合い言葉GG
by mhara21
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☆マサコのプロフィール
13才のときにグレン・グールドのピアノに 出会う。以来抱き続けたグールドに会うという夢を追って28才でカナダへ。後追い日記はその記録である。
属性はシャーマン。


☆ミクシに習って、ぬさんからの紹介状
不在の幻影から愛するひとを救い出し、グーグルキャッシュの中に愛のエクリチュールを刻印しつづける、GGの恋人。二人はもう触れあうことができないが故に永遠に惹き付けあうことができる、まるで恒星と惑星の関係のような、あらゆる恋人が夢見るユートピアに住むひとです。


☆このブログの本拠地は
 海峡web版  です。

グールド、並びにグールド家からのプレゼントはこちら。

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Dear Toshi, ..
by masako at 19:34
いつもご丁寧なブログ管理..
by mhara21 at 09:07
本日、英語版の訂正と同時..
by mhara21 at 18:30
グールドは、この間夢に現..
by grpspica at 14:15
このニーチェとピアノの写..
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タグ:English 1981 ( 18 ) タグの人気記事

Diary Entry 1981-8 : Opportunity

Tag: English 1981 ← Please click here.
Tag: English 1982 ← Please click here.
Tag: English 1983 ← Please click here.
Other English Version ← Please click here.

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#Opportunity

Sitting next to me on the plane was a woman called Louise from Niagara Falls. She complained that her Filipino daughter-in-law told her, “It’s not you I got married to.” She also said to me, “Gould is a tall man with a pale face.”
When I talk about my maternal grandmother I always feel proud. Since I can easily talk about her even in my limited English, I made her a topic of our conversation.

“My grandmother was a woman able to do everything.”
“You seem like a person like that too,” Louise said.
The difference between the Japanese and foreigners is that foreigners are assertive and they praise people directly.
“I hope you will have many opportunities ahead of you.”

Since I didn’t know the meaning of the word “opportunity” Louise explained it to me. An “opportunity” is an equal “chance” for everyone to see good results of their efforts regardless of their family and educational background or their physical abilities. “Opportunity”, just like “chance”, includes a strong element of good luck and fortune.

“Opportunity” is a word that expresses the fertile soil of the North American culture, and it came to be a symbol of my destiny in Toronto.

Although I was born and grew up in Japan, that society had not nurtured my personal growth. However, although my ancestors had contributed nothing to the establishment of this country, Canada accepted me and allowed me to thrive in its rich culture.
While my English vocabulary is poor, this idea of “opportunity” and the idea of “self-identity” that I learned in Canada left deep impression on me and I feel profound gratitude for this.

The loanword “identity” has established itself in Japanese language. I think we had no original Japanese word that corresponded to it. However, we definitely do not attach “self-” to it.
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As we are approaching Toronto, anxiety assails me.
Since I was in Japan I have corresponded with Kotomi, an elder
sister of an acquaintance of mine. However, when we last spoke on the phone when I was in Vancouver we did not specify a precise meeting place at the airport. “Will I be able to find her without problems?”

I became genuinely worried once I reached Toronto and got caught in the crowd of people at the airport. Since I was fretting, Louise was nice enough to stay with me for a while.
“There are very few busses for Niagara Falls…” and with these words she parted with me.

I decided to go to the information desk and explain my situation, and to ask them to call Kotomi over the public address system. Suddenly, it occurred to me, “What if she’s waiting for me at the exit after the customs?” I changed my mind then and went to look for her after the security and customs instead. However, she was not there either.
So, what did I do next?
While Kotomi’s name was being called, I got it into my head that she hadn’t come to the airport. Then, I decided to take a taxi to my accommodation without going back to the information desk.

Different people have different dispositions. When I called Kotomi the first time from Vancouver, I got an impression that she was not really thrilled with the idea of having me over at her place.
“I guess it is bothersome for someone who gives their best just to lead their lives in a specific place to have some newcomer depend on them merely because they have lived in that place for a long time. Let’s put myself in a hotel for today.”

With these thoughts I got into a cab. However, because there was a chance that we had missed each other at the airport, I decided not to go to a hotel, but to Kotomi’s place.
As you can see, I was a type that would roll matters around and around in my head instead of making decisions in accordance with circumstances.
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Translated by Saiko   


Japanese version of this page・後追い日記81年8・opportunity 


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by mhara21 | 2017-07-08 10:05 | 後追い日記81年 | Comments(0)

Diary Entry 1981-7 : Going to Toronto

Tag: English 1981 ← Please click here.
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Tag: English 1983 ← Please click here.
Other English Version ← Please click here.

