Something old, something new...

When too much is not enough…

A gesture can initiate a tumultuously poetic universe
That silk tassel tickling along her spine
A jade disc resting on Kundalini’s sacrum
He covers her face with the black velvet of the night, of her hair
Pearls of the mountain, softly spoken,
Whispering songs to his muse, inside of his muse,
Melodies between the arches of two crescent moons
Vertebrae, ah vertebrae under translucent mousseline
Of her vein and of her skin
Of his heart and of

his poetry


*                    *                    *                    *


玉

蒼白，是血的原色與美學的逆鱗。
他舌尖的蓮消蝕一如
右頰的月光
聲音是時間與蛇的舞姿
交纏蜿蜒的連綴
而生存，歌詠著水波紊亂
殞落著無性之魅
猩紅，似卵與熱的曲線
錯誤的春花秋月
頹萎之靡交合在古印度的菱鏡
天人於是註定了五衰
水面下的墜
玉


Celadon

Paleness, the primary colour of blood,
aesthetics of one disobedient scale under the Dragon’s throat.
A single lotus on the tip of his tongue eclipses as if
awash with moonbeam on his right cheek.
Voices unfurl in the choreographed, lethargic wanting
between Time and Serpent,
movements interwoven of musical trills―
winding, meandering, murmuring.
And existence, an ode to unquiet rippling, to violent waters,
perishing allures of an androgyne.
Scarlet blood, resembling the curve of an embryo and of heat

I mistake those spring flowers and autumn moon
for the decadently beautiful unison mirrored in ancient India
And angels are thus destined to decline,
falling under the water surface.
Celadon


*                    *                     *                    *


死亡美學（獻詩三島之金閣）

戰後的廢墟，重建
赭色小提琴喤泣聲線
金箔剝蝕的蒸氣與躁動的香

月華清明塗抹石橋
一如滌淨生的 死亡的確知
我兀自佇立文字的金閣
美學修長的眼睫投影
蔭翳，光正自盡。

顫抖顫抖再顫抖，這齣劇本
與血的斑痕纏綿似水
海面痛苦地沉默
光，一如岩礫，一如陰影，光的自縊。

自縊的美學倫理糾結糾結死的似非而，是。
仁波切寂然誦經
呢喃破曉前刻精神與美的歸巢
逐步逐步，緊貼眼睫的哀悽

生的諷刺文體的，死
的潔白墓塚
光正瀉落一湖的私密，若水


Death of Beauty 
(dedicated to Mishima Yukio’s Golden Pavilion Temple)

Post-war ruins, reconstructing
Vocal lines of the ochreous weeping violin
Faded gold flakes steaming breaths impatient scents

The moon colours the stone bridge of dreams
As if she was certain of death, the death which purifies life
I stand alone, inside the Golden Pavilion of words
The long lashes of Aesthetics’ eyes projecting
Shadows, Light slowly takes its own life.

Trembling shivering and quivering, this play
Coos sweet nothingness to flecks of blood like water
Romancing
The sea, painfully in silence
Light, as if brusque debris, as if a silhouette, the
Suicide of Light

Beauty and the (im)morality of suicide, entanglement and love-making
Of that which seems wrong, of the wrong that seems right
Rinpoche’s silent chanting in solitude
Whispers the homing of spirituality and beauty
Minutes before daybreak
Step by step by step, sadness kissing my eyelashes

The satire of Life, of the
Perfectly white tombstone
Of Death
Light cascading down a lake of pearlescent
Secrets, like water


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奔馬

夢先於現實。
而純粹
似花，似血，似詩
，似枯腐前消逝的生。


Runaway Horses (Realistically Synaesthetic Purity)

Dreams, a priori, then reality.
And purity
Resembles a flower, resembles blood, resembles poetry,
Resembles life, a priori, disappearing before decay.


*                    *                     *                    *


曉寺

(薰息，我執，唯識)

緣起於鏡花水月的無常
存活涅槃之花瓣間的阿賴耶識，似
剔透的純藍火焰蘊蓄
鏤花之詩

桃花心木質的鏤空雕花
在蒼白哀傷的殘月撫觸下
散發似水晶斷面般清明露華
濕漉而冷冽的香氛


Temple in Vijñaptimātra

(…incense, Ātma-grāha, Vijñānavāda)

Dependant arising, from the impermanence
Of mirrored flowers, of moon water
Exists ālayavijñāna between petals of nirvana, as if
Transparency of pure blue flames, and
Within which a filigree of poetry

