Happy birthday, London.

Jack London was born on this day in 1876.

The Sea Sprite and the Shooting Star

A little sea sprite,               

on the sea one night,               

Cried "Now is the time for me,"               

And he looked above,               

And he looked for his love;               

For he was in love, you see.      

         

But his love was a star               

In the sky a-far,               

And she knew not his love so true;               

So he tried to think               

Of a magic link               

'Twixt the sea and the sky so blue.               

Then out of the sky,               

From the moon on high,               

A silvery moonbeam fell;               

And it fell on the brine,               

With its wonderful shine,               

On the brine where the sea sprites dwell.     

          

Though the siren sing               

Where the sea bells ring               

And the sleepy poppies dream -               

Though the sea sprite knew               

Their songs untrue,               

He knew not the false moonbeam.    

           

For the way seemed clear               

To his love so dear,               

And he needn't have wings to fly;               

Up its silvery stream               

He would climb by the beam,               

He would climb right into the sky.              

 

Up the glittering step               

He carefully crept,               

While his heart beat a merry tune;               

But O what a fright               

To the poor little sprite,               

When he came to the crescent moon.    

           

Alas! and A-lack!               

He couldn't get back,               

For the moonbeams flew away;               

And the stars in the sky               

Knew not he was nigh,               

Or that he had lost his way

There he sat forlorn,                

On the crescent horn,               

And thought of his home in the sea               

Of his brothers at play               

All the livelong day               

On the foam so fresh and free.                

Then he saw his star,                

In her golden car,               

As she twinkled above his head;               

And he sobbed and sighed,                

And woefully cried               

That he wished - he wished he was dead.                

But the little the star heard               

His every word,               

And thrilled at his musical voice               

Like the tinkling of bells,               

Or the songs of shells,               

And it bade her heart rejoice,                

For she was lonely and sad,               

And no lover had;               

And she'd twinkled so long up there,               

It had often been said               

That she never would wed -                

And yet she was wonderous fair,                

But often she'd seen,               

On the ocean green,               

The sea sprite who had loved her so;               

Though he came not to woo,               

She had loved him too,               

Yet she never would tell him  - oh no.   

            

But as she looked down               

On the lover she'd found -               

The story is strange to relate -                

She sprang from her car,               

For the height was no bar,               

And hurried to join her mate. 

               

Oh how her heart beat,               

As she leaped from her seat,               

And fell to the moon below;               

And the stars were aghast,               

As she darted past,               

And they all said "I told you so." 

               

And her golden hair,               

As she fell through the air,               

Shown bright like a comet's tail;               

While the people on earth,               

All ceased from their mirth               

As they watched her fiery trail.       

        

Not a bit too soon,               

She came to the moon,               

Where she grasped her lover's hand;               

And they sang with glee,               

As they splashed in the sea,               

Right into the sea sprite's land.  

             

And the sea o' nights               

Is bright with lights,               

Whenever they're out to play               

For the white sea foam               

Is their beautiful home,
Where they live forever and aye.

Jack London

Be.

Hnizdovsky, Winter Orchard, Undated

January Hymn

On a winter Sunday I go

To clear away the snow
And green the ground below

April all an ocean away
Is this the better way to spend the day?
Keeping the winter at bay

What were the words I meant to say before you left?
When I could see your breath lead where you were going to

Maybe I should just “let it be”
and maybe it will all come back to me
Sing oh January oh!

How I lived a childhood in snow
And all my teens in tow
Stuffed in strata of glow

Hail the winter days after dark
Wandering the gray memorial park
A fleeting beating of hearts

What were the words I meant to say before she left?
When I could see her breath lead where she was going to

Maybe I should just “let it be”
And maybe it will all come back to me
Sing oh Janu...
Oh January oh

Colin Meloy 

Recreates.

Karr, Epoisses, 2012

Recipes have their place, but for me the nuances of experience are locked in my gut. My mind recreates a scene. 

CONNECT

Thank you, Jessica.

Out.

