I was fortunate to attend the Proms last night in London at the Albert Hall, and hear the UK premiere of Symphony No. 4 "Los Angeles" by Arvo Pärt, European music's greatest living composer, conducted by Esa-Pekka Salonen. First premiered in LA, it might be a curious theme for a spiritual recluse - that glitzy city and symbol - but the work manages to capture both the drama and subtlety of 21st century existence in a way that is profoundly meditative, yet moving - and, of course, cinematic. After the concert, I met the composer by chance at a London hotel where we were both dining. He immediately impressed me as being one of the most gentle, modest, and yes, spiritual persons I have ever met - as if Dostoyevsky had emerged from the depths. He was also humorous and we spoke of poetry and music. His eyes glimmered with amusement and kindness the whole time, and interest - extraordinarily bereft of egotism. I have much to learn from such a master. For those yet to have heard his work, do seek it out.
A poem for my mother, July 15 When she was dying And I was in a different country I dreamt I was there with her Flying over the ocean very quickly, And arriving in the room like a dream And I was a dream, but the meaning was more Than a dream has – it was a moving over time And land, over water, to get love across Fast enough, to be there, before she died, To lean over the small, huddled figure, In the dark, and without bothering her Even with apologies, and be a kiss in the air, A dream of a kiss, or even less, the thought of one, And when I woke, none of this had happened, She was still far distant, and we had not spoken.
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