Friday, November 28, 2014

Personal History: Knowing Ralph Walker (2)


Today I honor Ralph Walker on the 125th anniversary of his birth.

Born on November 28, 1889, Ralph lived until January 17, 1973.

My friends and colleagues have heard me speak about Ralph recently, since I participated in the Ralph Walker documentary back in October (still online here). And a few weeks ago - on October 15 - I shared a few thoughts about my friendship with Ralph, memories from back when I was a very young man (and he was a very old man). These were published in a previous post, also called Knowing Ralph Walker.

It was a lovely experience, knowing this remarkable man, and the fact that he was an eminent and highly respected architect and one of the New Yorkers who helped define the shape of our city continues to impress me. I feel very privileged to have known him, even though he has now been gone for many years.

Much of Ralph's professional success was detailed in the documentary and, particularly, in Ralph Walker: Architect of the Century, by architecture scholar Kathryn E. Holiday and published by Rizzoli in connection with the 2012 exhibition of the same name. As it happens, I am in possession of several of the more "professional" (we might say) artifacts from Ralph's career, as he kindly gave me a collection of a number of things he wrote, including his self-published book The Fly in the Amber: Comments on the Making of Architecture. And of special interest to me was his fascination, from early childhood (thanks to his mother's influence) in the theater and the larger concept of the place of theater and theatrical performance and theater architecture in society. Perhaps I will write about these.

Today, though, I want to write a little about the more personal side of Ralph Walker, for (as might be guessed from his love of anything having to do with the performing arts), he was a great patron of the arts. What we used to refer to as the "liberal arts" played a big part in his personal life. He did indeed love the "softer," non-engineering side of life, and in his later years he gave full expression to this interest by composing "little" (he called them) poems about some of what he thought about.

One of these has special interest for me now (see The New York Summer Winds Down with a Special Happy Memory, about the Caramoor Summer Music Festival). Written in 1970, Ralph called it "Musique de Table by Georg Phillip Telemann 1681-1767: A Study in Baroque." He gave me a signed copy because, I suppose, of our many conversations about music and the place of music in our lives and I'm pleased to reproduce it here.

Ralph introduced the poems:

"At Caramoor in Westchester County the work was given under the direction of Julius Rudel. I felt the concert was muted and slow in tempo. I realized it was meant to be performed indoors and therefore some of the vibrancy was lost. The following is no attempt to adjust thought to the music. The music is light and gay with frivolity."

The poem is in eight sections, each with its title. The titles correspond, I gather, with the sections of the piece as played at Caramoor but as I'm not very familiar with the structure of the famous Musique de Table I can't confirm that. Perhaps Ralph made them up, or adapted them from the evening's program (the Britannica tells us that the piece, published in 1733, contained "three orchestral suites, three concerti, three quartets, three trios, and three sonatas." So I'm not sure how Ralph came up with eight titles for his poems).

As Ralph chose to print his poetry compositions in all caps, I follow his style.

Musique de Table by Georg Phillip Telemann 1681-1767: A Study in Baroque.



OUVERTURE

HOW INVITING IS THE MOOD
SHOULD I WONDER
     THAT I CAME
THESE LARGE AFFAIRS
     ARE SUCH A BORE
YOU SIGH AND SAY
     OH LORD HOW LONG

THE STRANGE PAUSE
     SOMEONE TO SAY
          GRACE
A BISHOP PERHAPS
          OR A RABBI
MAY HE WELL BE BRIEF

"MAY THE BLESS'ED BLESS US"

HOW QUAINT HOW OFFBEAT
      WHO ARE THE BLESS'ED
WHO ARE THE BLESSED
ONE OF THOSE OVERTURES THAT
WITHOUT REASON REQUIRE
     STILL ANOTHER AMEN

ATTUNED WITH DESTINY
A MUMMY HAS BEEN PASSED


BERGERIE

AS I LEFT
     AND THE DUSK CAME DOWN
A LONELY SHEPHERD LED HIS FLOCK
     TOWARD THE ENCLOSING FOLD
WHERE MOVING FAST THEY SOUGHT
     THEIR EVENING'S REST
THE LAMBS IMPATIENCE NUDGING
     SOUGHT THE TEATS OF DAMS

THE SKY WAS BRILLIANT
     AND THE RAYS
OF THE DYING SUN
     LEAPT TO AMBIENT BLUE
THE SHEPHERD ON HIS LITTLE FLUTE
SIGHED A THRENODY
     FOR THE PASSING DAY
TO END IN THRILLING NOTES
     ALMOST IN ELEGY
FOR THE EVENING'S QUIET

AS WE MOVED TOWARD
     THE SCRUMPTIOUS TABLE
HOW LIKE SHEEP WE SEEM
     EAGERLY SEEKING
OUR NAMES AND PLACES AND THOSE
     WHO BUT BEFORE WERE STRANGERS
NOW WE PLAY OUR PARTS
     SEEK THE SAVOR
           OF THE MEATS
     PERHAPS OUR MINDS


ALLEGRESSE

WHY WHEN IDEAS
     FLOW FLUENT AND SPARKLE
     RIPPLING IN DELIGHT
MUSIC STRIKES GAY BLATANT NOTES
     DISTRACTING THOUGHT
     ALL EARS AS WELL

A SIGN TO THE LEADER
     FLUTTERING HANDS DOWN
SAYING WHAT HE CANNOT HEAR
     DOLCE DOLCE
MISTAKES THE GESTURE
INCREASING TEMPO - VOLUME
IN EGOTISM OF VIRTUOSITY
     'TIL MINDS ARE SHATTERED
     IN ANGUISHED HOPED FOR
          SILENCE

