Ravel: Piano Concerto for the Left Hand in D major
Krystian Zimerman (Piano)
Pierre Boulez (Conductor), Cleveland Orchestra
(via tierradentro)
© Hiroshi Hamaya, 1956, Children singing in a snow cave, Niigata Prefecture
(Source: burnedshoes, via tierradentro)
Photography by Ezra stroller
- IBM 702 Machine, 1955
- Philip Morris Research Center Tower, Ulrich Franzen, Richmond, VA, 1972
- CBS Columbia Records, 1953
(via nastyanalfruitsalad)
Old Man Drinking a Glass of Beer (1897)
“In February living stood still.
The birds flew unwillingly and the soul
chafed against the landscape as a boat
chafes against the pier it lies moored to.”
— Tomas Tranströmer, from “Face to Face” in The Great Enigma: New Collected Poems, translated from the Swedish by Robin Fulton (thank you, A Poet Reflects) (via litverve)
(via litverve)
But here, as she turned the page, suddenly her search for the picture of a rake or a mowing-machine was interrupted. The gruff murmur, irregularly broken by the taking out of pipes and the putting in of pipes which had kept on assuring her, though she could not hear what was said (as she sat in the window which opened on the terrace), that the men were happily talking; this sound, which had lasted now half an hour and had taken its place soothingly in the scale of sounds pressing on top of her, such as the tap of balls upon bats, the sharp, sudden bark now and then, “How’s that? How’s that?” of the children playing cricket, had ceased; so that the monotonous fall of the waves on the beach, which for the most part beat a measured and soothing tattoo to her thoughts and seemed consolingly to repeat over and over again as she sat with the children the words of some old cradle song, murmured by nature, “I am guarding you — I am your support,” but at other times suddenly and unexpectedly, especially when her mind raised itself slightly from the task actually in hand, had no such kindly meaning, but like a ghostly roll of drums remorselessly beat the measure of life, made one think of the destruction of the island and its engulfment in the sea, and warned her whose day had slipped past in one quick doing after another that it was all ephemeral as a rainbow — this sound which had been obscured and concealed under the other sounds suddenly thundered hollow in her ears and made her look up with an impulse of terror.
- Virginia Woolf, To The Lighthouse
Maroc de Henri J.Hugot et Maximilien Bruggmann, editions Silva, Zurich, 1972
