Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Saturday, December 10, 2011
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
By J.R.R. Tolkien
Philomythus to Misomythus
You look at trees and label them just so,
(for trees are 'trees', and growing is 'to grow');
you walk the earth and tread with solemn pace
one of the many minor globes of Space:
a star's a star, some matter in a ball
compelled to courses mathematical
amid the regimented, cold, inane,
where destined atoms are each moment slain.
At bidding of a Will, to which we bend
(and must), but only dimly apprehend,
great processes march on, as Time unrolls
from dark beginnings to uncertain goals;
and as on page o'er-written without clue,
with script and limning packed of various hue,
an endless multitude of forms appear,
some grim, some frail, some beautiful, some queer,
each alien, except as kin from one
remote Origo, gnat, man, stone, and sun.
God made the petreous rocks, the arboreal trees,
tellurian earth, and stellar stars, and these
homuncular men, who walk upon the ground
with nerves that tingle touched by light and sound.
The movements of the sea, the wind in boughs,
green grass, the large slow oddity of cows,
thunder and lightning, birds that wheel and cry,
slime crawling up from mud to live and die,
these each are duly registered and print
the brain's contortions with a separate dint.
Yet trees are not 'trees', until so named and seen
and never were so named, tifi those had been
who speech's involuted breath unfurled,
faint echo and dim picture of the world,
but neither record nor a photograph,
being divination, judgement, and a laugh
response of those that felt astir within
by deep monition movements that were kin
to life and death of trees, of beasts, of stars:
free captives undermining shadowy bars,
digging the foreknown from experience
and panning the vein of spirit out of sense.
Great powers they slowly brought out of themselves
and looking backward they beheld the elves
that wrought on cunning forges in the mind,
and light and dark on secret looms entwined.
He sees no stars who does not see them first
of living silver made that sudden burst
to flame like flowers bencath an ancient song,
whose very echo after-music long
has since pursued. There is no firmament,
only a void, unless a jewelled tent
myth-woven and elf-pattemed; and no earth,
unless the mother's womb whence all have birth.
The heart of Man is not compound of lies,
but draws some wisdom from the only Wise,
and still recalls him. Though now long estranged,
Man is not wholly lost nor wholly changed.
Dis-graced he may be, yet is not dethroned,
and keeps the rags of lordship once he owned,
his world-dominion by creative act:
not his to worship the great Artefact,
Man, Sub-creator, the refracted light
through whom is splintered from a single White
to many hues, and endlessly combined
in living shapes that move from mind to mind.
Though all the crannies of the world we filled
with Elves and Goblins, though we dared to build
Gods and their houses out of dark and light,
and sowed the seed of dragons, 'twas our right
(used or misused). The right has not decayed.
We make still by the law in which we're made.
Yes! 'wish-fulfilment dreams' we spin to cheat
our timid hearts and ugly Fact defeat!
Whence came the wish, and whence the power to dream,
or some things fair and others ugly deem?
All wishes are not idle, nor in vain
fulfilment we devise -- for pain is pain,
not for itself to be desired, but ill;
or else to strive or to subdue the will
alike were graceless; and of Evil this
alone is deadly certain: Evil is.
Blessed are the timid hearts that evil hate
that quail in its shadow, and yet shut the gate;
that seek no parley, and in guarded room,
though small and bate, upon a clumsy loom
weave tissues gilded by the far-off day
hoped and believed in under Shadow's sway.
Blessed are the men of Noah's race that build
their little arks, though frail and poorly filled,
and steer through winds contrary towards a wraith,
a rumour of a harbour guessed by faith.
Blessed are the legend-makers with their rhyme
of things not found within recorded time.
It is not they that have forgot the Night,
or bid us flee to organized delight,
in lotus-isles of economic bliss
forswearing souls to gain a Circe-kiss
(and counterfeit at that, machine-produced,
bogus seduction of the twice-seduced).
Such isles they saw afar, and ones more fair,
and those that hear them yet may yet beware.
They have seen Death and ultimate defeat,
and yet they would not in despair retreat,
but oft to victory have tuned the lyre
and kindled hearts with legendary fire,
illuminating Now and dark Hath-been
with light of suns as yet by no man seen.
I would that I might with the minstrels sing
and stir the unseen with a throbbing string.
I would be with the mariners of the deep
that cut their slender planks on mountains steep
and voyage upon a vague and wandering quest,
for some have passed beyond the fabled West.
I would with the beleaguered fools be told,
that keep an inner fastness where their gold,
impure and scanty, yet they loyally bring
to mint in image blurred of distant king,
or in fantastic banners weave the sheen
heraldic emblems of a lord unseen.
I will not walk with your progressive apes,
erect and sapient. Before them gapes
the dark abyss to which their progress tends
if by God's mercy progress ever ends,
and does not ceaselessly revolve the same
unfruitful course with changing of a name.
I will not treat your dusty path and flat,
denoting this and that by this and that,
your world immutable wherein no part
the little maker has with maker's art.
