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WA2K Radio is now on the air

 
 
Letty
 
  1  
Reply Sun 10 Jul, 2005 04:39 am
Ah, that is a simple title, but says so much, Angelique. Thank you, dear.

Here's an item of interest from Virginia:



Tobacco Town in Va. Puts Hopes in Theater By CALVIN WOODWARD, Associated Press Writer
Sat Jul 9, 1:04 PM ET



ABINGDON, Va. - "Do you DO or do you mildew?" That line from a play in rehearsal at the Barter Theatre, "Feeding on Mulberry Leaves," applies not just to the Appalachian characters who inhabit the stage: a family tied to the comforting but stifling confines of the gas station and convenience store they run in Virginia.



It applies as well to the young actors who found their way to this well-regarded, out-of-the way playhouse. And to the set builder who finally said enough was enough one biting cold day when he was constructing houses with his grandfather in Ohio, and cut away to scene-design school.

It applies to the producing artistic director who came to Abingdon a dozen years ago from northeastern regional theaters and New York. And to the town itself, which decided to do, rather than mildew, when tobacco could no longer sustain it.

The Barter Theatre opened in 1933 at the height of the Depression. True to its name, it accepted live hens, a dead rattlesnake and canned goods in return for tickets. A ham for Hamlet, as the saying goes here.

Today it is a big deal in this southwestern Virginia town of fewer than 8,000 people, drawing 150,000 through its doors in a season.

An economic anchor, the Barter is an eye-popping presence on occasion. For example, its staging of "Liquid Moon" in 2003 featured two naked actors for part of the performance, drawing protests from a state senator and the Cedar Bluff Baptist Church in nearby Atkins.

Theatrical talent is not enough at the Barter. Actors practically work farmers' hours and everyone has to be resourceful.

Between several productions going on two stages at once, rehearsals for coming plays and children's shows, workdays stretch over 12 hours.

Richard Rose, who runs the Barter and directs the productions, says a lot of theater these days is about spectacle. But he cannot afford it.

"We will skirt the spectacle and really go after the heart of a story," he said, pausing during the cast's first rehearsal of "Mulberry Leaves."

The wail of a passing freight train echoes through the tall, old windows.

"We probably do more theater with less money than any theater in the nation," he said.

"Mulberry Leaves" by Lucinda McDermott is about finding your place in the world. One of the patriarch's sons loves to design clothes, wonders if he is gay and risks his father's wrath with his wish to go away to design school. Sister says he must go. "Do you do or do you mildew?"

Elizabeth P. McKnight, 29, has found her place as a member of the repertory company, for now. She plays the sister.

From Nashville, Tenn., she has been here three years. It's her first acting job. She was too scared to pursue her calling until she auditioned at an actors' "cattle call," so many years after she took the stage as Patsy Cline in fourth grade.

"I'm still terrified," she said during a rehearsal break. But after more than 36 plays, "I feel like I'm an actor now. I would not have said that a year ago. It's time to feel good about this career choice and take it out for a spin."

She's nailed sister's Appalachian accent, reaching not far back into her past for a variation of it. She worked to lose her natural Tennessee accent but said when she gets excited, angry or tipsy, she lapses into her Southern twang.

Scot Atkinson, also 29, of Louisville, Ky., came here by way of Los Angeles. He plays the family's other son, the dopey one. He said being an unknown actor in Los Angeles is all about marketing yourself. Here he gets to act. And act and act.

"Why choose this life for yourself?" he asks. "The odds are against you. You gotta love it."

They live in a dorm, sit in a garden practicing their scripts, catch up on laundry on Mondays.

These young actors know that whatever the odds, others who spent time on the Barter stage found success. Among them were Gregory Peck, Patricia Neal, Ernest Borgnine, Hume Cronyn and Ned Beatty.

Probably no one needs to show as much resourcefulness day in and day out as Mark DeVol, the technical director. Running the scene-building shop, he has learned tricks to make more out of less, and magic out of the mundane.

Discarded carpet tubes become skinny trees on the stage. Garland is so realistic as pine leaves that the stage director asked him what will happen when they turn brown. Jack-sand rubber roofing compound makes great bark, holding paint just right.

