Do You Hear What I See?

Happy Wednesday everyone.  It’s Linda.  The Boss is still stressed (a bit depressed, too), so I said I’d be happy to post today.  The $1,000 question though: about what?  In view of the fact I review wines and food, I thought maybe I’d feature a few outstanding Hawaiian wines and culinary delights . . . or perhaps enlighten readers about the local music and literary scene.  So many topics, so little time and space.  He-he.

As I sit here listening to Jake Shimabukuro (a cutie who plays an awesome ukulele) I’m thinking how much books are like music.  Comprised of words, units of language, stories communicate accounts, events, yarns, legends: tales simple and complex.  Much like songs.

Words are lyrics.  Words are music.  Like melodies, they flow . . . and have rhythm.  They entertain.  Soothe.  Thrum and strum.  An arrangement of vocal/instrumental sounds.  Writing a narrative is like writing an aria or anthem.  A fluid artistic endeavor.

Athenian philosopher Plato stated, “Music gives a soul to the universe, wings to the mind, flight to the imagination and life to everything.”  No argument there.  And the word “stories” could easily be exchanged for “music”.

According to Modest Mouse, an American rock band formed in the 90s, “Music is to the soul what words are to the mind.”  Right on.

And there’s a great quote from Alphonse Marie Louise de Prat de Lamartine, Knight of Pratz (that’s a mouthful): “Music is the literature of the heart; it commences where speech ends.”  Born in the 18th century, De Lamartine, for those not in the know, was a French writer, poet.  He was quite influential in the continuation of the Tricolore as the flag of France, as well as the Second Republic (a transient republican government under Napoléon Bonaparte).  I digress.

I told Rey what I’d written just before getting ready to post.  She responded with two typical Reynalda Fonne-Werde comebacks: a buffalo snort and a loud raspberry.  Then she fell on the sofa and laughed.  Guffawed, actually.  This encouraged me to do exactly what I’d set out to—with a trumpet blast.  In her ear.  He-he.


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