Oh, my. It's been forever and a day since I last posted anything on this blog, and even longer since I posted anything that remotely resembles an essay. My last several posts have been of the "cop-out" variety, I'm afraid, memes and such, rather than products of a fertile and creative mind. I suppose my mind has been neither fertile nor creative in recent months.
I realize, too, that I've left poor Aminta/Amyntas hanging on a cliff. I really should post the rest of the play, if for no other reason than to say I've done it.
The truth is, I've been attending to other things. Lame excuse, I know. Even now, as I type this, I'm deliciously distracted by Dinu Lipatti's rendition of Schumann's Piano Concerto. Stunning performance, this; probably my very favorite of this particular piece.
In fact, I've been on a Lipatti kick lately. The more I listen to his tragically few recordings, the more convinced I am of his profound greatness. Born in 1917, died in 1950, he left us far too soon. Who knows what he would have achieved, had he lived at least ten or twenty years more? Already, his technique was as close to perfect as one could wish for, and his interpretations were pure, devoid of self-indulgence.
Have I been busy writing poetry? No. How many new poems have I written this year? One. Am I worried? Not really. It comes and goes, waxes and wanes, swells and troughs (is "trough" a verb?). However, The Lyric will be putting three of my older poems in their upcoming issue, so at least I'll be in print again soon.
Do you know, Lipatti is the only pianist I've heard so far who takes the last movement of Schumann's concerto at what I think is the proper tempo. Just thought I'd throw that in.
Well, it's been swell connecting with "you" again, whoever "you" are that bothers to read my "important nothings." (Quick, from what famous author did I lift that last phrase? Answer to come in my next post. Who knows when that will be.)
