Quotes about bach
Not Communicating To Oneself
Listening to Beethoven we sense
the inspiration pouring from the master.
Johann Sebastian Bach sounds as intense,
but far more distant from disaster.
He seems to want to have a conversation
with anyone prepared to pay attention.
Although we lose him when his great elation
exceeds the limits of our comprehension,
we know that he is trying to communicate,
as if he’d just found, lying on a shelf,
the notes he’s trying to communicate
to us, and not, like Ludwig, to himself.
The proofs of Beethoven’s profundity
lay in the notes that for him had no sound,
while Bach, with effortless fecundity,
encouraged all of us to be profound.
J. M. Coetzee contrasts his relationship to the music of Beethoven and J. S. Bach. Whereas he imagines Beethoven as a genius from whom inspiration pours forth while oblivious to the people who may be listening to him he imagines J. S. Bach as a teacher who is attempting to instruct him while he sits next him while he is playing. As a rider, Coetzee added that there are moments when J. S. Bach’s inspiration exceeds the listener’s comprehension. These are the moments of his greatest inspiration. Listening to this report I was reminded of Richard Eder’s comment on Ceotzee when reviewing his book “Diary of a Bad Year” (“A Writer, A Muse, Their Laundry, ” NYT, January 1,2008) :
I think of the childlike simplicity of late Beethoven on a profound return trip from profundity.”
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There is nothing like a Bach fugue to remove me from a discordant moment... only Bach hold up fresh and strong after repeated playing. I can always return to Bach when the other records weary me.
Eternal Golden Braid - Escher, Gödel, Bach
Escher, Gödel, Bach, together
make mind's music tempo weather
form to storm blocks, light as feather
turn constraints most, far less clever,
see as strictures which tight tether,
not as pictures hell-for-leather
spirit lead to question whether
constancy's illusion ever.
Patterns into patterns weaving
both deceiving, undeceiving,
here perception sees stairs leaving
there inspection stares, seize cleaving.
Somehow someone reconciling
forwards, back, and time a-whiling,
motion into more compiling,
starts ball rolling inwards smiling
outwards treadmills single-filing
round in circles never riling,
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That's why it's called Sebastian Bach. I mean, it's a permanent band, pretty much, but if I jam with other people, it just makes a better album, I think.
Once I understood Bach's music, I wanted to be a concert pianist. Bach made me dedicate my life to music, and it was that teacher who introduced me to his world.
Colour does not make so much difference. Look at the Bach Chaconne: There is not one dynamic mark in the whole Bach Chaconne. Colours do not make so much difference.
Some months ago, while I was preparing a new work, I told a young cinema executive my intention of including in a soundtrack two themes from Bach. But when he asked me which has been the last hit from that Bach?, then I knew that I had no longer place in cinema.
She loved Bach and listened
To him whenever she had the
Chance and while sitting listening
She gazed at her Picasso prints
And sipped the cola she mixed
With vodka and remembered
Ricans trying to make it with her
But she not interested in that
Side of being with him not wanting
To see the all too human side not
Wishing to see that aspect which
Made him all so much like everybody
Else just wanted that part of him
Which sat and listened to Bach and
Gazed at the Picasso prints sipping
Vodka and cola which she hoped made
Him think of higher things than sex
Drugs or the uncleaned bathroom sink.
Moonlight plays like cellos with violins
Clouds light up with mystic Aura
This summer night is quiet and calm
Joy is profound hope, deep like the sea
Child like authenticity floods my soul
Bach at times seems very profound
Green grass, silhouettes of grand trees
Earth mingles with spirit and soul
What is being? A complicated question
How do I define music, beauty, gentleness
Sensitivity seems to be in the angel realm
I cannot accept we just live and die
I am rational and logical; it is not enough
We know right from wrong, we laugh, cry
We have a conscience, we feel love
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Friends Within The Darkness
I can remember starving in a
small room in a strange city
shades pulled down, listening to
I was young I was so young it hurt like a knife
because there was no alternative except to hide as long
not in self-pity but with dismay at my limited chance:
trying to connect.
the old composers -- Mozart, Bach, Beethoven,
Brahms were the only ones who spoke to me and
they were dead.
finally, starved and beaten, I had to go into
the streets to be interviewed for low-paying and
by strange men behind desks
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