GOOD MORNING, CLASS OF '64
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| Spring Day - Andrei Chernyschev |
In a world where thrushes sing
and willow trees are golden in the
spring,
boredom should have been included
among the seven deadly sins.
Elizabeth Goudge, The Rosemary Tree
Elizabeth Goudge, The Rosemary Tree
The sun just touched the morning;
The morning, happy thing,
Supposed that he had come to dwell,
And life would be all spring.
Emily Dickinson
The morning, happy thing,
Supposed that he had come to dwell,
And life would be all spring.
Emily Dickinson
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| Flora - Lawrence Alma-Tadema |
April 13, 1964
On April 13, 1964, Sidney Poitier became
the first black performer in a
leading role
to win an Academy Award for his
performance in Lilies of
the Field.
The music we listened to in the fifties and early sixties didn't always have words sung by a group or male or female singer. Sometimes the music was made with instruments only. The tunes might have had words that could be sung, but the musicians played on without vocals interpreting their music. These were instrumentals. The Big Band sound of the forties era gave way to the early rock and roll bands and musicians of the fifties and early sixties. This was our generation's time on the music stage of history. Talented performers rocked us with their music, and we rolled along with them through our growing years.
Rebel Rouser
By 1963 Duane Eddy had
sold 12 million records.
Know for his twangy guitar
and reverberation
Duane Eddy - 1958
Raunchy
Duane Eddy - 1963
Sleep Walk
Entered Billboard's Top 40 and rose
to the number-one position for two weeks.
Reached number four on the R&B chart.
The last instrumental to hit number one
in the 1950s and earned Santo & Johnny
a gold record.
Santo & Johnny - 1959
And Spring arose on the garden fair,
Like the Spirit of Love felt everywhere;
And eachflower and herb on Earth's dark breast
rose from the dreams of its wintry rest.
Percy Bysshe Shelley, The Sensitive Plant
Like the Spirit of Love felt everywhere;
And each
rose from the dreams of its wintry rest.
Percy Bysshe Shelley, The Sensitive Plant
Every spring
I hear the thrush singing
in the glowing woods
he is only passing through.
His voice is deep,
then he lifts it until it seems
to fall from the sky.
I am thrilled.
I am grateful.
Then, by the end of morning,
he's gone, nothing but silence
out of the tree
where he rested for a night.
And this I find acceptable.
Not enough is a poor life.
But too much is, well, too much.
Imagine Verdi or Mahler
every day, all day.
It would exhaust anyone.
Mary Oliver, A Thousand Mornings
I hear the thrush singing
in the glowing woods
he is only passing through.
His voice is deep,
then he lifts it until it seems
to fall from the sky.
I am thrilled.
I am grateful.
Then, by the end of morning,
he's gone, nothing but silence
out of the tree
where he rested for a night.
And this I find acceptable.
Not enough is a poor life.
But too much is, well, too much.
Imagine Verdi or Mahler
every day, all day.
It would exhaust anyone.
Mary Oliver, A Thousand Mornings
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| Pretty Spring Day - Heinz Scholnhammer |
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