hai să facem blogguri, nu război
passacaglia
Deşi clădirea sălii cu orgă se află în paragină, iar faţada este de nerecunocut sub schelele instalate pentru recontrucţie, interiorul încă impresionează. Este cea mai frumoasă sală de concert din oraş, dar şi cea mai cochetă clădire a urbei. Îngheţata de la “Friguşor” şi o fotografie lîngă leii din pragul sălii cu orgă erau în capul listei lucrurilor de făcut pentru toate călătoriile în capitală a copiilor din provincie. Însă fascinaţia mea pentru această cladire era dublată de o alta, care la acel timp era separată de prima, neştiind că edificiul încorporează acea sală cu scaune albastre şi coloane albe din anostele transmisiuniTV ale concertelor simfonice din anii 90, a căror menire, eram sigur, erasă frutreze copiii dornici de desene animate. Dar pînă să închid repede televizorul înainte ca acele transmisiuni TV să înceapă, rămîneam oarecum perplex la decorul absurd al scenei, care consta, în închipuirea mea, din cîteva naiuri imense dispuse în perechi pe peretele din spate ale scenei, a căror rost nu-l puteam intui, dar care, eram sigur, nu puteau fi pur decorative. În imaginaţia mea, aveau ei vreun solist, vreun ciclop gigant, care îl acompania pe Vasile Iovu sau Gheorghe Zamfir, ocazie cu care naiurile îşi părăseau locul de pe suportul de lemn. Şi aceluiaşi personaj închipuit îi erau destinate mărţişoarele supradimensionate care atîrnau de tavan cu ocazia tradiţionalelor festivaluri omonime de primăvară.
Toate au devenit clare mai tîrziu, deşi, din fericire, fascinaţia a rămas. Aflăm acum că orga, căci despre ea era vorba, e construită de firma „Rieger-Kloss” din oraşul ceh Krnov. Totuşi, abia aseară, cu ocazia fetivalului dedicat lui J.S. Bach, am avut ocazia să fiu introdus nemijlocit scopului primar al sălii şi enigmaticului intrument.
Orga, fiind un instrument atît de impunător, atît ca dimensiuni cît şi ca sunet, nu poate evolua decît solitar. Chiar şi solistul ocupă un loc mai puţin decît secundar, în contextul proporţiilor impresionante ale orgii. În biserici, de cele mai multe ori, artistul se află după un paravan, căci muzica produsă de orgă se vrea a fi divină, expresie muzicală a religiei. Evident, dacă Dumnezeu ar alege să fie reprezentat de un instrument muzical, cu siguranţă doar orga ar corespunde megalomaniei acestuia.
Aseara: Sala cu Orgă, Hanna Dys din Polonia, Aria pe coarda Sol din Suita nr. 3 și Passacaglia şi Fuga în Do minor de Bach .
concierto de aranjuez
amintiri din copilărie
“Portnoy’s complaint” is the finest most compelling Roth’s work, as this guy puts it: still the greatest novel of uncontrollable teenage masturbation — admittedly a small field. An early success he seems to have not fully recovered from. Written from a stand point of a lying-on-the-couch, anger-driven, self-conscious, frustrated, rant-inclined, neurotic Jewish patient, it recounts the struggles against the ready-made ways of being young and the limit-loving society of the sixties. Even though they are said to have had parallel careers, the resemblance between Woody Allen’s and Philip Roth’s ways are just uncanny, I suppose it’s one of the cases when same ethnic background produces faithfully similar consciousnesses and talented spirits. They make irony and sarcasm seem like the most intricate product of Jewish engineering, too bad for them it cannot be sold as panacea against any kind of human distress. To make things even more spicy, like the shared background of strict Jewish families, the successful careers and the equally unsuccessful marriages, and the unsupressable libido were not enough, rumors have it that Read more…
an anti-platonic vision
“The only obsession everyone wants: ‘love’. People think that in falling in love they make themselves whole? The Platonic union of souls? I think otherwise. I think you’re whole, and then you’re cracked open. She was a foreign body introduced into your wholeness. And for a year and a half you struggled to incorporate it. But you’ll never be whole until you expel it. You either get rid of it or incorporate it through self-distortion. And that’s what you did and what drove you mad.”
Hard to sanction those words, and not only because of George’s mythopoeticizing turn of mind; just hard to believe in the disastrous potential of a character so seemingly unintimidating as family-bound, protected, suburban Consuela. George wouldn’t let up. “Attachment is ruinous and your enemy. Joseph Conrad: He who forms a tie is lost. That you should sit there looking like you do is absurd. You tasted it. Isn’t that enough? Of what do you ever get more than a taste? That’s all we’re given in life, that’s all we’re given of life. A taste. There is no more.”
“The dying animal”, Philip Roth
new dilemma of the old age
“There’s a distinction to be made between dying and death. It’s not all uninterrupted dying. If one’s healthy and feeling well, it’s invisible dying. The end that is a certainty is not necessarily boldly announced. NO, you can’t understand. The only thing you understand about the old when you’re not old is that they have been stamped by their time. But understanding only that freezes them in their time, and so amounts to no understanding at all. To those not yet old, being old means you’ve been. But being old also means that despite, in addition to, and in excess of your beenness, you still are. Your beenness is very much alive. You still are, and one si as haunted by the still-being and its fullness as by the having-already-been, by the pastness. Think of old age this way: it’s just an everyday fact that one’s life is at stake. One cannot evade knowing what shortly awaits one. The silence that will surround one forever. Otherwise it’s all the same. Otherwise one is immortal for as long as one lives.