If it works, it's out of date.

David Bowie

David Bowie, Sound and Vision

David Bowie, "Heroes"

David Bowie, R.I.P.

And these children that you spit on
As they try to change their worlds
Are immune to your consultations
They're quite aware of what they're going through

David Bowie, from "Changes"

Happy birthday, Parmagianino.

Parmagianino, Lucrezia Romana, 1540

Girolamo Francesco Maria Mazzola, "Parmagianino," was born on this date in 1503.

CONNECT

Jeeves.

Jeeves disapproves ...

Required.

A Poem

The Coughers of Cologne
have joined forces with Cologne Clappers
and established the Cough and Clap Society
a non-profit-making organization
whose aim it is
to guarantee each concertgoer's right
to cough and applaud
Attempts by unfeeling artists and impresarios
to question such privileges
have led to a Coughers and Clappers initiative
Members are required to applaud
immediately after sublime codas
and cough distinctly
during expressive silences
Distinct coughing is of paramount importance
to stifle or muffle it
forbidden on pain of expulsion
Coughers of outstanding tenacity
are awarded the Coughing Rhinemaiden
a handsome if slightly baroque appendage
to be worn around the neck
The C & C' recent merger
with the New York Sneezers
and the London Whistlers
raises high hopes
for Cologne's musical future.

Alfred Brendel

CONNECT

Nanook of the North.

Robert Flaherty’s classic film tells the story of Inuit hunter Nanook and his family as they struggle to survive in the harsh conditions of Canada’s Hudson Bay region.

Calling.

I was out on the roof at night in the summer, stars, the Milky Way, and I got just absorbed into poetry," Harrison recalls. "I thought it was actually my calling that night."

CONNECT

Santana, "All I Ever Wanted"

Happy Saturday!

Advice.

Winter advice from Geddy Lee ...

Ballyhoo.

Top.

Kurt has compiled Sinatra's Top 100 at Cultural Offering.

Here's a sip to wet your whistle...

Number One ... Howard Cosell's introduction, "The Overture," to The Main Event: Live at Madison Square Garden, Frank Sinatra's performance on October 13, 1974 ...



Number Three, from the same performance, "You are the Sunshine of my Life (Not you, her)" ...

Spiritual.

To live content with small means; to seek elegance rather than luxury, and refinement rather than fashion; to be worthy, not respectable, and wealthy, not, rich; to listen to stars and birds, babes and sages, with open heart; to study hard; to think quietly, act frankly, talk gently, await occasions, hurry never; in a word, to let the spiritual, unbidden and unconscious, grow up through the common--this is my symphony.

William Henry Channing

Abe Lyman Orchestra, "12th Street Rag"

Son Volt, "Live Free"

The rhythm of the river will remain ...

True.

Leonardo, Star of Bethlehem study, 1506

Wherever you are, you are one with the clouds and one with the sun and the stars you see. You are one with everything. That is more true than I can say, and more true than you can hear.

Suzuki Roshi

Accept.

We often refuse to accept an idea merely because of the tone of voice in which it has been expressed is unsympathetic to us.

Friederich Nietzche

Bad Co., "Burnin' Sky"

Indeed.

Richness.

Vincent Scully is likely the best-known living art historian in the United States today.

Until recently, he was still teaching at his alma mater, Yale University, where a wide variety of students were drawn to his undergraduate history of art and architecture courses.

For years, Scully's deep engagement with the subject and his passionate presentation style have inspired his students to value these subjects. Many of them have gone on to become prominent architects, historians, or clients of architecture.

In his lectures and his more-than-20 books on architecture, Scully's insights are eye-opening and have championed the work of such modern architects as Frank Lloyd Wright, Louis Kahn, Robert Venturi, and Aldo Rossi. He has focused on topics ranging from the American Shingle Style of the late 19th Century, which he identified and named, to a reassessment of Greek temples and their response to the surrounding landscape.

The breadth and depth of his knowledge, which includes a close familiarity with literature as well as with the visual arts, lends a special richness to his historical interpretations.

