Set The Piano Stool On Fire

 

Is is a wonderful 75 minute film starring now retired classical music pianist, poet and author,  and Alfred Brendel and young pupil Kit Armstrong who is also a genius level mathematician and a whizz with computers among several other skills. What I liked about this film on seeing it for the second time recently after seeing it on DVD when it was first released in 2008  was the playfulness between teach and pupil. Enjoy.   

In My Present Media Muddle

I forget which church father/theologian it was
who taught that Heaven was watching the suffering
in Hell, the rationale being that whilst watching
others being mercilessly tormented
you can't be being tortured the way that
those who you eternally are being tormented.

Another rationale being that in Roman times,
when the populous were ruled by being given bread
and made to attend the circus at the amphitheatre
where the main meal to watch could easily be a lion
mauling a Christian to death. Any Christian viewer
of such a spectacle would be understandably relieved
and thanking their maker that they were not the one
in the ring, providing such a bloody and coarse entertainment.

I have a feeling that as Israel tears into Palestine
like a hungry lion tearing into a Roman Christian,
the world media is going to be divided again
into those who will watch frozen with detachment
and thank their maker that for viewing such conflict
they can feel relieved that the not in what they view,
and the numbers that see such conflict as pointless,
and as sickening to the soul, 'beyond being news'. 

Meanwhile in Germany in 1937... (3)

 'Who records the most wretched everyday miseries in his memoirs? Until my fortieth year or so I always had neatly cut newspaper in the smallest room . The toilet roll was a luxury enjoyed in hotels. Then I got used to the little rolls at home. I can no longer do without them anymore. But the few pennies they cost add up and are a burden. I used to smoke a pipe. I became accustomed to cigars and then cigarillos. I paid six and eight pfennigs each. The cheapest cigarillos are now the ones at four pfennigs each (and then only in a few shops, usually the minimum price is five pfennigs). I reproach myself for not going back to a pipe; it inflames my gums and tongue, it does not satisfy me; i carry on with four pfennig luxury with a bad conscience. And likewise in everything and with everyone. The ripped suit I wear at home - and people come to me and beg me for an old pair of trousers! But I have a villa and a car. The tragicomic will have a section to itself in my memoirs'   

15th April 1937

An excerpt from 'I Shall Bear Witness -The Diaries of Victor Klemperer 1933-1941' first published in German in 1995, translated into English by Martin Chalmers 1998. 

Two Blind Eyes

When we have to divide the little
fresh daily thought we have to offer
between an expanding number of outlets
something is bound to suffer;
the quality of comment, itself.

Is that when to say less? I think so,
particularly when wars multiply
and honest reports of them appal us,
which is when we are meant to have more to say
than just how appalled we are
at actions that we cannot stop,
and our turning away from knowing
is like having two blind eyes.

That said we can still write about
what we don't know how to say to other people,
but keep it in diaries, for future use in memoirs,
where if enough of us all write their diaries
the diaries become a collective retrospective witness.      

Division By Opinion

One of the less recognised temptations
for citizens of the Wealthy West
is to be so at ease with their rights
to their opinions,
their own choice media processing,
they fail to recognise it when what they think
becomes a cynicism hardened beyond all irony,
where with everything they say about others
they shrink from thinking through
that others might think the same about them.

They can no longer pause and think
what the journey might be like
when we walk in another person's shoes,
and feel fear that comes with such worn heels
that they are tenderised to silence
as they examine themselves for callouses,
the way that others have no choice but to do.  

Meanwhile In Germany In 1936... (2)

 'Last Sunday too only a very short drive for reasons of economy, but particularly interesting. Half by chance we found ourselves on the new Reich autobahn from Wilsdruff  to Dresden., less than an hour after it opened.There were still flags and flowers from the ceremony in the morning, a mass of cars moving slowly forward at a sigh seeing pace, only occasionally did anyone attempt greater speed. This straight road, consisting of four broad lanes, each direction divided by a strip of grass, is magnificent. And bridges for people to cross over it. Spectators crowded onto these bridges and the sides of the roads. A procession, and a glorious view since we were driving towards the Elbe and the Lossnitz Hills in the evening sun. We drove the whole stretch and back again twice (two times 7 and a 1/2 miles) and twice I risked a speed of 50 mph. A great pleasure, but what a luxury, and how much sand in the eyes of the people. There are constantly accidents at hundreds of railway crossings, thousands of roads are in worse condition, everywhere there is a lack of cycle paths, which would do more to prevent accidents than all the tightening up of the law. None of it is done because of cource it would not catch they eye. On the other hand 'THE ROADS OF THE FUHRER'!'.

4th October 1936

An excerpt from 'I Shall Bear Witness -The Diaries of Victor Klemperer 1933-1941' first published in German in 1995, translated into English by Martin Chalmers 1998.     

Who Am I Here For?

The depths of feelings of horror
are often said to be 'deeper'
than the feelings of ordinary joy,
because where fear freezes us
joy contains a lightness,
an ease, that does not compare.

Ease or difficulty, in the end
it makes no difference
we still have 'be there',
be present, to find ourselves
in order to meet each other.

That is the best everyday
invisible miracle
one person can offer another.