Works of art are of an infinite loneliness and with nothing to be so little reached as with criticism. Only love can grasp and hold and fairly judge them. — Rainer Maria Rilke
Rarely, my ex would sing to me,
I don’t know what scale he used, maybe Arab,
seventeen steps to the octave, or Chinese,
five. It was microtonal a-
harmonic, its staff was of the bass clef,
but I don’t know . . .
Cajun Music: A Reflection of a People, Volume 1, Compiled and edited by Ann Allen Savoy
The first thing is the photographs. A book like this, you flip through and stare at a lot of faces.
Of men, and . . .
One Hundred Years of Solitude reached its fortieth year in plenty of company not long ago. The celebrations that took place in Colombia—and with less hullabaloo in the rest of the Spanish-speaking world—had a level of redundancy that struck me . . .