“Wallace Stevens Comes Back to Read His Poems at the 92nd Street Y,” by Mark Strand | The New Yorker
So much for the past. May the worst of it fall by the wayside
Tonight. May other more intricate powers convene.
“Wallace Stevens Comes Back to Read His Poems at the 92nd Street Y,” by Mark Strand | The New Yorker
So much for the past. May the worst of it fall by the wayside
Tonight. May other more intricate powers convene.
Rather than subject myself to the endless appetite of endless scrolling, I’ve lately been spending time surfing the web again. This shouldn’t seems like such an archaic path,1 but it sort of feels like one. Heading in several directions, perhaps, with no algorithm to guide me, 2 the only guiding force is my own curiosity.
“What is it that makes you conceive whatever it is that you are conceiving? I should say, first of all, sticking purely to musical matters, the memory of all music you’ve ever heard before.” —Leonard Bernstein
An artist does not owe their audience beauty. It is, rather, the audience’s responsibility to find beauty in the art.
Back from the New Freedom Sound session at Magpie Cage in Baltimore. Much to report and material to sift through. Hopefully, I ’ll have some of each worked up soon. Also, for anyone who is following along, the record-a-day plan will resume tomorrow.
Looking most forward to the New Freedom Sound session this weekend. Should have some review posts over the next few days.