Freunde des Blogs

Die Freunde des Blogs

Well folks, I'm b-a-a-a-a-a-ck! When I arrived in Lausanne on Thursday and made it to the apartment of my friend James, whom I visited last year at this time, it felt like I had only left him the day before. The journey from Kansas City to Switzerland was almost painless. Almost. There was an unspecified 'technical problem' with the trans-Atlantic portion of the flight delaying us a full two hours in Philadelphia. After they found the duct tape and re-attached the wing, or whatever they needed to do, we were on our way. I missed my connection to Geneva, of course, and had to spend some extra time in Zurich airport waiting for the next flight. It is one of the nicer airports to be stranded in, actually. It's clean, it's neat, it's Switzerland! The airline provided me with a meal voucher to take the edge off the inconvenience, and it is a good thing they did: the modest cheese sandwich I had cost $12! Yikes! Welcome to one of the most expensive countries in the world. (Today I popped into the Starbucks on the Place Saint Francois to see what a cuppa java was going for; the grande, which goes for $1.85 in the States, costs the equivalent of $6 here. I like my afternoon cup of coffee, but not that much!)
The weather has been unsettled. A thunderstorm rolled through in the early morning hours. Since Lausanne is surrounded by high mountains the thunder booms stereophonically. By mid morning the rain stopped and I was itching to go for a walk. I didn't want to undertake anything too ambitious, not knowing what the weather would do, so I opted to walk down to Ouchy. It is about a mile down to the lake from central Lausanne, where James lives. Ouchy is a separate town but it is contiguous with Lausanne. It is famous for its ritzy hotels and the lakeside promenade. The clouds cleared up a bit, revealing some of the ragged peaks on the south side of Lac Léman (which is actually in France). On the internet I had found some information about walks in Lausanne. The most interesting seemed to be the Chemin de la Vuachère, a walking path that starts in Ouchy and climbs north through residential areas into the hills, parallel to the stream of the Vuachère. The path is supposedly marked and there is a map of sorts, but it doesn't include any street names. As there is nothing more annoying than losing a hiking trail I decided not to try it. It is possible to walk on the 'sentier de la rive' (lakeside path) from Lausanne all the way to the Chateau de Chillon. It's 31 kilometers and takes eight and a half hours to complete. Could there be a more beautiful walk in the world? I continued on the sentier which winds its way between the lakeshore and the lovely villa and condo properties. The real estate may be modest in size but it is surely not modest in price (and you must be a Swiss citizen to buy property here, so don't even think of it!). The vegetation is opulent with even the occasional palm tree to be seen. The closer you get to the eastern end of the lake the more mild the climate becomes; the high mountains at the eastern end create a mirco-climate. It's almost Mediterranean. I continued on past Pully and on to the town of Lutry. This side of the lake, between Pully and Montreux, called the Lavaux, is optimal for the cultivation of the grape. You see vineyards everywhere. After two hours the weather looked threatening again. I returned to Lausanne by bus. Public transportation is marvellous here with frequent service to just about anywhere, but it is not cheap. You get what you pay for.
The photo is taken from the balcony of J.J.'s flat in the Avenue Louis-Ruchonnet. On the left is the splendid Belle Epoque central train station of Lausanne with Lake Geneva and the French Alps in the background.

Mother Meera

For the past several years Mother Meera, who has otherwise resided in Germany as a recluse, has been traveling abroad to hold public programs. She was just in the States in September but returned once more for programs in Fairfield, Iowa this weekend. This little town in the southeast corner of the state happens to be the home of the Maharishi University, providing a community interested in spiritual events. Originally darshan programs were announced for Saturday and Sunday, but were consolidated into one day. So, early Sunday morning I set out on the four and a half hour drive to Fairfield. The day started off with unseasonably mild temperatures; by early evening the reading had plummeted from 60 to 8 degrees above zero -- a drop of over 50 degrees. Ouch!

