Arrival

It will come,
What you are waiting for.
Look around, it may have even arrived.
If not, purge the despair to Siberia,
It will come, come, come!
Believe and expect.
Arrest your doubts.
Repress the fears.
Lasso your dreams,
Pull them closer,
Sing for it,
It will come, come, come!
What you are waiting for.

The perks of loving classic music (observations from the italo-azerino concert)

September is the time of pomegranates, apples, persimmons and classical music. Every september Baku hosts International Classical Music Festival dedicated to the founder of the Azeri classic music Uzeyir Hajibeyli - my favourite. There are usually about ten different thematic concerts in musical halls scattered across the capital. But somehow we end up buying tickets for the State Philarmonic Hall right in the heart of Baku placed beautifully near the Governor's Garden - my favourite. So we did this year.

Philarmonic classical concerts are not so popular among the majority, therefore, usually the ticket sale is very low - the prices range from 5 manats to 20. But hardly any people buy tickets. Thus, at the start of a concert our hospitable Philarmonic Hall opens the doors for all and for free. In this concert however, there were enough Azeri, Italian and expat guests who purchased the tickets and so the crowd of free music lovers had to wait for the others to take their seats.

The concert was intended to begin at 19:00. Intentions do not always match with punctuality in Azerbaijan and Italy, and with Italians and Azeris coming together I had no doubt it would start at least 30 minutes later. My doubts didn't fail me. As soon as we had our tickets solemnly ripped into halves we were allowed to enter into the main concert hall.

By the time we were in the concert hall, my seat was already occupied by a man, next to him a woman - probably his wife. I approached the man and asked him to move one seat to the right showing my ticket and found out that he was English speaking. He smiled and moved one chair to the right and we all sat. Well, the perks of not watching or reading news to save yourself some nerves are that you end up not recognising the ambassador of the US in your country. That's what my sister told me - "we are sitting next to the US ambassador". "Well, let me ask him for a green card" I replied. Well, of course, I was joking. I thought, it'd be nice to chat with Mr.Ambassador since he was so kind to give my seat back to me. The whole thing I described here took not even a minute when the controllers and staff approached us in an indignant manner requesting our tickets. When we finally showed our tickets, the staff tried to prove us wrong about the seating numbers. So we asked a direct question: "Is this whole thing about us asking the ambassador to move?!". Taken off guard, they claimed it was not the case. They left, only to come after five minutes to offer Mr.Ambassador and his wife some empty seats in the amphitheatre. He was surprised and said he did not mind sitting here, but his wife said it was ok. So they moved. Apparently, our azerino philarmonic staff do not realise that ambassadors are also humans and it is ok for them to be wrong. It is also ok for a citizen to sit next to a state official or a diplomat. It is ok to be right. Cheers to you, our darlingest ignorant staff of the beautiful State Philarmonic Hall!

I can not say whether it was a disappointment to lose our amiable American friend, because the seats were quickly occupied by an Italian couple in their fifties may be. After all, this was italo-azeri concert. The lovely Italian couple were also very chatty and at some point I thought I was back to La Spezia-Rome train where I had an honour of hearing Italian speech for three hours in a row. I even managed to understand the chat by the time the train made half way into the Southern Italy. Jumping back from the train into the concert hall, I realised the couple was also very cuddly. They touched, kissed and laughed together. Very cute.

At 19:30 the doors were opened for the ticketless audience. People flocked into the hall and started taking seats just like they would do in a subway in the morning rush hour when late to work. Quite chaotic and time-consuming... I was back from my thoughts to the hall with the curious question of "how could you dress up and put on so much effort to look classy with the aim of being stuck at the doors because there were no places left..."

The concert started with the Italian ambassador giving a speech on the friendship of two nations and cultural proximity of the two. I thought may be "one nation, two states" could not only be applicable to Azeri-Turkish society but Azeri-Italian as well. Oh, we are so very similar...

Finally, the concert had started and I stopped looking at the ceiling.

The pause for fifteen minutes was a vanity fair. Now that the seats were guaranteed people flocked outside to have fresh air in the outside gardens. We stayed in the hall, although our dear Mrs.Bennet was keen on us going out and "showing ourselves". Cute! When the pause was over, the Italian couple never came back, I guess they were distracted as "love was in the air". In general, many did not come back. End of vanity fair.

The concert finished with Funiculi, Funicula - the famous Neapolitan song which says:

Come on, come on! To the top we'll go!

Come on, come on! To the top we'll go!

Funiculi, funicula, funiculi, funicula!

To the top we'll go, funiculi, funicula!

Sand castles on the clouds

My world is upside down,
I'm building castles from sand,
On the fluffy pink clouds.
My glasses are blue,
My dress is red,
My dreams are colourful.
...

Tiptoeing on the rope,
Over the altered dreams,
I have no wings,
I will dive deep.
My skin is pale,
My hands are free,
I'm carving a sculpture
Of my own self.

