5 posts tagged “beethoven”
Courtesy o' my pal/brother from another mother Brian (the one that married my best friend, not the one I date). And really, courtesy of a Mister Ludwig van Beethoven:
My astonishing lack of concern for school this semester (at least, relative to previous semesters) has given me much more time to read. A quick post about what I have read or am reading:
And just to take my nerddom to the top, here's the chapter I just read, which I found interesting and touching (geez, people, don't let me read children's literature when I'm tired and emotional). Pardon the lengthiness, but Vox has yet to come up with it's equivalent of the LJ-cut, as far as I know. From Bambi, by Felix Salten, Chapter VIII:
The leaves were falling from the great oak at the meadow's edge. They were falling from all the trees.
One branch of the oak reached high above the others and stretched far out over the meadow. Two leaves clung to its very tip.
"It isn't the way it used to be," said one leaf to the other.
"No," the other leaf answered. "So many of us have fallen off to-night we're almost the only ones left on our branch."
"You never know who's going to go next," said the first leaf. "Even when it was warm and the sun shone, a storm or a cloudburst would come sometimes, and many leaves were torn off, though they were still young. You never know who's going to go next."
"The sun seldom shines now," sighed the second leaf, "and when it does it gives no warmth. We must have warmth again."
"Can it be true," said the first leaf, "can it really be true, that others come to take our places when we're gone and after them still others, and more and more?"
"It is really true," whispered the second leaf. "We can't even begin to imagine it, it's beyond our powers."
"It makes me very sad," added the first leaf.
They were silent a while. Then the first leaf said quietly to herself, "Why must we fall?..."
The second leaf asked, "What happens to us when we have fallen?"
"We sink down..."
"What is under us?"
The first leaf answered, "I don't know, some say one thing, some another, but nobody knows."
The second leaf asked, "Do we feel anything, do we know anything about ourselves when we're down there?"
The first leaf answered, "Who knows? Not one of all those down there has ever come back to tell us about it."
They were silent again. Then the first leaf said tenderly to the other, "Don't worry so much about it, you're trembling."
"That's nothing," the second leaf answered, "I tremble at the least thing now. I don't feel so sure of my hold as I used to."
"Let's not talk any more about such things," said the first leaf.
The other replied, "No, we'll let be. But--what else shall we talk about?" She was silent, but went on after a little while, "Which of us will go first?"
"There's still plenty of time to worry about that," the other leaf assured her. "Let's remember how beautiful it was, how wonderful, when the sun came out and shone so warmly that we thought we'd burst with life. Do you remember? And the morning dew, and the mild and splendid nights..."
"Now the nights are dreadful," the second leaf complained, "and there is no end to them."
"We shouldn't complain," said the first leaf gently. "We've outlived many, many others."
"Have I changed much?" asked the second leaf shyly but determinedly.
"Not in the least," the first leaf assured her. "You only think so because I've got to be so yellow and ugly. But it's different in your case."
"You're fooling me," the second leaf said.
"No, really," the first leaf exclaimed eagerly, "believe me, you're as lovely as the day you were born. Here and there may be a little yellow spot but it's hardly noticeable and only makes you handsomer, believe me."
"Thanks," whispered the second leaf, quite touched. "I don't believe you, not altogether, but I thank you because you're so kind, you've always been so kind to me. I'm just beginning to understand how kind you are."
"Hush," said the other leaf, and kept silent herself for she was too troubled to talk any more.
Then they were both silent. Hours passed.
A moist wind blew, cold and hostile, through the tree-tops.
"Ah, now," said the second leaf, "I..." Then her voice broke off. She was torn from her place and spun down.
Winter had come.
Between Bambi and Toy Story, people sure are finding ways to make
It's 3:30 in the morning. I've been working on a paper for several hours now, and to help me stay relaxed I've had all of the Beethoven symphonies (well, starting with No. 3) playing in the background. Eventually I stop really noticing what symphony I'm on.
Finally things start to wrap up (aside from an annotated bibliography I am unable to think about doing right now). I begin writing my concluding paragraph. And I pay attention to the music, and as I start writing this ending paragraph... Ode to Joy begins.
Beethoven is up/out there. He has a sense of humor, and he likes me.
Last night, at somewhere around 3am, in spite of the fact that I knew I was getting up at 8am... I could not fall asleep. And it's Beethoven's fault.
I spent all evening yesterday listening to symphonies. I didn't even finish them all (I only listened to 2-7), and it still took me hours. (I mean, y'know. There was a healthy dose of procrastination in there, too. But still.) So when I eventually went to bed, I turned the light off, closed my eyes... And my brain could do was think of the freaking Fifth Symphony. Over. And over again. Different parts of it, sometimes separately, sometimes on top of each other, making my head this disgusting mess of sound.
And of course my brain picks a stressful sounding movement from a symphony, so sound in my head + feelings of tension = COULD NOT SLEEP.
This research paper is going to destroy me in new and different ways which other, less resourceful research papers have been unable to do...
A brief update, because I'm a loser and frankly... I just like updating this because it's so fun.
Due to a semester-long research paper/project, I shall be listening to this (more than I will probably care to, if it's possible to tire of good ol' Ludwig):
Done on period instruments in the tuning of that time period, I might add. Sadly for me, the disc containing the Ninth Symphony (aka, the one I need the most) is quite damaged (I'm borrowing this set from my professor), so I'm in the process of trying to obtain it some other way... if only I could buy the set, but geez... $60 is a lot of dinero.
The topic of my paper (if you happen to care): Using Beethoven's nine symphonies to track his evolution from a Classical composer to a Romantic one. I had a much cooler way of wording all that in my formal paper proposal, but y'know. I'm too lazy to go get it.
And now, to do what all good losers do on a Friday night (after they've exhausted all of their food and television options): practice. Look out, assorted Bach inventions.
