. . . 'trailing clouds of glory we come. . . '
Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:
The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star,
Hath had elsewhere its setting,
And cometh from afar:
Not in entire forgetfulness,
And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing clouds of glory do we come
From God, who is our home:
Heaven lies about us in our infancy!
Shades of the prison-house begin to close
Upon the growing Boy,
But he beholds the light, and whence it flows,
He sees it in his joy;
The Youth, who daily farther from the east
Must travel, still is Nature's priest,
And by the vision splendid
Is on his way attended;
At length the Man perceives it die away,
And fade into the light of common day.
from:
Ode
Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood
by William Wordsworth.
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Thursday, May 5, 2011
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Heard somebody say. . .
. . . they overheard you just the other day; a simple word about the way we get along. If only I were sure of the semantics. Having doubts 'cause I'm one hopeless romantic. Could it be you're slipping away from me? What will I do if what I'm thinking is true? And you want to be really free of me? I won't last very long very far from your heart. And this third-hand intelligence might be the way that it starts.
Heard somebody say they thought they saw you just the other day. You were not alone they said he didn't look like me. Thinking to myself, "must be mistaken." Try not to believe but still badly shaken. Why would you deceive me in things you do. So many years! Sharing our laughter and tears. . . lasted very long. Maybe I was wrong not to ask you why you feel we've drifted apart and this third-hand intelligence might be the way that it starts.
Are my sources reliable? Wait and see. Wait and see. Is my psyche too pliable? It could be. It could be. . .
If somebody said, "the sky was falling, soon we'll all be dead, have to quit our stalling, try to be prepared," would you believe it's true or would you question all the things you do and change your direction from spinning round when it hits the ground? That's just not true. Any believers are few. When you've seen it all it could never fall any more than I think you could tear us apart. And this third-hand intelligence might be the way that it starts.
Hear THIRD-HAND INTELLIGENCE
©1997 Raymond M. Jozwiak
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Heard somebody say they thought they saw you just the other day. You were not alone they said he didn't look like me. Thinking to myself, "must be mistaken." Try not to believe but still badly shaken. Why would you deceive me in things you do. So many years! Sharing our laughter and tears. . . lasted very long. Maybe I was wrong not to ask you why you feel we've drifted apart and this third-hand intelligence might be the way that it starts.
Are my sources reliable? Wait and see. Wait and see. Is my psyche too pliable? It could be. It could be. . .
If somebody said, "the sky was falling, soon we'll all be dead, have to quit our stalling, try to be prepared," would you believe it's true or would you question all the things you do and change your direction from spinning round when it hits the ground? That's just not true. Any believers are few. When you've seen it all it could never fall any more than I think you could tear us apart. And this third-hand intelligence might be the way that it starts.
Hear THIRD-HAND INTELLIGENCE
©1997 Raymond M. Jozwiak
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Labels:
intelligence,
third-hand
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
The Roar of the Greaspaint. . .
. . . the smell of the crowd.
Yeah, that taste of public attention, appreciation, the thrill, the communication, the connection between performer and audience cannot be underestimated. It's not ego. It is a need. Like a drug. The accordion band practice refined my experience and perception of the performer/audience relationship.
And after several years of accordion band practice sessions, which were really low-calibre concerts, I'm not quite sure what inspired or motivated me since nothing clear remains in my memory of the motivation, I wrote my first original composition.
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Yeah, that taste of public attention, appreciation, the thrill, the communication, the connection between performer and audience cannot be underestimated. It's not ego. It is a need. Like a drug. The accordion band practice refined my experience and perception of the performer/audience relationship.
And after several years of accordion band practice sessions, which were really low-calibre concerts, I'm not quite sure what inspired or motivated me since nothing clear remains in my memory of the motivation, I wrote my first original composition.
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ANOTHER SHOT
by Ray Jozwiak
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Monday, May 2, 2011
You Haven't Lived. . .
. . . until you've heard forty seven accordionists playing HALLELUJA I'M A BUM on a cold, Monday evening in November. Kinda warms the cockles of your heart.
Well, we used to have 'band practice', not as in a conventional 'band' of various compatible instruments rehearsing together for a performance, but a 'band' meaning a group, and 'practice' meaning just that. And many of us most certainly needed practice. Theoretically, the concept had musical merit. Playing with other music students promoted an understanding of time, tempo and dynamics, following a 'conductor' (of sorts) and taught cooperation, support, sympathy, harmony, rhythm and accompaniment.
