Conversations on Jazz, Classical Music and Life with Igor Stravinski ~ Poet’s Beat ~ Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night by Dylan Thomas

Poetry is what makes me laugh or cry or yawn, what makes my toenails twinkle, what makes me want to do this or that or nothing.  ~ Dylan Thomas

Stravinsky ~ The Rite of Spring Score Part 1

 

A conversation to remember was between my dad and Mr. Stravinsky in the spring of 1965.  It was a privilege to be in the company of Mr. Stravinsky as Teacher and dad as Student at L.A. County College’s music room.  Mr., Stravinsky taught the art of being a Conductor of an orchestra.  He spoke in a very soft voice where listening was the caveat to conducting.  He was a very warm and engaging man and I felt the grace and finesse of how classical music can augment a jazz performance.  This session came about from Mr. Stravinsky and Stan Kenton preparing for the Grand Opening of the Los Angeles Music Center. 

 There is a Buddhist precept that asks us to be mindful of how rare it is to find ourselves in human form on earth. It is really a beautiful view of life that offers us the chance to feel enormous appreciation for the fact that we are here as individual spirits filled with consciousness, drinking water and chopping wood.  That was my Aha moment.  I was blessed and very fortunate that day in what I would consider discovering as Mark Nepo says  “Of all the things that exist, we breathe and wake and turn it into song.”  Can you learn technique, style, meaning and joy through observation?  That would be my greatest wish….I leave you with a poem “Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night” by Dylan Thomas.   This poem reminds me of Mr. Stravinsky, The art of living life out loud and listening to the whispers that come from within.  …Peace Out! JBC 😎

 

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

By Dylan Thomas

 

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

 

 

 

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