Rosewood reliefs under caresses
Of pale sorrowful moonlight
Scent of dewdrops at dawn permeates, like
A crystal facet; the soaking, penetratingly
Icy perfume


Vijñaptimātra (唯識論): ‘Mere representation;’ the Yogācāra theory that the contents of everyday, unenlightened experience are merely a false superimposition upon actuality of dualistic concepts generated by the mind that prevent direct experience of reality as it truly is (yathā-bhūta). Some later forms of Yogācāra lend themselves to an idealistic interpretation of this theory but such a view is absent from the works of the early Yogācārins such as Asaṇga and Vasubandhu. (via)
Ātma-grāha (我執): attachment to self
Vijñānavāda (विज्ञानवाद, 唯識宗): the  Vijñaptimātra school of thought; see  here for more
Aālayavijñāna (阿賴耶識): The ālaya-vijñāna forms the "base-consciousness" (mūla-vijñāna) or "causal consciousness". According to the traditional interpretation, the other seven consciousnesses are "evolving" or "transforming" consciousnesses originating in this base-consciousness.
The store-house consciousness accumulates all potential energy for the mental (nama) and physical (rupa) manifestation of one's existence (namarupa). It is the storehouse-consciousness which induces transmigration or rebirth, causing the origination of a new existence. {via}


*                    *                    *                    *


Purple Crystal and an Ancient Serpent

gilded mirage drunken placards
float over pale grapes
wine honey wax oil and
tequila
his liquid tongue is moving back and forth her neck
moving back and forth the frightening lustful constellation around her neck
spirals around groins / you are confined in wild humidity as a fish in raw pleasures
your hipbone a deranged dream
a turn-around a temperature a kiss
her sombre secret cave abstracting mythical beasts and clouds
heavens fall the petals whirling the heavens
falling falling fall and fall
popcorns’ crying holy wrath spirits’ blasphemy
Death of life of life of Death
dying a life of a hundred years’ loneliness
philosophy below her breasts


紫水晶與蛇

紙醉金迷白葡萄
酒，蜜，蠟，油，與
龍舌蘭。
水舌游移/ 頸項的星群悸悸覬覬
鼠蹊的盤旋/ 你是狂熱的魚水之歡
你的髖骨是一場靡亂的夢
一回轉身/ 一種體溫/ 一個吻
陰晦的私處饕餮雲紋
天花亂墜天 花亂
墜墜墜，墜。
爆米花哭泣天神微慍
死的生的生的死
生生死死百年孤寂
胸線以下的哲思


*                    *                    *                    *


Decayed

birds fluttering feathers beasts secretly cringing
as if musk spreading in the mists astray, fading
then never a sound in Death/ nor breath/ not even heart
Death seals and stagnates the pale wax of light
in her mouth
as if a tooth-filing ceremony as if anaemia as if bleeding


*                    *                    *                    *


Vertigo
(Memories from a subconscious nightmare...)

It is the most lavish fragrance, the most devitalising. Does it make me want to kill? Or does it make me want to breathe. I could as if smell the flushes of crimson, and then they paled my hearing into avalanching silences. The silence was so poisonous, so decaying, so huge and hopeless; eclipsing all that was morally good or vital to my health - ceaselessly. It was my angel, my angel with waxen wings. "Was ascension such an unreachable dream?" Asked my angel. It was such a dark night, so dark that it blinded me. It blinded everything. The incandescence of the deepest night had burned the last speck of sombre stars with a lurid smile of bitter sarcasm. This humid and luxurious beauty, this lavish and choking fragrance, brought my extreme disgust and happiness into life and married them with the witness of my very own eye. May I shed my tears, which would never again be produced artificially? Or may I burst out laughing hysterically? If only I could cry out with the slightest sadness. Now this fragrance has turned its own veins into the most ecstatic earthly joy that seems so very vague, and yet so very real. Now this fragrance has left the residue in me the deepest grief. Could I have ever tasted an emotion as sharp? Or am I creating my indifferent tears woven so meticulously into my words - a world that can only be sensed visually but blindly, and can only be conceived of with such a harsh sound by an avalanching silence. I was about to woo, to woo this devitalising fragrance. And I was about to kill, to kill my angel after all the pleasure of worldliness has decayed to its core.

