Mom is at the hospital having a minor operation - Poem: Bach or Faure?

GREAT NEWS.

THE OPERATION WAS A SUCCESS.

MOM IS IN NO PAIN !!!

PRAISE THE LORD.

Music has always comforted me, so I am listening to Mozart's Requiem.

When I sent this to fam and friends, they were horrified.

There's a possibility Mom will die.

I was gonna play Faure's Requiem, which is also very moving, but prefer the Mozart.

Earlier today made a delicious omelet using red taters Scott bought me. Cut very thin slices and added it to the regulars, one egg, several mushrooms, garlic, and fresh piss.

Natch, I can't find my photo.

Ate it in my big beautiful back yard while strolling around.

Wrote a great short story years ago called Bach or Faure?

Was at Tower Records in the Northeast and my friend Marcy was gonna get me a discount on whatever I bought.

I ended up with Haydn String Quartets, which was a mistake, or 'mistook' as Mom would say.

Scott will not go to work tonight as we're sposed to be inundated with wind and rain.

He is successfully passing...

Kidney stones.

View this from the Inquirer sent by Ada.



Off go the kidney stones to be excreted.

The Inkie story discusses several ways of removal.

Bye Bye Love, sing that and substitute Bye Bye Kidney stones, thank God!!!

The below poem was sposed to be published in Tookany Review but never was.

FAURE OR BACH?

I was at war with a man at Tower Records
and wasn’t sure if I wished to win or surrender.

At issue was the Requiem of Gabriel Faure.
Bob was a retired insurance man, we met over the counter
where my deploringly overweight friend Marce
was getting me discounts on a stack
of records, CDs I suppose I must call them,
designed to tied me over, to give me strength
through one of my procrustean falls,
Dear God.

I asked my dear friend Marce
to select and gather some
Dave Matthews and Pearl Jam.
My niece asked me how I knew
the names of these modern bands and I said
it was just by accident I happened to
hear their names announced on the car radio
and memorized them.

Bob was standing there, too, with his stack,
all classical, and I remembered classical,
God! for the first time in all these years.
It is never too late to retract and I heard
Bob asking about some Haydn symphony,
there seem to be hundreds of them, and
he was looking for one particular recording,
one thing that meant more to him than
the whole world. He was a man of discernment
with his golden colored toupe and keen eyes.

I asked him, (I am not particularly polite
or girlsome) but asked him, as I was in a terror
trying to circumvent my fall,
if he could get me some music
some real good classical music,
that he was certain I would like
a masterpeice of great renown.

Without hesitation, Bob led me down
the escalator, a man on a mission,
o I was so unappreciative, and let
him get far ahead while I lingered
at the top of the stair chatting with Marce,
while he kept on and on,
never looking back
unlike Orpheus, never looking back to see if I
was following him, he didn’t care
only to get to the bin of his beloved.

And pulled out two versions of the Requiem,
stating they were both quite good, I would be
happy with both.
Faure? I said. Why is it I have never
owned a Faure, never pined for a Faure,
I know all the ones I love or wish to love
and Faure’s not among them.

You’ll love this, he said and did a dance
of faureism.
My eye forgot till then about Bach and Brahms
but as soon as talk about Faure got still and heavy
and I became mistrustful and didnt want to be
left in a room alone with Faure, frightenend
as fright could be, left alone with a bore,
a no thinker, endless sappy tones going nowhere,
the panic grew like a cyst inside and when Bob
wasn’t looking I hopped over to Bach and
suddenly a light went on and I remembered
the cello suites.
The sound alone is unsurpassable
Unaccompanied Suites for Cello.
o say it to yourself, roll the
words round and round your mouth
like shiny marbles that melt and go down
smooth.

I was doing that There wre many versions
and the only reason I ignored Yo-yo Ma is
that he is a modern man and I am never a
modern woman, so “not to tango with Yo-yo”
was my motto, and I selected among many
what else but Pablo Casals and saw for the
first time his rough face, like a Van Gogh peasant
potato eater. Yes, rough is the only word for it,
that thick unrefined nose like Genet’s, that bald
head that either means pimp or poet.

And bob was now discussing at the classical counter
other versions of other things. We had long since
stopped looking at one another. He got terribly
mad when i suggested Bach as an alternative
to Faure.

Too much counterpoint! he shouted.

Counterpoint! I yelled. Why that’s what it’s all about.
Fuck Faure.