A Post of Many Things Musical and Poetic

Lame title, I know. Well, my time allotted to this post is short, so I will be as brief as possible without totally confusing my readers.

Over the last week, I've performed in  two concerts, one for orchestra, and one in which I helped a younger choral group keep in line (my rag-tag bunch of singers did an excellent job, by the way. I was impressed by what their conductor was able to pull off). The orchestra concert went extremely well; we received a standing ovation for our performance of Tchaikovsky's "Little Russian Symphony in C Major" (which is not a "little" symphony at all). Tonight is the night on which the Senior (Chancel, if you want our official name) Choir performs, along with the Senior Orchestra and the Symphonic Band. This is our last concert of the year, besides tour; and if anyone in the mid-Michigan area would like to come, you are very much welcome to. It's being held at the Holt High School, starting at 7:00pm. Admission is free, and there will be cookies afterward, along with a chance to talk to the, ahem, "evasive" musicians (meaning, if you can locate and catch us while we're breezing around the school).

I'm nervous already, and it is but early morning---what I shall do tonight, I haven't the faintest idea. Perchance I shall feel more relaxed after I practice today (yeah, right).

The second half of this post shall be devoted to my latest poem, which I shall present to you without further delay:


Nope, never mind. The CD-ROM drive is stuck, and I can't get the disk with my poetry on it up on the computer. I'll have to figure something out later. Tally-ho!

(Yes, that farewell was totally out of character for me; I know it.)

Music of the Week

Poetry for Thought

Reluctance

Out through the fields and the woods
And over the walls I have wended;
I have climbed the hills of view
And looked at the world, and descended;
I have come by the highway home,
 And lo, it is ended.

The leaves are all dead on the ground,
Save those that the oak is keeping
To ravel them one by one
And let them go scraping and creeping
Out over the crusted snow,
When others are sleeping.

And the dead leaves lie huddled and still,
 No longer blown hither and thither;
The last lone aster is gone;
The flowers of the witch-hazel wither;
The heart is still aching to seek,
But the feet question 'Whither?'

Ah, when to the heart of man
Was it ever less than a treason
To go with the drift of things,
To yield with a grace to reason,
And bow and accept the end
Of a love or a season?

~~~~Robert Frost 

 

Music of the Week

^-^ Introducing the Don Juan Symphony, by Richard Strauss.

I'm going to see the MSU Symphony perform this at the Wharton Center tomorrow. This piece is absolutely terrific, and will definitely keep me, if not all the rest of the audience (even those who are texting in the next row down), on the edge of my seat. This is one of the most difficult-to-play scores ever written for orchestra, according to my violin instructor. And if he thinks it's hard, it's probably enough to blow the mind of any average person, 'cause the guy can play.

Notice the conductor's interesting way of directing:

^.^ Tomorrow, the orchestra is also performing Beethoven's Ninth, which includes the choir; so, *squee*---I can't wait to hear the choir and orchestra together.

Picture of the Week

Psalm 39:11b: You consume as a moth what is precious to him; surely every man is a mere breath. 

Psalm 139: 7-10: Where can I go from Your spirit? Or where can I flee from Your presence? If I ascend to Heaven, You are there; if I make my bed in Hell, behold, You are there.  If I take the wings of the dawn, if I dwell in the remotest part of the sea, even there Your hand will lead me, and Your right hand will lay hold of me.

Music of the Week

This is a piece that our conductor threw in for us to perform; we had used it for sight-reading practice, and liked it, so they added it to the program. It's pretty easy, and quite fun. The 'squeaks' are made by sliding one's hand up the shoulder of the instrument. Everybody loves those.

This is one of my favorite songs from The Lord of the Rings soundtrack (though all the pieces are epic). I sang this at a performing arts contest last summer; and believe me, it's trial-some for a lyric soprano. Definitely makes me work on my lower register.

Aren't I a Genius?

Forgo the grammar issue for a moment, dear Reader. Yes, my genius self has discovered a new way through which to obtain a concussion. No, I didn't actually get a concussion when I did it, just a bit of a head-smack. But it is possible, and I'm thoroughly convinced of it, to actually crack one's head open performing the following stunt.

You're probably thinking, "Kayla, your head already is cracked," and I won't deny the statement. But my most recent episode unfolded in the following manner:

I've always liked to go down stairs in a unique way. Sort of bound down them with a dotted-sixteenth rythm, and then skip the last two steps, hanging onto the railing and sort of sliding epically into the laundry room. Well, this time, everything went absolutely normal until the last bit. I was wearing wool socks, you see, and they slide gloriously well on a hardwood floor. They slid a little bit too well on the concrete when I made my triumphant leap off the steps, and, well, you can imagine the rest. Because I was still holding onto the rail, I didn't hit very hard at all. But I spent a few moments thinking of how much worse it could have been.

Will I learn from my crash, and change the method in which I traverse the steps? Not a chance. I will, however, not be so cocky when flinging myself off of them.

Oh, and the real reason for this blog post is actually my newest poem. Enjoy:

Journey

Midway through the tread of time
I stepped onto the road
With eyes cast down to mind the ruts
Precariously forward strode

Though scanned with mortal perception
Some pit would catch a hold
My cloak, though black and heavy
Did not fend off the bitter cold

A little further onward
And did my eyes perceive
A strange and stately figure
Hastening to meet me

We had but spoken little
When he suddenly took hold
And changed my blackened garment
For a dripping crimson robe

From that moment forward
Though still toiling up the road
His hand anchored when I stumbled
His presence made me bold

When at length, and weary-worn
I came to the shore of the sea
I left the sands of Time behind
And turned toward Eternity

I could not see the distant shore
My feet no longer felt the ground
I kicked my tattered shoes off
And He pulled me, safe and sound

And carried me up the opposite shore
And I, with awestruck delight
Looked down upon my garment
To see it gleam the purest white.