The Poet's Heart

The Poet's Heart is not altogether like the heart of the nonpoet. There are no musical works entitled "The Nonpoet's Heart," whereas I have heard of more than one musical works called "The Poet's Heart." This always invokes the image of a heathen sacrificial rite, does it not? Fortunately, that is not the matter at hand, as heathen sacrificial rites make me queasy, which is a very strange word when one thinks deeply on it. "Queasy," that is.

Queasy queasy queasy queasy queasy queasy queasy queasy queasy queasy.

Non sequitur...

I dreamed recently I met Erik Satie. We had a wonderful time. It is sort of like the time I dreamed I met Edvard Grieg. Of course, it is sort of disappointing to wake up on these instances.

The Poet's Heart has a special substance to it, lacking in the hearts of nonpoets. I believe that this substance is a deadly poison. When a nonpoet with a Poet's Heart fails to write poetry or engage in some other such Art, the poison will likely build up and kill that poor individual. This deadly poison, of course, is what I refer to as longing. The word "longing," when it comes out of me, does so ambiguously (though not androgynously, mind you; it is pure masculinity), in the sense that if one (a rational one) believes it could mean something, it probably does. Longing can be drawn out by the making of art, and it is for this purpose that I insist on making art. That is, I am full of longing, and I have no idea what to do with it.

Thus I became an Artist, specializing in the Arts of Mediocre Music and Pedestrian Poetry. Of course, this is a dangerous pursuit, but well worth it, I think. I have made three poems and numerous pieces of music, I tell you, and I am a better and healthier being for having done so.

Buffoonery

I am pleased to note, my friends, that I am no longer the buffoon I was several weeks ago. Furthermore, in several weeks, I do not plan to be the buffoon I am today. Indeed, I plan to be precisely the buffoon I shall be in several weeks. Is that not simply wonderful?

My prayers that you all might do the same.

Becoming a Bohemian: or That Which I Have Learned and That Which Might be Learned from Me

On Saturn's Days I do what is commonly referred to as "work." This is a very silly thing to call that which I do, because I have never done any work doing it, but all the same, it produces one of The Man's favorite things: income. I do not believe it pleases The Man; however, as I am vastly entertained by my "work," henceforth referred to as "play." This is an excellent choice of word for that which I do, for it is precisely my doing. I play. More aptly, children play, but not with me, mind you, but for me. Sometimes I play for them as well, thus subjugating them to my superiority and reminding them why they are learning from me, and not me from them. Otherwise I simply demonstrate that which I demand that they do. That which is played, of course, is the pianoforte.

There are at this point three students under my wise and sagacious pedagogy and pleonasms. I rather enjoy the company of the number three, as it is the number in the Holy Trinity.* Also, I quite enjoy the company of children, as they often put a smile on my face, especially when they are masquerading as the elderly. I rather enjoy the company of the elderly, as they often put a smile on my face, especially when they are masquerading as the young. Also, I rather enjoy the company of animals, particularly domestic animals and harmless wild animals, as they put a smile on my face, especially when they are masquerading as human, or perhaps not that last bit. I do not particularly enjoy the company of humans (or at least frightening ones with three rows of teeth), as they often reveal themselves to be savage beasts.

Thus I meet with three certain youths each week, one of which is a bit too large and aged to call "child" (He is taller than me, I think. I do not like that.), and I have come across a certain pedagogic virtue, largely based on the influence of certain persons around me whom I admire greatly. This is the virtue of teaching without shoes. (Perhaps this is what made that youth taller than me...he had shoes...) Now, it is a usual practice of mine not to wear shoes around the home, as I believe is the practice of most of my fellow human beings. I myself would not know... Granted that I engage in this pedagogy from within the confines of my home, I do not feel inclined to put on shoes for the occasion, and frequently I altogether neglect socks, as well. In fact, this has become my standard practice. I am altogether convinced that I am more effective for doing so. Also, it helps to upset The Man just a tiny bit more.

Next maybe I will stop shaving and getting my hairs cut and washing. I could be a Bohemian! I could buy a long frock coat, a damaged top hat, and dirty pants, which I would not wash either. Then I could spend my days making art** and disappointing my loved ones, who would continually give me small allowances of money so that I could eat and not find myself homeless, which I would quickly squander on the many useless possessions that I would run across in the shops of my Bohemian world. It would be great fun, don't you think?***

The muses be with you.****

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*There are some mystics who refer to the Blessed Virgin as the third person of the Holy Trinity. Beware of these, for they are followers of Isis.

