CHANTICLEER: L'Amour de Moy - traditional French, arr. Alice Parker/Robe...
There are many versions of this lovely-lovely song on YouTube, some evidently scribbled down in tablature on the back of old envelopes to conform to the character of wheezily folksy "Traditional French" (whatever the hell that would be). This sounds as if it could have been written by, say, Guillaume de Machaut, with its clear, heart-wrenching, internal rhymes and subtle melismas--and it's carefully and beautifully sung, so that all you notice when you hear it is its exquisite poetry, which is far too perfect--too simple, too limpid, too polished--to have sprung from some wild-ass rustic "tradition." I have listened to it three times already, and I'm ready to hear it again. This really is the food of love.
I burn hot. I tend to exhaust people in conversation, like Margaret Fuller did Carlyle. Which leaves me (but apparently not Margaret) always wishing I'd shut up sooner. I have quite a few friends and not many enemies, but I'm very proud of the few I do have. There is consensus among my friends about me, which is how I know to write about myself. What my enemies think of me I have no idea. That, of course, could be dangerous.
The list of interests and favorites is absurdly partial and half-assed, particularly as to music and books. It's the stupid format of the blog itself, as given, that, of course, I color outside the lines and burst the seams of.
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