Thanksgiving Is Ruined |
|
|
August 31, 2014
moi, global village idiot Like the village idiot [l'innocent du village], I see the vision, I hear the mode And the instrument, but the words like a herd of stumbling buffaloes [un troupeau de buffles confus] Bump against my teeth and my voice opens on the void. The last chord hushed, and I must begin again at zero, Learn once again this language so strange and ambiguous [si étrangère et double] . . . from Léopold Sédar Senghor's "Elegy for Martin Luther King (for jazz orchestra)" (found here) (orig. here) methinks TiR often feels this way, this summer / year, esp. whenever after reading the daily newspapers |