**The shortest distance from Point A to Point B is Fish Heads and Rice.

***I do not think so, either.

****I do not believe in the muses. Neither should you.

Lamentations

I weep bitterly, O friends. I have rent my clothing and covered myself in dust.

My friend the gourd is passing away. I went out to meet him this morning, only to discover his leaves utterly wilted or otherwise dead, his vines altogether shriveled, and a terrible white growth covering his remaining leaves. It is a terribly tragic sight. May your prayers be with him. The gourds themselves seem to be alive, though. There is hope.

This line exists for symmetrical purposes.

For Fear of Soap

"No one ever saw [Satie] wash - he had a horror of soap." -Igor Stravinsky

Indeed, fear of soap is a serious issue, and it is one that ought to be more widespread, simply because it is a rational fear, like the Fear of God. Now, so that Prodicus does not burst into my room in the wee hours of the night to beat my head in with a dictionary, let me clarify. The first two times I spoke of fear, I meant it in the sense of caution. The third time I meant it in the sense of reverence, so a rational fear is not like the Fear of God at all. If you believed me, I fooled you! I knew it all along!

Now, on the subject of the fear of soap, which is still entirely rational, I must admit that I have developed just such a fear over the last two weeks. In my devotion to Hygiene, the vulgarities and poisons of Common Soap have impurified my precious flesh. I am now afraid of this soap, and I refuse to use it in the washing of my hands, because it makes my poor flesh dry and red and unpleasant to the touch. This will not do. Being the wise and resourceful individual that I am, though, a solution came to me in a dream, specifically a daydream. Now I carry my own soap in my pocket, and all my problems are solved. With the occasional use of Norwegian hand lotion, all shall be well again very soon!

To My Disciples

Some days ago I spake unto my disciples thus:

"O my disciples! Wherefore followest thou me, for my Master is far greater, and He wisheth not that thou followest me, for I am not worthy of being followed. Prithee, disciples, follow my Master, for He will show thee truth, and I have naught but shadows cast in His light!"

But woe! My disciples were not with me when I spake it, and they heard not any of my teaching, and thus they remain mine unwanted followers, and they shall find many new teachings of no value, lest I give ones of value. Wherefore hang they weight upon my words and my doings? If they beheld all my doings, they perhaps would not use their weights on me, but instead place them on my Master, who beareth all weight.

"O my disciples!" I speak, "Renounce me and take up the cross, for it is a noble burden to bear, and it is a necessary burden to bear, lest ye wish to bear the burden of iniquity, which is left behind when thou takest up the cross. For behold! My Master hath taken it all upon his own cross, where he did die, taking with him all thine iniquities, if thou but followest him! 'Repent and be baptized,' saith the Apostle! For my Master hath defeated iniquity in resurrection!"

Alas, but I cry into thin air, which suffocateth me in isolation. Mine heart bursteth with great longing for my Lord and King, and I force its blood to bleed into naught but space! O thinnest of air, which surroundeth a man when he lieth alone, thou art awash with the blood of the Afeared! Thou art bitter with the taste and smell of wasted life and energies ill-spent. Depart, O bitter air, which hath no sweetness, depart and return no more, for then I must seek the breath of Life, lest I perish. For I say unto thee, blood-washed cries into the air stifle life, but spreading the blood createth life anew.

"O disciples! None of thee art here, and thus I myself yet drown alone! I hath mentioned unto thee my Master before, and thou did dismiss Him favoring myself! Woe to my self, the evil villain, the scheming Old Man! Wither doest thou this, and wither saltest thou my wounds? It is like unto salting the earth, for no life may flow from salted earth! Wherefore becomest thou not the salt of this world, rather than the salt of my wounds? Stifle the growth of this world, for it is futile, and allow the growth of the Kingdom of my Lord and King, which endureth for ever. What is this? Laughter in the air, here to suffocate me further? Wherefore laughest thou at my Master? Wherefore followest thou His servant, but ridiculest He? How can this be, lest I be a wicked servant? O my disciples, ye wicked disciples, I did truly ask for thee, but I have failed to instruct thee! For surely thou wouldst not have heeded my words, but yet, thou hast ears, and thou canst hear. But what hath I spaken for thee to hear? If thou hast naught to hear, what hast thou to heed?"