This film explores the phenomenon of Scully, tracing his connection to New Haven, his birthplace, and his time at Yale, from when he entered as a freshman in 1936 to the present. The narrative follows the arc of his interests in classical art and architecture to American architecture, historic preservation, and urban design in the 20th Century.

CONNECT

Mozart, Piano Sonata in C minor, K. 457(3)

Alfred Brendel performs (with bandages on his fingers) ...

Remarkable.

The world of books is the most remarkable creation of man. Nothing else that he builds ever lasts. Monuments fall; nations perish; civilizations grow old and die out; and, after an era of darkness, new races build others. But in the world of books are volumes that have seen this happen again and again, and yet live on, still young, still as fresh as the day they were written, still telling men's hearts of the hearts of men centuries dead.

Clarence Shepard Day

Scope.

Trying to imagine the scope of the cosmos is nearly impossible, but musician and artist Pablo Carlos Budassi decided to make a visual attempt by cramming the entire known universe into a single image. 

CONNECT

Condition.

Doubt is not a pleasant condition, but certainty is absurd.

Voltaire

Thank you, Mason.

Happy birthday, Frampton Comes Alive.

Peter Frampton's Frampton Comes Alive was released on this day in 1976.

"Do You Feel Like We Do"

Humility.

Spirit

Rumi advised me to keep my spirit
up in the branches of a tree and not peek
out too far, so I keep mine in the very tall
willows along the irrigation ditch out back,
a safe place to remain unspoiled by the filthy
culture of greed and murder of the spirit.

People forget their spirits easily suffocate
so they must keep them far up in tree
branches where they can be summoned any moment.
It’s better if you’re outside as it’s hard for spirits
to get into houses or buildings or airplanes.
In New York City I used to reach my spirit in front
of the gorilla cage in the children’s zoo in Central Park.
It wouldn’t come in the Carlyle Hotel, which
was too expensive for its taste. In Chicago
it won’t come in the Drake, though I can see it
out the window, hovering over the surface
of Lake Michigan. The spirit above anything
else is attracted to humility. If I slept
in the streets it would be under the cardboard with me.

Jim Harrison

Stirs.

The force that through the green fuse drives the flower

Drives my green age; that blasts the roots of trees

Is my destroyer.

And I am dumb to tell the crooked rose

My youth is bent by the same wintry fever.

The force that drives the water through the rocks

Drives my red blood; that dries the mouthing streams

Turns mine to wax.

And I am dumb to mouth unto my veins

How at the mountain spring the same mouth sucks.

The hand that whirls the water in the pool

Stirs the quicksand; that ropes the blowing wind

Hauls my shroud sail.

And I am dumb to tell the hanging man

How of my clay is made the hangman’s lime.

Dylan Thomas 

Happy birthday, Sandburg.

Mills, Jr., Sandburg in his Michigan study, 1951

Carl Sandburg was born on this day in 1878.

At a Window

Give me hunger,

O you gods that sit and give

The world its orders.

Give me hunger, pain and want,

Shut me out with shame and failure

From your doors of gold and fame,

Give me your shabbiest, weariest hunger!

But leave me a little love,

A voice to speak to me in the day end,

A hand to touch me in the dark room

Breaking the long loneliness.

In the dusk of day-shapes

Blurring the sunset,

One little wandering, western star

Thrust out from the changing shores of shadow.

Let me go to the window,

Watch there the day-shapes of dusk

And wait and know the coming

Of a little love.

Carl Sandburg

Mozart, Piano Concerto No.26 in D major, K.537, "Coronation"

Friederich Gulda performs and leads the Munich Philharmonic ...

Hat.

New.

The man with a new idea is a crank ... until the idea succeeds. 

Mark Twain

Michael Franks, "Eggplant"

Born.

I was born to catch dragons in their dens

And pick flowers

To tell tales and laugh away the morning

To drift and dream like a lazy stream

And walk barefoot across sunshine days.

