They Might Be Giants - Meet The Elements Lyrics | dayline.info
Jeff Buckley - Hallelujah (My absolute favorite cover of this Leonard Cohen song. I was so .. touch your heart. You can hear God speaking through her spirit. Lyrics to "Meet The Elements" song by They Might Be Giants: Iron is a metal, you see it every day Oxygen, eventually, will make it rust away Carbon in its ordin. Songs from many genres will be found, including: bluegrass, old-time, pages or guitar and mandolin tab pages so check those out first for suitable music. Should you need a print-out of the song, PDF versions (without banners or adverts) All That Meat And No Potatoes . Chemical Elements .. Hallelujah Im A Bum 2.
As to three-quarters of its programme the Orgelbuchlein is incomplete, and most of it was of little practical use to a Church organist.
We are drawn, therefore, to search for a period of exceptional leisure in which Bach was free to sketch and partly write a lengthy work which in after years he never attempted to complete. Such a period presented itself during his incarceration at Weimar in Novemberand during those weeks, it may be concluded, the Autograph was written. But the date of the Autograph does not consequently determine the year in which all its forty-six completed movements were composed.
For he demonstrates clearly that the Autograph is not the earliest text of the movements it contains. Felix Mendelssohn possessed a ms. Indeed, Spitta makes out a strong case for the belief that the Mendelssohn ms. But of its separate movements so large a number of mss. Twenty-eight of the Preludes, in the handwriting of Johann Christoph Oley, organist at Aschersleben d. In the first two of the three leaves were in the possession of the wife of Professor Wach, Leipzig. The ninety-two sheets of the Autograph were planned by Bach to contain movements upon the melodies of hymns; three hymns Nos.
Of the projected movements only forty-six were written, two of them Nos. The pages of the Autograph, other than those which contain the completed movements, are merely inscribed with the names of the hymns whose melodies Bach proposed to place upon them. Why did Bach fail to complete a work conceived, as the title-page bears witness, in so lofty a spirit? Schweitzer suggests 1 that the unused tunes lack the opportunities for poetic and pictorial expression that Bach required.
If so, it is strange that of the hymns selected by Bach himself should be of that character. Many of the unused tunes in the Orgelbuchlein are as capable of poetic Edition: Moreover elsewhere he has given some of them precisely the expression of which Schweitzer assumes them to be incapable.
Whatever may have been the circumstances that moved him to plan it and partially to write it, no practical incentive to its completion can be discovered. To establish the statement it is necessary to examine the contents of the Autograph. On the contrary, Bach wrote the hymns into the Autograph in accordance with a carefully thought-out programme, which, however, he left concealed.
The order in which the hymns appear in the Autograph is the only Edition: He was able later to point out 1 that Bach modelled it upon a Hymn-book issued in November for the neighbouring duchy of Saxe-Gotha-Altenburg, edited by Christian Friedrich Witt d. It bears the title: Lutheri, als anderer Geistreichen Manner, Auf Hochfl. Nebst einer Vorrede und Nachricht. Gotha, Verlegts Christoph Reyher, Gotha and Leipzig,but its contents are identical with the Gotha publication.
Whence Bach took them cannot be stated and is immaterial; both were accessible in other collections. The Orgelbuchlein, in fact, is a condensed Hymnary and, for convenience, may be divided into two Parts. Part I was planned to contain sixty Preludes, of which thirty-six were composed.
Part II was designed to include one hundred and four Preludes, of which only ten were written. Five of its eleven groups contain not a single completed movement; one contains three; two contain two apiece; three contain one apiece. The hymns are named in the order in which Bach wrote them into the Autograph, and are grouped under the seasons or headings he intended them to illustrate but neglected to indicate.
In Witt the hymn is set to the tune of No. The Advent section calls for no comment.
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Bach selects from Witt four of his fifteen hymns on the season, altering the order of one, No. But the sun was too hot and he was forced to let go. Disappointed, the king told him to go find the Moon, at least. Ball-of-Fire ran all the way to the moon. But the moon was too cold and he was forced to let go. And when he came back: The sun is too hot and the moon is too cold, but because he is a very brave dog he never gets discouraged, and after him his children will try ever more.
A marketplace is the Republic of things I mean the ideal Republic, of course: The Mercato Coreano is not so simple. Men sit chatting, squatting like the dead in the niches of Mexican cemeteries.
And Mexico is not far off: An instant later the self-appointed lawman had disappeared in his turn, and the people on the street are smiling at me and gesturing that everything is fine now. It all went by as quickly as a forgotten image between two shots, but what I felt there, the way a foot laid inadvertently on a tomb makes you feel the cold of death for one second, was a flash of hatred so Mexican!
Vexed, I buy a pink cat. At the end of the Kaesong market, where the canal divides the last shops from the oldest district of the city, six children watched me watching them. The long volley of smiles. My third eye was a bit like cheating. Every click of the shutter was greeted with great hilarity, like when Chaplin puts an iron in his boxing glove. At half-time the three little girls got together, and with much natural grace and gravity they offered me their performance.