How I suffer for them, but I speak naught, and for this I suffer only for me. How do I draw such pain but from mine own failures? For the disciples do indeed speak, but I speak not, but jest with them. To this end, no truth floweth, but only laughter, which fluttereth away as quickly as it cometh. Though laughter is right and good, it is not the whole, and it maketh whole no man. Wherefore can I marvel and wonder, then, when my disciples remain as they are? For if the servant doth naught, how then shall the Master reap his harvest? He hath condemned he who burieth His treasure when he commandeth wise investment. He hath condemned the tree which beareth no fruit. And woe! I am like unto both of these!

"O disciples!" I cry once again into the vacuum, "How I love you! How I suffer for you! How I fear you! How I betray you with each passing meeting!"

International Talk Like A Pirate Day

As you should be aware, 19 September is International Talk Like A Pirate Day, ITLAPD or TLAPD for short. This, of course, is one of the most important holy days of the year, just behind Christmas and Easter, not necessarily in that order. That, is, I am inclined to believe that Easter commemorates a slightly more significant occurrence, so I may as well say in the opposite order, except that ITLAPD is still behind them both. It is not to be understood, though that ITLAPD is not important, indeed, it is indeed, as stated, one of the most important holy days of the year, and its patron saint is none other than St. Robert Newton.

Thus this is my annual reminder to the masses, only six days remain from today, the dreaded Thursday the Thirteenth of September, until ITLAPD begins. If anyone would like to join my crew, please sign up by way of comment. In so doing, you sign yourselves over to me for any piratical purposes (plank-walking, plundering and pillaging, etc.) surrounding ITLAPD, and during those times you are to refer to me as The Dread Lord Admiral Edward Gregg, Scourge of the Spanish Main, Swashbuckler Extraordinaire. September 19 and the following weekend shall mark the celebration. We are allowed to use whatever dates we like because we are pirates, and we like to spit in the direction of authority and conformity.

All necessary information is available at the following address:
http://www.talklikeapirate.com

Oh, and by the way, Bartholomew "Black Bart" Roberts is the greatest pirate of all time. This is not a common opinion among the laypeople. That is, the average person might say, "Blackbeard! He was tall!" but this person, being average, is a fool. Being tall and placing slowmatches under one's hat does not make an excellent pirate. Neither does having one's decapitated body swim around Maynard's ship three times before sinking count one as an excellent pirate. An excellent pirate dresses well, captures hundreds of ships, does accountable economic damage to the world, legendarily does not drink alcohol, hosts Sunday church services on one's ship, and is blown to pieces by a cannonball off the Gold Coast of Africa while staring down a British Man'O'War. Bartholomew Roberts did these things! And on the subject of dressing well, the Gentleman Pirate is superior in every way to the filthy, flea-ridden, scurvy sea-dog. Calico Jack Rackham, for example, dressed so well, that he came to be known by the name of his clothes--Calico. Do you not wish to be known by the name of your clothes?

Edvard Grieg and Norwegian Nationalism

It is scarcely a matter of question that Edvard Grieg was the most influential figure in the movement to create a Norwegian national style of music in the second half of the nineteenth century. The question, thus, is not of his influence itself, but rather, how he came to be so influential, a question that is best approached from a consideration of the people and factors that made Grieg who he came to be. Most significant among these are Grieg’s time at the Leipzig Conservatory, comprising his formal education in the field of music aside, of course, form the piano lessons he received from his mother throughout his childhood, and his time in Denmark following his time at the conservatory, where he met such nationalists such as Rikard Nordraak, who would die of tuberculosis at the age of twenty-three, but not before composing the Norwegian National Anthem. The conservatory years shall be explored through Grieg’s autobiographical article “My First Success,” and his time in Denmark shall be considered using his comments on the work of Christian Frederik Emil Horneman and his comments on the work of Rikard Nordraak.

Grieg was appointed to attend the Leipzig Conservatory with a considerable degree of excitement at the age of fifteen on the recommendation of his relative by marriage, the famous Norwegian violinist and nationalist, Ole Bull (Benestad and Halverson 75-76). Bull, it would seem, was impressed by the young Grieg’s abilities in both performance and composition on the piano, declaring that at the conservatory Grieg was to become a musician. The Leipzig Conservatory, having been founded in the year of Grieg’s birth by none other than Felix Mendelssohn, had quickly become one of Europe’s leading musical institutions after the German tradition of music-making. Indeed, as Grieg himself acknowledged, it was a great honor to have the opportunity to study there (Benestad and Halverson 77), but dissatisfaction and disagreement throughout his experience altogether spoiled his appreciation for the presentation of the musical art offered at the Leipzig Conservatory.

