mercury playground (poem)

Mercury Playground

Suddenly shadowed, the heavens imploded again
Dark clouds, dark grey over a quiet grey village
Thick curtains of crystals, wet, dropped down in silver

Shockingly cold, wrapping all ground in winter anew
like some sweet-scented lace, or a veil of white lilies
Laid folded in layers, wet, draped on the surface

Sun-melted then, when spring came to its nature once more,
was changing reflection, rejecting the goodness
in children out playing, wet, dipped in the snow drifts

Mercury, mercury, changing forever its silvery wings
Projecting and fleeing, like letters and mirrors
The playground now poisoned, wet, drowned in the icing

MaLj 29 March 2008

Upcoming concert with Alan Hilton's music

Amadeus Orchestra:

United Reform Church, Ickenham - 19 April 2008 at 4.00pm
An afternoon of music by Alan Hilton in the presence of the composer.

http://www.amadeusorchestra.co.uk/concerts.html

Chaconne

Also published on my YouTube page!

The sheet music to the clarinet/viola/cello version is here.

The road and the water

Music composed and played by Maria Ljungdahl.

(also on YouTube )

A music video for Michael

The lead sheet for the music in this video - "Ignoble Simplicity" - is published by the composer Michael Morse on SibeliusMusic.com, at
this page
and the ensemble version at
this page.

(also on YouTube )

Christmas time

Celebrating atonality

Alex Ross blogs that tomorrrow, Monday 17 December, is

Worldwide Atonality Day.

A small lake

Path

The good ferry

Hazy autumn day on the shore. No fairy tale, this life as a suffering artist...

These crumbs belong to a lost shadow

Once upon a time
about twelve
or three hundred months ago or so
In an empty cottage next to the silent woods
there lived a shadow in a dark corner
In the attic
Waiting for a lost soul to find their childhood again
and some peace
from this world of conflicts and critique

A lonely winter passed
Hundreds of years of winters
if you recall and understand their story
Snow fell
Trees fell
Hearts ached with unknown pain
Unacceptable
Invisible disease
Not the easy road
Not the simple way
like things are supposed to be solved
in this world of practical solutions and logic

These crumbs here belong to a lost shadow
These meals and the wine were meant for company
The walls
the floor
the roof
The doors are waiting
The words unread and unwritten
And the world just continues its reality like before

piano sonata something

A link to a work in progress:

"sonata something"

Recent findings

"The idea of someone still caring enough to scream like a banshee at people suggests to me that something really is right with the world." (Jonathan Bellman, in a posting to "Dial M for Musicology" )

In place of a mirror, on top of the bureau

(I believe it is a portrait of Beethoven, but I'm not sure.)

Sketched picture

(couldn't figure out how to tilt the photo. You have to do it with your head, instead.)

Look at that

Interesting cover art competition for those who can do computer art in naive styles. I know Sia's voice from the Zero 7 album "THE GARDEN", but not her music (more than what's on Myspace). Lyrics for the new album seems good.

http://www.siamusic.net/comp/

A bit late, but a flower it is!

Marsh Marigold - Kabbeleka

(Caltha Palustris)

Atonal Paj (=No Key Lime Pie)

pajdeg:

200 g Digestivekex
1 dl vetemjöl
1 tsk kanel
1 tsk vaniljsocker
1 dl flytande margarin
några droppar vatten

Krossa kexen och blanda allt i en matberedare. Tryck ut i en pajform och förgrädda drygt 5 minuter i 200 grader.

Fyllning:

1 burk sötad kondenserad mjölk
4 äggulor (spara äggvitorna till maräng om du vill ha det ovanpå pajen, annars till en omelett eller nåt annat)
saft och fruktkött från 2 stora gröna limefrukter

Rör ihop allt med en gaffel i en bunke. Äggen skall först blandas väl med den sötade mjölken, så det ser ut som en normal sockerkakssmet. Limesaften skall röras in i det hela så att äggen och mjölken koagulerar av syran.

Därefter, antingen:

A) Låt pajskalet kallna och fyllningen tjockna någon timme, och fyll sedan pajen och ställ den i kylskåpet. Klart att äta när det är kallt och smeten har stelnat.

