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Showing posts from March, 2013

Netrebko, Villazon - O soave fanciulla (Puccini)

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Faiblesse d'esprit?

N’est-ce pas, en effet, une sorte de faiblesse d’esprit que d’avoir à ce point soumis chaque passion, chaque élan du cœur, chaque tonalité affective au froid commandement de la réflexion ? N’est-ce pas faiblesse d’esprit que d’être à ce point normal : idée pure et non pas homme, comme nous autres qui courbons le dos et nous inclinons, perdus et nous perdant ? N’est-ce pas faiblesse d’esprit que d’être ainsi toujours éveillé, toujours conscient,  sans jamais être assombri ni rêveur ?
Kierkegaard, La Reprise, traduction Nelly Viallaneix

Alfred Lord Tennyson: Ulysses

It little profits that an idle king,
By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
Match’d with an aged wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.

I cannot rest from travel: I will drink
Life to the lees: All times I have enjoy’d
Greatly, have suffer’d greatly, both with those
That loved me, and alone, on shore, and when
Thro’ scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
Vext the dim sea: I am become a name;
For always roaming with a hungry heart
Much have I seen and known; cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least, but honour’d of them all;
And drunk delight of battle with my peers,
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.
I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethro’
Gleams that untravell’d world whose margin fades
For ever and forever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnish’d, not to shine in use!
As tho’ to breathe were life! Life pi…

Pressentiment

« Que voulez-vous? Je suis ainsi fait : au premier frisson du pressentiment, mon âme a déjà, au moment même, parcouru toutes les conséquences qui demandent souvent longtemps pour apparaître dans la réalité. Ce qui est concentré dans le pressentiment ne s’oublie jamais. » 
Kierkegaard, La Reprise, traduction Nelly Viallaneix

Death and the Maiden (II) - Schubert - Busch String Quartet

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José Matias

Mas um dia, a terra, para o José Matias, tremeu toda, num terramoto de incomparável espanto. Em Janeiro ou Fevereiro de 1871, o Miranda, já debilitado pela diabetes, morreu com uma pneumonia. Por estas mesmas ruas, numa pachorrenta tipóia de praça, acompanhei o seu enterro numeroso, rico, com Ministros, porque o Miranda pertencia às Instituições. E depois, aproveitando a tipóia, visitei o José Matias em Arroios, não por curiosidade perversa, nem para lhe levar felicitações indecentes, mas para que, naquele lance deslumbrador, ele sentisse ao lado a fôrça moderadora da Filosofia... Encontrei porém com ele um amigo mais antigo e confidencial, aquele brilhante Nicolau da Barca, que já conduzi também a este cemitério, onde agora jazem, debaixo de lápides, todos aqueles camaradas com quem levantei castelos nas nuvens... O Nicolau chegara da Velosa, da sua quinta de Santarém, de madrugada, reclamado por um telegrama do Matias. Quando entrei, um criado atarefado arranjava duas malas enormes…

Validation of identity

Every individual requires the ongoing validation of his world, including crucially the validation of his identity and place in this world, by those few who are his truly significant others. ... Again in a broad sense, all the actions of the signifi­cant others and even their simple presence serve this sustaining function. In every­day life, however, the principal method employed is speech. In this sense, it is proper to view the individual's relationship with his significant others as an ongo­ing conversation. As the latter occurs, it validates over and over again the fundamental definitions of reality once entered into, not, of course, so much by explicit articulation, but precisely by taking the definitions silently for granted and conversing about all conceivable matters on this taken-for-granted basis. Through the same conversation the individual is also made capable of adjusting to changing and new social contexts in his biography. In a very fundamental sense it can be said t…

Delmira Agustini: I Live, I Die, I Burn, I Drown

I live, I die, I burn, I drown
I endure at once chill and cold
Life is at once too soft and too hard
I have sore troubles mingled with joys

Suddenly I laugh and at the same time cry
And in pleasure many a grief endure
My happiness wanes and yet it lasts unchanged
All at once I dry up and grow green

Thus I suffer love's inconstancies
And when I think the pain is most intense
Without thinking, it is gone again.

Then when I feel my joys certain
And my hour of greatest delight arrived
I find my pain beginning all over once again.

