The Admiring Blog

For suffering people at Christmas: a Dickinson poem sung

2011-12-16T08:47:00.000-08:00

To celebrate Christmas 2011, here is a beautiful choral setting of Emily Dickinson's poem, "I shall know why" by Roberto Brisotto (1972); text by Emily Dickinson (Lyric n.193) - Coro "Giovani del Contrà" - direttore: Roberto Brisotto.

I shall know why -- when Time is over --And I have ceased to wonder why --Christ will explain each separate anguishIn the fair schoolroom of the sky --He will tell me what "Peter" promised --And I -- for wonder at his woe --I shall forget the drop of AnguishThat scalds me now -- that scalds me now! -----------Emily Dickinson

She listens to the flags

2011-12-01T06:49:00.001-08:00

Maybe it is because I am a musician, or maybe I am a musician because of my aural awareness, but I confess that I listen to daily sounds most people ignore.

Some interesting, evocative sounds are:
*the clicking of bicycle gears and spokes
*the pulsing of cicadas heralding fall; the chirping frogs in the spring
*the deep sound of Lake Michigan tonguing xylophone-like slabs of cement on the long piers
*the hissing and knocking of old-fashioned radiators in a Milwaukee apartment I used to live in

And now I have discovered a person who experienced pleasure (and poetry) from the sounds of flags whipping in the wind when she visited the U.S. Marine Corps base in Quantico!

On her drive into the base to give the Colonel's wife a cello lesson, Emily Wright says:
Most houses display two flags. As an unrepentant aesthete, I confess I roll down my windows and enjoy the reassuring sound of the fabric whipping around in the breeze.
Not only that, but she also stops again to listen to the flags on her way out.

Sounds are everywhere and we can be enriched by their existence if we will only listen.

Unexpected Pleasures: Heart-marked Dog & Candyland World (photos)

2011-11-17T15:56:00.001-08:00

On the day we had to put our six-year-old poodle to sleep, on that same day (my summer birthday), a 2-year-old rat terrier dog - Macy - was dropped off at the Humane Society because she "chewed on cats." On that grievous day, something wonderful was moving towards our lives and we had no clue.

With our poodle gone at the start of 4-H dog training, we went to the Humane Society to see if we could "foster" a needy dog and give her or him some basic training. Macy was not doing well there, so they matched us up to socialize her before putting her up to adopt.

And here is what we got:

A girl with a heart!

And she, of course, captured our hearts, and began to fill them with a new joy. We could not take her back to the Humane Society, so here she is. And sometimes, life is like that: a huge painful thing, while all the while a new joy is running towards you, but you just don't know it yet.

An unexpected gift can also emerge from an interrupted photo moment. I lost my balance and snapped this picture of the local high school Homecoming float with a Candyland theme. I got the beauty of another world in the botched shot. The light and patterns look like another place, perhaps made of candy or perhaps made of beautiful energy. Once again, a mistake or loss of the expected or desired result brought an unexpected pleasure.

Fall photos of glowing orbs

2011-09-17T09:43:00.000-07:00

More (community) garden pictures

2011-08-28T13:10:00.001-07:00

Green beans were the queens of my garden:

Basil and parsley galore, but chamomile never appeared from 2 seed packets:

View through corn leaves:

Hmong peppers:

Hello, down there:

My garden's entrancing entrance:

Community Garden

2011-08-28T06:07:00.000-07:00

Corn Shadowed Path:
Eighty-year-old Ray's Spot:

Deer-scare Contraption?:

Graceful Tree-lined Border:

Millions of Unseen Animals on Earth: overlooked gifts

2011-08-23T18:42:00.000-07:00

Our pastor often says, our God is awesome. It is true: the most beautiful things are not manmade. For example, these days it is wise to collect gold, to invest in gold, to watch the value of gold rise: I mean the rich, gold sunrises and sunsets of beauty at dawn and dusk. Overlooked natural gifts. Untapped investments in the sense of beauty built into us.

And now, I find, in the midst of a very troubled world a reminder of the variety of intricate, interesting life right here among us. In the midst of unheavals, suffering and losses of all kinds, the world God made still holds secrets and delight, if we will only pay attentioin.

