in the city had changed quickly; in the faces of the men and women who covered the sidewalks was written a firm resolution, full of hope. We had discovered that we were not alone, and after so many years of shame the discovery was astonishing. Our gazes would intersect and they were gazes of complicity. The most insignificant gestures of daily life -- the simple act of walking -- took on a miraculous aura. People followed their ordinary paths silently, and this silence, from hundreds and thousands of people, was more eloquent than any word.

posted afternoon of December 12th, 2009: Respond
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Thursday, December 10th, 2009

🦋 Tumultous poetry

El País today publishes the first chapter of Antonio Muñoz Molina's new novel, La noche de los tiempos, along with a glowing review. Looks like a fine book -- I'm drawn in by the first few pages, by the specificity of location and date -- October 1936, Pennsylvania Station (New York) -- and by the levels of imagery -- "Each man and woman a figure very similar to the others and yet bestowed an identity as indubitably unique as the distinct trajectory each one follows aiming for a precise destination..."

posted evening of December 10th, 2009: Respond
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🦋 A couple of new songs

John was over this evening -- we're going to play the open mic at Summit Unitarian Church on Saturday, looks like our set list will be "Louisville Burglar" and "California Stars" for our primary 2 songs, and "Prodigal Son" (which turns out to sound much better in E than in D) and "Meet Me in the Morning", if we get a chance to play more than 2 songs. We mostly went over stuff we have played before; the new songs we tried out:

• "Somewhere East of West Berlin" (Stonewall Jackson) -- Cold War Country/Western.
• "The Growling Old Man and the Growling Old Woman" -- French Canadian fiddle tune; I've been working on this a fair amount the past few days, using my metronome technique. It sounded very nice.
• "Uncle Pen" -- I did not know this tune at all, it was kind of tough to catch the tune. But worth working on.

Someone who found my site by searching for "Louisville Burglar" sent me a link to this magnificent version of it, by John Specker: Grassroots Festival, 1996.

(John reminds me, we also played Neil Young's "I am a Child", and "Ophelia" by The Band.)

posted evening of December 10th, 2009: Respond
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Sunday, December 6th, 2009

🦋 Saramago addresses Italy

Saramago addresses a new post to the Italians who marched in protest of Berlusconi's regime yesterday.

Si Cicerón todavía viviera entre vosotros, italianos, no diría "¿Hasta cuando, Catilina, abusarás de nuestra paciencia?" y sí: "¿Hasta cuando, Berlusconi, atentarás contra nuestra democracia?". De eso se trata. Con su peculiar idea sobre la razón de ser y el significado de la institución democrática, Berlusconi ha transformado en pocos años a Italia en una sombra grotesca de país y a una gran parte de los italianos en una multitud de títeres que lo siguen aborregadamente sin darse cuenta de que caminan hacia el abismo de la dimisión cívica definitiva, hacia el descrédito internacional, hacia el ridículo absoluto.

Con su historia, con su cultura, con su innegable grandeza, Italia no merece el destino que Berlusconi le ha trazado con frialdad canalla y sin el menor vestigio de pudor político, sin el más elemental sentimiento de vergüenza. Quiero pensar que la gigantesca manifestación contra la "cosa" Berlusconi, donde serán leídas estas palabras, se convertirá en el primer paso para la libertad y la regeneración de Italia. Para eso no son necesarias armas, bastan los votos. En vosotros deposito mi confianza.

If Cicero still lived among you, O Italians, he would not say, "How long, O Catiline, will you abuse our patience?" but rather: "How long, Berlusconi, will you transgress against our democracy?" This is how it is. With his unusual ideas about the basis and significance of the democratic institution, Berlusconi has in a few years transformed Italy into a grotesque shadow of a country; a great part of the Italian people, into a mob of puppets who go on, ovine, without understanding that they're marching toward the abyss of definitive civic resignation, towards international discredit, towards absolute ridicule.

With her history, with her culture, with her undeniable grandeur, Italy does not deserve the destiny which Berlusconi has mapped out, with brutal coldness and without the least vestige of political modesty, without the most elemental sentiment of shame. I want to believe that the massive demonstration against the Berlusconi "thing", where these words will be read, will become the first step for liberty and for the regeneration of Italy. For this arms are not necessary; votes will suffice. In you I place my confidence.

posted evening of December 6th, 2009: Respond
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🦋 Metronome etude

Something new is opening up for me musically as I start using the metronome -- I was able tonight to learn a new tune in about an hour, where it usually takes me weeks before I can think of a song as something I feel comfortable with. I learned "Boys of Blue Hill" -- which is a vaguely familiar tune from my youth but I have not listened to consciously in a long time -- from sheet music; starting with a very slow metronome (80 or so) I played the notes to rhythm, adhering to the metronome's time even when I stumble on the melody. Play it through a few times until the slowness begins to feel like a drag, and speed the tick up to 108, which is the very slowest I can play most reel or jig type of fiddle tunes and have them sound anything like a song. And repeat; keep playing until the slowness feels like a drag, and raise the speed a bit, for a few iterations, until the speed has begun to feel right; only then do I start thinking about really learning the notes by heart -- and by then I have played them enough times that they are already fairly solid!

