POSTAL

JOHN LEWIS-SACHA DISTEL-KENNY CLARKE-BARNEY WILEN-PERCY HEATH-KENNY CLARKE-PIERRE MICHELOT-CONNIE KAY

"All things you are" Afternoon in Paris, 1956

V
Words move, music moves

Only in time; but that which is only living

Can only die. Words, after speech, reach

Into the silence. Only by the form, the pattern,

Can words or music reach

The stillness, as a Chinese jar still

Moves perpetually in its stillness.

Not the stillness of the violin, while the note lasts,

Not that only, but the co-existence,

Or say that the end precedes the beginning,

And the end and the beginning were always there

Before the beginning and after the end.

And all is always now. Words strain,

Crack and sometimes break, under the burden,

Under the tension, slip, slide, perish,

Decay with imprecision, will not stay in place,

Will not stay still. Shrieking voices

Scolding, mocking, or merely chattering,

Always assail them. The Word in the desert

Is most attacked by voices of temptation,

The crying shadow in the funeral dance,

The loud lament of the disconsolate chimera.

The detail of the pattern is movement,

As in the figure of the ten stairs.

Desire itself is movement

Not in itself desirable;

Love is itself unmoving,

Only the cause and end of movement,

Timeless, and undesiring

Except in the aspect of time

Caught in the form of limitation

Between un-being and being.

Sudden in a shaft of sunlight

Even while the dust moves

There rises the hidden laughter

Of children in the foliage

Quick now, here, now, always—

Ridiculous the waste sad time

Stretching before and after.

T.S. ELIOT "Burnt Norton" (1935) of Four Quartets

Wassily Kandinsky Improvisation XIX, 1911

NINA SIMONE  Feeling Good

Wassily Kandinsky Dreamy Improvisation, 1913

Si tuvieras la visión que yo, te sonrojarías.
Ahí la tierra alfombrada a tus pies de cíclope, humanidad aguardando que la irrumpas con inspiración. El cielo te dirige una mirada complacida (tú, su Arte Redentor).
Hasta donde yo estoy -beatífica en tu amor de niño moribundo- llegan los rugidos de las hondanadas, inquietándose ante el inapelable desbarato que las cierne.

Ocurrirá,

a pesar de la extinción de dioses,

de los edictos y las alianzas conspirativas [Tesalónica, Las Guerras, Novus Ordo Seclorum]

del arbitrio enardecido de la realidad;

contra obsecuentes,

corrompiendo el centro del universal miedo -colectivo intransmisible.

Chapuceros, remendados, atónitos: los otros, los mismos.

En mí madura esta revelación:

profecía palpable,

fervor en las entrañas.

Creo, espero.

No hay dilema sin sarcasmo. Ni inocencia sin extravío.

Si lo vieras como yo te sonrojarías.

Wassily Kandinsky Improvisation XXVI (Oars), 1912