The configuration was four rows of metal, folding chairs of about 8 - 10 facing the conductor (an accordion teacher, most often Mr. Edward (Taylor) Krawcyk) whose back was to a row of assorted couches and chairs where the parents of the students sat to 'enjoy' the music of their progeny. The protocol had the 'new' or less senior (accordionwise) students in the first row, with students 'promoted' to the following rows as they progressed in skill, or sometimes when they merely 'hung in there' for a period, with or without really improving technically at all.
And the coup de gras for seriously dedicated students of the squeezebox, during each band practice, was the opportunity to perform a solo. Only two rows of students were allowed to perform a 'solo' each week, simply because of the one-hour time limit of the weekly gathering. The first two rows would offer solos one week, with only the 3rd and 4th rows the following week. And Oh Boy, did I look forward to my time to 'shine' with a solo every other week. And this performance opportunity was not taken lightly, by myself at least, and much time and toil was taken in the selection, preparation and eventual performance of my bi-monthly accordion solo.
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ANOTHER SHOT
by Ray Jozwiak
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Well, we used to have 'band practice', not as in a conventional 'band' of various compatible instruments rehearsing together for a performance, but a 'band' meaning a group, and 'practice' meaning just that. And many of us most certainly needed practice. Theoretically, the concept had musical merit. Playing with other music students promoted an understanding of time, tempo and dynamics, following a 'conductor' (of sorts) and taught cooperation, support, sympathy, harmony, rhythm and accompaniment.
The configuration was four rows of metal, folding chairs of about 8 - 10 facing the conductor (an accordion teacher, most often Mr. Edward (Taylor) Krawcyk) whose back was to a row of assorted couches and chairs where the parents of the students sat to 'enjoy' the music of their progeny. The protocol had the 'new' or less senior (accordionwise) students in the first row, with students 'promoted' to the following rows as they progressed in skill, or sometimes when they merely 'hung in there' for a period, with or without really improving technically at all.
And the coup de gras for seriously dedicated students of the squeezebox, during each band practice, was the opportunity to perform a solo. Only two rows of students were allowed to perform a 'solo' each week, simply because of the one-hour time limit of the weekly gathering. The first two rows would offer solos one week, with only the 3rd and 4th rows the following week. And Oh Boy, did I look forward to my time to 'shine' with a solo every other week. And this performance opportunity was not taken lightly, by myself at least, and much time and toil was taken in the selection, preparation and eventual performance of my bi-monthly accordion solo.
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Labels:
accordion,
band,
instrument,
practice,
squeezebox,
student
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Meteors. . .
. . . that come once a year, quite a show of fireworks when you're there to see them. Shooting stars fantastically glow. All too soon, no one can say where they are or gone to. Back on earth, we average reside. Most of us will never know such adoration. So I go my ordinary way, do my job and feed my kids in this world and wonder. Dust and gas, that's what they're made of. Dust and gas, that's what they're made of. Dust and gas, that's what they're made of. Why all the fascination?
Fabulous, they'll take your breath away. They will dazzle with their style and their savoire faire. Improvise, they make their own rules. All the cattle follow close behind from the pasture. Dust and gas, that's what they're made of. Dust and gas, that's what they're made of. Dust and gas, that's what they're made of. Why all the fascination?
Why couldn't I be one among these many millions? Why can't someone see my astrological worth? What causes the sea of heavenly bodies to glow like they do; show off so brightly for me and you? Sooner or later they burn themselves out but oh, so beautifully. Beautifully.
Meteors have nothing to fear. From their distant firmament, they shine for the masses. Safe above, removed from earthly life, from uncertainty that lines the cloth of our mortal existence. Dust and gas, that's what they're made of. Dust and gas, that's what they're made of. Dust and gas, that's what they're made of. Why all the fascination?
© 2008 Raymond M. Jozwiak
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Fabulous, they'll take your breath away. They will dazzle with their style and their savoire faire. Improvise, they make their own rules. All the cattle follow close behind from the pasture. Dust and gas, that's what they're made of. Dust and gas, that's what they're made of. Dust and gas, that's what they're made of. Why all the fascination?
Why couldn't I be one among these many millions? Why can't someone see my astrological worth? What causes the sea of heavenly bodies to glow like they do; show off so brightly for me and you? Sooner or later they burn themselves out but oh, so beautifully. Beautifully.
Meteors have nothing to fear. From their distant firmament, they shine for the masses. Safe above, removed from earthly life, from uncertainty that lines the cloth of our mortal existence. Dust and gas, that's what they're made of. Dust and gas, that's what they're made of. Dust and gas, that's what they're made of. Why all the fascination?
