reasons to post in sundry places

Jon has intriguing sonnets in the dock (on the docket? on deck?) that will manifest here in due time. So will our various S2L2A&A, which propels this follow-up post: I gleaned through a fair amount of Shostakovich and Pink Floyd, tracing their storylines and themes. Ummagumma is a great album to listen to, in this design. Shakespeare's final original play, The Tempest, invites musical interpretation, and Joey and I have composed a pretty good rendition of "We are such stuff / As dreams are made on"--we'll practice that for the Blanchardville Birthday Bash! And Dostoevsky should have songs made on his material--that will be a near-future endeavor.

But for now, here is my 2015 homage, slightly annotated, to S2L2A&A:

          Quartet, from English-Russian origins

Hamlet, scholar more than prince, taking duty to the hilt, is

Raskolnikov, a sacrosanct adieu to the siege he hastened set for

Symphony #7, patient corpses—some of cannibals—dreaming of

The Dark Side of the Moon, us and them and lunatics between.

Agued Lear, renegade of all he gave away, to faithful fools and

Brothers Karamazov, lusting inquisitions that bargain souls, not

Babi Yar, where monuments of mind surcease, save those who risk

The Wall, the brick-by-brick design to be strangers in this town.

The Scottish play, lest we name names, is the pig within: Mob,

Demons, or the Possessed, Kirilov killing self or Shatov—nichovo!

Lady Macbeth at the Mtsensk, whose barrenness is faultless, makes

Animals, cullingly, of us all: gotta have a real need not to drown.

Othello, you beast with two backs, jealousy seeded within, you

Idiot, an angel who may have prevailed over fits epileptic to hear

Opus 107, the unfettered cello, if not quite unstrung or undone. We

Wish You Were Here, all told above, to play out your parts again.