Losing Jack on my birthday

2011-06-18T15:57:00.000-07:00

Our six-year-old miniature poodle had to be put down on my birthday this month. It was a difficult decision for us but he was suffering from a collapse of his system that baffled the vet at the special animal hospital. (I could describe his conditions in detail, as well as the mysterious parts, but not here at the Admiring Blog!)

Jack was truly a unique fellow, who did a crab-walk dance to greet us (James Herriot wrote about a dog of his that also did this unusual routine). Jack also enjoyed taking his time walking around the garden smelling the flowers and bushes (not just for other dogs' markings, it seemed). His sensibilities were cat-like: he preferred to do things his way and moved his back away from our touch when he didn't want to be petted.

Our Jackie could have been a circus dog, and knew the word, jump, which he loved to do. He could catch a ball on the fly by leaping up to grab it. He was not perfect, but the when he was good he was very very good. He raced like the wind in agility, and won awards for obediance and showmanship, and (I just learned) he served as chief confidante and comforter for our youngest teen during hard times over the years.

My kids could not find me a birthday card that worked. They all talked about having a happy day. We did, however, get around to ordering a cake with extra pink flowers and no message a few days later. (and I got teary again thinking how Jack liked to smell flowers...)

Life is truly bitter-sweet. But we all agree we would do it all again - have Jack in our family - even with this heartache. And the morning after he was gone, a double rainbow appeared above our house briefly. My husband and I just happened to be outside at 6:00 a.m. for the few moments it was there before it dissolved. We thank the angels for comforting us with the symbol of God's love during this hard time.

Milkweed seed shows God's art and craft

2011-05-01T18:32:00.000-07:00

Functional and beautiful, this milkweed seed shows the artful heart of our creator God.

Lake Michigan: Muscles of Ice

2011-03-12T12:14:00.000-08:00

During February Lake Michigan beaches flex into massive muscles of ice. This natural sculpture reminds me of the power of nature, of both the beauty and the danger of its forces.

The snowscape reminds me of the moon' surface, a barren, hostile place, until suddenly a playful retriever appears on the scene to pose nonchalantly in front of the lashing waves upon request of her owner.

When I notice the few other hearty souls slipping and sliding down to the water's icy edge I just have to smile. We Wisconsinites love our lake, and will brave the frigid cold to experience (and photograph) the stark beauty it offers.

Songwriter Peterik Inspires Sheboygan

2011-02-28T13:08:00.000-08:00

Now here was an inspiring workshop for someone like me, who appreciates (and has tried my hand at writing) many kinds of music.

Thirty-eight fans, friends, and songwriter-types paid their $10 (a steal!) and took a seat on stage at the Weill Center for the Performing Arts in Sheboygan facing rock icon Jim Peterick for his workshop, “Pennies From Heaven: How to Make Money as a Songwriter” last Saturday prior to his evening concert with band Ides of March. The long-time singer-songwriter - his wiry form displaying a timeless energy - greeted us by shaking our hands and asking our names.

During the next hour, Peterik discussed and demonstrated songwriting techniques, while peppering his talk with plenty of vignettes from his own life. He and band buddies Bob Bergland and Larry Millas also rolled out bare-bones (but exciting) acoustic renditions of some of his well-known tunes, including “Vehicle,” “Hold on Loosely,” “The Search is Over,” and of course, “Eye of the Tiger.” During one song, he called out structural points - part A, B, chorus, bridge - as he sang.

“How do you know when a song (you are writing) is done?” asked one person. “Ask what does it do to you? It’s got to make you feel,” answered Peterik, who said too much revising usually makes a song worse. Go back to the second or third revision for the best one, he said.

Here are two of Jim’s tips that were especially interesting to anyone who writes poetry or vocal music:

To get a song started, get a riff going, then just “sing gibberish to get the syllables going.”

Keep a daily log of ideas, things people say, newspaper headlines, anything that strikes you. Jim has been keeping idea journals since the 7th grade and showed us his current thick notebook. He revealed that the title for his song “The Search is Over” was sparked by that same phrase in a newscast reporting the search was over for a missing 6-year-old girl.

