expand on orbits

_posts/2024-09-28-Orbits.md

@@ -25,3 +25,7 @@ Indeed, when it is obvious that I am "playing the chords" from the book, I can h
 At any rate, riffing on that turnaround from _All of Me_—I was reminded of another love song—the love song for me—_What Kind Of Fool Am I?_ One of many songs to which I was introduced by Bill Evans—or at least it had come alive before me in all its glory through his rendition. The lyrics begin with "What kind of fool am I, who never fell in love? It seems that I'm the only one that I have been thinking of." I had learned it a couple years ago. I hadn't played it in at least a year, but, nonetheless, it came easily and musically to my fingers. I briefly played through it. At the climax, "why can't I fall in love, like any other man?" I marvelled at and luxuriated in the chord that Bill Evans had used over "man"—if in the key of C, an Eb minor 6, or a C half-diminished 7 in first inversion—well outside the key, adding a brief, subtle mysteriousness. The last line: "and maybe then I'll know what kind of fool I am." At least once Bill Evans had played this as Dmin7, Emin7, Fmin7, Gsus7, resolving to Cmaj7. And it was these chords that I focused on now. I looped them (without the resolution) and discovered a new and rich musicality among them that I had not felt when I had practiced this piece last.
 
 And that is when I was reminded of Rilke's poem, breathtaking even in the translation.
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+As to that poem. It is profound. It conveys, in the first stanza, a humbleness and acceptance of human frailty, and, in the second stanza, the sense of mystery and awe that lies at the heart of our creativity and innovation and spirituality if not of life itself. Re-reading it truly took my breath away. I'm not sure when I learned of this poem; it could have been by way of Stefan Zweig's autobiography _The World of Yesterday_, in which he describes Vienna at the turn of the 20th century, with all its "main characters", such as Rilke, who was the older poet always aloof and almost allergic to noise and commotion, and Mahler, who Zweig describes as "the great master" (or something similar)—by that point he was the leading conductor of his time, at the helm of the Vienna State Opera, and the younger generation would see him walking the streets from time to time, with his long cape gliding impressively behind him. Rilke they knew personally. I am reminded also of my characterization of why I was drawn to the music of Mahler. Specifically, I used to often juxtapose his music with Wagner's—Wagner's is somehow "too perfect". It is "untouchable". Somehow cold. I cannot feel intimacy in his music. I feel "greatness" and I can appreciate it on that level, but I do not personally relate to it. In Mahler, on the other hand, I feel a human presence. I can empathize with what I hear. There is the very same frailty in it, the very same sense of awe at the profound mysteries that we are given to behold in our life. The same questioning, never-ending questioning.
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+Orbits.