This is demonstrated quite thoroughly through Grieg’s experiences with his teachers at the Conservatory. For example, his first piano teacher at the aforementioned institution was Louis Plaidy, for whom Grieg has very little praise, commenting that “His method of teaching was one of the most uninspired imaginable” (Benestad and Halverson 78). To Grieg, this man who idolized the works of the early classical period was quite the opposite of the teacher he desired. Fortunately, it did not take too terribly long for Grieg to find men that did appeal a bit more to his tastes, such as Ernst Ferdinand Wenzel, Ignaz Moscheles, Moritz Hauptmann, and most importantly for the matter at hand Carl Reinecke, though not most important to Grieg, it should be noted.

Reinecke provides a perfect example of the shortcomings that Grieg perceived in the academic approach at Leipzig, which he summarizes by stating, “…I wanted something different from what they taught and failed to teach me in the classes” (Benestad 85). Grieg describes how Reinecke had a tendency to assign him compositional tasks requiring skills that the Conservatory had made absolutely no effort to teach him, particularly that of orchestration and of instrumentation (Benestad and Halverson 84). Thus, despite considerable praise for many of his teachers, Grieg did not show mercy to the institution of Leipzig, whose shortcomings were only remedied, according to Grieg, by his own independent study. Assuming he speaks mostly the truth, Grieg’s relatively famous statement, “the atmosphere of Leipzig had thrown a veil over my eyes” (Benestad and Halverson 88) can be treated with accuracy, especially considering the direction Grieg’s music would soon take.

After finishing at the Leipzig Conservatory in 1862, Grieg’s artistic life would undergo the shift from his Germanic education to the Norwegian nationalism for which it is known. For the next few years, Grieg would be in contact with notable Danish composers, particularly Christian Frederik Emil Hormenam, and the great Norwegian nationalist Rikard Nordraak, with whom he had joined together to found a musical society known as “Euterpe”. It was their friendship and influences that allowed Grieg to begin working with the style that truly defined his art.

Grieg’s conservatory friend Horneman, first of all stood out to him as an exemplary composer and a true asset to Scandinavian music, if not specifically to Norway. Their lifelong friendship produced numerous letters, full of mutual goodwill and praise, but the impact specifically that Horneman had on Grieg is best summarized in Grieg’s article on Horneman, which describes both his efforts in the musical society to promote Nordic music and his brilliance as a composer of the same variety (Benestad and Halverson 215). Indeed, Grieg fondly recalls the days with his friend, and he urges others to support him, as well, in the name of the advancement of their mutual cause, still strong sixteen years after the short existence of their Euterpe musical society. This, among other comments, clearly illustrates the lasting effect of Grieg’s days with his fellow artists in the 1860s.

Most important to Grieg though, musically speaking, was his fellow Norwegian Rikard Nordraak, whose legacy, in a sense, Grieg continued after the former’s untimely death in 1866. The veneration that Grieg gave to Nordraak could not be clearer but in the fact that, as soon as he received the tragic word of Nordraak’s passing, Grieg wrote a brilliantly Norwegian funeral march for his friend. Furthemore, in a published article from 1900, Grieg expressed some very strong sentiments in praise of Nordraak and his ideals, reminding the Norwegian people where the music to their national anthem originated, praising the emotional range of Nordraak’s music, and stating that Nordraak had “lived and died with a glowing faith in Norway’s future” (Benestad and Halverson 250-251). In this article, Grieg even mentioned that he should like to be able to write a biography of one of his greatest artistic heroes. The full range of Grieg’s nationalistic fervor and artistic temperament is manifest in this text, titled “Homage to Nordraak,” and it reveals with perfect depth the great extent to which Grieg’s late friend influenced his thinking.

Two factors played chiefly in guiding the artistic development of Edvard Grieg. First, there were frustrations and disappointments at the Leipzig Conservatory, as well as growth and technical development, primarily due to the competence of several of Grieg’s teachers and Grieg’s own drive to succeed in his artistic endeavors. In the end, though, Grieg had been left without a musical style or purpose, being consigned to the Germanic idiom that he had been taught. Second, when in Denmark Grieg encountered a considerable group of men who were interested in the same ends as he, friendships sprung easily, and these would serve as his guide to the future. Largely, then, Grieg’s enthusiastic and sudden development into the epitome of the Norwegian musician can be accredited to his quick jump from an artistic trench to the top of a hill. It is for this reason that both Grieg and his admirers see his change as being so drastic and important. Without the conditions in place as they were, the world might not have been gifted the same Edvard Grieg.

