For every beauty there is an eye somewhere to see it. For every truth there is an ear somewhere to hear it. For every love there is a heart somewhere to receive it - Ivan Panin
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
“San Cristoforo, San Michele and Murano from Fondamenta”
painted by Canaletto (1697-1768)
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Poetry lifts the veil from the hidden beauty of the world, and makes familiar objects be as if they were not familiar. (Percy Bysshe Shelley 1792-1822)
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Come to me in my dreams, and then
By day I shall be well again.
For then the night will more than pay
The hopeless longing of the day.
Come, as thou cam’st a thousand times,
A messenger from radiant climes,
And smile on thy new world, and be
As kind to others as to me.
Or, as thou never cam’st in sooth,
Come now, and let me dream it truth.
And part my hair, and kiss my brow,
And say My love! why sufferest thou?
Come to me in my dreams, and then
By day I shall be well again.
For then the night will more than pay
The hopeless longing of the day. (Matthew Arnold 1822-1888)
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This short video features pictures of sakura, the Japanese flowering cherry, and it’s accompanied by Japanese music.
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Tuesday, January 19, 2010
They call me a dreamer - well, maybe I am. (a line from a song by Joan Whitney and Alex Kramer)
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The pianist here is Tzimon Barto
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We are the music-makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-breakers,
And sitting by desolate streams.
World-losers and world-forsakers,
Upon whom the pale moon gleams;
Yet we are the movers and shakers,
Of the world forever, it seems.
With wonderful deathless ditties
We build up the world's great cities,
And out of a fabulous story
We fashion an empire's glory:
One man with a dream, at pleasure,
Shall go forth and conquer a crown;
And three with a new song's measure
Can trample an empire down.
We, in the ages lying
In the buried past of the earth,
Built Nineveh with our sighing,
And Babel itself with our mirth;
And o'erthrew them with prophesying
To the old of the new world's worth;
For each age is a dream that is dying,
Or one that is coming to birth.
(Arthur William Edgar O'Shaughnessy 1844 - 1881)
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Finally, Fritz Kreisler playes one of his own compositions "Schon Rosmarin", accompanied by Carl Lamson
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Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Here will we sit and let the sounds of music
Creep in our ears: soft stillness and the night
Become the touches of sweet harmony.
Sit, Jessica. Look how the floor of heaven
Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold:
There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st
But in his motion like an angel sings,
Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins;
Such harmony is in immortal souls;
But whilst this muddy vesture of decay
Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.
(William Shakespeare from The Merchant of Venice)
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This is the first movement of the famous sonata
Finally, three quotes about Moonlight:-
Music is moonlight in the gloomy night of life. (Jean Paul Richter 1763-1825)
Follow your inner moonlight. Don’t hide your madness. (Allen Ginsberg 1926-1997)
The loveliest faces are to be seen by moonlight, when one sees half with the eye and half with the fancy. (A Persian Saying)
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Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Tyger, tyger, burning bright
In the forests 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?
And, when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand and what dread feet?
What the hammer? What the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? What dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears,
And water’d heaven with their tears,
Did He smile His work to see?
Did He who made the lamb make thee?
Tyger, tyger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry? (William Blake 1757-1827)
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I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow. (William Blake)
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And now, quite a contrast - a collection of Zen paintings by Yao Feng Shakya with music by Karunesh.
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