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 wow ... now that's what I'm talkin about. all the
best in 2007! Dale, Nashville Read more feedback
and comments |
 Canada's first
free over-the-air multilingual/multicultural television system,
was licensed in 1979 as Channel 47 in Toronto. Rogers Broadcasting
Limited acquired controlling interest of OMNI.1 in 1986. |
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There is loneliness and periods
of darkness in my heart Is it for lack of love or unfound peace
My quiet solitude reveals emptiness ( from the poem The
Weight ) |
 REQUEST
AC and Jimi B on the Rockin Ray Micheals Show |
 Variations on Gould
Toronto - CBC Radio "I
have an extra ticket and you have to come!!!" My mind was
racing like a Guinea pig in an annoying spinner. Everything I
ever thought about the CBC would soon become clearer to me. We
arrived at the Glen Gould Studio, in the heart of Toronto . A
fair portion of this lustrous real-estate is dedicated to a man,
a musician, a genius, that played piano. I can hear them all
in unison, PLAYED PIANO. And while the kind folks of the great
white north continue to invest their tax dollars in support of
the arts programs in Canada , the CBC was looking pretty good.
The reception for this monumental celebration convinced me that
class still finds its way around town. Had it not been for that
annoying buzzer that begins way too soon like a last call for
snooting....this would have been a perfect cultural evening,
well at least for me. I forgot to mention that this Mardi gras
was a ten-day affair. I was thrust into the pits of fortune for
but one of these tux and running shoes eventful evenings. When
Andre LaPlante hit the stage, I can honestly say I did not have
a clue who this gentleman was....he appeared to look like a classical
pianist and I expected just that. Before I tell you how awesome
this artist was, let me explain the importance of this gala.
Glen is a Canadian icon, a local boy who became one of the great
musicians of the twentieth century. I would always hear his name,
not in an Elvis or Beatle way but more like in an I'm cool, I
know who he is way. He broke international musical grounds and
continues to deeply provoke the listening ear. During this festival
of back-patting, many performers paid tribute to this legend
in their own musical way. Mr. LaPlante, I later found out, was
named an Officer of the Order of Canada .....dah..I could list
all his achievements but that would only reveal that I read his
bio in the program. I want to write about what I heard from this
genius ivory tickler. I know I will probably sound so cliché,
he was a virtuoso boy, do I need piano lessons.....The less said
of this man the more. When the string quartet, which was made
up of Erika Raum (violin), Aisslinn Nosky (violin), Steven Dann
(viola), and David Hetherington (cello), joined Mr. La Plante
I was taken to a mystic place feeling the passion of each string
as it resonated through my head. How wonderful to be treated
to a natural high. If the CBC continues to display this kind
of adventure I will stop saying they are a foo foo organization.
Reporter Kant Gettalon for iUpdate. |
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 THE NEW CD FROM A DEDICATED ARTIST...COMING IN
THE NEAR FUTURE. |
 MADAGASCAR - The dictionary defines poetry as, "the writing
of poems; the art of writing poems" and my favorite, "poetic
quality of spirit". I began expressing myself with words
when I was ten or eleven years old. The English language was
still somewhat fresh to me and discovering new words was thrilling.
I would often run to my Italian mother with excitement trying
to express the new verbage I had encountered that day. I have
to admit that during my youth my public school years were the
most exciting and probably the most impressionable of my life.
Over time, I explored my ability to transpose my thoughts to
more than merely words on paper. I began experimenting with communication
as a release from the dungeons of my Grace Street dwelling. My
companion was an old furnace that, at times, seemed haunting
and its constant chatter of nuts and bolts would often frighten
the hell out of me. The comforts of the tattered grey couch served
as my resting place and also as my thought initiator. You ask
yourself, what the hell was he doing in the basement? It was
the place where all Italians gathered to feast and drink the
spirits of their heritage. But in the evenings it was the only
solitude that was available for whatever reason was needed. It
was my space. I know it seems a little strange, but inquire with
any Italian family and you will learn that the basement was,
and still is, the recreational club med. So there I sat with
a small dictionary that was given to me by a teacher to help
with my language skills. I thank her every time I pick one up.
At first my writings were simple and I would structure the compositions
so that words would rhyme. Later, I discovered that poetry or
story telling was not about rhyme, but about touching the emotions
with the delivered message. I like that. I recall in grade four,
as the class was beginning it's curriculum, one of the young
boys had left his jacket outside. The teacher asked "did
anyone see his jacket?". I raised my hand and replied, "I
saw it laying on the steps". The teacher responded "lying"
and I replied "no sir, I'm telling the truth". His
correction made me think how complex all these terms seemed.