There is not much to say about the countryside between here and there. One sees rolling hills, now brown and colorless, many farmsteads, some woodland, and lots of black cows. It may not be driving through the Austrian Alps, but I've been through worse. Just after the Iowa state line I turned straight east, passing through towns like Osceola and Ottumwa. These names are probably the only remnants of the indigenous peoples who once lived here. Fairfield, population 10,000, is a county seat. The center of town is not without charm, though it has surely seen better days. It seems to be thriving. Just off the town square, a charming park with an old-fashioned Victorian band shell in the middle of it, is the new Sondheim Performing Arts Center named, would you believe, after Stephen Sondheim. And it is here that the program took place. I arrived a bit early in order to recover from the long drive and have a bit of lunch. I suspected that there would be at least one vegetarian restaurant in town. As a matter of fact, there were several. I lunched satisfactorily at the Small Planet Cafe. Afterwards I took a walk around the town square and discovered not one, but two Indian restaurants, a few interesting bookshops and stores selling the usual New Age kind of stuff. I wondered how the influx of people connected with the Maharishi University might have affected the town and what their relations with the original townspeople might be. I'm only guessing here, but I would surmise that it is at best an uneasy coexistence, perhaps with some underlying resentment. It is clear that the town has been thriving economically. The new residents and visitors bring cash and revitalization to the economy, but the town has been irrevocably changed. I doubt that any other small town in Iowa sports two Indian restaurants within a block of each other. On the other hand (and here I may be treading on some toes, I realize), the Transcendental Meditation organization is more than a little weird. Some people consider it a cult. Their claims (levitation, anyone?) are preposterous. There have been all sorts of controversies and lawsuits. Just a few years ago a student was murdered at the university here in Fairfield. So how is it that the ever-giggling Maharishi decided to establish his university in a small town in the middle of nowhere? Quite simple, really: Parsons College, which had been in existence for 99 years, folded about ten years ago and the TM'ers bought the campus. Since then they have swallowed up nearby farms and have been building a (now incorporated) Vedic city and other communities. The residents are apparently not obliged to vow singular loyalty to the Maharishi (now deceased, alas) and have been casting their spiritual nets further afield. Many are devotees of Mother Meera or Amma. And that explains why MM's program was held here.

On my ten minute stroll around the town square the wind shifted from the south to the north and within two minutes the temperature dropped at least 20 degrees. This was a portent of worse to come (more about that later). The program was held in what seemed to be an exhibition hall of some sort, rather bare-bones, with small folding chairs and a provisional stage set up in the front. Everything was well organized, with great insistence given to the turning off of cell phones. The program is held in total silence and one is expected to be quiet and respectful at all times. One thing about the MM operation is very un-Indian: it runs like clockwork. MM is always punctual, to the minute. So, after one last explanation of the darshan procedure and one last admonishment to turn off those damn cell phones, MM strode in precisely at 2 PM. I have been seeing Mother Meera for fourteen years now and find that she hasn't changed a bit. She looks exactly the same and exactly the same thing happens every time. It's comforting, really. I was happy to see her again, a spontaneous surge of happiness welling up in me. She is never distracted, never looks about, never coughs, sneezes or does anything except perform the ritual of darshan exactly the same way with every person. It couldn't be much fun when you think about it. But that's what she does. Mother Meera's only splurge, it would seem, are the beautiful saris she wears. This one was a glowing orange with gold trim. The program lasted nearly three hours, and at about 20 seconds per customer (I counted during a spell of boredom), that makes almost 500 people in attendance. MM left the hall at 5 PM and was to return at 6 to do the whole thing all over again for another group. Doing what she does would not be my idea of a good time. I know from past experience that the effects of being in MM's presence are subtle yet powerful and long lasting. I have had a number of mind-blowing experiences in the past, but don't expect them now. Still, I was not prepared for the surge of emotion that welled up in me when I briefly spoke to one of the darshan moniters to thank her for keeping things running so smoothly. Where did that come from? I was not feeling much of anything by the end of three hours sitting on an uncomfortable folding chair.

Exiting the Sondheim Center we discovered that the temperature had plummeted to Arctic levels and that every surface was covered with freezing drizzle. Just what you want for a long drive in the darkness! Conditions improved after an hour of driving and the roads were clear for a while. After crossing back into Missouri and heading south, it began to snow. It was too cold to stick but the ferocious winds created virtual white-outs with clouds of swirling snow. It was the scariest driving experience I have had since crossing the Furka Pass. By the grace of the gods and the Divine Mother I arrived safely home and fell into bed, exhausted by nearly ten hours of driving, but exhilarated by my visit to Mother Meera.

Drei Gesänge

I have uploaded the tracks of my work, "Drei Gesänge" (Three Songs) for soprano and Chamber Orchestra. They are already on youtube, but the format is much more attractive here -- the texts actually look like poems in this format. The soloist is the superb Sarah Tannehill, performing with the UMKC Chamber Orchestra, Robert Olson, conductor. The performance, a premiere, took place on October 10th, 2008 in White Hall of the James C. Olson Performing Arts Center in Kansas City, Missouri.

1. Herbst

Herbst (Rainer Maria Rilke)

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.

