Word: angels
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...Angel Island, a wildlife preserve in the middle of San Francisco Bay, could be a priceless military museum as well. Instead, it is a monumental eyesore. An abandoned Nike site sits in a tangle of weeds. The remnants of a Japanese internment camp, a crumbling Civil War hospital and dilapidated WAC barracks are nearby. Shortly before the island was turned over to the California department of parks and recreation in 1963, says a parks official, hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of pointless damage was done by the military itself. Fine old marble fireplaces in the turn-of-the-century...
...flee. Sometimes he takes flying lessons in an unsuccessful effort to become a pilot. Sometimes he is "a wild parachutist." In any case, he has "a singular neurotic preoccupation with space, motion and the force of gravity," and "even dreams of being able to fly, weightlessly, like an angel or an astronaut." With his "driving death wish," he may hope to die by another's hand, fantasying that he will "rise upward to God in an antigravitational fashion...
Inevitably he returns to Natalia/Natalie who has "the sweetness [Natalia] and ravenousness [Natalie] of an angel." In thin disguise, Tony is really a writer and Natalie is his muse. Tony's demands on himself have no limit. He wants to find a way "through which paradoxes could be held." There are other goals. How to defeat the logic imposed by language. How to conquer the limitations on writing imposed by the fact that only a comparative solitary will write at all. As for the rest of humankind, why is it that "there is no place, except on a tightrope...
...called Finis. It is the last plate in an ironical series on the life of a "fallen woman," throughout which Klinger essayed some bitter jabs at the prevailing Victorian hypocrisies about virginity and whoredom. The luckless and persecuted heroine, freed from life, is carried away by an angel, or maybe an ideal lover, sprawled on his wings as on a feather bed. "We flee the shadow of death, not death itself, for it is the ultimate goal of our fondest wishes," Klinger wrote elsewhere...
Mozart: Symphonies Nos. 35, 36, 38, 39, 40, 41 (Herbert von Karajan; Berlin Philharmonic; Angel, 3 LPs; $5.98 each). Six testaments to the delectable creations in which Mozart not only prophesied the symphonic era that followed him but very nearly said the last word on the subject. Von Karajan's distinctive blend of rich phrase and richer orchestral sonority customarily works well. But this time he seems surprisingly nonchalant. His drowsy Jupiter, for instance, might better be called Saturn. The best set of these symphonies remains Otto Klemperer's (also on An gel), and- for crisp, detail-laden...