Once Upon A Time, There Was Winter

Art has this incredible ability to tell a story. Whatever form, size, location, or audience it is in, there is some type of story behind it, be it short and silly or emotional and long. When Antonio Vivaldi composed The Four Seasons, he was able to capture two forms of art, music and poetry,  and bring them in to his own. He saw the artistic beauty of nature, and the dramatic way it affects our lives. Secondly, he saw significance in descriptive poetry and transposed the images into music. The first movement of the “Winter” Concerto perfectly personifies the perils of winter with an energetic melody, strong harmony, and thick texture. 

The movement begins with a rather daunting suspense. Just like the feeling of winter approaching, you know something new and chilly is coming. The notes make you shiver, as frost nipping you on the ears. Overall, the melody is consistent, creating a full and complete feeling for the piece. The movement maintains a similar timbre all the way through. However, it does contain sudden bursts of energy to surprise the listener every once in a while. 

The melody reflects the text of the poem: “To run stamping one’s feet at every step / With one’s teeth chattering through the cold.” The tempo correlates to the rhythm of these steps and the shrill melody sends icy snowflakes throughout the body.

Aside from the vivid storytelling which is occurring, the dramatic harmonies in the “Winter” first movement are my favorite. Like winter weather or activities, there are multiple ideas occurring in this piece. The deeper, bass-like instruments create the 

stirring, theatrical darkness and intensity of winter whilst the violin parts conjure up the frenzied flurries of instrumental sections. Although separate, the two parts work beautifully to create a harmony. 

The melody and harmony fully contribute to the thick texture present in this movement. There are many levels we go through as listeners, including suspense, and explosions of energy. The harmonies create the thickness we feel trudging through a winter storm, looking for home and solace. The texture also mirrors a dark, yet exciting timbre. The timbre of the violin is what gives the listener the winter anxiety or perhaps energetic anticipation. 

In composing The Four Seasons, Vivaldi created something that we all experience, simply by living on the earth. We can relate to and understand the feelings portrayed in each movement because we have seen, felt and been through them ourselves. I love the “Winter” concerto because it perfectly encompasses my favorite season. In it, I feel all the sensations I do during the holidays: anticipation, joy, bursts of stress, intense emotion, and of course the cold. Aristotle was certainly correct in stating, “Art takes nature as its model. Art not only imitates nature, but also completes its deficiencies.”

Feels for the Day

A tug on my hand,
A kiss on my forehead.
A tear on my cheek,
And plenty on my my mind.

One day we'll understand
Why we chose this instead.
We'll find what we seek
And won't have to rewind.

That day isn't today,
At least not for me.
Au jour d'hui,
Tu me manques.

It'll be okay,
It'll be lovely.
Tu es mon ami,
Le futur est quelconques.

Limerick

Sometimes we do assignments in English and it's fun. He's a tastefully tacky one I wrote, to express a majorly passionate love.

There is a man, whose words are nice to hear.

They might make you laugh, or even shed a tear.

The play's the thing, all the world's a stage,

His wise words move without exclusion or age.

So all I have to say, is thank you, William Shakespeare.

I Felt a Funeral, In My Brain by Emily Dickinson

I felt a Funeral, in my Brain,
And Mourners to and fro
Kept treading – treading – till it seemed
That Sense was breaking through –  

And when they all were seated,
A Service, like a Drum –  
Kept beating – beating – till I thought
My Mind was going numb –  

And then I heard them lift a Box
And creak across my Soul
With those same Boots of Lead, again,
Then Space – began to toll,

As all the Heavens were a Bell,
And Being, but an Ear,
And I, and Silence, some strange Race
Wrecked, solitary, here – 

And then a Plank in Reason, broke,
And I dropped down, and down –  
And hit a World, at every plunge,
And Finished knowing – then – 

An Untitled

Okay words, your turn.
Flow and don't be so stern.
My pen is ready for your voice.
Go ahead and make a choice.
Plenty of emotions are here to flare,
So don't make me sit here and stare.
I know you
How do you do?
I'm so thirsty, parched from this lack.
Please words, come on back.
I promised you that I am devoted!
And noted,
Brooklyn

Poem of the Month!

ODE TO MY SOCKS
Pablo Neruda

Mara Mori brought me
a pair of socks
which she knitted herself
with her sheepherder's hands,
two socks as soft as rabbits.
I slipped my feet into them
as if they were two cases
knitted with threads of twilight and goatskin,
Violent socks,
my feet were two fish made of wool,
two long sharks
sea blue, shot through
by one golden thread,
two immense blackbirds,
two cannons,
my feet were honored in this way
by these heavenly socks.
They were so handsome for the first time
my feet seemed to me unacceptable
like two decrepit firemen,
firemen unworthy of that woven fire,
of those glowing socks.

Nevertheless, I resisted the sharp temptation
to save them somewhere as schoolboys
keep fireflies,
as learned men collect
sacred texts,
I resisted the mad impulse to put them
in a golden cage and each day give them
birdseed and pieces of pink melon.
Like explorers in the jungle
who hand over the very rare green deer
to the spit and eat it with remorse,
I stretched out my feet and pulled on
the magnificent socks and then my shoes.

The moral of my ode is this:
beauty is twice beauty
and what is good is doubly good
when it is a matter of two socks
made of wool in winter.