Not too many years ago, there was a ready-made way to be old, just as there was a readymade way to be young. Neither obtains any longer. A great fight about the permissible took place here – and a great overturning. Nonetheless, should a man of seventy still be involved in the carnal aspect of the human comedy? To be unapologetically an unmonastic old man susceptible still to be humanly exciting? That is not the condition as it was once symbolized by the pipe and the rocking chair. Maybe it’s still a bit of an affront to people, to fail to abide by the old clock of life. I realize that I can’t count on the virtuous regard of other adults. But what can i do about the fact that, as far as I can tell, nothing, nothing is put to rest, however old a man may be?”
“The dying animal”, Philip Roth
everyman
“Most people, he believed, would have thought of him as square. As a young man, he’d thought of himself as square, so coneventional and unadventurous that after art school, instead of striking out on his own to paint and to live on whatever money he could pick up at odd jobs – which was his secret ambition – he was too much the good boy, and, answering to his parents’ wishes rather than his own, he married, had children, and went into advertising to make a secure living. He never though of himself as anything more than an average human being, and one who would have given anything for his marriage to have lasted a lifetime. He had married with just that expectation. But instead marriage became his prison cell, and so, after much tortuous thinking that preoccupied him while he worked and when he should have been sleeping, he began fitfully, agonizingly, to tunnel his way out. Isn’t that what average human beings do every day? Contrary to what his wife told everyone, he hadn’t hungered after the wanton freedom to do anything and everything. Far from it. He hungered for something stable all the while he detested what he had. He was not a man who wished to live tow lives. He held no grudge against either the limitations or the comforts of conformity. He’d wanted merely to empty his mind of all the ugly thoughts spawned by the disgrace of prolonged marital warfare. He was not claiming to be exceptional. Only vulnerable and assailable and confused. And convinced of his right, as an average human being, to be pardoned ultimately for whatever deprivations he may have inflicted upon his innoncent childre in order no to live deranged half the time.”
Everyman by Philip Roth.
sanctimony
“Ninetyeight in New England was a summer of exquisite warmth and sunshine, in baseball a summer of mythical battle between a home-run god who was white and a home-run god who was brown, and in America the summer of an enormous piety binge, a purity binge, when terrorism—which had replaced communism as the prevailing threat to the country’s security—was succeeded by cocksucking, and a virile, youthful middle-aged president and a brash, smitten twenty-one-year-old employee carrying on in the Oval Office like two teenage kids in a parking lot revived America’s oldest communal passion, historically perhaps its most treacherous and subversive pleasure: the ecstasy of sanctimony. In the Congress, in the press, and on the networks, the righteous grandstanding creeps, crazy to blame, deplore, and punish, were everywhere out moralizing to beat the band: all of them in a calculated frenzy with what Hawthorne (who, in the 1860s, lived not many miles from my door) identified in the incipient country of long ago as “the persecuting spirit”; all of them eager to enact the astringent rituals of purification that would excise the erection from the executive branch, thereby making things cozy and safe enough for Senator Lieberman’s ten-year-old daughter to watch TV with her embarrassed daddy again. No, if you haven’t lived through 1998, you don’t know what sanctimony is.”
from The Human Stain by Philip Roth.
beast beast beast
you
you’re a beast, she said
your big white belly
and those hairy feet.
you never cut your nails
and you have fat hands
paws like a cat
your bright red nose
and the biggest balls
I’ve ever seen.
you shoot sperm like a
whale shoots water out of the
hole in its back.
beast beast beast,
she kissed me,
what do you want for
breakfast?
“Love is a dog from hell” by C. Bukowski
7 aprilie 2009, o zi fără glorie
‘7 aprilie’ este probabil tag-ul care a făcut cele mai mari audiențe pe parcursul ultimului an, nu întîmplător companiile media, de stat dar și private, desfășoară ample proiecte în jurul evenimentului, unii îl analizează, alții îl exploatează, și încă alții –și una și alta. Am avut un an de discuții, însă totuși a fost nevoie de o aniversare pentru ca acestea să se acutizeze și să capete mai multă substanță.
Cel mai des, alături de tag-ul ‘7 aprilie’ apare cel de ‘adevăr’. Se caută frenetic un adevăr, un narativ care ar putea explica totul, care ar pune cap la cap toate evenimentele și răzmerița din ziua de 7.04.09. Uneori e greu să faci regulă în propriile gînduri, dar mite în gîndurile, intențiile și acțiunile miilor și miilor de actori implicați volens-nolens în evenimentele zilei cînd a ars parlamentul. Dar suntem în continuare blestemați de un flux la foc continuu de știri despre știri, de reacții la reacții, de investigații despre investigații. Încă mai am acel sentiment distinct pe care l-am avut acum un an, cînd, fiind în PMAN am alergat la un internet cafe pentru a afla ce se întîmpla în fața președenției. Iar pe net Read more…