More songwriting tips and advice can be found in Peterik’s book, Songwriting for Dummies. When asked to write the book about ten years ago, he said he had not really thought about his process and had to figure out what he was doing instinctively so he could share it. Of course, there is no way Jim could tell us how to have a song come to us in a dream, which he sometimes experiences. And when asked how he writes his melodies, he said, "I hear them...It's a gift, one of my birth packages."

Even for those who do not have that songwriting "birth package" this was a fascinating opportunity to rub elbows with a colorful veteran of the music world. Besides his musical talent, the workshop showed that Peterik has the ability to convey the technical aspects of his craft while encouraging others. We listened, asked questions, and basked in the glow of the man’s creativity. Even Jim’s blue-tinged hair added to the sense he was on fire.

Christmas Pics: a Quilt, a Cat and a Blur of Light

2010-12-30T13:03:00.000-08:00

The one-of-a-kind memory quilt grandma made for our college girl lit up the room Christmas day. My mom had also given me and my brother our own unique memory quilts with swatches and squares from our childhood and youth in the past. I marvel at these artful and useful gifts, since I did not get the sewing gene. I weave melodies, but you cannot snuggle under a melody on a cold winter's night.

The cat lives with my city brother and is 24. Can that age be fur real? I'll have to double-check. I thought my brother said 24. Is that even possible? All I know is this cat, partially blind and mostly deaf, is still kicking despite having seizures more and more regularly. I could not resist snapping a pic of this sweet old fellow as he puffed up on that red chair, making a distinctive holiday image.

Here, the flash failed, and the play of light captured the dream-like feeling of our holiday visit to a relative's subterranean, cave-like city place. Sometimes when technology does not work like it is supposed to, you get something else even more intriguing and evocative.

Cemetery Encounter: "You're in Our Place"

2010-09-14T16:26:00.000-07:00

This afternoon, I was parked in the local cemetery, where my grandparents are buried, on a certain slip of road beneath a canopy of trees, reading. I have done this before, especially in the summer when it is too hot to stay near my grandparents’ spot. I also walk our dogs around there, and sometimes jog in the area, as others do. In fact, one time I was lucky enough to sight a fox pouncing on its prey (probably a chipmunk) as if it were dancing on that road. And recently, my car has been pelted by nutshells there, dropped by some voracious squirrel - or maybe just an angry tree trying to warn me away (and I should have listened.)

Anyhow, today, a car drove by behind me. It came around to the other end of the little road, and slowly proceeded to approach my car, head-on. I did not know why it did this.

A stately matron exited that car, and came directly to my driver’s window. Her face looked severe as she announced to me, “This is our place (emphasis on our.)" I did not understand why she was telling me that, but it felt as if I had no right to be there that moment.

I blurted out my immediate response, something about there not being a sign there, so I didn’t know I couldn’t be there, and I didn’t mean to cause harm to anyone. To which she said something like, you can’t cause harm to anyone here (emphasis on here.) But finally, she got to the practical point and said they wanted to drive through, and could I move out of the way (emphasis on way.) I told her I was glad to move so they could get through (emphasis sincerely on glad), and backed out to park in another speck of shade around the corner.

Not three minutes later, their car drove out from their road, passed me, and left. Were they upset I was still in the vicinity, or just too upset from our encounter to visit the family graves? I don’t know. I meant no harm, but the whole thing was awkward.

In general, I try to be understanding and I am one to respect rules and other people’s feelings whenever possible. Maybe if they had simply asked if I would please move so they could make their visit, it would have been more relaxed. Which brings to mind just how difficult human communication can be. How easy to come to bad feelings. And that is even when we supposedly speak the same language. (I should have done better.)

The "Eyes" Have It

2009-11-01T09:41:00.000-08:00

It is easy to take for granted something as basic as sight. I get distracted about my own troubles, and the troubles of the country and world, and agonize or complain, trying to change things, or just venting. But how many times do I wake up, open my eyes, and realize what amazing pleasure I receive most of my waking moments, not just to see, but to see in color?

I was struck by the pure pleasure of seeing on one of my typical exercise walks outside a couple weeks ago. I was walking hard, working up a good sweat, letting my mind kind of float where it wanted. I let my eyes drift ahead to a patch of trees, and started to look at them. There were no striking reds or oranges to make a picture perfect fall postcard. But I noticed a subtle array of shades of brown, tan, green and faded gold. Those muted tones of the tress suddenly made me feel a high sense of happiness. I kept my strict pace, but actually smiled as if I had be given an amazing secret meant just for me - that beauty is here if I will just look!

