Boldt Words & Images: History’s Rhymes 9/11/73

Convergences

By Bob Boldt

[Appeared here originally four years ago today, on November 30, 2017.]

The poem below comes from a portfolio of poems that I submitted during fall semester for the “Poetry Workshop” at Lincoln University in Jefferson City, Missouri. I hope in the coming months to publish a few more of these poems on Moristotle & Co.
    As a frame for today’s poem, I have adapted from the essay that accompanied the portfolio some hopefully relevant reflections on poetry and a poet.

From the Scratching Post:Courage

By Ken Marks

[Originally posted four days ago (on November 25, 2021) on The Scratching Post. Extracted here by permission of the author.]

The subject of courage baffles me. I hear people use the word, I see it in news stories, but I fail to grasp its essence. Maybe it has no essence. I’m told it has a relationship with fear and virtue, but I can’t find a felicitous connection. I’ve sought help in collections of quotations, and ... well, I’ll just show you what happens.

      I’ll start with the view of courage held by Joe Sixpack, as expressed by John Wayne, The Duke of Hollywood legend. With cowboy brevity, he said:

Courage is being scared to death ... and saddling up anyway.

    So many problems there. Wayne is offering only the warrior’s notion of courage, the kind that would probably be the death of me. I imagine my sergeant ordering me and a few others to charge up Pork Chop Hill and take out a machine gun nest. That sounds pretty reckless to me; I’ve got a family back home, and, oh yeah ... I don’t want to die. And damn that sergeant for the conflict he’s laid on me — either being labeled a coward and court-martialed or being riddled with bullets.
    OK, say I and one other soldier survive….

[Read the whole thing on The Scratching Post.]

Copyright © 2021 by Ken Marks Ken Marks was a contributing editor with Paul Clark & Tom Lowe when “Moristotle” became “Moristotle & Co.” A brilliant photographer, witty conversationalist, and elegant writer, Ken contributed photographs, essays, and commentaries from mid-2008 through 2012. Late in 2013, Ken birthed the blog The Scratching Post. He also posts albums of his photos on Flickr.

All Over the Place: Thanks for...

By Michael H. Brownstein

morning enters the room
a selfie
behind the hills
unconscious on his porch
empty bottles nearby

the disease of the woman,
saliva dripping from her open mouth
onto the sidewalk in a place once called
White Clay, Nebraska

Goines On: Clarification

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Goines had to scratch his mind to remember how he had decided the day before to start wearing his distance glasses all of the time, and not just for viewing something on the TV monitor, driving, and taking walks. (Of course, he wouldn’t wear them when he was using his reading or computer glasses.)
    He had already discovered in the first 24 hours of wearing his distance glasses all of the time that he felt better, livelier – even more optimistic. And he could swear that now he wasn’t bumping into stuff as much when walking around the house; now he was truly walking – not stumbling – around.

From the Alwinac: US Cello Performances, 1891-2 Season: An Annotated Timeline, part 1

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[The Alwinac blog is part of the schroeder170 project, honoring the life and musical career of cellist Alwin Schroeder (1855-1928) and exploring the history of cello playing in the US.]


The 1891-2 season, Alwin Schroeder’s first in the US, saw an extraordinary convergence of musical talent in this country, and the development of rivalries between New York and Boston musicians and ensembles. The timeline below chronicles some of the concerts given by cellists in the US during October, November, and December, when Schroeder was taking his first steps in establishing himself as a leading cello soloist on this side of the Atlantic.

October 1891

9, 10    Music Hall, Boston – First BSO concerts with Alwin Schroeder as first cello

Formerly first cellist of the Leipzig Gewandhaus and Theatre orchestras (1880-1891), Schroeder came to Boston in September 1891 at the invitation of Boston Symphony Orchestra music director Arthur Nikisch to join the Kneisel Quartet and lead the BSO cello section. His BSO predecessors as first cellist included Wulf Fries (1881), Wilhelm Mueller (1882-4), Fritz Giese (1884-9), and Anton Hekking (1889-1891).

14      City Hall, Portland ME – Alwin Schroeder solos….
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Copyright © 2021 by Geoffrey Dean

Life Goes On

By Victor L. Midyett

The temperature this morning is the coldest it has been to date this autumn at 33˚F, just one degree above freezing for my Aussie friends.
    The grass is covered in a white sheet of frost, but thankfully there is no wind or even a breeze to speak of. The best part is there are no clouds and the sun is beaming brightly.