A man of no prejudices

The "I wish I was music literate" thought flickers on my mind map every year on September 18th. It goes as fast as it comes. A man of sharp wits, humour and of incredible talent was born on this day 130 years ago. Uzeyir Hajibeyli - I consider him one of the top active members of enlightenment in early XX century Azerbaijan. I see him as one of the founders. His music is magnificent, his satire unfolds the realities of the period, his patriotism can not be confused with nationalism. He belongs to no age. Place him in XV century Medici palace, he would light up the renaissance with unique music, be he present in ancient world, he would be a brilliant politician, give him the chance and the war would turn into a peace. But his was the fate of disguise. He had to be a part of ideology of the most ironic times. I wonder how it is to witness the World War 1 and the World War 2 and the Cold War, to be forced to live in Communist prison whilst trying to master your passion. Meanwhile, having no prejudices, working for perfection, writing a piece of music that would go further into future, piercing like an arrow through a communist veil and ending up in the world where we live today. The world in which we won't be long, where we can leave nothing but our ideas, thoughts, some small legacy. So many of us come to this life unnoticed and leave unappreciated. But the good news is that some of us have astonishing positivity and passion for life. Some of us can shine in the darkness. Some of us can soothe with music. And my ideal man - Uzeyir is one of them. A man of no age, a man of no prejudices...

The other side of the moon

What if music would taste?

What if chocolate would sound?

What if eyes could touch?

What if we would fly in the sea?

What if we would swim in the skies?

What if the world would be upside-down?

What if the earth would be a Rubik's cube?

What if the sun would swing back and forth?

What if the moon would not be bound by the earth?

Would she come closer or walk away?

Brave or foolish?

Who would judge?

The stars?!

Bradbury's Child

For a little girl there is no best place but the father's arms...

When I first read Ray Bradbury's "Fahrenheit 451", I fell in with the way he saw things. Writing fantasy but meaning reality. Then I read "Golden Apples of the Sun" and "Farewell Summer" - both collection of short stories by Bradbury. I felt comfort, soothing feeling, light breeze, fresh air, innocent sadness... And finally, there came "Dandelion Wine". There is never a wrong moment to read a particular book. Everything comes in right time, everything for the right purpose. 

So I dived into the yellow bottle of Dandelion Wine and came up refreshed, renewed, at times sad, sometimes excited, many times loved, always grateful... Grateful for my own childhood, grateful for a family no less exciting than Douglas Spaulding's, grateful for not minding we never made a Dandelion Wine in my world, we made mulberry syrup and rose water. Bradbury unwrapped my memories like you would open your birthday gifts, knowing what to expect and being thankful. I would write endless stories about my childhood, perhaps I will, someday. But what my message to you, my dear reader, is that if you want to dive into good memories without waking up the evil dragons, this book is just what you need. Get drunk by the words, feel good by the memories, relax by the aftertaste. I managed it, yes, I did by not evolving all the pain, to go back, to peek into my past, to try to feel the warmth of my father's arms. It felt peaceful! This book made me once more, want to cook an apple cinnamon pie and a lemon cake and dance in the rain, and be brave and smile a lot and just do simple things that would brighten up your loved ones, thus yourself. Like a caring father, Bradbury taught me that love is in the small things and it is everywhere. 

As awkward as it may seem to you, but when I write about Bradbury, I remember Rumi, when I think of Rumi, my thoughts fly to Bradbury. After writing all these words, a Rumi quote comes to my mind: "Close your eyes, fall in love, stay there!" And he promises, all the comfort and peace will come to you...

For a big girl there is no best place but the love's arms...

In the company of the Courtesan's Dwarf

Perhaps my review will get less interest since I chose to "be in the company of the dwarf - Bucino" rather than the courtesan - Fiammetta Bianchini. The title, "In the company of the courtesan" would get more attention, but that's the real name of the book I'm going to review here and it has already caught enough interest to be the bestselling historical fiction book and I bet the title played a sweeter role than the content. But the word "courtesan" is not the only siren enchanting you to dive deep into the book. It is the cover that attracted me, to be honest. That sweet, serene face. Her face on the cover - not the body, for I had to read the book and get to know Tiziano Vecellio and his famous painting to put the puzzles together.

Here comes my first positive opinion for Sarah Dunant for her research is quite informative. You learn, while you read about Italy, about Venice, about the children of renaissance. The author intends to show Venice - La Serenissima - in its dazzlingly innocent glory. Metaphorically speaking, Venice turns out to be the only attractive courtesan in the book. What did I learn from the book? Well, I "met" Petrarch and his sonnets, Pietro Aretino's stingy tongue, Tiziano Vecellio's brushes, and a lot more about Venice - La Serenissima!

The corruption veiled under the justice...

Seraglio - which means Harem and the ongoing "battles" of Eastern Harems vs Western Brothels...

The story is told by the dwarf named Bucino. When I read the book, I was forgetting he was a dwarf, so he had to constantly remind that he was the one. The more I thought high of Bucino's wit, the less excitement brought the main figure, the courtesan - Fiammetta Bianchini. Bucino unfolds the mysterious Venice and makes you taste the city from stinking waters to perfumed Sunday masses, from street fights to Turkish merchant's fountain court, from ostentatiously pious Venetian families to modestly camouflaged brothels with their charmingly witty mistresses. The book reminds of "Memoirs of Geisha", only the Venetian version. Does it make you want to visit Venice? Yes, it does. Does the book make Venice a romantic, all-in-honey-moon-mood-sort-of-a-place. No, it does not. Partly, because the book describes XV century Venice and it is much darker than the modern Venice with its well lit, all in flower haze narrow streets, canals with handsome Italian gondola men waiting for you to jump in and feel the mystery and magic of old days.

How did I pick this book when there were plenty of books queuing on the door to welcome them into my mind? How selfish of me? You see, it is the signs! I walked in to the staff room. There are always books there to share after reading. My eyes caught the cover and there was I, reading it. Sometimes, what you seek, finds you first. My dear Rumi, you were right. Venice was on my mind when I found this book. So, let the good signs alter your directions, let the good signs make you get lost in the unknown streets and let the bad signs be ignored once and forever!