Plenty of Abundance

 Intermittently here, I report on a hiatus in books to read, projects to be involved in; purpose, really. It was heading that way again last week although the Autumn season of local concerts isn't far away now.

But things can change in an instant. Out of nowhere, it seemed, but from somewhere actually, came the unturndownable gift of an invitation to a weekend of Proms that included the much sought-after ticket to the concert I'd have chosen above all had I still been in the habit of looking through the whole programme. Good Lord, I'm still not properly readjusted to my drowsy, Bleaney way of life after the excitement of it all.

Yo Yo Ma, Emmanuel Ax and Leonidas Kavakos changed their programme and left out their Piano Trio Pastoral Symphony after I'd ordered the disc of it that arrived this morning so there is still more to look forward to from them, and Beethoven, except during the night I woke to find the wireless playing something glorious that proved to be Buxtehude's Missa Brevis so today had to include a return to Ton Koopman's Opera Omnia, well, two of its 29 discs. And - dear, oh, dear - how much wonder can this modest house house.

Not only that but I was presented with a new novel that seems to be an extraordinary thing on the evidence of its first 70 pages and, loosely related to that, the long-standing work-in-progress on Shakespeare biography suddenly jolted back into life like the hearse in Kit Wright's poem.

Naturally, these are all tremendous things much to be enjoyed and my gratitude for them knows no bounds but it doesn't feel like me. It's me whose idea of 'love' amounts to,
We commit to no more than rainy Wednesdays

In suburbs where the library’s always closed then

And I perform repeats of all the stories

She’s heard before in slightly different versions 

And then, if I’m polite enough to do so,

I ask her how she is but not to dance.  

 

and that is a gorgeously romantic view of it compared to what I found when making notes towards an essay on Larkin's attitude towards surrendering oneself to somebody else.

Some of us depend on irony, a downbeat attitude and minor keys but they depend on an awareness of that which is glorious, if only sometimes glimpsable. If such things weren't there we wouldn't be able to take pleasure in thinking we were denying ourselves them. It would be better to be able to react openly, unguardedly and naturally but maybe we once did that and felt vulnerable and so have become more wary. 

Still, abundance is as abundance does and, like anything else, it's a good thing in moderation.