THUNDER IS WELCOME ANYTIME

4/10/15 Some excepts from my Bard Senior Thesis









Song #1 
for SINGER (Raina Sokolov-Gonzales) and CONCERTINA PLAYER​ (Tamzin) 
Listen 

​                                                        Ah, Breidzalaya...

                                                        In the shadow of the mountain
                                                        Could it be me resting?
                                                        Imagine me across the leaves -
                                                        Heavy head, arms floating

                                                        All to the sight of sun on the ridge,
                                                        Over and far as birds on a wire - 
                                                        How soft it dies

                                                        Wind in the sun is the breathing of wings,
                                                        But wind in the night is only wind, 
                                                        And in this moment of alchemy
                                                        I cannot see what is life and what is leaf,
                                                        The winning card rests easy.


Dreams 
Listen 
​To be performed with six uniform unison voices, all female, sitting around a table reading text out of a book. They speak it as if they had read this passage many times to themselves and felt that, in order to absorb it better, they should read it aloud to no one in particular.

Growth 
for SINGER (Raina Sokolov-Gonzales) and CELLO ( Sarah Ghandour)
{Cello music from "Kimbie" by Jackson C. Frank}    
 Listen

​                                        Growth and I play the blues, 
                                        Sit here well-side - touching knees, thinking goodbyes.
                                        And I wander my eyes down the simple water, down the wall,
                                        Wandering straight
                                        Like skimming a front page,
                                                        And all the chatter,
                                                        Stones and seams.
                                        Draw up deaf in the air of the song we sing - 
                                        We, play the blues
                                        And the summer will green.


8 | 27 | 14

This year at Bard I will be facing the beast that is my Poetry Senior Project, and frankly right now, starring down the barrel, I'm convinced that I will be happy if I can come up with something remotely as good as this gem....or this bit of tom foolery.



















1 | 15 | 14

At Bard I am an avid member of the Georgian Choir on campus and have been unspeakably inspired by my weekly rehearsals. Saved my life. I'm on a track rediscovering the importance of making music in whatever way I can. I do not know these people in this video, but I like they're style so much.


















8 | 29 | 12

A response to the song (and subsequent fixation on) “Kalimankou Denkou” as recorded by the Bulgarian State Television Female Choir on their album Le Mystere Des Voix Bulgares

A pearl of heritage – cultural artifact, this song Kalimankou Denkou. My instinct is to study, yet I fear its mystery is that of a Bower Bird’s nest, the symmetry of a spider web, those markings around the eye. Utterly impenetrable. 

In some uncharted year a grain of necessity – committing some important words to memory, driving off the boredom of murderous winter – was turned over and over in the maws of a region. It weathered the tides of peoples across its valleys, marring and refining its clay face in the ground, until discovered behind the clenched teeth of a woman praying. From that point forward it was committed to culture: a cross section photographed and consumed by some distant species – a flailing and bright piece of the human autonomic 

plucked out of time. 

Having been herded onto my stage it now rears its many heads: flaying the skin of my face, hooking my cheekbones down to a bow. This pearl forces on me the echo of generations, spiraling down from its iridescent surface. This art is not ingenuity, but stark natural selection. 

It firms my faith, my awe of the natural universe.