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Behind me, the muffled sound of the market crowd, calm, numerous, almost without cries or shouts, rather all rustles and soft squeaks — a gathering of birds. And before me, without a single adult in view except for the white shadow busy at some kind of cooking behind the windowed doorthree very young Fates tracing figures of style, from the berceuse to the paean.
Perhaps they were Haisuni, Talsuni, and Peolsuni, the three little girls in the story our Little Red Riding Hood multiplied by three, with the wolf replaced by a tiger — of course, how else could he pass for their grandmother? In the end, Haisuni becomes the sun, Talsuni the moon, and Peolsuni the stars, and their job is to leave no patch of shadow on the surface of the earth, nor in the hearts of men.
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Like those salon magicians hired round the turn of the century — barely introduced beneath a false name before they would begin juggling with the furniture to entertain the guests — the Koreans like to set objects dancing. For the Korean street has its cycles, its waves, its rails. Syngman Rhee receives phony fangs of corruption from the Yankees, Sputnik 3 is a great socialist victory… Ballasted with this knowledge, the sputniks of the street gravitate again to their meditative round.
Father du Halde surprises me with this one: In the Chinese apothecaries, Levites with lunar skulls bustle like so many Cornailles around delicate hanging scales tracing figures in the air, to deliver you ten grams of the salutary mandrake for the price of a hundred grams of gold.
It was the Chinese aphrodisiac: They died of it. Raised to the rank of divinities by their exploits, they were called back by the jealous or curious gods. The eighteenth century, which took an interest in such things, gave a great reputation to ginseng. This must be understood in the absolute: With ginseng, the verb to heal must be used like the verb to rain. Father du Halde consents nonetheless to get into detail, but the detail soon covers the whole and overflows it: It takes fifty years to complete a ginseng plant five thousand, says the Hsi yu chi but only five days to complete a street — five weeks to build a house — five months to transform a neighborhood.
Korea grows like a plant in a movie. You can travel without fear across the countryside: Never retrace by night a path you followed one week earlier by day. And above all, never rely on landmarks. Little Korean inventions like the pedal pump or the string shovel serve to multiply the effort with a bit of training you can leave the work to the girls.
Just not to get the wrong room. The eggs are cross-hatched, the duck is lacquered, the beef askew, the greens red-hot… The salad is mixed up, the tongue falls silent, the brains are amnesiac.
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The poorest Korean child sees these wonders at least once a year: But at midnight the enchantment is over and, like Cinderella in reverse, he regrets the vanished pumpkins. A roadway of meteors — it would already have been a street on the Moon, and will soon be one on Earth.
The little girl took a stone, pressed it lovingly to her heart, and crawled over to contribute it. The Kid followed approvingly, lost in Fourierist statistics. On the mud floor they were walking gravely, without looking at each other, like true lovers, beyond choice. I wonder where he intended to lay it. On the earthen sidewalk, they played with pebbles you gather up all you can, before the stone thrown in the air is taken back by the gathering hand.
She gathered jerkily, fascinated by the springing stone that measured out such scanty time. She tried to hypnotize it, to suspend its flight, to work the well-known miracle of the Irish ascetics. What could I do for her if not stop time? One day a man eats his own brother! And without memory, no stories to tell, and untold stories go rotten.
And words left to sleep drift into terrible dreams. One man closed up all his stories in a sack — they took revenge, became poison fruits, scalding water, red-hot iron, a tangle of snakes.They Might Be Giants Perform "Meet the Elements" on Science Friday
They had to be killed with swords. Which is why the clever cat has the right to stay inside the house, while the stupid dog stays out. In Korean tales you glimpse more than you see. Lots of apparitions, dreams, cracks into another world of which only a wavering memory remains: Or the Holy Virgin, at that: It may be worth stressing that at the end of the play, the blind see.
So faraway, so inaccessible is the world of miracles, revealed only by tatters of fairies, beasts, masked things, images furtive like the rumblings of a hidden god, narrow as the cracks in the mirrors of enormous Korean closets, arrow-slits through which no Eurydice could possibly return. Your name is Kim Shen-Suk, you are a great actress of Korean cinema — and theater: You have married Tche To-miung and your baby is called Tche In-tcho.
Your husband tells him the stories of Sim Chon, Chunhyang and Heun Bo, and you sing him the song that begins with Kwae-ji-na-ching-ching-nah-neu, or with Toraji, Toraji, or the one whose refrain goes Nilliria, Nilliria, Nilliria — and of course Arirang, the Korean lament of homesickness the Asian blueswhich says poetically: It seems that the geographical comparison between Korean and Italy is traditional: But perhaps geography is no more than coded feeling. And here, the same grass-covered domes like fortress turrets, the same corridors, the same square rooms with their parallel beds, their walls covered in frescoes, ochre, white, blue — and extending memory backwards like a film rewinding, the road to Cerveteri with its X-shaped barriers in the fields, its stone bridge and zigzags kobl-ah, kobl-ah, sang Kimthe same things you already see in the painting by Filippo Lippi.
The same goatpath near the tumuli — the same goats — the same shadowy square for Berenice. Fewer tombs, three only, and no tourists.