Archive for Apr, 2018

A minor second

A minor second is the musical term for the two notes that are next to each other on the 12 note ‘chromatic’ scale. The descriptions in this series of posts are of the changes I am experiencing as my auditory apparatus and my brain are moving all my hearing of music up a minor second – or a semitone, the term I have used in these posts till now.

My use of the term ‘minor second’ in this post represents my marking of a significant milestone in this journey. The odl note is gone; the new note one step up has taken over. Colonised first and now wiped out the original inhabitant. Genocide.

In the last month or two, a majority of pieces in my weak keys (those that have been most prone to the gradual change I have been describing)  now start out in the new key, a minor second up from their written key. There is now no equivocation, no variation. From the first note or chord, the pieces are in their new key and there they remain. The first piece to do this, I noted, was Elgar’s Salut d’Amor. F major instead of the E major he chose as the key of love for his wife. E major has been in the vanguard of these changes, but is no longer alone in being a ‘lost’ key.

Yet all is not lost. It will be lost, but it is not yet. Yesterday I started listening to the Finale of Dvorak’s New World Symphony half way through. The recapitulation of the slow second subject on the celli was in F major. It should have been in E major, but I was not surprised at how I heard it. Yet when Dvorak had returned to E minor, the symphony’s key, in the Coda, I heard it as E minor. TO end the symphony he switches from the minor to the major. E major stuck till the end of the movement – a feature i have noted before, and has not (yet) changed.

By chance the next piece on the FMR playlist was a Mozart aria from Don Giovanni. The soprano sang brilliantly in E major. But I knew that she was cheating – well, she wasn’t, my brain was: Mozart wrote it in E flat major. This borrowed E major I don’t want. It is a minor second fake.

PSALM 23 AND A HALF – MY COMFORT ZONE

Don’t keep telling me to leave my comfort zone!

I like my comfort zone. I love it. I long for it.

I like still waters.

I like green pastures.

I like an easy yoke.

They have been promised to me, haven’t they?

So why should I leave my comfort zone?

Why must I be driven out by your cliché?

But now you make me think:

Do comfort zones exist?

Life IS uncomfortable.

Comfort? There is no comfort!

No white boat rocking gently on the blue Caribbean.

The hurricane will get you.

In my comfort zone the time will come when

  still waters will churn
green pastures will turn
trees will lose their shade

as Jesus shepherds me into a new comfort zone.

From my comfort zone I will see

churning waters
turning grass
denuded trees

and Jesus will shepherd me into those dis-comfort zones

to bring his comfort zone
created in me.

The valley of the shadow of death is a comfort zone.
The crumbling, stony cliff track is the right path, my comfort zone.
          I see his rod and his staff. I am comforted, comfortable, comforting.

Did you perhaps mean to tell me to move out of my lazy zone?
my dead zone?

Thank you for driving me out of my comfort zone, into the words of this pseudo-psalm.

In Cape Town, it has forgotten how to rain

In Cape Town, it has forgotten how to rain

Another child dies while playing, the bullet intended for the young man

In Cape Town, it has forgotten how to rain

The young man dropped out of school, his chances blighted before he entered Grade 1

In Cape Town, it has forgotten how to rain

He ‘tikked’ all the boxes of loss and hopelessness

In Cape Town, it has forgotten how to rain

His mother drank to stay sane

In Cape Town, it has forgotten how to rain

His absent father was present with his fist

In Cape Town, it has forgotten how to rain

Leaders squabble and scrap while the poor cry out

In Cape Town, it has forgotten how to rain

Cars clog; trains fail

In Cape Town, it has forgotten how to rain

The foreigner trembles

In Cape Town, it has forgotten how to rain

Inequality eats at our soul

In Cape Town, it has forgotten how to rain

Greed and selfishness steal and plunder

In Cape Town, it has forgotten how to rain

 

In Cape Town, have we forgotten how to cry?

 

In Cape Town, it has remembered how to rain

Can we remember how to cry? – a cut-off low of restitutive, restorative tears to fill dams of generosity, sharing and love

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