Bibliography

Benestad, Finn ed. trans., and William H. Halverson ed. trans. Edvard Grieg: Diaries, Articles, Speeches. Columbus, Ohio: Peer Gynt Press, 2001.

Birthday Presents from the Heavens

Do you remember, O readers, the snows of the February of 2007 that fell in my neck of the woods and probably in yours, as well? I imagine most of my readers are near my neck of the woods. At any rate, I found this photograph on the camera I brought with me on my grand adventure the other day, and I thought that it was extraordinarily attractive:

I did not take it, but I am better and happier for knowing it exists. Well, I knew it existed before, but now I think it should be displayed as art, or something.

Next time perhaps I shall have something absurd for you, or perhaps (if I am so compelled) something of depth and substance. Tonight, however, I tickle your eyes. Does it not feel nice?

A Good Day's Adventure

Today's grand adventure involved my stepping outside of my river valley home into the river valley, camera in hand, and photographing the strange and friendly gourd that has made a habit of growing there. Thus I took several photographs, comprising an analysis of my friend The Gourd from all appropriate angles. Also, in that stone wall live snakes. I found a skin of one of them and photographed that, as well. Here is the pictorial summary of my adventure:







The End.

Sacred Wisdom

Sacred Wisdom
Is like in thee among both a king and upon am ye
by enemies that hang able filled kings or of were Hur that

A Poem by Myself

How I Fritter and Waste the Hours of My Earthly Days

And I do it in an offhand way, too.

Let me explain what I did today. Dull details aside, such as finishing The Sorrows of Young Werther and reading Luther's Ninety-Five Theses (Why am I so wise?), I thought it would be a good idea to create my own language, that is, a tongue of my own making. I made the alphabet and punctuation. Also, I made a fairly elaborate set of accentuations. Now all I need is a vocabulary consisting of tens of thousands of words and advanced grammatical structures riddled with irregularities that could only come from years of linguistic evolution.

I think I am going to translate passages from books, making up the language as I go. In order to make this half worthwhile, I will probably translate books of the Bible. That is how holy I am.

My language is a tonal language, and it must not be spoken, but chanted. The two most important accents in my language derive from the earliest neumes for notating Gregorian chant, a dot and a slash, much like those used to denote accentuation in poetic analysis today. The slash, which is written just like an accent in, for example, Spanish, tells the chanter (we have no speakers) to move the tone of his speech up a bit. The dot tells the chanter to take his tone down a bit.

Rational transitions aside, my alphabet consists of eighteen letters of my own making, twenty if you count the accent marks that indicate "H" and "L." I do not count those. These eighteen letters are modified by the use of accents, allowing the chanter to produce myriad new sounds. In my language, some accents can even be used on consonants. Several of the letters resemble letters in the Roman and Greek alphabets. Many of them are supposed to look like they sound. Others are systematically arranged based on sound type. Some few are simply attractive.

Just imagine the amazing fun we can have, chanting strange sounds to one another, while all our linguistically impoverished fellowpeople are left to their mere speech!

The Importance of Comma Use

In elementary school, we ought to have been taught about the miraculous works that can be achieved through the use of the comma. After that, the gramatically-minded teacher should have invoked fire and brimstone to tell you all of the horrors of improper comma use. Just consider this example I found:

"Then with torches lit and red crosses in hand, all the friars went to the refectory to dinner, and while they ate someone preached from the pulpit."

Or...

"Then with torches lit and red crosses in hand, all the friars went to the refectory to dinner, and while they ate someone, preached from the pulpit."

Let no mistakes be made.

Poland

On this fine Sunday afternoon we are going to have a history lesson about Poland, which you may recall I mentioned in my last talk about poetry. Poland, as we are all aware, is the offspring of the Motherland and the Fatherland, otherwise known as Russia and Germany (or "Prussia"). They at times have made a happy family, but usually not. For as long as it has existed, and for as long as it has frequently failed to exist, Poland has been the victim of a terrible battle, a dreadfully painful custody battle, between the Motherland and the Fatherland. Thus this poor Childland has been torn to pieces and has otherwise been utterly abused by its parents regardless of which one possessed it, or whether it was disowned and independent. Just consider what happened when the Fatherland and the Motherland split up in 1939:



It is a hard life to be Poland. I bid you, mothers and fathers, do not attack your children's cavaliers with tanks and armored cars. It might deal permanent psychological damage. Oh yes, and honor you Molotov-von Ribbentrop Pacts and stay together. Know your history well, and life will be much the same.