© 2008 Raymond M. Jozwiak
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Saturday, April 30, 2011
Do we understand. . .
. . . the fact that we're NOT TRYING to understand? We dignify inanity when we should speak up and say, like Peter Finch's character in the movie NETWORK, "I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it anymore." Ann Davidow summed it up nicely on Buzzflash this week. . . .
Will We Ever Get Some Relief From the Witless Muddle that Still Afflicts Our Public Dialogue?
FINDING A VOICE by Ann Davidow
'Let's be clear' has become a popular phrase that usually portends a muddled message. Listen as hard as you might, clarity is not what you'll be hearing most of the time. In fact the phrase is just what politicians use when they are at a loss for words or at least a loss for anything that makes sense. Euphemisms abound in discussions that run the gamut from tax policies to how our various armed conflicts are proceeding.
Everything is on the table we're told when it comes to making a dent in our massive national debt, but of course nothing could be further from the truth. Depending on one's perspective solutions are to be found in what are called "entitlements", teachers' salaries, union contracts and measures to protect the environment, the favorite whipping boys of the right wing while defense and tax cuts remain inviolate. Even when taxes are part of the discussion they are expressed in terms like "tax code expenditures" that soften the effect of procedures that in fact hide special-interest set-asides.
What could be more fiscally irresponsible, for example, than House Republican's intention to support the Defense of Marriage act by insisting legal fees be undertaken despite the Justice Dept's refusal to funds a defense of the legislation? These are supposed to be the "adults", caretakers of our economy, not the purveyors of partisan views that appeal to right-wing supporters. The public is being flummoxed once again by political entities that fail to come clean about what their real goals are, using a phony 'values' context to hide the true nature of narrow views and often a religious sub-text.
Deniers on the right pursue bizarre notions that tend to reduce the viability of their cause - - there was no holocaust, the earth is only six-thousand years old, the president is a secret Muslim who is not a natural born citizen. To carry on such divisive prattle suggests a dearth of ideas in the GOP. Why would wanna-be leaders spend so much time on matters that marginalize their party?
Interspersed with the nonsense, however, conservatives throw in matters of real concern such as rising fuel prices, joblessness and the cost of never-ending war so that voters face absurd battles among the witless. How often is the public informed about the manipulations of speculators on Wall Street who drive fluctuating oil prices at the pump? Does it occur to anyone that there is no good reason for sudden changes in price? After all oil that started out in a pump didn't suddenly become more valuable during the day. I once sat a pump, having paid beforehand for my purchase, watching a young man place cardboard placards on the pumps raising the price of gas by several cents. There had been no intervening delivery so obviously the increase was an arbitrary assessment by the gas-station owner not a reflection of market forces. We've all fallen down the rabbit hole and are having great difficulty making sense of our environment.
In addition to current predicaments at home and abroad we are confronted by people from our past who just will not go away. Donald Rumsfeld's book takes an exculpatory look at the mess he and others in the Bush administration created. At the conservative Hudson Institute Rumsfeld, Scooter Libby and retired General Pace 'examined' the course that took us to Iraq each justifying for the audience a path that led us into a quagmire from which we are still unable to escape. Douglas Feith, former Undersecretary of Defense for policy in the Bush administration, and once referred to by General Tommy Franks as the "dumbest fucking guy on the planet" moderated. It was said early on "that everything that has gone wrong in Iraq - especially those matters that Congress is either investigating or is poised to probe is linked to his office." Nevertheless these Bush stalwarts were pleased to defend their dubious exploits and, infuriatingly, even found moments of hilarity as they elaborated on their observations. Apparently the public's memory is of short duration; many will be content to look back on the Rumsfeld years with reverence, content to celebrate the mindless claptrap that so misled us in the past.
Today, Donald Trump, new-found leader of the mindless, must have nothing much to do other than to keep track of what others are saying about him. He has attacked actor Robert DeNiro for his criticisms saying he wasn't "the brightest bulb on the planet." For his part Trump isn't just a dull bulb he's an electrical grid gone dark.
Will we ever get some relief from the witless muddle that still afflicts our public dialogue?
Download your
very own copy of
ANOTHER SHOT
by Ray Jozwiak
Tweet
Will We Ever Get Some Relief From the Witless Muddle that Still Afflicts Our Public Dialogue?
FINDING A VOICE by Ann Davidow
'Let's be clear' has become a popular phrase that usually portends a muddled message. Listen as hard as you might, clarity is not what you'll be hearing most of the time. In fact the phrase is just what politicians use when they are at a loss for words or at least a loss for anything that makes sense. Euphemisms abound in discussions that run the gamut from tax policies to how our various armed conflicts are proceeding.
