Morning-time, Let’s Listen Now, It’s Delicate Yet That’s Why I Love It

I have just made a very important revision to this, my apologies.

Another interesting timing happened yesterday as a poet friend shared a photo of herself in a garden in Lebanon that had featured a stone sculpture of Kahlil Gibran and I’d shared a couple of his quotes the same time yesterday. I was happy I could look at his face without that mild unexplained pain and wanting to shut the screen! As I’d expressed yesterday.

And now back to May….The kind lawyer who helped gratuitously confirmed that publishing my translation of Fleurs de Reve is a good thing to continue as no reason otherwise, no heirs showing, and legally her book is out of copyright in the United States. I must’ve been the most excited person seeking some direction and he’d noticed and sent his well wishes on the project which I’d appreciated.

I will share another music recommendation, Boston Symphony Chamber Players: 20th Century Chamber Music beginning with Profanes et Sacrees composed by Henri Tomasi (just corrected as this one was not by the French composer Debussy who’d had a similarly named work and Tomasi was also French.)

It wasn’t this piece though that brought May Ziadeh to mind when I’d heard it, I’d written of the wrong one and that one was released after she’d passed away, but the one I meant was Sonata for Flute, Viola, and Harp which actually is by Claude Debussy! And it would’ve been first publicly performed in 1917, only a few years after she’d published her first book of poetry.

May had been educated at a French boarding school in Lebanon and also lived in Nazareth and Cairo in her life, had been interested in Western culture as well in literature and art, loved music and liked to sing and play the oud and piano, so she could’ve listened to this as I feel she’d heard a nice amount of solo piano and also chamber music like this one (I listen now like ‘I think you’d loved this one, I just knew it, and I love it too!’)

I listen as the sun rises so brilliantly, perfectly warm green tea in the white flower porcelain cup my grandma gave me, quiet flute and strings music strongly yet delicately in my ears, and the little olive green-colored copy of The Faery Queene upon my table, almost fully read, nearing the end of that.

Late yesterday: A Profession I Am Not Pursuing and A Dream to Match It

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