I tried this with a second tune, "Harvest Home" -- which is much less familiar, which a lot of YouTube fiddlers seem to like to make a medley of with "Boys of Blue Hill" -- and spent about half an hour on it, not getting nearly as close to knowing it as I feel with the other song, but still making palpable progress with it. I made a recording of "Boys of Blue Hill" which I will post if I can get my browser to coöperate in uploading it to a host.

Update -- got my browser walking on the straight and narrow again. The "Boys of Blue Hill".

posted evening of December 6th, 2009: Respond
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🦋 La Ronda

Some nice imagery from the opening of Juan Goytisolo's story "Making the Rounds" from Para Vivir Aquí (I am really enjoying these stories about traveling in the south -- Goytisolo is from Barcelona and I think he was still living there when he wrote these stories):

Viniendo por la nacional 332, más allá de la base hidronaval de Los Alcázares, se atraviesa una tierra llana, de arbolado escaso, jalonada, a trechos, por las siluetas aspadas de numerosos molinos de viento. Uno se cree arrebatado de los aguafuertes de una edición del Quixote o a una postal gris, y algo marchita, de Holanda. La brisa sople día y noche en aquella zona y las velas de los molinos giran con un crujido sordo. Se diría las helices de un ventilador, las alas de un gigantesco insecto. Cuando pasamos atardecía y el cielo estaba teñido de rojo.

Coming down N-332, past the hydro-naval base at Los Alcázares, you cross a flat landscape, with little forestation, marked at intervals by the cruciform outlines of windmills. One believes oneself transfixed in the etchings of an edition of the Quixote or in an old gray postcard from Holland, a bit faded. The breeze blows day and night in this region, and the windmills' sails turn with a muffled creaking. They bespeak the blades of a fan, the wings of a giant insect. When we passed through there it was getting late; the sky was stained with red.

This is kind of cool: Google Maps has streetview for Murcia. Here is a view along N-332 heading south, midway between Los Alcázares and Cartagena:

posted morning of December 6th, 2009: Respond
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Saturday, December 5th, 2009

🦋 Thou shalt dash them in pieces

Last April in Vienna, Claus Guth staged a remarkable interpretation of Handel's Messiah. Dusan Bogdanovic explains the storyline in comments at mostly opera...:

For me it was very clearly a more or less straight forward story of a guy committing suicide, not being able to withstand the burdens poised by demands and pressures of the world in which we are all living. The only person knowing that this was suicide is a priest, who stages it like a murder, so that the guy can be at least properly buried. And the question arises whether this can be understood and whether there could be redemption for such a deed. The answer comes from an angel like figure, though speaking to us in a sign language. (Basically God speaking to us and us being â??blind and deafâ? or not open enough to understand his words).

Aha! No need: carosaxone already did it. Handel's Messiah, as staged by Guth.

posted evening of December 5th, 2009: Respond
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🦋 Pendulum

Some thoughts about using a metronome when practicing music:

• I have to devote a fair amount of attention to the metronome, to really benefit from its clicking -- possibly not as much attention as I need to pay to a musician I am jamming with, but it is unexpected -- my impulse is to think well it's a machine, let it click away on its own.
• If I do pay attention and really think about where the click is supposed to come in relation to the notes I'm playing, it makes me sound a lot better -- my rhythm can range from fairly sloppy to quite crisp, but to be crisp I need to be thinking about it. The main purpose I see in using the metronome is learning how to think about that.
• So that's what I'm hoping will carry over into my jamming with other musicians, is the understanding of precisely where my notes should start and end in relationship to the song's meter.

This evening I played five songs with the metronome, moving progressively to slower songs. "Whisky Before Breakfast" was at 160; "Bonaparte Crossing the Rhine" at 140; "Old Joe Clark" and "Napoleon Crossing the Rocky Mountains" at 120; and "My Grandfather's Clock" at 108. I have never played that last one before, at least not as a serious song -- just sort of a clichéed musical joke to fill in space at a jam. But it's a song where rhythm is really vital -- the ticking of the clock is the backbone of the song -- and it actually has a pretty nice sound. The others I have been playing a lot of over the past few weeks, I'm actually working on developing a repertoire! Had been meaning to work on that for a while now...

posted evening of December 5th, 2009: Respond

🦋 Antipoetry

(Every book in the world is out there waiting to be read by me.)

Gives me a nice opening to mention that I read the opening pages of The Savage Detectives in a book shop this morning, and it moved several spots up on my priority list of what to read next -- just a hilarious book.

posted evening of December 5th, 2009: Respond
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