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#Going to Toronto

After cherry blossoms had fallen, a myriad of rhododendrons started blooming in Vancouver. A rhododendron is a national flower of Nepal, and I am looking forward to seeing many of them here. Blossoms, trees, first class sites, the sea, the mountains – everything is simply beautiful in Vancouver.

We had been to Whistler on a skiing trip. We had also visited by car an area with hot springs that are as big as pools. I continued to bask in the hospitality of the Ōyamas, and I was wondering when I would broach the issue of going to Toronto.
Eventually, one day I just announced, “I am going to Toronto.” After that Mrs. Ōyama took me to a farewell diner.

Vancouver is beautiful, and mountains are visible from any spot in the city. I am setting off on my journey with the quite farewell from the western Canadian mountains.
“Bye-bye and please come visit us again.”
Mr. Ōyama is a man with big personality. He does not seem too happy, even though they are finally getting rid of this annoying/gloomy freeloader.

“When you get to Toronto, you will go and meet a lawyer,” some presence came upon me like a ripple.
I have the ability to see some events in the immediate future. The hint about a lawyer eventually came true. Gould’s parents used to live in a house in “Southwood 32” in Toronto. It turned out that a lawyer’s family lived in this house that they had bought from Gould’s father.

Translated by Saiko   


Japanese version of this page・後追い日記81年7・トロントへ


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by mhara21 | 2017-07-05 19:41 | 後追い日記81年 | Comments(0)

Diary Entry 1981-6 : Lavender’s Blue & the Children

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Other English Version ← Please click here.
b0071688_19114527.jpg

#Lavender’s Blue

I found a lavender soap. A friend of the Ōyamas said derisively, “Buying stuff like this! You must be some kind of a fancy missy.” However, the Oyamas’ 5-year old boy loved it. “What a nice smell!” he cried in delight.
On the 1st of August 1980, after a 14-year break I listened to the radio program “Basic English Continued”, and that is when I heard a Mother Goose song “Lavender’s Blue”.

My solfeggio professor at the Toronto Royal Conservatory of Music used “Laven-…” part of this song to help me recognise perfect 5th of a music interval. It’s a song that starts with “do-sol-sol-sol—fa-mi-re-do”, and if we sing the second that is at the beginning we can pick up the “perfect 5th” of the interval.

In place of the words, “When you are king, I shall be princess”, I secretly sing, “When Gould is Canadian king of the piano, I shall be queen”

Since I can’t practice the piano, I thought I couldn’t study music, but at the question, “Who told you so?” I sing the answer again and again, “Twas mine own heart, diddle, diddle, that told me so.”

My life in Vancouver is cozy. Mr. and Mrs. Ōyama are both working, and the whole family took me in warmly. The children are going to preschool. I spend day after day in a similar way. I pick the kids from the school, and while I’m at it I often put a letter to Japan in a mailbox.

I am visiting the English language school.
“Are you an immigrant?” asks the teacher.
“No, I’m not.”

“The policy of our school is to accept only immigrants. Why don’t you try and go to the Immigration Office?” he suggests.

Later I got a phone call from that same teacher, and he asked me if I had been to the Immigration Office.
“No, I haven’t. I am leaving for Toronto very soon.”
“Oh, it’s a pity. I was looking forward to seeing you. Do study and become proficient in English. I wish you all the best in Toronto.”
“Thank you for your call.”


#The Children

Mr. Ōyama’s mother went for a trip to Las Vegas. This left Mrs. Ōyama much busier with the domestic duties, and she ends our English conversations quickly. So, I go with other mothers from preschool to the park or to a restaurant. Later I realized this was a candid and guileless experience of Canada.

Oyama’s sons were born within a year of each other. They look like little Eskimos in two matching hooded coats. When the mischievous younger boy on the way from school gets too close to a neighbouring house, the older one is calling to him, “You mustn’t go there, they have a big dog there!”
His little brother ignores him and keeps plowing ahead. He disappears from our view, and in a moment we hear dog barks. At the same time the little boy is running back to us screaming, “Aaaah!”
A shepherd dog is running after him, playfully wagging its tail. It looks like the dog is going to bite his bottom any second now. Whereas I am rolling about with laughter, his big brother is not even smiling.

When we came back home, the big brother takes the younger one in his arms and says, “The dog barked at you. Did you get scared?” He couldn’t hold out any longer and so he burst into laughter. It can be nice having siblings.