B) Fyll pajskalet med äggsmeten och grädda ca 15 minuter i 200 grader. Låt svalna och ställ i kylskåp. Godast att äta kall som efterrätt eller till kaffet nästa dag.

C) Gör som ovan men fortsätt med att vispa till en marängsmet (se någon vettig kokbok för recept på hur och vad) och grädda pajen tills marängen fått färg. (Detta är supersliskigt, och om man misslyckas med marängen blir det väldigt äckligt med den klibbiga äggvitesåsen som dränker allt. Går dock att rädda om man ställer den i kylskåp tills man tål att se den igen.)

Village on Hisingen

(Village on Hisingen Island, Gothenburg. Oil sketch after a photo. copyright Maria Ljungdahl (Sweden) 2007.)

Finished sunset

(Sunset. Oil painting, 41x33 cm. copyright Maria Ljungdahl 2007.)

The paint is still wet. First photo is in natural (late afternoon) light; second photo with flash.

When there was ice

21st February 2007. (photo by MaLj)

New beginning

This new painting will be an image of the sunset, as I remember it from the summers in my childhood. I think I will paint some blue-green in the upper corners, like a dark forest on an island. The red sun will be a little to the left of the center, above the horizon. The rest of the middle part of the picture will be in red, orange, pink and dark red-violet.

(The other abstract landscape picture is finished now. I almost hid the bright colours from the first sketch with a new layer in misty nuances. I have also painted another picture with a path and a couple of red buildings, but I think the finishing details have to wait a while.)

Lines by Shelley (translation)

(P.B. Shelley: first lines from "Letter to Maria Gisborne", July 1, 1820)

1 The spider spreads her webs, whether she be

2 In poet's tower, cellar, or barn, or tree;

3 The silkworm in the dark-green mulberry leaves

4 His winding-sheet and cradle ever weaves:

5 So I, a thing whom moralists call worm,

6 Sit spinning still round this decaying form,

7 From the fine threads of rare and subtle thought-

8 No net of words in garish colours wrought

9 To catch the idle buzzers of the day-

10 But a soft cell, where when that fades away,

11 Memory may clothe in wings my living name,

12 And feed it with the asphodels of fame

13 Which in those hearts which must remember me

14 Grow, making love an immortality.

---

1 Som spindeln sprider nät varhelst hon är -

2 poetens tornrum, källarvalv, ett träd;

3 som silkesmasken väver åt sin flykt

4 en svepning, trygg i mullbärsgrönskans skydd:

5 Så spinner jag - moraliskt sett en mask,

6 som vid sitt sönderfall vill hålla fast -

7 mitt fina tankegarn, en sällsynt tråd.

8 Jag spinner inget pråligt nät av råd,

9 som lockar dagens lata själar med något sött -

10 nej, en tyst puppa, som när allting är förött

11 ger vingar åt mitt namn då jag är död,

12 och göder det med ryktbarhetens glöd.

13 I hjärtan som mig obetingat minns

14 odödlig kärleks möjligheter vinns.

(first draft - will maybe change a word here and there later! /MaLj)

Winter child

(Lyrics to an unfinished work for voices)


Winter Child

Dah, dah, dah
Muse, muse, music
Liss, liss, listen
Win, win, winter

Darkness, light
In the beginning

Let there be light

Midwinter, midwife, virgin
Chilly winter night

Bells ringing

Star is shining
all night long

Angels singing
Gloria, gloria, gloria

Logos, the Word, a child
In the beginning

A Winter child
in the world was born

from Word to World

Christ is born tonight
from eternity into time


(copyright: Maria Ljungdahl (Sweden) 2006)

New poem

CHRISTMAS MOMENTS

There is a moment every year
on the night before Christmas Eve -
after I have written and sent the last message
to the distant, the remembered, not present,
and the last Christmas cards have arrived.
I have finished the rounds,
to give and collect the presents.

There is a moment of emptiness, then -
as I look at the mess in the kitchen,
after I have sent that most heartfelt greeting
out in the cold, to faraway homes -
when I have no more reason to post anything online,
and I close the door for all except the close family
until the holy day has passed,
and I allow myself to wonder:
how are they? has anything changed?
will they remember me?
where, and when, and why -
and who - have we been, these few days?


