Return of the muse

[Return, as in returning from the kitchen or bathroom. My muse has never been away for long.]

Yesterday I wrote a song, which has not happened for a long time. A short melancholy poem  (by Edith Södergran), 2-3 hours of work, and it is finished.

I am reminded of the rather bitter composer Allan Pettersson who complained in TV that if people had let him come closer to a piano more often, he might have turned out a Lied collection worthy of Schubert. Well, that´s hard to prove, but I recognize the sentiment. In my case, however, there is no lack of piano, rather a lack of fire and energy.

However, one song can lead to two, then three, and who knows where it ends? To paraphrase the underrated and often cruelly mocked Barry Manilow (to get very far away from Pettersson): all it takes is one song.

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