Except for an occasional outburst of hypochondria on the part the father, the Oyamas’ is a peaceful and unselfish household, and the house carries a light scent of bergamot.

The Ōyamas make splendid food. On one occasion we had flounder for lunch, and all of us – both the adults and children – had one whole fish each.
Their younger son complained, “I don’t wanna eat this.”
“You are only four and yet you get to eat such a big fish all by yourself. When I was a kid, I couldn’t even dream of such a luxury,” his father said.

This kid is really daring, “All people drop poo. Poo-droppers!” he mocks.
Nobody liked my Kansai style udon noodles with nothing but soup and onions in it.

There were always people coming and going from the friendly Ōyama house. While the grandmother was on the trip, a baby-sitter who could tell fortune came to stay over instead of her. Since I love fortunetelling, I have her immediately tell my fortune.
Everything she says, “You are a lucky person, aren’t you. People are drawn to you and you are being virtually smothered with popularity,” are all pure fabrications.
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Translated by Saiko   



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by mhara21 | 2017-07-01 15:29 | 後追い日記81年 | Comments(0)

Diary Entry 1981-5 : The Fireplace and the Ōyama Couple

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↑The fireplace at the Oyama’s house

#The Fireplace

There were beautiful cherry trees (sakura) in Vancouver. Many of them were double-flowered. I personally prefer cherry trees bearing single blossoms.

The following day I went to a party that took place in the flurry of falling blossoms at Mr. Ōyama’s workplace at UBC (British Columbia University).


The firewood was burning brightly in the fireplace. It was glorious. The smell of the firewood was distinctly different from the smell of the flames and firewood I remembered from my childhood, when seven of us – us children, our parents and our grandma – had heated water for bath in a small hearth of our old Japanese house. The smell emanating from mixed logs of fir tree, Eucalyptus, and pine caressed warmly my face.

I went downtown and broke down a 100-dollar travel check. While at it, I also bought a paper tablecloth. I had already acquired a definite weakness for buying unnecessary things. I’ve sent it to Japan, and now a cute paper cloth with tulip pattern is slumbering as a “memento” in my desk.
 
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In a record shop I found a record sold to commemorate the 25th anniversary since Gould’s debut.
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The joint performance with E. Schwarzkopf and a rare sonata by Scarlatti is on this record. An actress is displayed on the record jacket for dramatic effect Gould is so good at. In a jest I have learned in Canada is typical for Gould, pictures of someone’s bad attempt to look like Nietzsche and a young lad dressed in black leather jumper are also shown.
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That was actually Gould in disguise, but I hadn’t noticed it for a long time. By the look of the fingers and hands in the photos, I finally managed to figure out that was Gould fooling around.
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#Mr. and Mrs. Ōyama

“I don’t like that man. Your brother also said he got irritated when he heard Gould.”
“Could you please stop bringing that up over and over again?”

Mr. Ōyama loved Nana Mouskouri’s “Season in the Sun”, and he was always listening to it. The two of us shared a tendency towards depression.

“This man will definitely commit suicide!”
I guess he’s talking about a person from the song.

I like poetry by Sylvia Plath. It’s easier for me to understand people wish for death.

One day, Mr. Ōyama took me for an airplane ride.
The Cessna is soaring up into the sky.
And yet, we could die if Mr. Ōyama who is piloting the plane would let go of the control system.
However, we arrived safely to the San Juan Island. I ate a delicious ice cream with natural vanilla flavour.

When we came back, his wife said, “I’ve been to that island many times over, but I’ve never eaten ice cream there.”
Her words made me feel as if I did something wrong.

The nature around Vancouver is, in a word, splendid. The Ōyamas live in Barnaby city east of Vancouver. Just walking around the neighbourhood of the house in Barnaby makes me feel as if I were in a natural park.
I went to Sears and to the supermarket, making first steps towards enjoying my life in Canada. At any rate, everything is big and wide – the shops, the nature.


Translated by Saiko   


Japanese version of this page・後追い日記81年5・暖炉&大山夫妻
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by mhara21 | 2017-06-26 00:00 | 後追い日記81年 | Comments(0)

Diary Entry 1981-4 : The Ōyama Family

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Other English Version ← Please click here.

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#To Vancouver Via Seattle

While I am flying over the Pacific, several things from the past come to my mind.

− Thanks heaven I got well −

Even though my body is aching, my dream country Canada is right there ahead of me.
Mr. Ōyama who lives in Vancouver is meeting me at Seattle-Tacoma Airport.
After some shopping we are going by car towards the border.