If I happen to make it in time -
the time for candles and carols, for food and gifts -
this is how it will be on Christmas Eve:

There will be a clean table in the kitchen,
with a clean, mangled linen cloth,
red, blue, white or natural in colour,
and on the blue sideboard -
clad in bright red cotton print
with tiny flowers, fir and pear trees,
partridges, deer and holly,
I have put the holiday plates and bowls,
the gaudy, gold-rimmed Santa set of china.

The living-room is guarded by a glimmering fake fir,
which is guarded by a black and lively cat,
whom I have to watch,
so he won't climb and fell the fir tree,
or try to bite the lights -
or pick a fight with all the lovely garlands!

In many windows are electric Advent lights,
but in the garden, I think nothing here will shine at all.
Of course the neighbours have those garden chains
with tiny lamps in every bush and tree,
and welcome many relatives and friends
with flaming fire and guiding torches in the snow.
I think my visitors will be very few this year...


So maybe I will have a few spare moments;
a minute, or an hour - maybe two,
when I will think of you, and wonder -
without the stress and noise
from some conflicting modes of celebration,
without confusion, and quite sane
but with some little sadness left
from such uncertainty and weakness that I sense -
well, hear my thoughts:
what do you want? what do you need?
what did you hope for,
and what did you get this year?


To write these things down gave me guilty feelings.
Why count just what one gets? Why ask about it?
Is this in fact my own sad point of view: what can I gain?

Surely we are told, that Christmas means to give?
Should I then preach unselfishness to you instead,
as if you are like a little selfish child
who takes the right to love and property for granted
and does not see what others need?

Is it more appropriate to ask:
what did you do for others, now, this very year?
did you give out in abundance; offered freely?
did you give them anything at all -
the poor, the hungry, prisoners, and patients?

No! As I trust you, and your love for others,
I must never ask if you have done enough.
Yes! Sure. You give. You give for nothing.
And so do I. We do. It is called love.


Love is not a business with a binding contract,
not a competition with fair rules,
and not a fun game with one single winner.

Love is not an art, or an abstraction -
it is just the best that we can do!

Merry Christmas - to all of you!


4 December 2006.
Maria Ljungdahl.

Paintings (länkar till Marias målningar)

I have decided to put links to all my finished paintings and other pictures (and a couple of quilts) in the same message, so they will be easier to find again.

Här finns länkar till alla de sidor där mina färdiga (eller nästan färdiga) målningar och andra bilder (och några lapptäcken) presenteras.

My Way (Motiv från Eckerö)
Arbetsrum (studio)
Work-in-progress (styrman)
Quilt (lapptäcke)
Tango: Orfeus & Ofelia
Portrait (Motiv från ytterskärgården)

My Way, or, The Red Road

Oil painting, MaLj 2006.

Arbetsrum

When I am not reading the newspaper, other music blogs, music discussions or web pages I have looked up to understand something, while listening to Beethoven's Ninth or some songs by Steely Dan or a cd with Anne Sofie von Otter, I am sometimes writing arrangements of Christmas music, looking at music composed by my friends, or reading a page or two of serious fiction or theory, but when I am not doing this - or watching the snow that fell yesterday - I have these paintings to work on. The Red Road is almost finished now. The abstract maritime landscape with the beams of light is just a sketch to a larger painting I will make some day. The simplified little copy of Enguerrand Charonton's The Coronation of Mary (original from 1454) is what it is - a naive exercise. Here is a detail of the original:

Rilke translations: autumn poem 2

Herbsttag

Herr, es ist Zeit. Der Sommer war sehr groß.
Leg deinen Schatten auf die Sonnenuhren,
und auf den Fluren lass die Winde los.

Befiehl den letzten Früchten, voll zu sein;
gib ihnen noch zwei südlichere Tage,
dränge sie zur Vollendung hin, und jage
die letzte Süße in den schweren Wein.

Wer jetzt kein Haus hat, baut sich keines mehr.
Wer jetzt allein ist, wird es lange bleiben,
wird wachen, lesen, lange Briefe schreiben
und wird in den Alleen hin und her
unruhig wandern, wenn die Blätter treiben.

---

Autumn Day

Lord: now is the day. Great were the summer hours.
Let all your shadows veil the sundial flowers,
and on the fields let all the winds blow free.

Command these last fruits to be full and ripe;
just grant the juice two days more on the south side.
To push the wine's perfection you will hurry
the last sweet taste into the heavy grapes.

