Frank Corcoran

Softly, silent snow
Falls on nine-and-fifty swans.
White-washed their still world.

More on luminous darkness anon or sooner. Meanwhile it´s a new:
” QUASI UN GRAN DUO ” for Harp and Cello.

Also new, fresh as well-baked griddle-loaves:
” SEVEN CUBIC CARDIFF MINIATURES” for Guitar, Viola and Flute.

More . Anon.

Soon, very soon, it´s lift-off, up and away, follow that South West Turkish tail-wind , Pauline Letter to the Ephesos lot at the Free Bird aeroplane window. Down to Ephesus ( shift one vowel ) , Troy, the tourists´ package; still, it could happen, luminous darkness, the Three Goetheans ( Me ? – whence ? why? whither my Me ? ) temporarily in abeyance. Smyrna, Kusadasi, Sirince, – “Great is Artemis!” Yes, I suppose great ! – Stern monotheity and swarming godesses and Mediterranean islands and East meets West, the whole package. Light in late November. Quasi a Violin Concerto.

NDR Kultur 9. February 2013 20. – 22.00

Frank Corcoran´s radiophonic analysis of Brahms
2. Symphony .

NORTH SOUTH CONSONANCE New York

March 12. 2013 . Premiere of Frank Corcoran´s
” VARIATIONS ON MYSELF” for Chamber Orchestra.

It gets even tougher up on Mt. Olympus, also on Parnassus, in the last fifth of a composer´s life today…
At least two reasons : 1. In considering, in mulling over , hatching a new work ( eg. newest HARP SOLO, newest QUASI UN GRAN DUO for Harp and Cello, newest SEVEN CUBISTIC CARDIFF PIECES, then the CELLO CONCERTO, or my just premiered VIOLIN CONCERTO ) an added element sounds all alarms – am I repeating myself ? Is this really my style ? What, where are my composer´s fingerprints? How do I aim for the as yet undreamed ? Undreamed of ?
2. How to fly by the vicious equalizing of the performance with the project, the concept and the concrete conception, the performance-frequency with “excellence” – no matter how I define this. ( I´ll label this The Composer´s Performance Fallacy ) .
3. Other factors remain – sonic dirt and media-rubbish and the emperor´s new clothes and, while I´m at it , global flooding with sound-filth I´ ve mentioned before as a constant ( – no, they won´t go away in my life-time ).
Yes. But today´s November 18th. sun ( brilliant ),
he shine on de good an´ de not yet good.

( ON REREADING MATSUO BASHO, really reeling )

Matsushima ah! / Vulnerable violin / Ah Matsushima !

Our geat conductor
Reins in loud brass, percussion.
Bow on, singer sigh.

St. Cecilia,
No mean, deft harp pedaller –
My etching´s sharper

His fiddler´s shadow
His shoulder-pain, his sorrow,

Plead, bleed plangent tones

Those concert efforts Choiring, searingand soaring Musical slalom

Trill on, grey singer
My trombones scatter,shatter,
Shit ” Spargens sonum! “.

This young lad fed pigs
Now belch vast orchestral farts
Courage, soloist !

His violin sobs.
The Slow Movement will not end.
Resin that bow, lad.

“Lark in the clear air ”

How to loves your Cadenza,

Dying soloist.

Brass, great drums, snarling,
Yield the pure line, milk pure drop.
This Concerto´s born…

Watch how he´s weaving,

His baton beats triangles.

This bates Banagher.

—–Original Message—–
From: FBCorcoran@aol.com
Date: Mon, 12 Nov 2012 15:13:52 -0500 (EST)
Subject: Humble Haikus post VIOLIN CONCERTO
To: fbcorcoran@aol.com

His violin sobs.

My Slow Movement cannot end.

Resin that bow, lad.

“Lark in the clear air ”

How he loves his Cadenza

Soloist dying

Brass and drums, snarling,

Yield to the pure line, pure drop.

Gob-smacked my public.

Watch how he´s weaving,

Baton beating triangles.

This bates Banagher.

—–Original Message—–
From: FBCorcoran@aol.com
Date: Mon, 12 Nov 2012 15:32:11 -0500 (EST)
Subject: Fwd: Humble Haikus post VIOLIN CONCERTO
To: fbcorcoran@aol.om

In einer eMail vom 12.11.2012 21:13:52 Westeuropäische Normalzeit schreibt FBCorcoran@aol.com:

Our brave conductor

Reins in proud brass, percussion.