Goines On: Friends on the road

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Goines lifted the ice chest onto the back seat of the Volvo to hold the cold stuff he and Mrs. Goines expected to buy at Costco.
    They were going two days earlier than usual because “usual” would be Thanksgiving Day. He went back into the house to see whether Mrs. Goines was ready yet.
    “Oh,” she said, approaching in her housecoat, “I forgot we were going to Costco.”
    The bit of relief Goines felt at her confession surprised him. He joked, “I don’t know whether to feel relieved that you forget stuff too, or alarmed that the whole household memory is declining.”

From the Scratching Post:Fear and trembling

By Ken Marks

[Originally posted on The Scratching Post one month ago today, on October 23, 2021. Extracted here by permission of the author.]

Now and then I’m accused, usually for goods reasons, of being insensitive. At the year’s end, when the subject of new year’s resolutions comes up, I don’t write anything down, but I remind myself that insensitivity is a demon I haven’t exorcised. It’s a lifelong struggle.

Putting on a show

    So I counted it a personal victory when I realized how insensitively we celebrate Halloween. Of all our yearly observances, it’s the cruelest and most misguided. Millions of adults annually go out of their way to scare the bejesus out of little kids. They delude themselves by imagining that kids enjoy it, but the small fry have misled them. To save face, they’ll tell you, “Yow! I think my heart stopped! Ha ha ha!” Fright is supposedly fun. Just ask any roller coaster junky.
    I sense you doubting me....

[Read the whole thing on The Scratching Post.]

Copyright © 2021 by Ken Marks Ken Marks was a contributing editor with Paul Clark & Tom Lowe when “Moristotle” became “Moristotle & Co.” A brilliant photographer, witty conversationalist, and elegant writer, Ken contributed photographs, essays, and commentaries from mid-2008 through 2012. Late in 2013, Ken birthed the blog The Scratching Post. He also posts albums of his photos on Flickr.

From the Alwinac: Hugo Becker’s Love Scenes, Op. 7

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go directly to
the Alwinac’s home page]

[The Alwinac blog is part of the schroeder170 project, honoring the life and musical career of cellist Alwin Schroeder (1855-1928) and exploring the history of cello playing in the US.]


Liebesleben (Love Scenes), a “little suite” for cello and piano, was published in Liepzig by Max Brockhaus in 1894. I discovered it in the Carlo Fischer Collection at the Hennepin County Library in the summer of 2021.
    The six movements are Begegnung (First Sight), Zweifel (Doubt), In Traumen (Dreaming), Tandelei (Flitting), Frage (Question), and Antwort (Answer). The song-like form and expression of five of the movements is contrasted with the instrumentally-conceived and aptly-named Flitting movement. Becker dedicated this suit….

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Copyright © 2021 by Geoffrey Dean

All Over the Place:Dear Canadian Tourist Bureau

This is Why We Will Not Be Visiting Manitoba Anytime Soon, but We Are Thankful We Went Because We Discovered Frybread

By Michael H. Brownstein

Locked up knocked up trespassed vandalized and varnished,

Plum River curves into Manitoba earth easy as a pout, a frown, gimme tears.

Large mosquitoes thick with blood sprout from heavy grass like so many leopard frogs.

Who is this place where no one smiles?

Who is this place where no one knows thank you, please, excuse me?

A Couple of Maroons: Behind the Splash

Detail from
4th photo

By Craig McCollum & Maik Strosahl

More than one reader have requested more information about how the photo for our “Making a Splash” piece from September was produced. Let Craig tell you about it:

It was a lazy afternoon hanging out on the shoreline of Echo Lake in Montana. The sky was still filled with smoke from distant summer wildfires. It was getting late and I was caught by how the hazel light from the sun reflected across the water.

From the Scratching Post:Joy diminished

By Ken Marks

[Originally posted on The Scratching Post, November 19, 2018. Extracted here by permission of the author.]

I was elated the night of the midterm elections. The Democrats got a combative foot in the door! My tongue reached for appropriate cheers, something to express my joy and relief, and I knew at once that I was poorly equipped for the task.
    At such moments, one pulls up nothing but lame stuff — “Thank God!” or “Praise the Lord!“ or “Bless you, Jesus!” or other variations of religious programming. In my frustration, I wanted to cry out, “Yes, by Zeus!” But that’s the same thing, no?
    There are neo-religionists who, like me, would like to avoid invoking the conventional gods. So what do they say? Flaky stuff like “Bless the Universe!” or “Thank you, Cosmic Spirit!” The universe is gas and dust and a limitless quantum vacuum. It has no affections or affinities. We are on our own, with our values and our commitment or indifference to them.

