Night has fallen. Does it get dark in paradise? I wonder. I haven’t come across a writer who has reflected the daily business of life in paradise. Does it ever get dark? Do people sleep occasionally? Do they have to get up early? Perhaps for one more tedious lyra lesson?
I remember the moment I decided to write this post in every detail. A year ago on a free afternoon I was driving home and shortly before I would pass the speed radar I focused for the split of a second on those golden trees at the roadside against the blue sky – royal colours. I was listening to Camille de Saint-Saëns’ Symphony in A major – a majestic sound. I stopped the car, got out and shot that picture. It was a warm, sunny day, a light breeze made the leaves rattle, the road was empty. I went back to the car, sat on the driver’s seat, the door open, and listened to that beautiful music. I was in no hurry and enjoyed a magic moment. Happiness.
Herr: Es ist Zeit. Der Sommer war sehr groß.
Leg deinen Schatten auf die Sonnenuhren,
und auf den Fluren lass die Winde los.
Befiehl den letzten Früchten, voll zu sein;
gib ihnen noch zwei südlichere Tage,
dränge sie zur Vollendung hin, und jage
die letzte Süße in den schweren Wein.
Wer jetzt kein Haus hat, baut sich keines mehr.
Wer jetzt allein ist, wird es lange bleiben,
wird wachen, lesen, lange Briefe schreiben
und wird in den Alleen hin und her
unruhig wandern, wenn die Blätter treiben.1
One can debate whether it is legitimate to do what I did with Bela Bartok lately. I mean, offering my personal thoughts and feelings triggered by Bartok String Quartet No. 5 as an interpretation of a piece of music. I love to debate and I have the wisdom of Umberto Eco on my side. Come on, challenge me! No? Then I shall do it again. With another piece, Camille de Saint-Saëns’ Sonata for Cello and Piano No. 1 in C minor, Op. 32, written in 1872. I suggest you enjoy the recording by Stephen Isserlis (cello) and Pascal Devoyon (piano).