CAN FAINT APPLAUSE MEAN PRAISE
     DELIGHT AT ENDINGS
NOW GRIM THE SILENCE

GONE FOR NOW THESE MOMENTS
     BOTH WIT AND NONSENSE


POSTILLONS

THEN FAIR IS SILENCE
     FOREGONE THE CHATTER 
           THEN COMES
THAT WELLCOMED PAUSE
     THE MYSTIC O'CLOCK
     WHEN ALL SPEECH WANES

MUSICIANS RETIRE
      SEEK REFRESHMENTS
IN A CORNER
      PLAYING SOFTLY AND LOW
A VIOLIN AND A CELLO SING
     THE SONG OF THE BIRDS
     THE WARMTH OF SPRING

EACH NEAR COMPANION
     IN SOFTENED MOOD
          LISTENS
HOPING TO FIND 
     IN THIS MOMENT'S PEACE
          ANEW TO SAY
AGAIN THAT SPARKLE
          SO WISTFULLY LOST 


FLATTERIE

OUT OF THE REVERIES OF THESE FEW MOMENTS
     RECALLS A PRESENT
A GLITTER OF SILVER A GLINT OF GLASS
     AN AWARENESS 
OF THOSE PRESENT NEARBY
AS FROM A DREAM YOU TURN AND SAY
     THERE IS SOMETHING FAMILIAR
SURELY I HAVE MET YOU BEFORE
     YOUR IMAGE IS CLEAR AND SAFE
WITHIN THE BEAUTIES OF MY THOUGHTS
     YOU SAY NO - BUT 
YOU SEEM THE SOURCE OF SATISFACTIONS
     BEYOND THE DAY'S REALITIES
WE MUST HAVE PASSED BRIEFLY
     AT LEAST NEARBY  APART
     EYES HELD BUT A MOMENT
AND THE FRAGRANCE OF THAT MEETING 
ENCLOSED YOU FOREVER WITHIN MY WORLD
A GRACIOUS WORLD OF LONGING
          AND DELIGHT


BADINAGE

          MARRIED
WITH HUSBANDS PRESENT
THE BIG ONE THERE
     WITH THE GREAT BEARD
THE SLENDER ONE
     A CURT MUSTACHE

     BOTH VERY HANDSOME
     SO OUTSTANDING
YOU DID VERY WELL
     HAPPY EVER AFTER
IF NOT IN HEAVEN
     AT LEAST QUITE NEAR

          FRIENDS
DID YOU EVER THINK
AND WONDER IF INSTEAD
YOU HAD THE OTHER'S SPOUSE

UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES
     HE'S ALL RIGHT - BUT NO

NO WHISPER BEHIND THE EAR
     OH LADY WHY BE GOOD
NO PARTING HAND
     GIVING INVITATION
ARE THEY ALSO SO CONTENT
     NEVER MAKE PASSES
NO DARK CORNERS TO AVOID

THEN YOU ARE
          THE BLESSED

BUT YOU I WONDER
     REFLECTING NOW 
     AS YOU SEEK
          ACROSS THE CROWDED ROOM
WOULD YOU HAVE SOUGHT
     A MUSTACHE OR A BEARD


MENUIT

A LOVELY THEME
     STATELY IN ITS CADENCE
COURTLY BOWS PLEASANT CURTSEYS
SWEET INVOLVEMENT OF MAN AND WOMAN
A DANCE CREATED IN TIMES OF VIOLENCE
WHEN NO STREET WAS SAFE
     PERFUME PREFERRED TO WATER
AN AGE OF MANNERS
MADAME
     MAY I ENJOY YOUR FAVORS
SHALL WE SEEK A FRAGRANT BUSH
YOU WILL BE WARM WITHIN MY ARMS

HOW SLOW THE  MOTION
     HOW SWEET THE INVOLVEMENT

HOW STACCATO THE BEAT
     'TIS ROCK AND ROLL
GONE THE FESTIVAL IN SILK
     UNSOUGHT THE FRAGRANT BUSH
COME CHICK
     UNDER BLANKETS
          ENRICHED IN MUD
LET'S SHOW THEM OFF

OH SOUL - OH FLOWER
UNDER UNBEARABLE BURDEN
          THE ELECTRIC GUITAR
GIVES HARSH SHRILL SONG
      TO BIRDS CAUGHT
IN CAGES OF DISMAY
HOW IRRELEVANT THE MOMENT
SANS ELEGANCE
          SANS BEAUTÉ
MAIS TOUT EN LA BOUE 


CONCLUSION

SO STRANGE THAT QUIET
     NEAR MUSIC'S END
MIND AND BODY ASK REPOSE
EACH SPIRIT ONCE AGAIN
FINDS ITS OWN RECOURSE
WORDS LAG - WIT LONG GONE
IN SHALLOW GRAVES
          OF LAUGHTER

GAY MUSIC LULLS
     DOLCE FAR NIENTE
WARM CELLOS SOB, OBOES SIGH
SEEM TIRED AS THEY CLOY
O'ER HIS HARPSICHORD
FINGERS LISTLESSLY SEEK
          FINALITY

ON SHARP ASCENDING CHORDS
     AN EVENING CLOSED
MANNERS ASSERT COMPLIMENTS
     TO ACCUSTOMED PATTER
         IN PARTING

SELF-STARTERS HUM AND SIN
SONGS OF TUNED CONTENT



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