Tag Archives: dance

Music 352: Dancing in wet sand while wearing a mask

Happy 4th of July to my USA friends!

This piece of music today was a lockdown composition. I grew tired of hearing that one could walk on wet sand but not on dry sand, like we were cats looking for the “kitty-litter”.

[For those who like a more academic approach to music listening (and presumably in this case it’s not many of you because these things don’t matter!) this piece of music is not spontaneously played upon a keyboard. I took a 12-tone serial row by Arnold Schoenberg, made a grid out of it, and composed using only the diagonals on the grid. Whatever!]

Anyways – it brightened my day. I hope it brightens yours!

If the above link doesn’t play, then try clicking HERE!

Music 329-332: Four dances for piano

Hi Everyone

Here are Four dances for piano – not for the piano to dance to, Silly, but four dances to be played on the piano.

Click on a title in the first list to listen, and click on a title in the second list to download the written music.

Thanks

Click on a title to listen
Dance 1
Dance 2
Dance 3
Dance 4

Click on a title to download the written music
Dance 1
Dance 2
Dance 3
Dance 4

1591. A terrible conundrum

What a conundrum it was for Geraldine. Here she was in her early twenties and not once had she ever been asked out on a date by a man. Sure, an older brother took her to the Prom, probably because he felt a bit sorry for her. It wasn’t that she was ugly or anything; in fact, she was quite pretty. And she wasn’t boring. She was vivacious, intelligent, charming, practical, and capable. Why no man would not want to date her was really beyond comprehension.

She had promised her sister that she would babysit the two little children while her sister and husband had a well-deserved night off at the village gala ball. And now, look what happened! Arnie Beukenholdt invited Geraldine to the same ball.

“Bloody hell!” exclaimed Geraldine. “I can’t go. I promised my sister I’d babysit.”

“Oh well,” said Arnie. “Not to worry.”

Of course, come the night of the ball and Geraldine’s sister phoned to say she had caught a cold so the babysitting wasn’t required. Quite frankly, Geraldine was down in the dumps. Arnie Beukenholdt was possibly the handsomest man on the block, and a wonderful sportsman. And such a lovely personality. He wasn’t exactly made of money, but he was hard-working and comfortable. Arnie and Geraldine were made for each other. Geraldine half dialled Arnie’s phone number and then lost confidence.

Then! Oh would you believe! Such things usually only happen in Victorian novels but here it happened in real life! The phone rang! It was Arnie.

“So,” he said, “I wanted to catch you before you went babysitting. If you can’t go to the ball, what about next Thursday?”

Geraldine explained to him what happened. Hasty preparations were made. Geraldine didn’t have time to even do her hair properly. Arnie picked her up in his run-down beaten old car and they went to the ball.

How they danced the night away!

1324. Frederick’s tango

With the dance competitions coming up Frederick and Anika practised and practised the tango. They were very good at it.

On the evening of the competition they put their heart and soul into the event. They didn’t win, but they got second. Frederick and Anika were thrilled. Everyone said they would have got first if Frederick didn’t think he was the cat’s pyjamas. He walked around like he was the best thing since sliced bread. Even though the tango is an arrogant sort of dance there’s no need to strut up and down like a painted canary.

But only Anika knew. The tango was on Frederick’s bucket list. The doctor had given him only a few weeks.

Poem 61: It just seems that way

Swaying grass in wind
teaches me to dance in one spot.
It makes the hillside waltz
but really not.
It just seems that way.

Rise and fall of waves
teaches me to dance in one spot.
It makes the ocean tango
but really not.
It just seems that way.

Alone, I sit glued to one spot,
cornered in this old folks’ home.
He’s long past it, so they say.
He dribbles in his chair.
He wheezes in his air.
His mind’s not very clear.
His bank account is bare.
Mostly he can’t hear.
He won’t see out the year.
His end must soon be near.
There’s a bloody waiting list as long as your arm for here.

And yet

Swaying grass in wind
teaches me to dance in one spot.
It makes the hillside waltz
but really not.
It just seems that way.

 

Poem 56: There was no starlight in her eyes

There was no starlight in her eyes
when I asked her for a dance,
but she was the only wallflower left, and
beggars can’t be choosers.