I bow not yet before the Iron Crown,
nor cast my own small golden sceptre down.
from gazing upon everlasting Day
to see the day illumined, and renew
from mirrored truth the likeness of the True.
Then looking on the Blessed Land 'twill see
that all is as it is, and yet made free:
Salvation changes not, nor yet destroys,
garden nor gardener, children nor their toys.
Evil it will not see, for evil lies
not in God's picture but in crooked eyes,
not in the source but in malicious choice,
and not in sound but in the tuneless voice.
and though they make anew, they make no lie.
Be sure they still will make, not being dead,
and poets shall have flames upon their head,
and harps whereon their faultless fingers fall:
there each shall choose for ever from the All.
Friday, March 04, 2011
Many thanks from David Greely, (Français suivant)
Thank you all very much for all your kind compliments for the work I’ve done with the Mamou Playboys over the last 23 years. For nearly twenty years before I ever met Steve Riley, I played traditional fiddle and dreamed of playing music of my own culture- music that would make me proud, would make a difference, and that would take me all over the world to see the things I’d always wanted to see, and to meet the people I’d always wanted to meet. With Steve Riley and the Mamou Playboys, and thanks to all our fans, every one of those dreams have come true, and for that I will always be grateful.
It has become necessary for me to reduce my exposure to loud sound. I have researched ALL my alternatives, including the ones you’re thinking about right now, and the only one that makes me certain of my ability to keep my hearing into my later years is to play acoustic music, exclusively.
I want to especially thank you for your good wishes for the future. The future is very bright and busy, as I continue to play homestyle Cajun music in a variety of formats. Thankfully, all my projects lately have been acoustic, exploring the riches of the home music we seldom get to hear in dance halls, so I’ll be able to keep on cruisin’ with all of the following forms of Cajun music:
Solo performance and recordings: I will continue to play solo in concert and to release recordings of new and traditional Cajun music, like Sud du sud, only better !
GreelySavoyDuo : that most sublime and primeval of Cajun lineups, two fiddles, with the indefatigable Joel Savoy.
GumboJet : Cajun acoustic trio with Daniel Gale on fiddle and accordion, Jo Vidrine on guitar, and moi on fiddle, with vocals and lots of your old favorite tunes, as well as a bunch of new ones, played like we own the place.
Marce LaCouture and Friends : Cajun a capella ballads and home music. I’m a friend. Last summer we performed at the Library of Congress and the
Teaching at music camps, workshops and in private lessons in person and by Skype : I have become fascinated with teaching since I’ve discovered how to help students understand how music works, especially in the context of Cajun songs. It’s a blast for me.
So please join me in my adventures. Visit davidgreely.com, and sign up for my newsletter.
See you soon, I hope,
Remerciments de David Greely,
Bien merci pour tous vos beaux compliments regardent le travail que j’ai fait avec les Mamou Playboys pendant les dernières 23 annees. Pendant presque vingt ans avant que j’ai rencontré Steve Riley, j’ai joué le violon traditionel et rêvé d’un vie en jouant la musique de ma culture même- musique de qualité, fierté, et qui pouvait faire une différence, qui pourrait me porter alentour du monde pour rencontrer tout le monde que je voulait. Avec Steve Riley et les Mamou Playboys, et grace à tous nos fans, tous ces rêves ont devenu vrai, et pour ça, je suis eternellement reconnaissant.
Je dois eviter le sonne fort tout net. J’ai fait toute ma recherche, même les solutions dans vos idees a ce moment, et la seule maniére d’être certain de preserver mon audition pour les années qui viennent, c’est jouer la musique acoustique, exclusivement.
Je veux surtout vous remercier pour vos bonnes veuxs pour l’avenir. L’avenir et brillant. Heureusement, tous mes projets dernièrement ont été acoustique, ça fait, je suis capable de continuer sans cesse avec tous ces formations de musique Cadienne :
Solo et disque : Je joue solo en concert, et je continue avec des disques de musique Cadienne nouvelle et traditionelle, comme Sud du sud, et encore mieux !
GreelySavoyDuo : cette formation Cadienne le plus sublime et primevale, deux violons, avec le formidable Joel
GumboJet : Trio Cadien avec Daniel Gale, violon et accordeon, Jo Vidrine a la guitare, et moi. Beaucoup de vos danses favoris, et un tas des nouvelles, jouées comme si on est les proprietaires !
Marce LaCouture et ses amis : Ballades, complaintes, et chansons de maison. Je suis un ami. L’été passé on a chanté au Bibliotheque de Congrès et le
Ateliers, stages, et lecons privées en personne et aussi sur Skype. Je suis fasciné avec l’enseignement depuis que j’ai decouvert comment faire mes étudiants comprendre la musique même, surtout dans le contexte de musique Cadienne.
Venez me rejoindre dans mes aventures. Visitez davidgreely.com et enregistrez pour mes nouvelles.
À bientôt, j’espère,
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