My progression in life enabled me to study the profundity of
words and language and the clear meaning of what was and can
be. Although at times I cross over the line of acceptability
I can justify my actions by saying. "It's artistic freedom". READ SOME SAMPLES
BELOW AND THEN GET YOUR OWN COLLECTION FROM THE DROP DOWN MENU. |
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I Die With The Storm
Sad was the water
that danced on my body
Like tears of sorrow lost in the mist
She has vanished to vapor
Never to return
Taking my love that so burns
She will awaken on that day
Her pleasures alone
I'm only speechless within my own paradox of thought
God I want you badly
Am I a fool to make you such a necessity in my whole
Are these merely words of heat
How can you move me so deeply
I sleep with you in me
My walks are beside you
Just to hold you once would be revealed
My weakness you have discovered
You challenge my responsibilities
Across a universe that calls
Yet your passion is committed
I hang from your cliffs
The sins grow covering our eyes
The clashing wet releases the ropes
I die with the storm |
Scroll down the list and pick and choose
share the words and emotions that flow to the heart. Some poetry
may not be suitable for children.
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Domina
I hear the mystic
song in her eyes through silent rumors
The Domina is shamed vanquished by utter vacancy
And yet desired by those that spill her ideals like scrap
Diminishing her yearning blinding the pathway
He has honor and speaks to her of poetic dreams and kindness
With vision of security and humble nobility caressingly
Her skin he tastes like the violets so sweet
Resting his lips on the pinkness of her intimate hills
His hands the remedy of vigor yet a gentle glide of motion
He stares at the emptiness of his effigy mould
Knowing she saves his vulnerability from uncensored pain
Lavishing her tenderness with purity without measure
She longs not for diamonds rubies or castles
But moments of strength giving all unconcerned by remorse
Her heart weakens from his distant obligations
Like the lonely mountains that cry with echoes despaired
Unpainted shutters hide the world that flings misfortunes
With misunderstood anger and senseless greed unloved
Tears dance on the satin spread his gift from China
Tomorrow is the day to dress in celebration |
Each order is individually signed by the
author and dated. Poetry can touch a soul when nothing else can.
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2009 Toronto Centre For The
Arts - photos by George Onuska |
click on photo for enlargement
and story |
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 BANJOS AND GUTTER PUNKS - San Francisco
- California: When one
decides to give back, as the saying goes, you often wonder what
are the motives behind these grand gestures. Warren Hellman is
a good soldier. For the past seven years this banjo loving 72-year
old billionaire has provided the lost generation of tye-dye afficianados
weekends of colorful entertainment. It's a time when the not
so fortunate and curious seekers bask in Golden Gate Park and
pretend that life doesn't get any better. I personally have never
been a big fan of hillbilly picking corn eating music, but by
the day's end I was so impressed with the multitude of talent
that my appreciation level rose to unexpected heights. Hardly
Strictly Bluegrass 7 as it was billed, attracted a couple of
hundred thousand people over the blue-sky weekend. The eclectic
collection of music that was provided on five different stages
was enough to appeal to a spectrum of ear candy lovers. Of course
there were the many that just wanted to catch a peek of nostalgia,
but for the most part they were dedicated to the sounds that
filled the warm air. Hellman, our master investment banker, knows
a good thing. The city loves him for all the revenue and the
people appreciate the mogul that shares his wealth.....I arrived
on Sunday due to unarranged plans, that's another read. Ok ok
let's talk about the performers.....There was sound everywhere.
The stages pumped out music continuously for three days. The
list of artists reads like an hors d'oeuvres tray of some of
the finest pickers and crooners; Earl Scruggs, Del McCoury, Doc
Watson, T-Bone Burnett, Nick Lowe, yes I said Nick Lowe, John
Prine and Toronto's own, the Sadies. Now, I have to admit I missed
their performance but a friend of mine who happened to be there
all three days said the psychedelic foursome were awesome. And
what would an outdoor event like this be without a few Gutter
Punks. This is the latest export from San Francisco's concrete
dwellers. Their presence did not go unnoticed. I was approached
by what some would say was just a dirty faced Dickens character
and asked if I would like to take a photograph of some original
San Francisco Gutter Punks...how could I refuse. He held his
hand out and said, "it will cost you". I reached into
my pockets and all I could come up with were Canadian coins.
He said that would work. They posed in a proud manner for their
portrait. One of them asked where this would end up and I told
him the name of the website. He said, "I'll check it out".....Wait
a minute, this gutterman looked like he slept at the county dump
and smelled even worse...a computer? Who am I to question. One
of the main attractions for me was Emmylou Harris, looking quite
informal and sporting that signature hair. As a veteran performer
of HSB her set provided a little southern comfort that the crowd
drank up. Emmy has touched on everything from folk to country
and a bit of pop. She wooed her audience with familiar songs
and then some. When Earl Scruggs broke into the theme from The
Beverly Hillbillies that was it, my childhood flashed before
my eyes. I would recommend to all that next year you find your
way to SF and yes wear flowers in your hair, and enjoy this contribution
that Warren provides for us. Reporter Kant Gettalon for iUpdate.
Photos by Jimi Bertucci Read more about the concert at http://www.hardlystrictlybluegrass. |
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