We had a lot of fuss when we were entering Canada.
Since I had only a one-way ticket, an official of Chinese origin mistook me for someone who had the idea of overstaying in Canada.

“Why are you in Canada? Isn’t it strange you don’t have a return ticket.”

“Errr… I came to meet a pianist called Gould…”
I no longer feel cheerfulness that I felt while flying on the plane.

“Anyhow, you do understand you can’t come wandering to someone’s country trying to stay longer than you should, right?”

“Gould is an eccentric who doesn’t like meeting people. So, I don’t know how long I will be staying here.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said.
Then, after being hotly railed and raged at, I finally got a three-month visa approved, until the end of June.

The car is going through foreign scenery. Everything is wide and leisurely. As I thought, it’s a place without stress. I have a chance to get better and more cheerful here.

The car stops in front of the kitchen entrance to the Ōyama residence. I climb up the stairs of the service entrance. The house is nicely painted. The backyard is wide too. Mr. Ōyama’s wife has been waiting for me, together with a five-year- and a three-year old sons and Mr. Ōyama’s mother.

Ōyama’s houseView from the backyard
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View from the side street
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The front garage behind the house
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Mr. Ōyama says, “Are you maybe just imagining your body is weak?”
I think to myself, “Voilà, here we go again!” I get really hurt when people say things like that. Mrs. Ōyama has no idea about my 20-year-long struggle with illness.

“Well, if you were sick, you wouldn’t be able to come to Canada, right?” Mrs. Oyama says.
(What will she come out with next?)

Mrs. Ōyama continued, “I thought you would be a person with bigger health problems.”
I gave her a mental reply, “I’m doing my best to barely survive!”

“We were all looking forward to your arrival!”
“Thank you.”

The guest room is on the ground floor (in a semi-basement). I could see the ground and plants of the front yard from a window that is situated up close to the ceiling.

The tulips in the neighbour’s front yard are in full bloom. When I visited the neighbour’s place, they had a lot of baby-grandchildren coming over to play.

When I told the neighbour, “I love taking care of children under two years,” he jokingly replied, “Is that so? I myself love taking care of girls over 15.” I think people here are good at making jokes.

“I am going to Toronto soon to meet a pianist called Gould. But I don’t really know if he will agree to meet me.”

“It’s okay. He must have never met a person like you. I admire you coming all the way here alone. You don’t look at all like someone who had been ill for a long time.”

Translated by Saiko  



Japanese version of this page ・後追い日記81年4 ・大山家



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by mhara21 | 2017-06-25 11:32 | 後追い日記81年 | Comments(0)

Diary Entry 1981-3 : Narita Airport

Tag: English 1981 ← Please click here.
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Other English Version ← Please click here.


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Narita AirportApril 1, 1981

#Thai Air

The boarding has started. I kicked out of the chair I’d been sitting in. The lightness of my body tells me I have no misgivings about what I’m doing.

The seats have small orchid patterns. I am glad I chose Thai airport. Of all the Asian countries, I think Thailand suits me best. Not that I’d ever visited Thailand before. Nor have I ever studied Thai language. When I bought a one-way ticket to Thai airport, the price at the time was almost 200,000 yen.

The lady next to me seems nice.
“This is my first travel abroad. Where do you live?” I ask her.
“I live in New York. I was just traveling in Thailand.”

“Did you buy Thai silk?”
“Yes, I bought some silk fabrics and scarves.”

“Have you ever heard about Glenn Gould?”
“Of course! He is a marvellous pianist, right?”

“I am on my way to meet him now. I want to play the piano with him.”
“Wow! I hope your wish comes true.”

“But I think he must have many sweethearts.”
“Common, you will surely be his number one.”


Eva, who had given me complacent smiles, married several years later and left New York. I received a letter from her from Ivory Coast saying, “I wish to know how your life will turn out.”

When I remember all those long years of illness without likelihood of healing, all the troubles I’d had with all kinds of doctors and healers, meaningless days of going to school. Since childhood people had called me names like “limp sluggard”, “overprotected child”, “spoiled child”.

When medical treatments showed no results, doctors and healers said I was “a goof who doesn’t want to get well”, “a girl who wants to avoid school”, that I was “feigning illness”.


My mum had felt responsibility for giving birth to a child of weak health, believing my problems to be caused by the stress she’d been under during her pregnancy with me, when she raged against her callous husband who’d had no care for his family. Whenever my body was in pain, she would nurse me throughout the night, with feelings of penitence and deep love.