Quitting home building, DeVol went to Kent State to learn stage design, figuring his carpentry training would give him a leg up because "I knew all the tools." Here he's become versatile enough to design some sets as well as make them.

Rose, who lets loose with a crazy cackle when he finds something funny, says there are three ways to find your place in the world: accidentally, with the help of others, or knowing what you want and making it happen yourself.

"It's about finding your nest," he said, speaking for the play but also about the people around him. "It's about finding your mulberry leaves."
0 Replies
 
AngeliqueEast
 
  1  
Reply Sun 10 Jul, 2005 04:41 am
Translation done Letty.
0 Replies
 
Letty
 
  1  
Reply Sun 10 Jul, 2005 04:54 am
And so it is, Angel. What a compelling song. Just to walk with soneone and talk about small things is such a comfort, no?

When one walks along the beach, it must be alone, however, because the ocean speaks in soft tones sometimes, but at others loudly and with majesty. What does it speak of?

Only those who understand the songs of the sea and the poets of the lea. <smile>

The Tide Rises, the Tide Falls By: Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The tide rises, the tide falls,
The twilight darkens, the curlew calls;
Along the sea-sands damp and brown
The traveller hastens toward the town,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.

Darkness settles on roofs and walls,
But the sea, the sea in the darkness calls;
The little waves, with their soft, white hands,
Efface the footprints in the sands,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.

The morning breaks; the steeds in their stalls
Stamp and neigh, as the hostler calls;
The day returns, but nevermore
Returns the traveller to the shore,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.
0 Replies
 
Francis
 
  1  
Reply Sun 10 Jul, 2005 05:13 am
Good morning my friends.

Angelique, that's a nice song I heard sometimes before. Good translation as well...
0 Replies
 
AngeliqueEast
 
  1  
Reply Sun 10 Jul, 2005 05:18 am
Thanks Francis, the video is quite unique, and it says more than the actual song lyrics. She is very avant- garde in her productions.
0 Replies
 
Letty
 
  1  
Reply Sun 10 Jul, 2005 05:34 am
Ah, listeners, and here's our Francis. How does your garden grow today?


Monsieur Francis, man of trances,
How does your garden grow?
With cockle-shells, and silver bells,
And pretty maids all in a row.

Would you expect anything less from a Frenchman, listeners? <smile>
0 Replies
 
AngeliqueEast
 
  1  
Reply Sun 10 Jul, 2005 05:45 am
For Miss Letty.

BEACH SONGS
 
PRETTY SHELLS
Tune: "Jingle Bells"
  
Pretty shells, pretty shells
Laying all around.
What a lovely sight to see
Shells upon the ground.

Pick one up, it's good luck!
Listen to the roar
Of the never ending waves
That beat upon the shore.

Jean Warren

SHELLS ON THE SEASHORE
Tune: "Down By The Station"
 
Down at the seashore,
Early in the morning.
See the little shells
All along the shore.

See the great big waves
Splashing on the shore.
When they pull back,
They leave some more.

Jean Warren

SEA STAR
I saw an orange sea star
Sitting on the beach
She had five arms
With which to reach.

She sat in the sun
All through the day
But when the tide came in
She swam away.

Jean Warren


 SAND CASTLE
Tune: "The Hokey Pokey"

You put some sand in.
You take some sand out.
You put some sand in
And you shape it all about.

You make a sand castle
With towers all around.
That's what it's all about!

You put some shells in
You take some shells out.
You put some shells in
And you place them all about.

You make a sand castle
With shells all around.
That's what it's all about!

Jean Warren
0 Replies
 
djjd62
 
  1  
Reply Sun 10 Jul, 2005 05:48 am
i heard something both funny and frightening on the radio this morning, the weather specialist (when did they stop being weathermen, and how can a specialist be wrong so much of the time, questions for another post), said that hurricane dennis was travelling towards the gulf states and was expected to make landfill later today, let's hope this was a slip of the tounge and not some psychic vision

as noddy would say, hold your dominion, if however your dominion starts flying away, run like hell

Don't know why there's no sun up in the sky
Stormy weather
Since my man and I ain't together,
Keeps rainin' all the time

Life is bare, gloom and mis'ry everywhere
Stormy weather
Just can't get my poorself together,
I'm weary all the time
So weary all the time
When he went away the blues walked in and met me.
If he stays away old rockin' chair will get me.

