"Transcends cathegories"

Post #95,594 by Arkadiy 4/9/03 10:53:29 PM Reply	"Transcends cathegories" Indeed. It's way beyond mere prose. It's metaphoric, philosophical, mystic, even. But still. Not. Poetry. (in my eyes) This comes much closer to my definition of poetry: The Tiger William Blake Tiger, tiger, burning bright, In the forest of the night, What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy fearful symmetry? In what distant deeps or skies Burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand dare seize the fire? And what shoulder, and what art, Could twist the sinews of thy heart? When thy heart began to beat, What dread hand forged thy dread feet? What the hammer? What the chain? In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil? What dread grasp Dared its deadly terrors clasp? When the stars threw down their spears And watered heaven with their tears, Did He smile his work to see? Did He who made the lamb make thee? Tiger, tiger, burning bright, In the forest of the night, What immortal hand or eye Dare frame thy fearful symmetry? It's not without its faults. May be too straightforward. But the idea is there. Also, the man whom Brodsky loved, may be, more than any other English poet: Robert Frost (1874\ufffd1963). Fire and Ice SOME say the world will end in fire,\t Some say in ice.\t From what I\ufffdve tasted of desire\t I hold with those who favor fire.\t But if it had to perish twice,\t 5 I think I know enough of hate\t To know that for destruction ice\t Is also great\t And would suffice.\t -- It made Ketchup! Sweet Ketchup! Put it on a hot dog, put it on a burger, Put it on your sister and she'll holler blody murder! Sweet Ketchup. --Tom Paxton.
Post #95,600 by rcareaga 4/9/03 11:12:22 PM Reply	Brodsky, Blake At just around the same time I attended the Brodsky reading I scored one of my greatest undergraduate triumphs, in a class on a subject a bit hard to explain today, but which seemed to make perfect sense in that era: the central text was Huezinga's Homo Ludens, but the syllabus extended all over the map. Anyway--evening class, brooding young Associate Professor stalking catlike back and forth, no doubt attempting to impress that class of undergraduates some still called "coeds": "Fearful symmetry," he hissed. "Fearful symmetry? Somebody tell me what Blake meant, what's so fearful about symmetry?" "Waal," I drawled insolently, bluffing, since the young prof had finished up by pointing at me in our small class, "I personally wouldn't care to walk through a symmetry at midnight." "Exactly! he roared. "Exactly!" I was damned pleased with myself and savor the memory, as you see, three decades later. cordially. "Die Welt ist alles, was der Fall ist."
Post #95,647 by Ashton 4/10/03 4:41:20 AM Reply	Thanks - pronunciation hints. Yevtushenko story (I think it was he) This story I read maybe 20 yrs ago.. in -?- a US pub I don't recall. I think I recall it verbatim - it's hard to forget. Yevtushenko had arrived at a hall to read some recently published poetry to a large assemblage. He was old then, a bit awkward and needed his glasses. He read a page or so and then accidentally knocked the papers off the podium.. As he bent down and slowly tried to gather the pages .. a voice in the audience recited the next line. Then another person the following line .. on it went, as other voices recited in unison. It was said that he had some trouble with his eyes, just then For me it was the perfect illustration of the importance of poetry in Russia and the other -SSRs, and also indicative of the general literacy. Quite different here, alas - though no one could miss the wonderfulness of this event.. for anyone there or simply, hearing of it. Could there ever be a larger tribute to a poet? They had memorized his work; his quite recent work! Still makes goose bumps, just to recall it. (I trust it must be true; no one could be so crass as to invent it. Except Billy, and he wouldn't know anything about the subject.) PS: for Arkadiy I have a 7" audio tape of Shostakovich' 10th Symphony, composer conducting (maybe in lieu of Kyril Kondrashin?) - recorded in fact by the composer's son, on a Telefunken prof. machine. Probably thus the Moscow Symphony O. It is with the original words to the poem Babii Yar, prior to censorship - which story I heard only vaguely. It was smuggled out in early '60s, by a visiting US physicist. Since we worked in the same place and I was doing audio things - I made a copy for him, with understanding I was to make no others (though I made it almost-clear I would keep one, in any event). I haven't heard it in years; haven't even a