Yesterday the sunshine was silver over the River Severn; today it was rather more rose and gold. It’s Sunday and it’s been a very quiet day, but the sunset had me thinking of music.
Certainly those cables across the sky remind me of a musical score – presumably ruled out ready for the music of the spheres; they’re just missing the birds sitting on them to mark the notes. Continue reading “mildly musical”
It’s a long time since I was resident in the UK and there are things that catch my attention although I’m sure most people take them for granted. I giggled childishly, for example, at last night’s weather forecast, when they announced a “yellow snow warning”.
I thought Frank Zappa warned us about that decades ago.
I went to a modern art exhibition last week and was much taken with this sign that was placed underneath one of the sculptures, a strange mixed-media contraption standing on sand.
In the same way, the first time I went to the Retiro in Madrid and saw the signs saying No pisar el cesped I did a double take. I imagined there were probably public toilets in Spanish parks, so why did they think I’d be tempted to go on the grass? It would have made more sense if it had said “don’t let your dog piss (or otherwise) on the grass”, but that seemed not to bother them in the least. Continue reading “a wee warning”
Some years ago, I spent a very pleasant morning in a bar in Madrid talking to Joan Margarit, the Catalán poet. There are two particular images he used in the conversation that I remember. (Note that it was some eight years ago, we were speaking in Spanish, and I no longer have the notes I made at the time. So, the following is my take on what he said rather than direct quotation.)
Joan described poetry as being like a musical score that the poet writes; and he described the reader as the musician who then “interprets” the piece. Continue reading “new every reading”