Monday, July 17, 2017

and peace


Not many days in the past nearly seven years I’ve missed writing a blogpost to clear or cloud my mind, and it wasn’t intentional on this day. It was just that I woke up between midnight and one o’clock thinking about László Krasznahorkai and his books and writings and writing style and films that were made of his writings, especially “Werckmeister Harmoniak” as a film rendition of LK’s book “The Melancholy of Resistance,” with Hungarian dubbed, sometimes a bit clumsily, over German to make it a Hungarian film, and I got up and watched it again.


First the beginning scene at closing time in the pub, or village bar, with Greek and English subtitles over the dubbed in Hungarian language, 


then the whole thing, CD1 and CD2, without any subtitles just the Hungarian, which is like no sound I’ve ever heard before, but having read and researched enough, I could follow it; and besides I like the film’s use of light and darkness, and I like the music with it. None of this liking was deep enough to recommend it to anyone. I commented to Linda this morning that I seem to have developed weird tastes, and she said yes, you certainly have. I'm intending to end it as of today before it descends into obsession.


When the film viewing ended a couple hours later, I wanted to snuggle back against a warm wife in bed, and did that, then awoke to violent lightning and thunderstorm and hard driving rain, called Robert to cancel this morning’s Monday walk and back to sleep until eight o’clock. Linda had a medical appointment then that occupied the full morning with me in the waiting rooms watching the damned film again, listen to its music, read about Andreas Werckmeister (German musician and music theorist, 1645-1706) and his concern with well-tempered clavier, matching up the film title (changed from the Melancholy of Resistance), with a scene in which Janos watches and listens as a musician records his music theory especially relating to harmony, relates it to Werckmeister, listened to some of Bach The Well Tempered Clavier Book 1 and Book 2 online, switched to Chopin, Rubenstein playing some Chopin polonaises that were my favorites when I was a piano student at ages 10, 11, 12, 13. Switched to other films, “U-Boote Westwärts” and realized the day was darkening and no blog.

July 17, this is the sixth anniversary of my mother’s death at age 99 years, two months and ten days. It was a rainy Sunday morning, July 17, 2011. Prayers at time of death, stood by her and talked, removed her wedding ring to give to Susanna, then sat in a chair and talked for hours. All the relatives were out of town on vacations, and so, consulting with them, I delayed the funeral service a week until everyone could come. What I found out that day was that the day your mother dies is not like any other day in your life before or after; and as the sun sets on that day you realize that you are no longer someone’s beloved son but an orphan. Not to be maudlin, but that’s the way it is. I was so down at day’s end that Linda and I went out to a seafood restaurant that was between PC and LynnHaven and I had fried mullet because that was a staple in my mother’s kitchen and at our table all my growing up years.


DThos+


Pic: Janos Valuska leaving the whale exhibit, with the reflection of the leaves of the trees outside the waiting room window behind me.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.