R-to-R machine around currently - though I need to acquire one anon, to hear some of my own stuff and get things moved over to another medium. I'd think this of historical interest to someone or group. Any ideas? It was, at the time a powerful indictment of the regime; the admonition about no copies proliferating - was for protection of all concerned. I took that to be real and not hyperbole. It was a privilege to hear the first audition of this work in the US - ever! and on a super-system with KLH-9 electrostatic speakers, etc. AFAIK, the original I used was the only copy of the performance made; cannot be sure if sometime another was made, however - but with Shostakovich & son present? I don't know if Yevtushenko was also there for the performance. Ashton
Post #95,671 by deSitter 4/10/03 9:01:47 AM Reply	Yevtushenko - outstanding -drl (Dm - 2Am)(Rmn + 1/2gmn R + 1/2Fmn) = 0
Post #95,742 by rcareaga 4/10/03 11:53:55 AM Reply	Yevtushenko -- old? Ash, Ash, if you read the story twenty years ago, even if the event so movingly narrated had occurred the previous week, Yevtushenko would have been not more than fifty. Of course...the men of the USSR weren't notable for longevity then (and they peg out sooner in the successor states), prolonged hard drinking will age a body, and even if Y had been vigorous at fifty his public would have remembered the brash twentysomething who first came to prominence during the Thaw. Anyway. A charming story. My god, even the philistines who ran the country then paid poetry the respect of fearing it. I have a friend whom I've known since shortly after she moved to SF from Russia with her two sons (now 17 and 20) five years ago. It has been a little saddening to watch the memes of American trash-pop move in on the boys in a kind of Gresham's Law of culture. I hope that they've managed at least to partition the disk, and leave something Russian and unsullied there... re Shostakovich: If you want to move the reel-to-reel to a more durable medium (i.e., audio CD), try cdbbq.com, a one-man operation out of Arizona--I've dealt with him several times; he's conscientious, trustworthy and technically proficient. Also: Do you know Shostakovich's Op. 87, "Twenty-four Preludes and Fugues"? Magnificent stuff, some of it the way you'd imagine God to sound like thinking aloud if He happened to be in a particularly pensive mood (and who wouldn't be, this past century, from that vantage?). cordially, "Die Welt ist alles, was der Fall ist."
Post #96,392 by Ashton 4/13/03 5:18:39 PM 4/13/03 6:49:27 PM Reply	Re: Yevtushenko -- old? Might be <20 yrs, as I ponder where I might have found the story. Might even have been another poet ;-) Hell maybe even Pasternak, but then.. Thanks for R-R tip. Silly that.. I was a Crown, Revox dealer! in the bye and bye. Moved on; peddled my Ampex alignment tapes, etc. Now have to scrounge. Heh - think of those owners of superb Marantz equipment who M$-"up"graded to... Germanium transistors! (proving their ears were not golden but leaden.. in the first Place.) And so it goes, Ashton Edit PS: Have heard the Preludes And Fugues; can't say I 'know' it, don't own a copy. Hmmm - there's a Gliere Concerto for Coloratura & Orchestra - must choose the Joan Sutherland version - as may also qualify for transcendence.. Voice as pure instrument, wordless. {sometimes.. such a relief, that} (as would several JS qualify, of course itgoeswithoutayingsoIwon't) As to this last century.. Honegger Christmas Cantata! Dissonance as perfect metaphor: It begins with >12-tone-like er dissonance; since it's a Xian-sorta metaphor.. as The Light begins to dawn on [us - presumably].. harmony sneaks in and grows into paeans. The first clear chord is a falling (fifth?) with a 'wondering?' rising and tentative, in the 4th-or-so bar and then a resolution. One caveat - for fully appreciating Where We Are At Today [?] record this on a tape; reverse-spool: and play it backwards. Devolution made manifest by the omnipotent power of music to teach... (those with ears not yet deafened by electric guitars at 110 dBm.) Ashton Critic Watchin replay of Headin fer the Last Roundup, played by a clown in paleface, with his fly open to reveal - white powder. Edited by Ashton April 13, 2003, 06:49:27 PM EDT Expand All History
Post #96,691 by Arkadiy 4/15/03 2:26:14 PM Reply	Don't know _who_ would be interested but someone should better be. I'll try some Russian Googling later -- It made Ketchup! Sweet Ketchup! Put it on a hot dog, put it on a burger, Put it on your sister and she'll holler blody murder! Sweet Ketchup. --Tom Paxton.

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