another train-ride up from Orvieto to Mestre.
Perhaps it is the colours the eye wants
. Or the swoosh and whoosh and gear-changing boats’ clutches that clutch my ear.
Not so much the usual Jesuit confessor’s cry : ” since September 2015, my son, how many times ? Tones ?
Musical works I have just crafted included the Piano Trio ( with viola ) of last winter 2016, in Hamburg,then the
gestating Clarinet Concerto,
my delightful 8 Duetti Irlandesi for Piano and Cello
which had, face it, haunted me for a long time ,
also the cello solo piece, ” Rhapsodietta Joyceana ” .
The Arena RTE Interview convinces.
The autumn 2016 RTE programme, ” New Cross-currents ” , also.
Venice next Sunday should bring be colours and time to situate myself a little. Walk. Dawdle. Sounds and sky.
Certainly form matters, the opening strings
‘ rhythmicized chord before the soloist lifts off / in the new Clarinet Concerto for new York 2019 .
A dreamed fragment or a motivic phrase.
I am not to blame for the
musical world’s GREAT mess. No.
So after my death in Venice, release this :
Life was harsh. Hands up those for whom it was not? More help, any help, would have been a great help; a little bitty praise, un poco ” notice” was a sin .
It would have been easy before my death to perform the ( very good ) TENORLIEDER, my massive , choral EIGHT HAIKUS ,
“stunning ” was the I FC M’s International Jury’s word in awarding me their 2013 Premier Prix. m
It wasnìt to be at all, either snobs or yobs were blocking, blatant incompetence and ignorance . The worst, indifference.
We are bet in the Irish national schools and in the university music-departments and somewhere in between. Bhi an
ceart ag an bPiarsach, ‘ swounds !
So the self and its shadows nimbly snake on , continue to block or embrace or question or accompany each other .
Till death us do part.
Musical death, no doubt, before that, the death of desire and passion to continue the noble slog, the composer as
Twas nobler in the mind. Release this jumble, certainly. Much good.
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