[Read the whole thing on The Scratching Post.]

Copyright © 2018, 2021 by Ken Marks Ken Marks was a contributing editor with Paul Clark & Tom Lowe when “Moristotle” became “Moristotle & Co.” A brilliant photographer, witty conversationalist, and elegant writer, Ken contributed photographs, essays, and commentaries from mid-2008 through 2012. Late in 2013, Ken birthed the blog The Scratching Post. He also posts albums of his photos on Flickr.

From the Alwinac: Bel Canto Cellists: Cesare A. Casella pere et fils

[Click on image to
go directly to
the Alwinac’s home page]

[The Alwinac blog is part of the schroeder170 project, honoring the life and musical career of cellist Alwin Schroeder (1855-1928) and exploring the history of cello playing in the US.]


Listen to my performance of Chanson Napolitaine by C. A. Casella fils

A second-generation member of an Italian cello-playing family, Cesare A[ugustus] de Casella (1820-1884) was born in Lisbon, Portugal, to parents from the Italian city of Genoa. He was the eldest of three sons who were taught how to play the cello by their father, Pietro Casella (1790-ca. 1858), described as the founder of the Turin school of cello playing. After the family returned to Genoa, Casella made his solo debut there at the age of 14 and studied at the local conservatory. Following Pietro’s appointment as first cellist to King Charles Albert of Sardinia, Casella spent six years playing alongside his father (and, for one season, the teenage Alfredo Piatti) in the orchestra of the Royal Theatre in Turin before resigning this position to apply himself more seriously to the study of cello and composition.
    One of his early cello pieces, said to have been admired by the Sardinian king himself, was an Elegy on the death of Casella’s mother that he would continue to perform frequently. Casella received the titles of Solo Violoncellist of the royal court of Genoa and Professor of the Conservatory before creating a sensation in France, where his performances of his own compositions caused “tears to flow” and elicited flowery accounts:

Behold this fine young artiste, surrounded by a brilliant assemblage in the midst of a profound silence; his instrument is an organ which for a moment becomes part of himself….

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Copyright © 2021 by Geoffrey Dean

Highways and Byways: Going 5g

By Maik Strosahl

A few weeks ago, the Sprint tower two properties from our house was upgraded to a T-Mobile 5g tower. That news would have been great when we first moved here and had our service with them. We had to change providers due to all the dropped calls in our own home, let alone the myriad times I had no coverage on the road. But it’s upgrade also got me thinking about what is next for me.
    As I look back on my writing, I can see a progression of four phases. Lately, in large part because the Covid shutdowns have so limited face-to-face interactions, I have been feeling like I need to explore some new creative venues to push my writing further. It’s time for an upgrade, and I am going 5g.

Goines On: Artificial friends

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Are they not real?

The third morning after returning from France, Goines asked Siri to turn off the garage light. Within a couple of seconds, the light went off, and shortly thereafter Siri began to acknowledge the request and provide status, but Goines clicked his phone off before she was half finished.
    He immediately regretted his discourtesy, for Siri had ever been patient, courteous, helpful – even friendly. She behaved like a friend, artificial or not.

Goines On: Ethical qualms

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On his way to have blood drawn for his annual health exam, Goines recalled a horrible thought he had entertained when he ate that curried chicken the day before – of those helpless, innocent chickens caged up, overfed, injected with whatever, deprived of light and exercise (not to mention freedom), for the sole purpose of being eaten, or of laying eggs – and he grieved anew at their plight, wondering how frightfully they perceived it. Of course (or hopefully) not as frightfully as a human would perceive it, because a chicken’s brain didn’t seem capable of supporting the psychology. Psychology … the word’s root was psyche... soul.

All Over the Place: Viet Nam, Daybreak

By Michael H. Brownstein

We wake to a milky milky sky,
the slight discolor of cream, 
a spackle of brown sugar 
and the first orange glint of dawn.
Already the air has color to it,
and we cough, pause, laugh
our lungs still not used to Hanoi.

From the Alwinac: “Soak ’em”: Thomas Edison’s Advice to a Cellist

[Click on image to
go directly to
the Alwinac’s home page]

[The Alwinac blog is part of the schroeder170 project, honoring the life and musical career of cellist Alwin Schroeder (1855-1928) and exploring the history of cello playing in the US.]