My mother who felt about music world that, “There are many phoneys in this world that are considered the mainstream” had the same gut feeling about medical world as well. Learning a lot about the horridness of medicines, she had looked for family physicians whose objective was not profiteering.
I myself also refused to be submitted to cruel medical treatments in hospitals. Avoiding secondary damages from medical treatments enabled me – even though being sickly – to follow my destiny to Canada.

About the time when the life burden I had been bearing became increasingly heavy, I learned about Gould’s music. When I was 13 I saw his portrait photo on the music album of Bach’s Inventions and electrifying thrill went through me.

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Gould has rich features, looking like someone who can manage a number of different roles, from a dashing lad to an intellectual doctor. In the portrait photos from his youth, Gould looks like a first-class actor. They say every shot of Gould a photographer would make would be good as such, captivating naturally all his poses and gestures. One of the factors of his success was his ability to use to the maximum the attractiveness of his features in photographic images.


I believe the number of admirers and lovers of Gould’s music will increase in the 21st century as well.


Translated by Saiko  


Japanese version of this page ・後追い日記81年3 ・成田空港




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by mhara21 | 2017-06-24 20:22 | 後追い日記81年 | Comments(0)

Diary Entry 1981-2 : To Vancouver !

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# To Vancouver!

I am finally breaking away from Japan. Japanese society is oppressive, and I haven’t been able to find my place in it. I don’t perceive myself as a “Japanese”. I have never managed to “become a member of society” in this country.

And now, “This useless garbage is leaving for Canada!”
I was born in 1952, and raised in Japan. As such, I can’t even imagine the chaos of war and government oppression that once pervaded my country.


In 1998, the number of truant elementary school children in Japan rose above a hundred thousand. I went to school until the 5th grade and then I stopped attending it. But I never had problems because of the lack of schooling. This is because I never had to write a CV for a job application or a family chart and personal history for a formal marriage interview, owing to the fact that I never had to worry whether I’d be able to provide food on my table.

Even though I’m 28, I am really like a small girl. When my life turned into the fight against illness, I made a habit of withdrawing into my own world. I’d lived without facing any of the real world’s hardships、 focusing solely on my own body.

When I was 22, I was taken to madness of loosing my sight and my hearing. I was in a world of darkness, in which my whole body had been benumbed and I constantly suffered from flatulence. In my despair I even considered suicide. On windy days or before rain, my body hurt so much I’d want to die. I asked myself if there was any good from me living in this world.

The world I live in is a special world between “this world” (sag) and “the next world” (navyug). My parents left me in care of a spiritualist once, and she told me then, “With so many spirits coming to you, you will never be able to lead a life free of suffering.”

Like Prince Chagum, I myself have an experience of turning into a pure spirit and flying to spirit world. I swear the person who led me the way was the very same “Zarathustra” of Nietzsche’s.

The misery of carrying the weight of not only the suffering of people of this world, but that of people of the next world too is expressed in music of Robert Schumann. That is why I love Schumann.


I am a synaesthete, like Vladimir Nabokov. Synaesthetes are people whose senses of sight, hearing, touch, smell, taste are jumbled together. Those with such ability often have extraordinary faculty of memory. What is characteristic for synaesthetes is that their perception of time is different from other people.

Nabokov, Rimbaud, Proust, Joyce, Scriabin and Richter were all synaesthetes. When a synaesthete hears a sound, they also feel colours, shapes, scents and tactile sensations. When they feel a sound, synaesthetes can express its colour.
“I don’t like the sound of Wilhelm Backhaus’ music because it is brown.”
“I dislike Claudio Arrau’s music because it feels hot.”
I personally am quite fascinated by G major. This is because I love the temperature of pastel colours, which is neither hot nor cold, and because I don’t like sounds that remind of thick colour.

I think Nietzsche – though I do love him – would not be able to understand me. That is why I envy Nijinsky (a ballet dancer) who claimed, “I trust Nietzsche can understand me.” However, I believe Nabokov could understand me.

I wonder if Gould will really be able to accept me. I wonder if the day will come in Canada when my longtime hopes get through to him.


I am thinking about my uncle who died in the Pacific War. There are those who have to die even though they don’t want to die. My uncle, who was a geologist, was good at piano. He played Beethoven’s sonatas the morning he went to the front. He was conscripted as a civilian in military employ. He died one year and four months later when, at midnight on the 1st of April 1945, the Awa Maru that was on its way back home to Japan was attacked and sunk by an American submarine off the coast of Taiwan. He was 28 years and six months old at the time.