Let the singer sigh.

St. Cecilia

No mean, deft harp pedaller

My etching´s sharper

The fiddler´s shadow

His shoulder-pain, his sorrow,

Plead with plangent tones

Concerted efforts / Choiring, searing rhapsody / Musical slalom

Trill on, grave singer / Yet the trombones will shatter / Their ” spargens sonum! ”

A young lad fed pigs / Now belch vast orchestral farts / Courage, soloist !
His violin sobs.

My Slow Movement cannot end.

Resin that bow, lad.

“Lark in the clear air ”

How he loves his Cadenza

Soloist dying

Brass and drums, snarling,

Yield to the pure line, pure drop.

Gob-smacked my public.

Watch how he´s weaving,

Baton beating triangles.

This bates Banagher.

—–Original Message—–
From: FBCorcoran@aol.com
Date: Mon, 12 Nov 2012 15:13:52 -0500 (EST)
Subject: Humble Haikus post VIOLIN CONCERTO
To: fbcorcoran@aol.com

His violin sobs.

My Slow Movement cannot end.

Resin that bow, lad.

“Lark in the clear air ”

How he loves his Cadenza

Soloist dying

Brass and drums, snarling,

Yield to the pure line, pure drop.

Gob-smacked my public.

Watch how he´s weaving,

Baton beating triangles.

This bates Banagher.

Dear Old Shadow,

Hips, their grain, submissive ( it seems, for the porn- or home-photo ) those lovely lying hips, thighs, waist, what is to be with love , stealth, ” conquered ” .
Deliver. Deliver seed. Deliver great Introduzione / Entrazio/ Penetrazio – for my thrusting, unleashed Priapus to her lovely seeding, her cupped, his vulvular . Great Darwin, it had to be so, – plough, plough, Early Dinosaurer Hunter in your/ her cooking hovel. Bending , uplifting her lovely and , yes, seed-receiving seed, you penetrate, linger, languish in her LOVELY passage. D ´Amore. Newgrange really has nothing comparable, I´d say.

This old moon is best

Born out of her young thighs

Bejaysus ! We´re mad !

All are keen to know
Whence our goddesses, their moods?
Birch, Kypros Bitches !

And their sea is deep / Piss-wine-dark and snot , that dawn / Who blinded Homer?

Sing, Retsina Song / Air On De G – String , ” mar eadh” / Well then: Death in life …

Lonely Limassol / Soon enough will bark, fart, stretch / You have things to do

Lawrence Durrell tried
To love himself. – Great whinny /
Godesses snigger

Yet Catal Hüyür
Predates your Gods, Seamuses,
By a thousand years

I dreamed my True Love
Lay dying. Apollo and
Jew soul, Christ , healed her

Since our Great Goethe / The Lemons´ Song is Germans´ / Fear Greeks ! – And Greek GIFTS !

Now sleep, Limassol / Which man / woman ´s dream will splice / Weary tomorrow ?

Once apon a time / Irish Patrick surfed to Greece / Weep, ye daffodills !

Being, becoming / A Kypros mind stopped the film / Tomorrow, let´s bathe !

Now it´s November / Turks stink, sweat under The Line / Bring them soap, peace, kiss

” Take you home again ? ”
Celtic Kathleen lacks this light
This foam, their old myths

Wailing, then waning
Athena on wet Kypros
Torrid, hot next year

We had rehearesd together , the National Symphony Orchestra and GREAT Christopher Warren-Green , Conductor / and GREAT violin genius , soloist Alan Smale , and GRAND Irish National Symphony… An instrumental choir, acually , sung and blathered , screamed music; your musician´s protector and union ) .

I weep on. Warren-Green / Christopher swathed my Violin Concerto lines in BEAUTIFUL nappies. My GREAT soloist, Alan Smale, bowed and played as if from another , godlike, universe. Molaim. Most BEAUTIFUL garden-shifters.

Friday night in Dublin at their National Concert Hall, I sat and wept with the symphonic resin of Alan Smale´s great searching / his AND THEIR sighing / soaring / shouting / ploughing / etching The Great Corcoran metaphor in my Violin Concerto´s central ” Go Mall “. Christopher Warre-Shaping of the GREAT Irish N.S.O. was a peerlessly LOVING orchestral accompaniment. A great and musical/poetical/political event.