And now, I hear the river flowing in my body, with liquid so dark and polluted that I can hardly distinguish it from the unbounded night and the deceptively purified dream I am in. I have accumulated all my energy just to feel the retardation and inadequacy in me again, yet again. And now I hear your voice, my dearest pantomimist. Now I hear your voice, singing my song for me. You have given me a qualm, a qualitative change, and I can not even ask you to stay, to see me through the whole process - the whole process of passing. Yesterday we screamed together. I could almost feel your etherealisation, so beauteous you nauseated me. I wish I could cry, and ascend to the heavenly hell you have been presenting to me over and over again. Until I can no longer mumble, will I be led into a perfectly muted world, where I can only see your white sand dune, where I can only feel the flow of your words and murmurs of your voice crawling back into my blood, where I can only touch every single sound of your decaying petals by visualising my own pantomime. Now I see you bleeding, the sweetest nectar. Will I dream on? Whilst you live on.

And the next second I woke up soaking wet.



Les Larmes de Jacqueline (Jacqueline's Tears) Op.76 No.2 / Harmonies du soir Op.68 composed by Jacques Offenbach (1819-1880) and dedicated to Arsène Houssaye.
The performance is by Werner Thomas with Münchener Kammerorchester and it's dedicated to Jacqueline du Pré.

Kubla Khan and the Eden of a cruel world

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round:
And here were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced:
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail:
And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean:
And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war!



The shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves;
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!

A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw:
It was an Abyssinian maid,
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight 'twould win me,

That with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.



*Poetry: Kubla Khan (A Vision in A Dream) by Samuel Taylor Coleridge, completed in 1797 and published in 1816.
*Melody: String Sextet in D minor, "Souvenir de Florence," Op.70, by Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky, composed in 1890. This piece is used in James Kudelka's 1994 ballet Cruel World.
*Image: Holograph copy of Kubla Khan, via Wikipedia.

藍

Between all the different shades of blue, there is form. And then there is the absence of form ― a freedom from resolution. There is music.

清 刺繡 峰頭十丈 Embroidery painting from Qing Dynasty, China.

Girl with a Pearl Earring, 1665, by Johannes Vermeer (1632-1675).

Vase of Flowers with Blue Ground, 1956, by Sanyu 常玉。

“... if you then consider none but those whose discriminating vision has been refined through contact with literature and art, he was convinced that the eye of that individual who dreams of ideal beauty, who craves illusions, who seeks some mystery in his women, is as a rule attracted to blue and its derivatives...” 

― Joris-Karl Huysmans, À rebours, 1884

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Pierre Fournier plays Zoltán Kodály Sonata for Solo Cello, Opus 8. Recorded in November, 1960.

北宋 官窯青瓷 Guan ware, Northern Song Dynasty, China.

元 鈞窯 天藍紫斑如意枕 Jun ware, Yuan Dynasty, China.

The Painter to the Moon, 1917, by Marc Chagall (1887-1985).

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Arnold Schoenberg: String Quartet No. 3, Op. 30, Movement I (1927). Recorded in 1937 by the Kolisch Quartet under Schoenberg's supervision.




Arnold Schoenberg: String Quartet No. 4, Op. 37 (1936). Recorded in 1969 by LaSalle Quartet.

Turquoise Wine Jar, Ming Dynasty, China.

Althea, 1895, by John White Alexander (1856-1915).

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Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov: Scheherazade, Symphonic Suite, Opus 35. The Sea and Sinbad's Ship/ Conductor: André Previn; Orchestra: Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra.

北宋汝窯青瓷橢圓洗/ Ru ware, Northern Song Dynasty, China.

Blue Waterlilies, 1919, by Claude Monet

“The word itself has another color. It’s not a word with any resonance, although the e was once pronounced. There is only the bump now between b and l, the relief at the end, the whew. It hasn’t the sly turn which crimson takes halfway through, yellow’s deceptive jelly, or the rolled-down sound in brown. It hasn’t violet’s rapid sexual shudder or like a rough road the irregularity of ultramarine, the low puddle in mauve like a pancake covered in cream, the disapproving purse to pink, the assertive brevity of red, the whine of green.”

― William H. Gass, On Being Blue: A Philosophical Inquiry, 2007.

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Hilary Hahn plays Schoenberg Violin Concerto, Op. 36 (1936). Swedish Radio Symphony Orchestra, conducted by Esa-Pekka Salonen.




Leonard Pennario plays Sergei Prokofiev Vision Fugitives, Opus 22.
Complete score: 1. Lentamente 1:10, 2. Andante 1:20, 3. Allegretto 0:49, 4. Animato 0:40, 5. Molto giocoso 0:27, 6. Con eleganza 0:37, 7. (Arpa) Pittoresco 1:30, 8. Comodo 1:10, 9. Allegretto tranquillo 0:56, 10. Ridicolosamente 0:40, 11. Con vivacita 0:59.

