19 August 2020

My Life, My Life’s Life Has Just Begun

I was never allowed to join in any reindeer games, either—Hard Gouda, Rudolph.
Porridger’s Almanack (Breakfast of Ganglions)

THOU wast all that to me, love,
For which my soul did pine:
A green isle in the sea, love,
A fountain and a shrine
All wreathed with fairy fruits and flowers,
And all the flowers were mine.

— Edgar Allan Poe “To One in Paradise”

When I reported Monday that I was nearly done with the Op.119 № 2, I could taste it, but I also knew that my brain had worked enough for the day. There were three places which were problems (in a Stravinskyan/mathematical sense) and I knew already how to solve them, which meant that I was fresh to lay into the work yesterday, and the work went quite easily. I am indeed pleased with My Life, My Life.

Next? Before taking a choral music call under more serious advisement, I think I want to wrap up the Op.169 № 2 organ piece, While the dew is still on the roses.

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