All I do is pray the lord above will let me walk in the sun once more.
Can't go on, ev'ry thing I had is gone
Stormy weather

Since my man and I ain't together,
Keeps rainin' all the time
0 Replies
 
Letty
 
  1  
Reply Sun 10 Jul, 2005 05:59 am
Delightful parodies, Angel. Thank you, and I was taken with "Sea Star".

dj, I just saw that Dennis is now a cat 4, but the "weather specialist" may not have intended that to be a slip, Freudian or otherwise. The atmosphere is strange in my back yard. The air is heavy, and not one frog noise.

Stormy weather was the right song for Florida today, dj.
0 Replies
 
AngeliqueEast
 
  1  
Reply Sun 10 Jul, 2005 06:02 am
Are you safe there Miss Letty?
0 Replies
 
Letty
 
  1  
Reply Sun 10 Jul, 2005 06:12 am
At the moment I am, Angel, as I hope everyone is and will be.

Thought for Today: ``A concept is stronger than a fact.''

Charlotte Perkins Gilman, American economist and feminist (1860-1935).



07/09/05 20:00
0 Replies
 
djjd62
 
  1  
Reply Sun 10 Jul, 2005 06:27 am
The Concept
Teenage Fanclub

She wears denim wherever she goes
Says she's gonna get some records by the Status Quo
Oh yeah...Oh yeah...

Still she won't be forced against her will
Says she don't do drugs but she does the pill
Oh yeah...Oh yeah...

I didn't want to hurt you oh yeah...
I didn't want to hurt you oh yeah...

Says she likes my hair 'cause it's down my back
Says she likes the group 'cause we pull in the slack
Oh yeah...Oh yeah...

When she's at the gig she takes her car
And she drive us home if it is in a bar
Oh yeah...Oh yeah...

I didn't want to hurt you oh yeah...
I didn't want to hurt you oh yeah...

(Solo)

I didn't want to hurt you oh yeah...
I didn't want to hurt you oh yeah...

(Pause)

Aaaah... Aaaah... Aaaah...
0 Replies
 
Raggedyaggie
 
  1  
Reply Sun 10 Jul, 2005 06:34 am
Hello WA2K.
Hoping you all stay safe and sound and the day is a pleasant one.

Birthday Celebs for today:

1509 John Calvin, theologian and leader of the Protestant Reformation (Noyon, France; died 1564)

1834 James Whistler, painter (Lowell, MA; died 1903)

1871 Marcel Proust, novelist (Auteuil, France; died 1922)
"The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes. "
"We don't receive wisdom; we must discover it for ourselves after a journey that no one can take for us or spare us. "


1897 John Gilbert, actor (Logan, UT; died 1936) Greta Garbo starred with him in 'Love (1927)', 'Flesh and the Devil (1927)' and 'A Woman of Affairs (1928). The screen chemistry between these two was incredible and led to a torrid off screen affair. The studio publicity department would work overtime to publicize the romance between the two. But when it came time to marry, John was left at the altar. His performances after that were devoid of the sparkle that he once had and he began to drink heavily. Added to that, the whole industry was moving towards sound and while his voice was not as bad as some had thought, it would not match the image that he portrayed on the screen. Greta would try to restore some of his image when she insisted that he play opposite her in 'Queen Christina (1933)', but, by then it was too late. He would appear in only one more film and would die of a heart attack three years later.