"Autumn"

The leaves fall, fall as from afar,
as if distant gardens in the heavens were wilting:
They fall with a negating gesture.
And in the nights the heavy earth
falls from the myriad of stars into emptiness.
We are all falling. This hand is falling.
And look at others: it is the same with us all.
And yet there is One who holds this falling with infinite gentleness in his hands.

2. Hälfte des Lebens

"Hälfte des Lebens" (Johann Friedrich Hölderlin)

Mit gelben Birnen hänget
Und voll mit wilden Rosen
Das Land in den See,
Ihr holden Schwäne,
Und trunken von Küssen
Tunkt ihr das Haupt
Ins heilignüchterne Wasser.

Weh mir, wo nehm' ich, wenn
Es Winter ist, die Blumen, und wo
Den Sonnenschein,
Und Schatten der Erde?
Die Mauern stehn
Sprachlos und kalt, im Winde
Klirren die Fahnen.

"Half of Life"

Hung with yellow pears
and full of wild roses
the earth bows into the lake,
O blessed swans,
inebriated with kisses
you dip your heads
into the holy, sobering waters.
Pity me! But where will I find,
when it is winter, the flowers,
and where the sunshine
and the shadows on the earth?
The walls remain mute
and cold, the weathervanes
rattle in the wind.

3. Gesang des Orpheus

"Gesang des Orpheus" (Rainer Maria Rilke)
Wandelt sich rasch auch die Welt
wie Wolkengestalten,
alles Vollendete fällt
heim zum Uralten.
Über dem Wandel und Gang,
weiter und freier,
währt noch dein Vor-Gesang,
Gott mit der Leier.
Nicht sind die Leiden erkannt,
nicht is die Liebe gelernt,
und was im Tod uns entfernt,
ist nicht entschleiert.
Einzig das Lied überm Land
heiligt und feiert.

Sonnet to Orpheus, Part I: xix

Though the world changes form
as quickly as do clouds,
all things completed return
to their source.
Over tumult and change, soaring
unbounded and free,
your prelude endures,
god with the lyre.
The pain of life is not acknowledged,
the lessons of love are not learned
and what Death has veiled,
is never revealed.
Only your song throughout the world
consecrates and rejoices.

Glurns

It has been six weeks since I returned from Europe. Now that the crisp, clear days of autumn have arrived I can't help thinking back nostalgically to the Alps, wishing I were there now, hiking in the serenity and glory of the mountains. Some of the most memorable moments of the entire summer are from the drive from Graz through the Alps to Switzerland and back. I covered a great deal of territory in too short a time and wish, especially, that I had spent more time in the South Tyrol. I have already posted my fleeting impressions of that segment of the journey along with some of my own pics on this blog, but there are plenty of photos I did not post. I intend now to add a few of the unpublished pics as I reconsider them.

In a blog posting I mentioned passing through the small medieval town of Glurns in the South Tyrol, the Alto Adige, in a corner of Italy that abuts both Switzerland and Austria. Glurns is the last town on the road heading towards the Swiss border at Mustair. I just passed through Glurns, driving under an ancient tower of the medieval walls and exiting at the other end. I did stop long enough, however, to take one snapshot, parking my vehicle in a small carpark on the side. Glurns was an enchanting place - at least for the ten minutes I spent there! It was such a surprise to come across this little town in the middle of nowhere. I have since done a little research on Glurns. It is considered the smallest town in the Tyrol with a population of 800 and celebrates a history that goes back to the 12th century; in Roman times it was a trading post on the north/south route traversing the Alps. It was once an important town. The German name Glurns is derived from a much older Rhaetio-Romansch word. The Italian appellation for the place, Glorenza, is admittedly much prettier, but it is a creation of the 20th century, after the region was amputated from the corpse of the Habsburg Empire and presented to Italy after The Great War.

I have temporarily selected my photo of the Glurnser Haupstrasse to be the wallpaper on my laptop. I still want to savor that moment frozen in time. It was, I remember, a warm afternoon in late June, a Saturday. There is not one soul to be seen on the street (though I did see people out and about when I turned the corner). The buildings, possibly four or five hundred years old, lean slightly like old men hobbling down the street. The cobblestones are well-worn. An old church tower is visible a short distance away, and beyond that the mountains that are probably on the Swiss side of the border. The other, admittedly finer, photos show the town to better advantage. (Unless I had rented a plane I wouldn't have gotten the aerial perspective.) The sporty convertible on the right is not mine; the ugly barricade on the left mars the view. But still, this is the moment I remember, a brief glimpse of a delightful, peaceful and somewhat mysterious place in a forgotten corner of the world.