Word: minerva
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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...kept hooking men with a fishing rod into a diamond-studded coach to snatches of Beethoven's Pathétique. Two gentle poodles (those feuding balletomanes, the Marquis de Cuevas and Choreographer Serge Li far) fought a duel with ostrich feathers to the music of Claire de Lune. Minerva the black panther (Callas) appeared in a red wig to music from Weber's Der Freischutz and devoured a chesty white dove (Tebaldi). Casarosa the old sheepdog (Rubi Rubirosa) pounced on two young things to Mendelssohn's Fingal's Cave Overture, fainted dead away while Ringmaster...
...Royal Philharmonic Orchestra; Angel, mono and stereo). In 1811 Beethoven hurriedly scribbled incidental music to accompany August von Kotzebue's festival play celebrating the opening of a theater in Pest (later part of Budapest). The music is mostly as neglected as the play itself-a fantasy about Minerva awakening after 2,000 years to find Athens in ruins and the last vestiges of culture preserved in Hungary. The work unfolds in a pleasant but innocuously declamatory style that only occasionally echoes Beethoven's sterner periods. Nevertheless, a must for Beethoven followers...
...second major book published by forgotten Poet Hodgson, 87, in a long life of deeper privacy than most poets ever dream of. Strangest part of his story: for 19 years Poet Hodgson has lived in the U.S. in a shabby farmhouse on the side of a hill near Minerva, Ohio...
Damned Strange. Hodgson settled in Minerva for no particular reason: "The birds seemed just as interesting as in England, and I'd never seen a hummingbird. It took my mind." As for the town, six miles from his house, no more than a score of people have set eyes on Hodgson over the years. His only real contact with the world is his mid-fiftyish, cheerful, Ohio-born wife Aurelia, who works as a clerk in the local wax-paper factory. Hodgson did not even come to town some years ago when he had the local newspaper editor privately...
...whole: a convincing voice." Most poets seem to agree. John Crowe Ransom calls Hodgson's Eve and The Bull "great, wonderful poems that will live forever." But the convincing voice itself speaks alone at the end of a muddy road, where few care to journey. Says the Minerva postmaster, summing up the town's spooky presentiment about its mysterious poet: "Oh, he's a brilliant man all right. But such a funny fella. He just sits out there and writes and writes...