(no subject)

[proximoception]

I heard it last perhaps a year ago in the strange, dirty Vancouver suburb New Westminster in a strange, dirty bookshop next to a etc. etc. strip club. It is the saddest piece of music I have ever heard, violin or led by a violin or violins. It sounds gypsy, Eastern European, shepherdy. It expresses millennia of pain and rain and night and hopelessness. And yet it is clean, it has that something at the heart of sorrow, that purest life. I have no idea how to locate it. The radio man had announced it ahead of time rather than after, so I hadn't been paying attention till the music started. I've heard it on radio many times, I feel. Perhaps it was someone's favorite at the station on my hometown. If I ever had it on CD that CD is long gone. I have no way of getting the name. In Vancouver there was a man in the glassed-off classical room at Virgin Megastore who they say knew everything about classical music. But before I ever got around to finding him and humming it to him it closed.

Maybe that part of Proust I apparently made up records its name.

Comments

[nightspore.livejournal.com]

Part of Proust you apparently made up?

[proximoception.livejournal.com]

The one I couldn't find when I looked. You had helpful suggestions. Doubtless it's on Ariosto's moon with my bay horse and turtledove, the latter humming the tune. Or they're all spread out on the sill of one of those upper windows.