Our eyes may wring out floods of tears from pain or sorrow; they may witness horrible horrible things, or cast upon things that make us sad, worried or afraid. But surely each day also brings a moment or two of unasked for color, of beautiful common things like a few humble trees reflecting the light. Something small that quietly slips into our line of vision can cheer us immensely and make a difference.

Halloween: My Brother's Bones

2009-10-21T17:00:00.000-07:00

Each Halloween, people celebrate the flesh-eaten creatures of the dark and ponder gruesome images of blood, bones, and death. But each October, the orange-yellow leaves remind me of the little buried bones that were once my brother.

In October 1964, my brother passed away at age 7 from leukemia, which had racked his sprightly body for a couple of years. You want Halloween horrors? I recall his screaming some nights from the pain in his legs. You want grotesque faces? My brother’s face swelled up like an odd-shaped balloon from his medication. You want fear? Fear charged the air at my house, an unspoken worry for my brother’s life.

Yet, his disposition was almost always sunny. Throughout the needle-pokes and painful treatments at the National Institute of Health, he loved to joke around with and tease the nurses. He was the one of us three kids who would share his blocks or model cars, the middle child peace-maker, the one who would have played the violin.

Halloween might be a time of horror over skeletons and ghosts for most. But for me, it is the time I think of Jeffy, and the grownup age he would now be. Each October, when giggling children in scary costumes ring our door bell for treats, I think of him, and thank God for his short life as my brother: His spirit lives on and his quiet little bones are nothing to fear.

Music: Russian Easter Overture by N. Rimsky-Korsakoff

2009-04-09T17:28:00.000-07:00

I have loved this 13-minute orchestral piece since late childhood, when its dark mystical themes spoke to my own moody ponderings. The somber “Lento mistico” theme gives way to a calmer, upward inclining themes that use old Russian Orthodox hymns. The whole thing is woven together by brief violin cadenzas that set off the contrasting sections.

My musical background has helped me appreciate the mastery of this piece on many levels, as it moves towards its shimmering, triumphant climax. My heart finds the mixture of shadow and light, and the Russian flavor to be very satisfying. (Hmmm. I’ll have to think about what makes the flavor Russian, but, for now, I just know when its there.)

In this piece, Rimsky-Korsakov hoped to combine “reminiscences of the ancient prophecy and of the gospel narrative,” cumulating in the “pagan merrymaking” of the Easter service, according to the score I have. But, even without the program, or extra-musical story, I would be drawn to its uplifting energy and modal beauty.

Russian Easter Overture, Op. 36 is worth a listen for Easter, or any time of year. Anyone else out there enjoy this mystical Russian expression?

Poem: "I'm nobody! Who are you?"

2009-03-17T18:02:00.000-07:00

I'm nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?
Then there's a pair of us - don't tell!
They'd banish us, you know.

How dreary to be somebody!
How public, like a frog
To tell your name the livelong day
To an admiring bog!

by Emily Dickinson

This has always been one of my favorite poems, and my blog title is based upon it. The straight-forward structure and playful surface hide its deeper resonance. The “nobody” could be anybody from any time or place who is invisible, powerless, or disliked, and knows it. These nobodies might be younger or older, uglier or prettier, smarter or more homespun, than the more important some-bodies. The nobodies might blend in, despite holding different views. They might carry shyness or self-doubt that stifles attempts to communicate.

But Dickinson’s “nobody” does not give up on human contact. Rather, she actively reaches out to another “nobody” to conspire with against those who would “banish” them. And I see the speaker as a quiet rebel, working beneath the radar of those in charge.

The poem also makes fun of people’s froggy displays of self-importance. Yet, we nobodies are able to share what the self-absorbed folks do not have: an awe of the beautiful, meaningful echoes of everyday things. And that is the genius of the Belle of Amherst.

Click for numerous comments from around the world on this poem:

Click for a hyper-analysis of this poem and its other version:

But, what do YOU think? Do you have another interpretation for the poem? If we like this poem, what other ones might we also enjoy? And, what would Dickinson’s blog look like if she were here today?