1915 Saul Bellow, author (Lachine, Quebec, Canada) (Nobel 1976-Mr Samler's Planet) three National Book Awards, a Pulitzer and the Nobel Prize in Literature - best-known books are Herzog, Humboldt's Gift and The Adventures of Augie March

1920 David Brinkley, TV anchor/journalist (Wilmington, NC)
1921 Jake LaMotta Bronx, middleweight boxing champ (1949-51) (Raging Bull)

1926 Fred Gwynne, actor and writer (New York, NY; died 1993) Though he only played the part for two years, 6'5" Fred Gwynne will always be remembered as Herman Munster

1931 Alice Munro, writer (Wingham, Ontario, Canada)

1933 Jerry Herman, composer/lyricist (New York, NY) (Jerry Herman is the only composer/lyricist in history to have three musicals run more than 1500 performances on Broadway: Hello Dolly! (2,844), Mame (1,508), and La Cage aux Folles (1,761)

1943 Arthur Ashe, tennis champion (Richmond, VA; died 1993)
1945 Virginia Wade, tennis champion (Bournemouth, England)

1947 Arlo Guthrie, folk singer/songwriter (New York, NY) son of folk singer and composer Woody Guthrie. His most famous work is "Alice's Restaurant", a story song that lasts 18 minutes and 20 seconds. The song, a bitingly satirical protest against the Vietnam War draft, is based on a true incident in which Guthrie was rejected as unfit for military service when he was called up for the draft as a result of a criminal record consisting in its entirety of a single arrest, court appearance, fine and clean up order for littering.

Guthrie also made famous Steve Goodman's song "City of New Orleans", a paean to long-distance rail travel.

1956 Anita Hill, legal scholar and sexual harassment complainant against Clarence Thomas (Morris, OK) In 1991 she brought allegations of sexual harrassment against then Supreme Court nominee Clarence Thomas.
A media frenzy ensued at the time, however, Thomas was confirmed to the Supreme Court anyway.

http://www.cyranos.ch/herman.gifhttp://www.johngilbert.org/thepreacherintheblacksilkrobeisreadyforweb.jpghttp://www.associatedentertainment.com/aec/images/main/Arlo-Guthrie.jpg
0 Replies
 
djjd62
 
  1  
Reply Sun 10 Jul, 2005 06:38 am
City of New Orleans
Johnny Cash

Ridin' on the City of New Orleans
Illinois Central, Monday mornin' rail
15 cars & 15 restless riders
Three conductors, (( 24 )) sacks of mail

All along the southbound odyssey the train pulls out of (( Kentucky ))
Rolls along past houses, farms & fields
Passin' graves that have no name, freight yards full of old black men
And the graveyards of rusted automobiles

Chorus:
Good mornin' America, how are you?
Don't you know me? I'm your native son!
I'm the train they call the City of New Orleans
I'll be gone 500 miles when the day is done

Dealin' cards with the old men in the club car
Penny a point, ain't no one keepin' score
Pass the paper bag that holds the bottle
And feel the wheels grumblin' neath the floor

And the sons of Pullman porters & the sons of engineers
Ride their fathers' magic carpet made of steel
Mothers with their babes asleep, rockin' to the gentle beat
And the rhythm of the rails is all they feel

Repeat Chorus

Night time on the City of New Orleans
Changin' cars in Memphis, Tennessee
Halfway home, we'll be there by mornin'
Thru the Mississippi darkness rollin' down to the sea

But all the towns & people seem to fade into a bad dream
And the steel rail still ain't heard the news
The conductor sings his song again
"The passengers will please refrain:
This train has got (( to disappear in )) railroad blues

Repeat Chorus
0 Replies
 
bobsmythhawk
 
  1  
Reply Sun 10 Jul, 2005 06:38 am
Marcel Proust
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia.
.

Valentin-Louis-Georges-Eugène-Marcel Proust (July 10, 1871 - November 18, 1922) was a French intellectual, novelist, essayist and critic, best known as the author of In Search of Lost Time (in French À la recherche du temps perdu, also translated previously as Remembrance of Things Past), a monumental work in twentieth-century fiction.


Biography

Proust was born in Auteuil, just outside of Paris, in 1871, the son of bourgeois parents: Achille Adrien Proust, a famous doctor and epidemiologist and Jeanne Clémence Weil the daughter of a rich and cultured Jewish family. Proust was raised Catholic.

Throughout his childhood, he spent every summer in the village of Illiers. Elements of both Auteuil and Illiers would later be fictionalised in his epic novel In Search of Lost Time as the narrator's childhood home town of "Combray". The village of Illiers was renamed Illiers-Combray on the occasion of the Proust centenary celebrations.