The following anecdote in an item from the Lewisburg (PA) Chronicle (Oct. 15, 1891, p. 3) concerns an Edison engineer who was also a fine cellist. It also mentions railroad executive Henry Villard, who was also an amateur cellist. My question to string players using unwound gut strings: Does Edison’s remedy work?

Edison and the “Fiddlers”
    We were sitting on the piazza of Thomas A. Edison’s boarding house at Ogden, New Jersey, a few evenings since. Dinner was just over, and the great inventor, surrounded by a dozen or more employees, was enjoying a cigar.
    “Bring out your fiddle, Theodore,” said the wizard, settling into a rocking chair and addressing Mr. Leman, a young civil engineer, who, by the way, is a protege of Henry Villard.
    The fiddle proved to be a splendid violoncello, and “Theodore” proved to be the master of it. Schubert, Beethoven, Servais, and a dozen other authors were exploited, but the air was damp and the catgut stretched. Leman looked vexed, tightened and retightened the strings, but the discord came again and again.
    “What’s the matter?” suddenly inquired Edison.
    “These strings stretch in the damp air,” was the reply.
    The big gray head dropped down into its favorite position on the uplifted right hand and rested there a minute…..

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Copyright © 2021 by Geoffrey Dean

Goines On: For the whiz-kids

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A not-so-simple formula…

Even after Goines realized that he had been drawing figures and assembling tables of yearly cyclical calendar patterns only to satisfy some obsession or compulsion within his own self, he continued working at it. But when he got done – or done enough, because more could be done – he decided to set that aside and be done with it. He’d wrap it all up by specifying the steps that a computer program could take to find the day of the week for any given date within the period covered by the Gregorian Calendar.

From the Alwinac: “Sing, Cello Sing”: Jane M. Mattingly’s “The Cello”

[Click on image to
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[The Alwinac blog is part of the schroeder170 project, honoring the life and musical career of cellist Alwin Schroeder (1855-1928) and exploring the history of cello playing in the US.]


In the early 1920s, the Willis Music Company of Cincinnati, Ohio, published “A Happy Journey for Little Fingers,” a set of six Practical Piano Pieces by Jane M. Mattingly, part of a larger series of pedagogical piano miniatures by women composers. No. 6 of Mattingly’s set is “The ’Cello,” a waltz-like piece in G Major with lyrics (presumably by the composer) serving as a rhythmic aid. The words are printed above the melody in the left hand:

Sing, Cello sing
Sweet music bring
Sing, Cello sing
Each bass note ring….

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Copyright © 2021 by Geoffrey Dean

Highways and Byways: Dear Friends and Gentle People

For Stephen Foster

By Maik Strosahl

Stephen Foster was a creative genius. In his early years, he taught himself to play the clarinet, guitar, flute, and piano with no formal instruction. At twenty, he started writing songs that have survived since the 1840s to this day. One of his first successful songs was “Oh! Susanna,” which was sung by 49ers panning for gold and was still belted out by out-of-tune 1970s grade schoolers such as myself. In his short 37 years on this earth, he wrote many others, including “Camptown Races”; the Kentucky state song, “My Old Kentucky Home”; and Florida’s state song, “Old Folks at Home (Swanee River)” – a song that Ray Charles recorded a version of for his first pop hit, “Swanee River Rock (Talkin’ ’Bout That River)."

Goines On: Glad to be home

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Goines had occasionally felt depressed during his first few days back from France. He was sure it wasn’t because he was no longer in France; he was too glad to be home for that. Whatever the reason was, the feeling was deep, for he had even emailed a friend that on his walk the previous morning he had felt as though he might keel over dead before he reached home, and that he was thinking of telling his new primary care physician, when he met her in a couple of weeks, that he hoped he wouldn’t tarnish her record by dying before the end of his first year under her care. Was he depressed because he thought he would die soon?

From the Alwinac: Schroeder Student Spotlight: Hugo Schlemueller

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[The Alwinac blog is part of the schroeder170 project, honoring the life and musical career of cellist Alwin Schroeder (1855-1928) and exploring the history of cello playing in the US.]