Everything is on the table we're told when it comes to making a dent in our massive national debt, but of course nothing could be further from the truth. Depending on one's perspective solutions are to be found in what are called "entitlements", teachers' salaries, union contracts and measures to protect the environment, the favorite whipping boys of the right wing while defense and tax cuts remain inviolate. Even when taxes are part of the discussion they are expressed in terms like "tax code expenditures" that soften the effect of procedures that in fact hide special-interest set-asides.
What could be more fiscally irresponsible, for example, than House Republican's intention to support the Defense of Marriage act by insisting legal fees be undertaken despite the Justice Dept's refusal to funds a defense of the legislation? These are supposed to be the "adults", caretakers of our economy, not the purveyors of partisan views that appeal to right-wing supporters. The public is being flummoxed once again by political entities that fail to come clean about what their real goals are, using a phony 'values' context to hide the true nature of narrow views and often a religious sub-text.
Deniers on the right pursue bizarre notions that tend to reduce the viability of their cause - - there was no holocaust, the earth is only six-thousand years old, the president is a secret Muslim who is not a natural born citizen. To carry on such divisive prattle suggests a dearth of ideas in the GOP. Why would wanna-be leaders spend so much time on matters that marginalize their party?
Interspersed with the nonsense, however, conservatives throw in matters of real concern such as rising fuel prices, joblessness and the cost of never-ending war so that voters face absurd battles among the witless. How often is the public informed about the manipulations of speculators on Wall Street who drive fluctuating oil prices at the pump? Does it occur to anyone that there is no good reason for sudden changes in price? After all oil that started out in a pump didn't suddenly become more valuable during the day. I once sat a pump, having paid beforehand for my purchase, watching a young man place cardboard placards on the pumps raising the price of gas by several cents. There had been no intervening delivery so obviously the increase was an arbitrary assessment by the gas-station owner not a reflection of market forces. We've all fallen down the rabbit hole and are having great difficulty making sense of our environment.
In addition to current predicaments at home and abroad we are confronted by people from our past who just will not go away. Donald Rumsfeld's book takes an exculpatory look at the mess he and others in the Bush administration created. At the conservative Hudson Institute Rumsfeld, Scooter Libby and retired General Pace 'examined' the course that took us to Iraq each justifying for the audience a path that led us into a quagmire from which we are still unable to escape. Douglas Feith, former Undersecretary of Defense for policy in the Bush administration, and once referred to by General Tommy Franks as the "dumbest fucking guy on the planet" moderated. It was said early on "that everything that has gone wrong in Iraq - especially those matters that Congress is either investigating or is poised to probe is linked to his office." Nevertheless these Bush stalwarts were pleased to defend their dubious exploits and, infuriatingly, even found moments of hilarity as they elaborated on their observations. Apparently the public's memory is of short duration; many will be content to look back on the Rumsfeld years with reverence, content to celebrate the mindless claptrap that so misled us in the past.
Today, Donald Trump, new-found leader of the mindless, must have nothing much to do other than to keep track of what others are saying about him. He has attacked actor Robert DeNiro for his criticisms saying he wasn't "the brightest bulb on the planet." For his part Trump isn't just a dull bulb he's an electrical grid gone dark.
Will we ever get some relief from the witless muddle that still afflicts our public dialogue?
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ANOTHER SHOT
by Ray Jozwiak
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Thursday, April 28, 2011
Have you heard. . .
. . . my duet with Yo-Yo Ma?
Yo-Yo and Me (the Indabamusic.com contest from awhile back)
Well, in truth, it was a contest on Indaba Music.com where you download Yo-Yo playing this piece and you do, essentially, whatever you want production-wise. Needless to say, my rather tame jazz-treatment with improvisation did NOT win the contest. But it was fun. And it REALLY is Yo-Yo and me through the magic of digital technology.
(Thanks to Indabamusic.com and Mr. Yo-Yo Ma)
Download your
very own copy of
ANOTHER SHOT
by Ray Jozwiak
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Yo-Yo and Me (the Indabamusic.com contest from awhile back)
Well, in truth, it was a contest on Indaba Music.com where you download Yo-Yo playing this piece and you do, essentially, whatever you want production-wise. Needless to say, my rather tame jazz-treatment with improvisation did NOT win the contest. But it was fun. And it REALLY is Yo-Yo and me through the magic of digital technology.
(Thanks to Indabamusic.com and Mr. Yo-Yo Ma)
Download your
very own copy of
ANOTHER SHOT
by Ray Jozwiak
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