At the age of 9, he suffered his first asthma attack, which nearly killed him. Despite his poor health, he served a year as an enlisted man in the French army, stationed at Coligny Caserne in Orléans.)

Proust was a dilettante, an aspiring writer, a social climber, and he was not taken very seriously by his contemporaries. The pivotal change in his life came after the death of his father in 1903 and his mother in 1905. At this time his health began to deteriorate. His curative trips to seaside resorts, most often to Cabourg (Calvados), inspired the fictional town of Balbec.

In 1907 he published an article in Le Figaro called "Sentiments filiaux d'un parricide", in which he focused on two elements that would be central in his later writing: memory and guilt. Other articles which appeared during the period 1907-1908 are considered by many critics to be preliminary to his novel.

Proust spent the last three years of his life virtually confined to his famously cork-lined bedroom, sleeping all day and working feverishly all night to complete his novel.

Proust's In Search of Lost Time (À la recherche du temps perdu, originally translated as Remembrance of Things Past) begun in 1909 and finished just before his death in 1922, is one of the greatest achievements of Western literature.

This novel in seven volumes, spanning some 3,200 pages in English translation, and teeming with more than 2,000 characters, has stirred Graham Greene to say that Proust was the "greatest novelist of the 20th century" and Somerset Maugham to call it the "greatest fiction to date". Proust died before he was able to complete his revision of the drafts and proofs of the last volumes, the last three of which were published posthumously.

Proust's multifaceted vision is enthralling. He was a satirist of the aristocricy and an intense analyst of introspective consciousness. He was the creator of more than forty unforgettable characters who continue to resonate in the world's literary consciousness. Above all, Proust's central message is the affirmation of life. Contrary to the opinion voiced by some of his contemporaries and critics, Proust's great work teaches that life's "purpose" is not to be sought in artistic artifacts: life is not fulfilled when a painting or a novel is completed, but when it is transmuted, in the very course of quotidian living, into something "artistic" or spiritually mature and wise.

Proust's work shows a heavy influence from Tolstoy, evidenced in the views he gives on art, some of the ways in which he models psychology and social interaction, and in certain episodes such as the trip to Venice (cf. Tolstoy's Anna Karenina). In turn, Proust is often compared with German writer Thomas Mann. Regarding writing style, Proust loved the works of John Ruskin, and translated them into French; he read Ruskin's autobiography Praeterita so many times that he almost memorised it. He claimed, also, that In Search of Lost Time was his attempt at writing a French incarnation of The Thousand and One Nights.

Homosexuality is a major theme in the novel, especially in The Guermantes Way and subsequent volumes. Proust himself was homosexual, and had a long-running affair with pianist and composer Reynaldo Hahn. Indeed, it is often easier to understand his fictional creations if one strips off their feminine endings--Albertine, Gilberte, Andrée--and regards these characters instead as young men.

Proust died in 1922 and is buried in the Père Lachaise cemetery in Paris.

In 1995, Penguin undertook a fresh translation of In Search of Lost Time by editor Charles Prendergast and seven translators in three countries, based on the latest and most authoritative French text. Its six volumes were published in Britain under the Allen Lane imprint in 2002. The first four (those which under American copyright law are in the public domain) have since been published in the U.S. under the Viking imprint and in paperback under the Penguin Clasics imprint.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marcel_Proust
0 Replies
 
edgarblythe
 
  1  
Reply Sun 10 Jul, 2005 07:27 am
Story Of Isaac

Leonard Cohen
Album - Songs From A Room

The door it opened slowly,
my father he came in,
I was nine years old.
And he stood so tall above me,
his blue eyes they were shining
and his voice was very cold.
He said, 'I've had a vision
and you know I'm strong and holy,
I must do what I've been told.'
So he started up the mountain,
I was running, he was walking,
and his axe was made of gold.
Well, the trees they got much smaller,
the lake a lady's mirror,
we stopped to drink some wine.
Then he threw the bottle over.
Broke a minute later
and he put his hand on mine.
Thought I saw an eagle
but it might have been a vulture,
I never could decide.
Then my father built an altar,
he looked once behind his shoulder,
he knew I would not hide.

