“But only three in all God’s universe” – Elizabeth Barrett Browning Monday, May 7 2012

from “Sonnets from the Portuguese“ 

 

 

   ll. But only three in all God’s universe   

 

           But only three in all God’s universe
           Have heard this word thou hast said,—Himself, beside
           Thee speaking, and me listening! and replied
           One of us . . . that was God, . . . and laid the curse
           So darkly on my eyelids, as to amerce
           My sight from seeing thee,—that if I had died,
           The deathweights, placed there, would have signified
           Less absolute exclusion. ‘Nay’ is worse
           From God than from all others, O my friend!
           Men could not part us with their worldly jars,
           Nor the seas change us, nor the tempests bend;
           Our hands would touch for all the mountain-bars:
           And, heaven being rolled between us at the end,
           We should but vow the faster for the stars.

 

 

                                            Elizabeth Barrett Browning  

 

 

 

it took me a week to sort out the obscurities in this

poem, God, she says, put me through so much physical

stress that I, so challenged, could have let myself not

know you  - ”laid the curse/ So darkly on my eyelids,

as to amerce/My sight from seeing thee” – that

would’ve been existentially, – “had I died” – more

absolute and stark and egregiously black than what

I’ve learned through our conjunction of the bliss and

eternity of such a love, invincible, propelled inexorably

- by the intensity of our shared devotion, despite even

“worldly jars”, worldly distempers, “seas”, “tempests”,

[m]ountain-bars” - that much “faster for the stars” 

 

 

these obscurities are what steered me away from

poetry when I was younger until a more direct and 

less ambiguous parlance emerged

 

but Elizabeth Barrett Browning has always remained

despite some literary difficulties poignant enough

for me and indeed emotionally reverberant that

she has steadfastly endured, she is too honest

and raw and of course articulate to not be warmly

remembered 

 

 

Richard

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Brahms Piano Concerto no 2 in B flat major, opus 83‏ Sunday, Dec 11 2011

though I’d no intention of presenting a piano concerto

quite yet I’d been trolling Celibidaches on the Internet,

after marvelling at his wondrous “Boléro”, and couldn’t

hold back this gem I found of his, Brahms’ Piano 

Concerto no 2 in B flat major, opus 83 

 

same venue, same Münchner Philharmoniker, same

starched ceremonial ruffles, I thought, same even age

of the conductor, to the very minute, it appeared, in 

his unchanged eye and perspective, wise, serene,

omnipotent, perhaps the very same concert as in the

illustrious Ravel, I said to myself, though later I couldn’t

especially recognize individual instrumentalists

 

Daniel Barenboim, who conducted earlier the speedy

“Boléro”, wears another hat here, he’s the pianist, but

in this incarnation he is transcendental, carried aloft,

I think, notably, by the Olympian Celibidache, who

cedes his fire and glory to the younger Barenboim

throughout, who supremely is up for the challenge,

a ready and rearing Apollo, taking on the treacherous

musical task, defying obstreperous planets, perilous

astrological constellations in nefarious conjunctions, 

stray or fleeting stars, to foster safely home to its

final hearth his solar chariot, in a towering sunset,

a finale of apocalyptic proportions, each purveyor

casting unutterable light, god and mere immortal, 

from his own particular perch, upon our beholden

world

  

Celibidache, as would Zeus, cedes serenely to his 

younger avatar his bow, his deserved adulation,

safe in his own unquestionable omnipotence

 

 

this concerto has four movements incidentally, greater

length always suggests more gravitas, more substance 

 

is it warranted

 

you be the judge 

 

 

Richard

 

psst: in another mythological context, note the hand of

         Celibidache resting on air, intermittently fluttering,

         at the beginning of the slowest movement, the

         andante, the third, the hand of God ministering, 

         according to Michelangelo, in the “Creation of 

         Adam”, should you not yet be convinced of the 

         maestro’s august and unequivocal stature

   

 

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Stefan Lochner Sunday, Dec 7 2008

    

                                   Stefan Lochner

 

                                      (1400-1452)

 

                       “Madonna in the Rose Bower”                            

                                                                     

                                                                    __________

 

                                    for Christmas

 

                           I wish you faith in angels    

 

                                                    

                                          Richard    

                                                                                                                                           

 

                                     ________________________ 

 

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