Those who are homeless will not build a house now.
Those who are lonely will not find a partner,
will sleepless wait, will read, write lengthy letters
and aimless walk the avenues and alleys,
impatient, restless, as the drifting leaves there.

----

Höstdag

Gud: nu är tid. Vår sommar räckte långt.
Låt dina skuggor skymma solurstiden,
och över bördig jord släpp stormen lös.

Befall de sista frukterna att mogna;
men ge dem ett par dagar till i solen,
en uppmaning att fulländas, du hetsar
så fram den sista sötmans tunga vin.

Är någon hemlös, skall han så förbli.
Är han allena, kommer det att vara.
Han vakar, läser, skriver brev på brev
och vankar i alléerna bland löven
så oroligt och planlöst som de far.

---
German original texts: Rainer Maria Rilke
Swedish and English interpretations: MaLj 2006

Rilke translations: autumn poem 1

Herbst

Die Blätter fallen, fallen wie von weit,
als welkten in den Himmeln ferne Gärten;
sie fallen mit verneinender Gebärde.

Und in den Nächten fällt die schwere Erde
aus allen Sternen in die Einsamkeit.

Wir alle fallen. Diese Hand da fällt.
Und sieh dir andre an: es ist in allen.

Und doch ist Einer, welcher dieses Fallen
unendlich sanft in seinen Händen hält.

---

Fall

The foliage falling drops as from afar,
as if some heavenly garden drops its foliage;
is falling slowly, with denying gestures.

And nightly hours falls the lonely Gaia
her heavy body drops down from the stars.

We are all falling. See, this hand will drop.
And watch the other one: this is in all things.

But still there is someone, who can hold the falling
and in his tender hands the fall will stop.

---

Höst

Nu löven singlar, singlar som från skyn,
likt himmelska planteringar förvissnar;
de faller med förnekande små gester.

Och under natten faller tunga jorden
ur stjärnehimlen i sin ensamhet.

Vi alla faller. Så faller denna hand.
Och se den andra här: det gäller alla.

Och ändå finns det en, som allt i detta fallet
oändligt ömt i sina händer bär.

---
German original texts: Rainer Maria Rilke
Swedish and English interpretations: MaLj 2006

New poem

Gold is wherever you look
- Lines written in celebration of a natural phenomenon

Gold is wherever you look -
up the treetops, down in the moss.
Be glad; enjoy your fortune
while you can feel and see it -
this luck won't stay forever with us.

These are the days
when the aspen shines
more brightly than the sun.

These leaves are the lights;
the aspen trees the guides
on your path to winter.

No more green;
no need for shade.

These last weeks of the mushroom season
bright chanterelles have grown -
after the rain, the wind, the unpleasantness -
in unexpected places, in aromatic abundance.

Recall when all is dark, cold, hidden:
rustling light; fragrant gold.


(c) Maria Ljungdahl 2006

Science and Human Values

"The discoveries of science, the works of art are explorations - more, are explosions, of a certain hidden likeness. The discoverer or the artist presents in them two aspects of nature and fuses them into one. This is the act of creation, in which an original thought is born, and it is the same act in original science and original art. But it is not therefore the monopoly of the man who wrote the poem or who made the discovery. On the contrary, I believe this view of the creative act to be right because it alone gives a meaning to the act of appreciation. The poem or the discovery exists in two moments of vision: the moment of appreciation as much as that of creation; for the appreciator must see the movement, wake to the echo which was started in the creation of the work."

- Jacob Bronowski (1958)

Abstraction

"Most people shy at the very word "abstraction." It suggests to them the incomprehensible, misleading, difficult, the great intellectual void of empty words. But as a matter of fact, abstract thinking is the quickest and most powerful kind of thinking, as even an elementary study of symbolic logic tends to show. The reason people are afraid of abstraction is simply that they do not know how to handle it. They have not learned to make correct abstractions, and therefore become lost among the empty forms, or worse yet, among the mere words for such forms, which they call "empty words" with an air of disgust. It is not the fault of abstraction that few people can really think abstractly, any more than it is the fault of mathematics that not many people are good mathematicians."

- Susanne K Langer: An introduction to symbolic logic, Third edition. Chapter I: The study of forms, p 34. Dover, New York 1967.