Rainer maria rilke biography corta
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film room , avenue of the poet rilke
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fade to black and two cut-off images: a woman in front of a window—the gesture of gathering her hair from her face—and a fläckig name like graffiti scrawled on the bridge at ronda. someone who looks like you across from the woman. a blink. the end of the gesture and the movement already washed-out and no longer there.
2
you refuse to speak, thinking of the tree on a small hill. you want to see it in the scene and so it appears. the woman disappears and you are inre of your tree. you open your eyes. remember. you had closed them to blink and you open them. and in that fraction of a second you’ve gone from its roots to its branches and you have returned with nothing in your hands. quite quickly it all becomes habitual. you blink and a voice that seems to be yours asks who is this woman. you open your mouth and up komma letters, hazy over the obscure depths. music of guitars to exit the scene. in the sky there fryst vatten one star dressed
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Composer Stanley Grill shares his Music for the Earth project and how his feelings about climate change have a way of turning into music evoking connections with the natural world and our obligation to be caretakers, not destroyers.
1, words: estimated reading time = minutes
By nature, I’m a loner and a contemplative – not an activist. By practice, I’m a composer – and music has, since childhood, been a source of solace and a world more real to me than the world of people and all of their strange beliefs that strike me, by and large, as entirely unhinged from reality. I am not a religious person, but inclined to believe that most of the stories people tell themselves to explain the world are fantastical illusions.
The view of mankind as a unique species somehow granted dominion over the Earth, a view held by many of the world’s dominant religions, seems evidently false – an example of humanity’s limitless hubris and nothing more. It seems to me that for the entirety of our
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Part Two
In part one of these reflections, I discussed some of the most obvious evils that undermine literary creation nowadays: the urge to turn authors into pawns of celebrity culture (often with their own consent, because vanity is a credulous, loose maiden); a literary milieu increasingly subjugated to the laws of both market and greed, and the zeal for making all literature uniform—supported by endless creative writing courses competitions—through the props of a dominant discourse which, it has been proved, sells well.
I didn&#;t go far enough. I forgot to mention, for instance, that in the publishing industry contracts for a novel are signed with the film already in mind, even if not a single filmmaker has read the book yet, and nobody has any authentic creative impulse to make a movie inspired by it. The film industry, in turn, and in shameful shack-up with the great publishing consortiums, produces non-stop technically impeccable “adaptations” of best-sellers (old