One of Alwin Schroeder’s students at the Leipzig Conservatory was Hugo Schlemueller (1872-1918), the son of a Leipzig music critic. There Schlemueller also worked with Julius Klengel, graduating from the Conservatory in 1891. In the 1890s he played briefly in orchestras in Leipzig and Munich, toured Germany and Russia as a soloist, and taught at the Conservatory in Gotha, where he might have worked alongside cellist Luise Wandersleb-Patzig and may have studied with her. (Or he may have studied with Wandersleb much earlier, before his Liepzig education; a brief 1903 Schlemueller biography that he likely wrote himself makes no mention of Wandersleb-Patzig.) In 1898 he became a disciple of Hugo Becker, and from 1902 he taught alongside Becker at Dr. Hoch’s Conservatory in Frankfurt.
    It must have been an interesting reunion when his earlier teacher Alwin Schroeder returned to Germany and took over Becker’s Frankfurt cello class in 1907, upon Becker’s departure to Berlin. (1907 was the same year that the young Frankfurt-born Paul Hindemith took his first Hoch Conservatory audition.) Schlemueller remained on the Hoch Conservatory faculty until 1917, when he enlisted in the German army. It isn’t clear whether his death the next year was due to any injuries he might have sustained in the war....

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Copyright © 2021 by Geoffrey Dean

All Over the Place: I’m the Security Guy

From My Teaching Book

By Michael H. Brownstein

When the principal asks me to help out after school and be the security guy, I do it.
    A large group of children start walking down the street. I can always smell a fight. I start following them. Hey, I’m the security guy.
    “Mr. Brownstein,” they ask, “why are you following us?”
    “I want to watch a fight,” I answer, and they laugh—but it doesn’t matter to me. I’m going to follow them until the fight begins or dissipates on its own.

From the Alwinac: Encore: More Music by Hermann Heberlein

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[The Alwinac blog is part of the schroeder170 project, honoring the life and musical career of cellist Alwin Schroeder (1855-1928) and exploring the history of cello playing in the US.]


Listen to the first part of Heberlein’s Concertstuck, Op. 8

Heberlein and other cellists performed this work in Detroit during the 1890s. I have also found references to other performances during Heberlein’s lifelime that took place as far away as Australia….

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Copyright © 2021 by Geoffrey Dean

Simple Kindness, or a Slam?

By Victor L. Midyett

Is it the social caste system or simple human kindness that has endured?
    I remember one day in Bangalore, Southern India, I was riding my bike down a long, gradual hill while a rickshaw man was struggling to peddle his rickshaw up the hill with two adults in it. One of his thongs (flip flops) fell off. I came to a screeching halt, picked it up, and started back towards him with it in my outstretched hand.
    He came unglued and started yelling at me to put it down. I had touched his dirty thong, and even though I was a boy, I was white and way above his standing in the social caste system. Because others on the road witnessed this, I had – in his mind – drilled his social standing home and made it worse by touching his “dirty” property and social unworthiness.

Loving – 1975 (a poem)

By Shirley Skufca Hickman

When wisps of fear
encircle all my thoughts
and turn my thinking
into tears:
My husband gently
kisses me.
My small boy brings
blue candy to my bed
and tells me stories
of his school,
about the way he
makes his A’s,
about the magic
of the seeds in fruit.
And all my friends,
those whom I hold most dear,
bring poems to me, and flowers.
and I, so full of love
from them,
can find no room for sadness or despair.

Copyright © 2021 by Shirley Skufca Hickman

Highways and Byways: Inside Trader

By Maik Strosahl

I have to admit to being a bit pessimistic about my future as an American worker. With the days of pensions long gone for most of us and the future of social security anything but secure, I cannot see that I will ever be able to retire and enjoy whatever time would remain. My current plans are to work until I drop, trying to find enjoyment in the here and now because tomorrow is never guaranteed.

Goines On: Man in Black

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The evening of the day Goines forgot his wallet, the Goineses watched the rest of the Johnny Cash TV Show DVD that a neighbor had lent them, so they could return it to him before he drove them to the airport again. The neighbor loved Johnny Cash; the times he drove them to the airport before, he played Johnny Cash CDs, and they wanted to return the DVD before they took off.

Goines On: Om-m-m

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It was now less than a week before the Goineses would fly Delta to Charles DeGaulle Airport. Maybe that was why Goines’ blood pressure was reading high. He had sat still – and he thought, relaxedly – for a couple of minutes before putting the cuff on, but the first reading was 148 systolic, and the next two, after sitting still for a couple more minutes each time, were both 154. No, no, no, he said to himself, unrelaxedly, before he took one more reading: 163?!