There was no starlight in her eyes.
She cavorted to the beat like a waddling duck;
her arms flayed like a windmill. Yeah,
beggars can’t be choosers.

There was no starlight in her eyes.
Her clothes didn’t match her hair;
they looked like hand-me-downs. See,
beggars can’t be choosers.

There was no starlight in her eyes.
I guess that goes with being blind.

 

 

Poem 32: In love with the wind

(The poetic form selected for this month is the ghazal.)

Let us dance at the top of a hill, in love with the wind;
Twirl, outstretched arms, in fields, like a mill, in love with the wind.

Kettle drums pound out the rhythm, the trumpets play fanfares;
Clarinets, flutes, and piccolos trill, in love with the wind.

On sleds on a slope, hair all atumble, mouths all agape –
Faster! Faster! They scream loud and shrill, in love with the wind.

The students kick footballs; they tussle and sweat as they brawl.
The ball soars up higher and hangs… still… in love with the wind.

Fires in forests, prairies, and farms show little mercy,
They stampede through landscapes all at will, in love with the wind.

Leaves in the autumn skate circles, waltz waltzes, turn cartwheels,
These joy clowns of leaves, they know the drill – in love with the wind.

Arthritic and shaky, slightly deaf, unable to dance,
Bruce sits quiet and watches. No, not ill – in love with the wind.

1060. Church dance

Gunson wasn’t keen to go to the annual parish dance. They’re all into religion, said Gunson. Going to church was the last thing on his mind when he went to a dance.

You’re all of nineteen, said his mother, and it’s work, work, work. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.

So Gunson grudgingly put on his best semi-casual attire and went to the dance. He walked into the church hall and there was Cressida! Cressida! He’d never laid eyes on her before. She was radiant. She was the best thing since sliced bread. He asked her for a dance, and they danced all evening.

How was it? asked his mother the next morning.

It was alright, mumbled Gunson.

A few weeks later, Gunson’s mother was puzzled.

I can’t understand why you’ve started going to church on Sundays, she said.

628. Wallflower

© Bruce Goodman 30 June 2015

628dance

Anyway, Doreen of Room 13 was hoping that Wayne would invite her to the school dance. As far as she knew, Wayne hadn’t invited anyone. And then suddenly James invited Doreen.

Doreen said she had to think about it (because she was still hoping Wayne would ask), so James waited. And when he got sick of waiting he invited Pauline to go to the school dance. And then Wayne asked Ailsa, and Ailsa said yes.

So then Doreen didn’t have anyone to go to the school dance with, so her father phoned up this guy he knew from Doreen’s school and offered him one hundred and fifty bucks if he took Doreen to the school dance. But he was not to tell Doreen. And the guy’s name was Noel. So Noel took Doreen to the school dance and got the money.

All that was ages ago. One thing had led to another, and then three months ago they’d been going out for five years, and Noel thought he’d tell Doreen about the one hundred and fifty bucks. Doreen packed up and left in a huff (more of a tantrum), and now she won’t speak to her father. Or to Noel.

Doreen was hoping this morning that Mike at work would ask her out. As far as she knows, Mike’s not attached. And then Mike went and asked Judy.

604. The last dance

© Bruce Goodman 6 June 2015

604lastdance

Iris was one of the most renowned ballerinas of her time. Crowds flocked to her performances. Tickets to see her sold on the black market for astronomical prices. Iris could dance with a bunch of clodhoppers and make it look stunning.

Swan Lake, The Nutcracker, Giselle, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Sleeping Beauty, Cinderella, Don Quixote, Romeo and Juliet, Firebird, La Bayadere, Coppelia, La Sylphide, Peter Pan, Le Sacre du Printemps… Iris had danced them all. She had raised the bar. She had driven the standard of production to new heights. There wasn’t a country that hadn’t lauded her with medals.

And now she was to give her final performance. Tickets sold out months ahead. The stage was set. The overture began.

Iris entered. She wandered aimlessly around the stage. She looked at this and that. At one point she spied the audience. She gave a little wave. She meandered a little further here, a little there. She wandered off. The music petered out. No one clapped. Audience members were either angry or in tears. The theatre offered a refund.

It was a spectacular end to a stunning career. She had danced the most profound dance ever.