To not be the object of scorn,
Ensuring that like the wren flitting from branch to bush one never stays still enough
To be hit squarely
Where it hurts forever. That, of all things, is the vaunted ideal
Professed in halls of academia and glossy sheaves of luridly illustrated imagery.
Experience tells us so.
But fly on obliviously, little fellow. Into the maws
Bravely (or the corollary) we soar onward, toward the sun.
Content to burn.
Hope RekindledThis past week has given us more hope for our diseased republic than any other time in 50+ years of paying attention. Observing and participating in a long-overdue peaceful uprising, occupying the streets, feeling the righteous energy of people of all ages, colors, faiths, and wealth (or lack thereof), has…
Clarinetist Glenn Dickson, master of klezmer, has made a solo recording, “Wider Than the Sky,” that’s been on perpetual repeat at our home office. Using over-dubs and electronic digital effects, Dickson fills the aural soundscape with a rich melange of chordal textures supporting the melody. His celebrated virtuosity is subsumed here to long, elegiac musical...