Edvard Munch, Kiss by the Window, 1892, oil on canvas, 73 x 92cm, The National Museum of Art, Architecture and Design, Oslo.

Pablo Picasso, La soupe (The soup), 1902-1903, oil on canvas, 38.5 x 46cm, Art Gallery of Ontario, Toronto, Canada.

Claude Monet, Water Lilies, 1915, oil on canvas, 151.4 x 201cm, Neue Pinakothek, Munich, Germany.

此曲只應天上有，人間能得幾回聞

Felix Mendelssohn's Piano Trio No. 1 in D minor, Op. 49: Arthur Rubinstein (piano), Jascha Heifetz (violin) and Gregor Piatigorsky (cello).

The piano trio has four movements:
Molto allegro e agitato
Andante con moto tranquillo
Scherzo: Leggiero e vivace
Finale: Allegro assai appassionato (sadly missing in this video recording...)

Gregor Piatigorsky plays the second movement from Chopin's Cello Sonata, accompanied by pianist Ralph Berkowitz.


Gregor Piatigorsky plays Tchaikovsky Waltz, with pianist Ralph Berkowitz.


Gregor Piatigorsky plays Romance by Rubinstein.

The Dying Swan

As tomorrow evening I am attending English National Ballet's special performance in celebration of Ballets Russes' centenary, I thought I would dedicate this post to one of the most beautiful and inspiring works in the history of ballet - The Dying Swan choreographed by Michel Fokine, as well as to the legendary Prima Ballerina Anna Pavlova for whom this piece was created.

I have gathered a selection of vintage photographs, original footage of this ballet as performed by the great Anna Pavlova (some set to Camille Saint-Saëns's original score Le Cygne; whilst others accompanied by contemporary music which I feel might bring a different light to the interpretation of this extraordinary dance), a rare video of the very moving rendition by French Prima Ballerina Yvette Chauviré (coach of Sylvie Guillem and often described as France's greatest ballerina), Russian Prima Ballerina Assoluta Maya Plisetskaya's 1975 performance, and eventually, Kirov Ballet's Uliana Lopatkina dancing The Dying Swan at Saint Petersburg 300 Years Gala in 2003. One can see how much the art of ballet has evolved over time. (Aside from Anna Pavlova whose movement and beauty belong in such a bygone era, my personal favourites are Yvette Chauviré and Uliana Lopatkina.)

*Remember to pause the music player on the left-hand side column before you enjoy these videos. ;-)



Pablo Casals plays Saint-Saëns's The Swan (Le Cygne) for HMV in 1925. One of his earliest electrical recordings, and one of his most famous recordings ever made. With silent footage of Anna Pavlova dancing The Dying Swan.


Anna Pavlova, Kirov Ballet.

Music: "Ho Renomo" by Cluster & Eno


Maya Plisetskaya







*Another article of interest: Ma Pavlowa - Lucia Lacarra

Mystique of Aurae and String Quartets

Images and sounds which I am currently in love with. The elegantly enchanting series Displaced Auras by photographer and artist Jessica Langley, Beethoven's String Quartet No. 14 in C-sharp minor, opus 131, and Schubert's Death and the Maiden String Quartet No. 14 in D minor, D. 810.






Beethoven's heartrendingly beautiful and yet profoundly transcendent String Quartet No. 14, performed by The Lindsay String Quartet. Richard Wagner remarked upon the first movement, "...the most melancholy sentiment ever expressed in music. (...) he hastily turns from material reality, and slips into the harmonious cosmos of his soul."



