Is is in the twenties that the actual momentum of life begins to slacken, and it is a simple soul indeed to whom as many things are significant and meaningful at thirty as at ten years before. At thirty an organ-grinder is a more or less moth-eaten man who grinds an organ–and once he was an organ-grinder! The unmistakable stigma of humanity touches all those impersonal and beautiful things that only youth ever grasps in their impersonal glory. A brilliant ball, gay with light romantic laughter, wears through its own silks and satins to show the bare framework of a man-made thing–oh, that eternal hand!–a play, most tragic and most divine, becomes merely a succession of speeches, sweated over by the eternal plagiarist in the clammy hours and acted by men subject to cramps, cowardice, and manly sentiment.
Despite my age I hope to be an organ grinder.
- Hans Grüsel’s Kränkenkabinet
The redundant (heavy-metal) umlaut and the missing t in Kränkenkabinet seem like reasonable grounds for wondering whether “Hansel Urnst Grüsel” has ever been further east than New Jersey, never mind Neubrandenburg, and the stage show is similarly fantastic. Check out the video of Tea for two at the end of this post (the MP3 audio file …
- London’s River Lea and Waltham Forest in Drayton’s 1622 Poly-Olbion
Now you see ’em, now you don’t.
- How to write reggaeton
A fine template, but we prefer metapoetry.
- The debasement of the European mind
A populist US senator meets an Italian organ-grinder in Rome in 1859.
- The street organ and the revolution