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Late last night I listed to Gustav Mahler’s Kindertotenlieder (“Songs on the Death of Children”), which is a lengthy song cycle for voice and orchestra. The words are poems by Friedrich Rückert. But I think the maudlin tenor of this piece may be too much for some people. There is another melancholy, though nonetheless lovely, song written by Maurice Ravel, Pavane pour une infante défunte (“Pavane for a Dead Princess”). I listened to these and other songs with the intent of chasing morbid thoughts from my mind, because sometimes music affects me in such a way. But this morning another song came to me, Im Abendrot (At Sunset), from Richard Strauss’ “Four Last Songs.” This moving movement is, for me, the sobering melody and words that may just help get me through the day. You will find this song at this URL: http://youtu.be/... which is one of many selections sung and played by a variety of opera singers and orchestras. These other songs that I mentioned are also likely posted on YouTube. Since I no longer compose my own scores I will have to rely on the music compositions of others that may bring solace to my roiled spirits, and perhaps to your own.
Let me also share with you a simple poem, whose delicacy and style is fitting for the inner child in all of us. As I understand the nature of this work, the author likely wrote the poem for the loss of his own son. I haven’t come across a similar poem for girls, though I know yesterday’s tragedy took many boys and girls from their parents and peers and from all the rest of us. I can imagine those lads were akin to what the poet relates in his work, and of course, little girls have their own toys and dreams, and perhaps some of you Daily KOS readers might know of an appropriate poem for them, as well.
To all of these children, and the adults that perished with them, we bid them adieu, while knowing the children’s lives were rudely and horribly taken in an instant, leaving a hole in all of us big enough to drive a horse-drawn hearse through our hearts, while taken their spirits wherever the next phase leads.
In loving memory for those I never knew, though I felt a profound need to commemorate all these young and older lives, with special condolences rendered to the parents and relatives and friends of all the deceased.
Again, my apologies for not posting the second diary. I just didn’t think my lament and diatribe for Glen Canyon was appropriate in the wake of such sad, bad news.
Rich Holtzin
LITTLE BOY BLUE
by
Eugene Field
The Little toy dog is covered with dust,
But sturdy and stanch he stands;
And the little toy soldier is red with rust,
And his musket molds in his hands.
Time was when the little toy dog was new
And the soldier was passing fair,
And that was the time when our Little Boy Blue
Kissed them and put them there.
"Now, don't you go till I come," he said,
"And don't you make any noise!"
So toddling off to his trundle-bed
He dreamed of the pretty toys.
And as he was dreaming, an angel song
Awakened our Little Boy Blue,--
Oh, the years are many, the years are long,
But the little toy friends are true.
Ay, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand,
Each in the same old place,
Awaiting the touch of a little hand,
The smile of a little face.
And they wonder, as waiting these long years through,
In the dust of that little chair,
What has become of our Little Boy Blue
Since he kissed them and put them there.