The Tally

This is my 285th post, and I started posting on 10 Feb 2011.

Since the whole blog was about a creative exercise of writing each and every day, this would mean I am some 80 posts behind..

I must say I's rather enjoying myself though it felt somewhat dumb without any echo, which actually reminds me of a great Slav joke - we actually call Germans - 'those unable to speak.'

So, I will do my best not to see, hear or speak evil. Should you come to Dubrovnik, a couple of things you should know:

Crazies: A Sketch

Since I love music even more than my fellow beings (I have actually summarised the joy of living in a phrase 'to sing back vocals as if your life depended on it'), I have had this crazy idea of high profile musicians performing ad-hoc in the Rolling Stones or U2 style - on a truck or improvised stage - with a twist, however.

This would almost have to be an act of penance - for superstar status, state of the world, you name it. An act of proving oneself again before humble and uninformed audience etc. Without any huge media involvement even. To see how a tune can transform us.

Imagine, to play a single song just for the heck of it. I need to work on this one yet.

PERFECT SONG

as found in Solomon Burke:


I wish there'd be a song that would
Stop the hunger and pain
Stop the poverty and strain
For once and for all time
Could there be a song that would
Make the soldiers drop their guns
Make the sun shine for the ones
Hurt by violence and crime

I wish there'd be a song that would
Soothe the souls of those who suffer
From their lives just getting tougher
Until all hatred's gone astray

And if there'd be a song that could
Fertilize the desert
Neutralize all hazard
I would write one right away

Once I wrote it we would sing it
And it would be a perfect song
Perfect verses
Perfect chorus
But I'm afraid I'd get it slightly wrong

I wish there'd be a song that would
Perform God's miracles
Make the lame stand up and walk
Give sight back to the blind
And if there'd be a song that could
Bring love and peace on earth
Tear down every crooked church
I'd write a dozen of the kind

Once I wrote it we would sing it
And it would be a perfect song
Perfect verses
Perfect chorus
But I'm afraid I'd get it slightly wrong

Once I wrote it we could sing it
And it would be a perfect song
Perfect verses
Perfect chorus
But I'm afraid I'd get it slightly wrong
Perfect verses
Perfect chorus
But I'm afraid it can't be done

Twice on History

When I was quite young, I was taken along by my journalist sis, to act as the interpreter during an interview with Mr Noel Malcom, who had just written his history of Bosnia.

Naturally, I was still quite shocked by what had happened in Dubrovnik and related a few incidents to the renowned historian.

The answer was somewhat surprising but actually speaks well of just how insignificant each one of us is: "Are the archives safe?"

On History

There's a great rendering of Dubrovnik's history in Dubrovnik: A History by Robin Harris. Two young nobles meet in the dead of night, one saying to another:
- Why are you staring at me?
- I'm looking at you because God gave me eyes to look at another on equal terms.
And the guy punches him in the face. Of course, what's really funny is that brawls in Dubrovnik begin for the same reason almost 400 years later.

As for taste, a painter is described wanting to introduce a more daring, artistically, style in conservative Ragusa. And he failed. But the brilliant Mr Harris comments:
"I'm glad this did not put the old master down, for he was arrested 20 years later for singing lewd tunes."

Liberty

It's St Blaise Day tomorrow - the day of the patron saint of Dubrovnik or Ragusa.

As I once said, I can literally imagine no thing more meaningful than a white flag with a single word on it: Liberty. True, the backdrop is somewhat overcast and gloomy - but thinking of it - this is quite the usual prospect.

Freedom is one of the things we are Sisyphus like after: or truth or you name it. Caught both by historical processes and each other, man is literally in the middle of the Middle Age war between good and bad. As Gadamer aptly says, such insights are what gave birth to Greek tragedy.

Well, at least we still do them, albeit mechanically. We also have this 1,000 year old procession tradition. Don't be a summer simpleton - come join us sometime.

Hitchcock

All I can say is the Man Who Knew Too Much - minutes 56 through 1:07

Hitchcock - master of suspense and comic relief!

The swordfish and the jammed hand in taxidermist's tiger are brilliant. Simply brilliant.

Ah, good old times when films had to be watched and the radio listened to.

What Goes On

Apparently, what's true of text is also true of speech. Yes, I was taught writing is far more orderly - it is in fact beneficial to listen to yourself talking. You get all the unconnections and stammering as well.

But, just as in own yesteryear's diaries, what's really the same is that two weeks later, you have absolutely no idea what your speech looked like and can but pray you are less of a fool.

I once read a darling advice for young writers: write, and then afterwards read what you have written. Next, throw away any bits you particularly - like.

And then - publication. Your writing is bound to change under the feel you get when being watched. Just like physics, my favourite simile. But in case of radio - it's your personality that is at stake.