Both my uncle and I were born in September in the Year of the Dragon. My uncle loved music, and he left that love in this world before dying. Honouring those feelings is one of the reasons why in Canada I want to stop wishing for death.
Without a doubt, our ancestors’ feelings sleep buried deeply in our hearts. I have felt my uncle’s love of music flowing in my blood.

I wonder what experiences are waiting for me in Canada. But I have no fears, because Glenn Gould will be there. It is common knowledge that if one’s fan turned into a bit of a stalker one can go about one’s business without much fear. I can only be an object of Gould’s dislike for being a nuisance, or he could come to receive me with some friendly feelings.

“There is no way Gould will agree to meet me. But in spite that, I have to go.”
It is sad to see that people who love exquisite things, most often end up leading trivial and mediocre lives.



Translated by Saiko  


Japanese version of this page ・81年2・ヴァンクーヴァーへ 


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[PR]
by mhara21 | 2017-06-24 19:45 | 後追い日記81年 | Comments(0)

My Life with Glenn Gould-1981 # Prologue Departure

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b0071688_10532186.jpg

# Prologue Departure

“Mako, take care of yourself!”
“You properly finished with the dentist, right?” 
“Mako, that’s okay if you come back home before long.”

My brother and two sisters are standing at the bullet train platform, straining to keep happy faces. They have similar smiles, similar gesticulation. As I am waving frantically to them, I can see them through the train window disappearing to the right, like a flow of contact prints. I settle down at my seat and breathe a sigh of relief. Sitting roundly next to me is my sister who is three years older than me.

Protected and loved by my family. This was my everything – everything I, a 28-year old Masako, the author of this diary, had. I am leaving Japan, the country so comfortable to live in, and going to Canada where there is almost no one I know.

From time to time, soft pink appears like markers in the windows on our left and right.
“Mr. Gould, this is Japanese national flower!”
Someday, I would love to see cherry blossoms together with Gould. This has been my dream. I am very sad I will miss out on cherry blossoms this year.
 
My life hasn’t been easy. Many of my years have been filled with days without sleep because of fevers and acute pains in my body ever since convulsions started from undetermined cause when I was eight. In addition to convulsions, I’ve suffered from polyneuritis caused by the vitamin B1 deficiency and symptoms resembling cardiac rheumatism. I am not able to take baths because temperature differences bring about convulsions. My mum and I have spent enormous amount of time and money on doctors and medical treatments.

In this suffering of mine, I found strength and support in Gould’s music. And, even when I could virtually practice no piano, Bach Partitas played by Gould had been my whole world.

When I was 15, my mum’s piano teacher suggested, “Why don’t you try to play the Goldberg Variations?”
At the time, I decided I had to make contact with Gould in one way or another, and I concentrated extreme energy and strength into practicing that music pieces. However, what a shock it was when I lost the ability to play because – due to quack treatments I was subjected to – I would lose feeling in my arms and fingers soon after starting the practice.

I am waiting to board the plane at Narita airport. As the airport is basking in the sunset, spirits from the Goldberg Variations are accompanying me. I didn’t even notice that the melody of the Variations that I’d shut out from my heart is flowing around me.

The fragrance of Spanish jasmine was drifting around us like the joy of afternoon sunlight in anticipation of moonrise. Gould’s demonic performances match well the moment of twilight (the witching hour). I wonder if what Freud called “libido” is behind my need to go to Canada.
From chest and above, I feel like a pure girl, but it feels like completely different energy is working in my legs. I often kill boredom with recognizing bouts of smells that emanate from different parts of my body.
When it comes to scents, one of my favourite poets Takuji Ōte left many poems whose main theme is the special sense of smell. I wonder if there are other poets like Takuji Ōte who were relegated to obscurity.
Takuji Ōte had often smelled the scents on his hands, and for this he had been nicknamed “the Bear”.

But, sure enough, I hear that voice.
“Okay, come out. Get well and come to my country one day. This is Canadian nature, its autumn colours, its snow. Come to my country and see the flow of its white clouds. You can hear the Goldberg here. Come and waltz with me.”
I am going to meet Glenn Gould, the person whose piano had made me forget my illnesses.

This spring, Gould was planning to start re-recording of the Goldberg Variations. This second Goldberg turned for Gould and his fans into Gould’s parting words before his departure to afterlife.

                                                               Tranlated by Saiko


Japanese version of this page ・My lLife with Glenn Gould-1981年



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by mhara21 | 2017-06-18 11:03 | 後追い日記81年 | Comments(0)