Frank Corcoran

irish composer

How bored ! how boring !
These cactus faces have bored
Our Autumn to death

I thus “translate” treacherously treacherous Gabriel Rosenstock´s “treacherous” Haiku, itself a ” treacherous” translation of Issa´s 1814 master-poem … So, yes, I´d say it´s the tone, my twist, a few vowels, your stance, minimal art not on my auntie. ( – Of course our Japanese original follows. Humph! – ) .
In my current composing ( a, my Cello Concerto, yes, in this yellow-long year, Mr. Issa ). Thus, I must compose the big architecture, my flying butresses, trellis-work, ( -well, how then should we try to build it up ? To what and to which and where? Expectations denied or fulfilled, – but instrumentally how ? Wind-down the whole complex/ simple musical constructions and orchestral fragments and scaffoldings and orchestral tuttis and etc. ) and then the bejewelled micro-architecture, a sigh repeated twice , the throw-away cadence, a cello´s ecstatic chain of intervals, – AND ALL OF THIS in “my” very own ( prior to pencilling in even the first bar-line ), personally adopted ” tonal language” i.e. all of this sublime spiel with my masses and my soli and the Many and the Few, using ONLY my very own Initial Frank Corcoran Scale, its always obvious operations and derivations and lumps and instrumental smithereens. Observe: My heroically pitted Cello must sing. Must “overcome”. Establish musical order or peace with a great orchestra. Must in the new Cello Concerto´s projected Three Movements ( – but time has hallowed this : Fast / Slow Song / Fast . Why, I wonder ? – Is it Dvorak versus Lutoslawsky, or what ? ) somehow challenge, slap down or up a musical ( i.e. intervallic, seems to me ) problem, wrestle with Jacob´s God-Angel, solve.

cachtais –
tráthnóna fómhair
leamh, gan snua

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