I was born to find goblins in their caves

And chase moonlight

To see shadows and seek hidden rivers

To hear the rain fall on dry leaves

And chat a bit with death across foggy nights.

I was born to rub my hands in dirt

And walk green hills

To plant corn and make bread

To build a house strong against the wind

And to live free across sunshine days.

I was born to watch owls in dark forests

And hear coyotes cry

To feel trees tremble and the grass sleep

To taste cold air and smell the damp earth
And watch ghostly shapes disappear across foggy nights.

James Kavanaugh

Extraordinary.

Michael Palin heads for rural Pennsylvania and Maine to explore the extraordinary life and work of one of America's most popular and controversial painters, Andrew Wyeth.

Palaces.

Peale (Rembrandt), Man Reading by Candlelight, 1806

I love to watch the fine mist of the night come on, 

The windows and the stars illumined, one by one, 

The rivers of dark smoke pour upward lazily, 

And the moon rise and turn them silver. 

I shall see 

The springs, the summers, and the autumns slowly pass; 

And when old Winter puts his blank face to the glass, 

I shall close all my shutters, pull the curtains tight, 

And build me stately palaces by candlelight.

Charles Baudelaire 

Mozart, Sinfonia Concertante for Oboe, Clarinet, Horn, & Bassoon

Daniel Barenboim leads the Mozarteum Orchestra ...

Awe.

We have lived by the assumption that what was good for us would be good for the world. And this has been based on the even flimsier assumption that we could know with any certainty what was good even for us. We have fulfilled the danger of this by making our personal pride and greed the standard of our behavior toward the world - to the incalculable disadvantage of the world and every living thing in it. And now, perhaps very close to too late, our great error has become clear. It is not only our own creativity - our own capacity for life - that is stifled by our arrogant assumption; the creation itself is stifled.

We have been wrong. We must change our lives, so that it will be possible to live by the contrary assumption that what is good for the world will be good for us. And that requires that we make the effort to know the world and to learn what is good for it. We must learn to cooperate in its processes, and to yield to its limits. But even more important, we must learn to acknowledge that the creation is full of mystery; we will never entirely understand it. We must abandon arrogance and stand in awe. We must recover the sense of the majesty of creation, and the ability to be worshipful in its presence. For I do not doubt that it is only on the condition of humility and reverence before the world that our species will be able to remain in it.

Wendell Berry

Accurate.

A tediously accurate scale model of the solar system ...

CONNECT

Delights.

Bloomer, Winter Hares, 1999

Now winter nights enlarge

    The number of their hours;

And clouds their storms discharge

    Upon the airy towers.

Let now the chimneys blaze

    And cups o’erflow with wine,

Let well-turned words amaze

    With harmony divine.

Now yellow waxen lights

    Shall wait on honey love

While youthful revels, masques, and courtly sights

    Sleep’s leaden spells remove.

This time doth well dispense

    With lovers’ long discourse;

Much speech hath some defense,

    Though beauty no remorse.

All do not all things well;

    Some measures comely tread,

Some knotted riddles tell,

    Some poems smoothly read.

The summer hath his joys,

    And winter his delights;

Though love and all his pleasures are but toys,

    They shorten tedious nights.

Thomas Champion

Happy birthday, Pergolesi.

Giovanni Battista Pergolesi was born on this day in 1710.

Stabat Mater, performed by Le Banquet Celeste, under the direction of Damien Guilllon, and featuring Céline Scheen, soprano ...

Tex Beneke, "Five Minutes More"

Slanguage.

Joey's own slanguage ...

Alone.

Happy birthday, Wayne.

"Mad" Anthony Wayne was born on this day in 1745.

Upon the whole it was a Glorious day ... our men are in the Spirits-and I am confident we shall give them a total defeat the next Action; which is at no great distance. Issue the orders Sir, and I will storm Hell.

Anthony Wayne

Stirring.

Sailors on a becalmed sea, we sense the stirring of a breeze.

Carl Sagan