The String Quartet No. 14 in C-sharp minor, opus 131, by Ludwig van Beethoven was completed in 1826. (The number traditionally assigned to it is based on the order of its publication; it is actually his fifteenth quartet by order of composition.) About 40 minutes in length, it consists of seven movements to be played without a break, as follows:
1. Adagio ma non troppo e molto espressivo
2. Allegro molto vivace
3. Allegro moderato
4. Andante ma non troppo e molto cantabile — Più mosso — Andante moderato e lusinghiero — Adagio — Allegretto — Adagio, ma non troppo e semplice — Allegretto
5. Presto
6. Adagio quasi un poco andante
7. Allegro
This work, which is dedicated to Baron Joseph von Stutterheim, was Beethoven's favourite from the late quartets. He is quoted as remarking to a friend: "thank God there is less lack of imagination than ever before". The work was dedicated to von Stutterheim as a gesture of gratitude for taking his nephew, Karl, into the army after a failed suicide attempt in 1826. Together with the quartets op. 130 and 132, it goes beyond anything Beethoven had previously written. (Op. 131 is the conclusion of that trio of great works, written in the order 132, 130 with the Grosse Fugue ending, 131; they may be profitably listened to and studied in that sequence.) It is said that upon listening to a performance of this quartet, Schubert remarked, "After this, what is left for us to write?". The Op. 131 quartet is a monumental feat of integration. Beethoven composes the quartet in six distinct key areas, closing the quartet again in C-sharp minor. The choice of key is of specific importance: the only other work that Beethoven wrote in C-sharp minor is the Op. 27 No. 2 "Moonlight" sonata composed in 1801. The parallelism between the Moonlight sonata and the evocations of fantasia throughout the Op. 131 quartet is evident. The Finale directly quotes the opening fugue theme in the first movement, prompting Joseph Kerman to note that "blatant functional reference to the theme of another movement: this never happens." According to Michael Tusa's article "Structural Implications of Beethoven's C-minor mood," Tusa argues that many of these works that are imbued by the c-minor mood possess similar musical devices. For instance, the first movement of the work tends to open with a strong attack on the tonic and an upward leap. This is analogous to the Finale of the Op. 131. Kerman posits that the c-sharp minor quartet in fact resolves the pretensions aired by the c-minor mood. This in turn becomes another index of normality in the Op. 131. Since the Op. 131 string quartet is strongly end-weighted according to a similar mentality as the musical trajectory of the Op. 27, No.2, we may thus consider the Finale of the movement to be akin to the first movements of Tusa's article. Upon examination of the opening of the Op. 131, we indeed find a strong attack on the tonic.

Schubert's Death and the Maiden String Quartet performed by The Takács Quartet. A beautifully fluid, moving as well as passionate rendition reminiscent of the lyrics of Schubert's lied of the same name (the original music of this piece), which mention the soft embrace of death. "A stale tempo rids this piece of the lyrical phrasing and 'watery' feel that I think do the original lyrics proper justice, as well as giving the slightly more sprightly movements adequate phrasing and energy."*



The String Quartet in D minor was written in 1824 by Franz Schubert, just after the composer became aware of his ruined health. It is popularly known as the Death and the Maiden Quartet because the second movement is adapted from the piano accompaniment to Schubert's 1817 song (or Lied), Death and the Maiden. In the numerical order of his quartets it is his String Quartet No. 14, and is D. 810 in Otto Erich Deutsch's thematic catalogue of Schubert's works. The work is a string quartet in four movements:
1. Allegro, in D minor and common time
2. Andante con moto, in G minor and divided common (2/2) time
3. Scherzo: Allegro molto, in D minor and 3/4 time
4. Presto, in D minor and 6/8 time
The opening movement is, along with that of the preceding and next quartet and that of his string quintet, among the most extended and substantial in his chamber music output, if not in his output as a whole. It is a sonata form movement whose exposition encompasses three main key regions, D minor, F major and A minor.
The second movement is a theme — taken from his macabre song Der Tod und das Mädchen (D 531 in Deutsch's catalog) — and five variations, with coda.
The third movement's main theme can also be heard in one of a set of piano dances; its lyrical D major trio varies its 'repeats'.
The relentless finale-tarantella is a sonata-rondo in form — a rondo whose first episode returns as the last, and whose central section contains elements of development. Its coda promises major-mode triumph, and snatches it away.
*Quote from the original YouTube user who posted these wonderful recordings of Schubert's string quartet.
**Detailed information on these two pieces is taken from their respective Wikipedia entries here and here.

Maestro Rostropovich

I was fortunate enough to meet Rostropovich in person when he gave concerts in Taipei—such a childlike, disarming, humorous, down-to-earth and wonderful being who was filled with lightness and a love for life, and such an extraordinary artist. No.5 is my favourite Bach Cello Suite.

Silent Woods

Jacqueline du Pre plays Silent Woods (Klid) opus 68 by Dvorak:




Seeli Toivio performs Silent Woods Live in Concert 28 Nov 2008. Conductor Nazanin Aghakhani, LaTempesta and visiting artists. Temple Church (Rock Church) Helsinki, Finland. SiperiaFilms Finland.




Another rendition by Yo-Yo Ma, Boston Symphony Orchestra and Seiji Ozawa, from the Smetana Concert Hall in Prague.




One of my favourite cello pieces. When I don't have those pricey concert tickets (for where one certainly gets the best sounds) I love to sit very close to the cellists--it can be hard for me to be near violinists for a long period of time, but the sound of cello really soothes and moves me. Instead of the cry of violins, the melancholy of cellos convey comes from a much deeper place. David says I'm old-schooled...