Blown away

by gypsy

fiddlers

WOW! This really was something. The regular arts soiree at St Clement's, on the Berea, surpassed itself this week with a prolonged burst of wild exuberance on strings and percussion.

We were seated outside on a lovely summer's evening and every time the Gypsy Strings quartet briefly paused, the cicadas were trilling from the treetops, whether in appreciation or emulation it was difficult to say.

The Gypsy Strings are Ralitza Macheva, violin, from Bulgaria; Annamaria D'Andrea, viola, from Italy, Ralitsa Todorova, cello, from Bulgaria; and Stephane Pechoux, percussion, from France.

All are members of the KZN Philharmonic Orchestra, but they also do these lively gigs on their own. And lively is the word, with a medley of music ranging from the classics to the modern. They fairly blew the punters away, to ecstatic applause. It was as if the instruments were actually speaking/singing to each one of us as individuals.

Part of the fun is that the performers themselves are so obviously enjoying it. It's nothing like the full orchestral performances, these folk prance about, and I'm sure that's what fiddlers are meant to do.

And while we're sitting there enjoying the Gypsy Strings, Pieter Scholtz, doyen of the St Clement's soiree, slips me an advance copy of a little book he's going to launch next year.

It's titled Meditations, a collection of poems and pensees on life and its meaning, man's place in the cosmos and shot through with shafts of humour. Pieter is a retired professor of speech and drama so it goes without saying that much of this is pretty deep stuff.

Pieter is known for his trademark black leather cap. It makes an appearance in Meditations.

I call it my naughty cap,

Short for 'nautical'.

That cap is like a bad penny,

Ubiquitous!

Without that cap people don't recognise me.

I wore a Stetson to the supermarket;

No one greeted me.

'Where's your friend with the cap?' they asked.

Here's a bit from The Ballad of Ribbit the Frog, as he's caught in a thunderstorm.

Ribbit the Frog was not a-feared

He ribbited a song of glee:

'Ribbit … Ribbit … Kiss my bum!

I'm having such Ribbity Flibberty fun.'

Siestog, Pieter! But I suppose you could call it poetic licence.

 

 

Another soiree

STILL with St Clement's, there'll be another soiree next Monday, this time a poetry reading by Mervyn Croft, formerly of the Buddhist Retreat Centre at Ixopo and now at the Emoyeni Retreat Centre in the Magaliesberg, Gauteng.

I'm not familiar with his work but it's been described by the critics as "an invitation to walk out beyond the cacophony …" and a lightness of touch as he explores "some of the deeply existential and universal themes of life: love and loss, sensuality and our relationship to the natural world, change and the challenge of modern life dedicated, as it is, to constant doing…"

Croft sounds a most interesting chap. This will be another good 'un to round off the year.

 

Tailpiece

Why did Van Gogh become a painter?
He didn't have an ear for music.

 

Last word

What some people mistake for the high cost of living is really the cost of high living. - Doug Larson