You who build these altars now
to sacrifice these children,
you must not do it anymore.
A scheme is not a vision
and you never have been tempted
by a demon or a god.
You who stand above them now,
your hatchets blunt and bloody,
you were not there before,
when I lay upon a mountain
and my father's hand was trembling
with the beauty of the word.

And if you call me brother now,
forgive me if I inquire,
'Just according to whose plan'
When it all comes down to dust
I will kill you if I must,
I will help you if I can.
When it all comes down to dust
I will help you if I must,
I will kill you if I can.
And mercy on our uniform,
man of peace or man of war,
the peacock spreads his fan.
0 Replies
 
djjd62
 
  1  
Reply Sun 10 Jul, 2005 07:39 am
Blame it on Cain
Elvis Costello

Once upon a time, I had a little money.
Government burglars took it long
before I could mail it to you.
Still, you are the only one.
Now I can't let it slip away.
So if the man with the ticker tape,
he tries to take it,
well this is what I'm gonna say.

(chorus)
Blame it on Cain.
Don't blame it on me.
Oh, oh, it's nobody's fault,
but we need somebody to burn.

Well if I was a saint with
a silver cup
and the money got low
we could always heat it up
or trade it in.
But then the radio to heaven will be wired to your purse.
And then you can run down the wave band,
coast to coast, hand in hand.
Better or worse, curse for curse,
don't be dissatisfied.
So you're not satisfied.

(chorus)

I think I've lived a little too long
on the outskirts of town
I think I'm going insane
from talking to myself for so long.
Oh but I've never been accused.
But when they step up on your face,
They wear that good look grin.
I gotta break out one weekend
Try to do somebody in.
But every single time
I feel a little stronger,
they tell me it's a crime.
Well how much longer?

(chorus)
0 Replies
 
Francis
 
  1  
Reply Sun 10 Jul, 2005 07:40 am
This make me think ( gonna know why?) of this Canajun song :

MON PAYS
(Gilles Vigneault)

Gilles Vigneault - 1966


Mon pays ce n'est pas un pays, c'est l'hiver
Mon jardin ce n'est pas un jardin, c'est la plaine
Mon chemin ce n'est pas un chemin, c'est la neige
Mon pays ce n'est pas un pays, c'est l'hiver

Dans la blanche cérémonie
Où la neige au vent se marie
Dans ce pays de poudrerie
Mon père a fait bâtir maison
Et je m'en vais être fidèle
À sa manière, à son modèle
La chambre d'amis sera telle
Qu'on viendra des autres saisons
Pour se bâtir à côté d'elle


Mon pays ce n'est pas un pays, c'est l'hiver
Mon refrain ce n'est pas un refrain, c'est rafale
Ma maison ce n'est pas ma maison, c'est froidure
Mon pays ce n'est pas un pays, c'est l'hiver

De mon grand pays solitaire
Je crie avant que de me taire
À tous les hommes de la terre
Ma maison c'est votre maison
Entre mes quatre murs de glace
Je mets mon temps et mon espace
À préparer le feu, la place
Pour les humains de l'horizon
Et les humains sont de ma race


Mon pays ce n'est pas un pays, c'est l'hiver
Mon jardin ce n'est pas un jardin, c'est la plaine
Mon chemin ce n'est pas un chemin, c'est la neige
Mon pays ce n'est pas un pays, c'est l'hiver

Mon pays ce n'est pas un pays, c'est l'envers
D'un pays qui n'était ni pays ni patrie
Ma chanson ce n'est pas une chanson, c'est ma vie
C'est pour toi que je veux posséder mes hivers


The passages in bold are my favorites
0 Replies
 
Walter Hinteler
 
  1  
Reply Sun 10 Jul, 2005 07:45 am
Just a minor correction to the data, given again so excellently by Raggedyaggie:

James Abbott McNeill Whistler - to name him completely - was born on July 14, 1834 :wink:

(And died on July 17, 1903)
0 Replies
 
Francis
 
  1  
Reply Sun 10 Jul, 2005 07:48 am
Nice, Walter!
0 Replies
 
 

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