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When I’m Mostly Not-Whole

December 16, 2006 at 9:11 PM

December and the holidays makes me feel mostly not-whole. Pull me away from my writing, violin playing/listening, my alone time, and I get moody. I hate shopping. I hate inane cocktail party socializing. No fellow writers, classical music lovers or artistic types ever to commiserate with (they all managed to avoid the event). Extended family gatherings… well, thank goodness for jug wine, that’s all I’ll say.

Beethoven. Talk about mostly not-whole. Whenever I listen to his music, I want to know where he was at in his hearing loss. That bittersweet beauty in the slow movement of his violin concerto – where did that stem from? What isolation did he find himself?

Isolation and creating art—does the latter necessitate the former? Would a hearing Beethoven have produced the emotionally complex masterpieces the deaf one did? And how do the seasons affect the equation? December is a time of isolation and darkness, even when you live in warm, sunny California. It’s the winter solstice, after all. I can feel the primal call—my soul yearns to hibernate. It wants to skitter far from people, from bright lights, from chatter and mindless holiday pop tunes. It wants to listen to Beethoven and muse existentially on life and death. When I can’t have this, I get crabby. Very crabby.

But fortunately, God created headphones and car stereos. Invariably, at some point, I can slip away and find the solitude and music that nourishes me. In my car, I pop in Beethoven’s violin concerto, for the 111,000th time, and feel the instant jolt of gratification and relief as Beethoven’s music surrounds me.

I’m whole again.

And a very happy Beethoven's birthday to you too! :)
OMG, Maura, you're right - his birthday is TODAY (on Greenwich mean time). Honestly, I had no idea. I just knew that I felt terribly compelled to write about Beethoven. How's that for serendipitous? (Is that even a word?)

Er, um, that's right, folks. That's why I posted this blog this weekend. Happy Birthday, Ludwig!

Greetings,
I wa slucky enoguh to gett he oportunity to taslk with Sir Michael Tippet when I was a kid and he siad that Beethocven`s deafness was psycho somatic, thta he -needed- to be deadf in orderr to compose his masterworks.
beats me...
Cheers,
Buri
Buri, no WAY! Well now, that's something to gnaw on. And yet, I agree - he needed the deafness in order to produce that Beethoven sound. What else could have produced that range of emotion?

Okay, yes, hemorrhoids. But aside from that.

And I might add that it's good to be slucky from time to time. How else would we cope?
I know your feeling well.

On Hearing A Symphony by Beethoven
By Edna St Vincent Millay

Sweet sounds, oh, beautiful music, do not cease!
Reject me not into the world again.
With you alone is excellence and peace,
Mankind made plausible, his purpose plain.
Enchanted in your air benign and shrewd,
With limbs a-sprawl and empty faces pale,
The spiteful and the stingy and the rude
Sleep like the scullions in the fairy-tale.
This moment is the best the world can give:
The tranquil blossom on the tortured stem.
Reject me not, sweet sounds; oh, let me live,
Till Doom espy my towers and scatter them,
A city spell-bound under the aging sun.
Music my rampart, and my only one.

Ooh, Pauline, that poem is perfect! Thanks for posting it.
Greetings
>Okay, yes, hemorrhoids. But aside from that.

I don`t think he mad e a pile from his music,
Cheers,
buri

>I don`t think he made a pile from his music.

Buri, only you...