Orphée et Eurydice

Deux fois tu l’as perdue et c’est inexcusable. Il t'aurait suffi d’attendre un peu et tu l’aurais à nouveau, comme dans sa première vie, embrassée.
Elle marchait derrière toi, elle te regardait marcher. Étonnée peut-être de l’ampleur du miracle, elle te suivait, silencieuse et fidèle à la passion ancienne. Et tu as douté
ou, pressé de regarder son visage où l’être resplendissait dans toute sa pureté, tu n’a pas pu attendre. Et pour la deuxième fois tu l’as perdue. Et cette fois-ci c’était
bien toi qui l’a repoussée alors que, victime de ton  impatience, tu l’a renvoyée chez les dieux. C’était une trappe, bien entendu, et ils t’ont eu. Il faut se méfier des
dieux, ils ne sont pas généreux et ils aiment garder avec eux ceux qui, parmi les humains, ils aiment. Tu devrais le savoir. Et à nouveau elle t’a été volée, ils l’ont reprise.
Tu l’aimais et tu n’avais pas eu le temps d’aller jusqu’au bout de ton amour. L’avoir perdue était insupportable. Et pourtant, peut-on dire que le temps de l’amour
ne nous es…

Paradox

Do you know what is the best way of getting rid of someone or keeping this someone at distance? Give her or him a lot more than what they are asking for. They will not stand it and they will soon leave you alone. The only problem is that if you did behave out of sincerity and didn't do it on purpose you will not be happy at all with the results of your behavior.

BACH AIR Anne Akiko Meyers & Wendy Chen

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Margaret Atwood: Helen of Troy Does Countertop Dancing

The world is full of women
who'd tell me I should be ashamed of myself
if they had the chance. Quit dancing.
Get some self-respect
and a day job.
Right. And minimum wage,
and varicose veins, just standing
in one place for eight hours
behind a glass counter
bundled up to the neck, instead of
naked as a meat sandwich.
Selling gloves, or something.
Instead of what I do sell.
You have to have talent
to peddle a thing so nebulous
and without material form.
Exploited, they'd say. Yes, any way
you cut it, but I've a choice
of how, and I'll take the money.

I do give value.
Like preachers, I sell vision,
like perfume ads, desire
or its facsimile. Like jokes
or war, it's all in the timing.
I sell men back their worse suspicions:
that everything's for sale,
and piecemeal. They gaze at me and see
a chain-saw murder just before it happens,
when thigh, ass, inkblot, crevice, tit, and nipple
are still connected.
Such hatred leaps in them,
my beery worshippers! That, or a b…

The death of the subject?

No word means anything, no silence, no behavior, no phrase can be correctly interpreted if we cannot identify who is talking and acting. Let's say that it's a basic rule of language. That's why talking about the death of the subject is nonsense.

J. E. Soice

No-name thing

I wrote this phrase on a piece of paper:

"Love doesn't exist, I know. But I still feel this no-name thing for you and it disturbs me."

Does it make sense?

J. E. Soice

Alfred Schnittke: Polyphonischer Tango

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Regrets

Bien sûr, l’avenir est plein de promesses. Avant de se vider, la boîte se remplit. Cela se comprends aisément. L’espoir, les projets, arriver.
Te lèverais-tu le matin pour aller chercher ce qui t’es dû si tu connaissais d’avance que la boîte où scintillent les diamants n’est qu’une
souricière pour attraper les couillons ? Ah, les grandes émotions, la sincérité, ah, les rêves d’amour et de grandeur. Tout cela embellira le résumé
da la vie du décédé. Et le néant le prendra, indifférent, dans les bras de son immensité vide, de son silence sans profondeur. Nous ne sommes que le charbon
où brulent les passions, où se consomme en espoir l’avenir qui jamais n’aura lieu. Point de passage du soleil en route vers le néant. Le temps s’amuse
à nous voir courir pour rien. Le Créateur a mille fois déjà regretté sa création, tout a mal tourné, rien n’a été comme il l’avait imaginé. Ne nous racontez
pas des histoires, Dieu, qui qu’il soit, n’est pas tout à fait bête. Mais il a surévalué ses pouvoirs et la perfection des ma…

Erik Satie: Gnossienne nº 3

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Mozart: Mass in C (Kyrie)

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Django Reinhardt: Debussy's Rêverie

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Abelard and Héloïse

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Berlioz: Le Spectre de la Rose (Janet Baker)

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Beethoven: Piano Sonata nº 32 (II) Backhaus

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Haydn: Quatuor nº5 (II)

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Lennie Tristano: Blame me

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Pina Bausch: Overture to Orpheus & Eurydice (composer Christoph Williba...

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Orpheus (1): Margaret Atwood

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Corot



You walked in front of me,
pulling me back out
to the green light that had once
grown fangs and killed me.

I was obedient, but
numb, like an arm
gone to sleep; the return
to time was not my choice.

By then I was used to silence.
Though something stretched between us
like a whisper, like a rope:
my former name,
drawn tight.
You had your old leash
with you, love you might call it,
and your flesh voice.

Before your eyes you held steady
the image of what you wanted
me to become: living again.
It was this hope of yours that kept me following.

I was your hallucination, listening
and floral, and you were singing me:
already new skin was forming on me
within the luminous misty shroud
of my other body; already
there was dirt on my hands and I was thirsty.

I could see only the outline
of your head and shoulders,
black against the cave mouth,
and so could not see your face
at all, when you turned

and called to me because you had
already lost me. The last
I saw of you was a dark oval.
Thoug…

Love

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Leighton


Love is a literary genre.