You lay the table...

The revelation that somebody actually reads this blog (you know who you are and, though we disagree on many things, your readership is very valued) has spurred me on to post here more often. Here is an unpublished translation that I did years ago of a poem by Mirkka Rekola.

I had just spent a weekend at an old ramshackle cottage in Pukkila with an eminent Finnish poet who was trying to encourage me to venture into poetry translation. We had talked about many different poems, and miraculously during that drink-fuelled weekend we managed to come up with some pretty good translations of a number of challenging poems. This one caused us a great deal of frustration. Rekola's imagery is always challenging, and I remember sitting on the backseat of the bus on the way back to Helsinki (with said eminent poet and half a box of wine) discussing the implications of the imagery in this poem – after we'd already debated it all afternoon! Here it is, so make of the translation what you will.

Katat pöydän, näe nyt nälkäsi.
Puolikas leipää, lasillinen punaviiniä.
Kukahan osti sen toisen puolikkaan.
Selkeää puhetta yhteisestä ateriasta:
suupalat samaa leipää, puolilasillista viiniä.
Ei täällä ole ketä katsoa. On.
Juo pois kuvasi ja lakkaa sinuttelemasta.

– Mirkka Rekola

You lay the table, now witness your hunger.
Half a loaf, a glass of red wine.
Who could have bought the other half?
Simple talk of a shared meal:
morsels of that same loaf, half a glass of wine.
There's no one here to look at. Oh yes.
Drink up your reflection and stop calling yourself you.

– trans. DH

How wrong we can be

Just when we all thought things couldn’t possibly get any worse, the full horror of the new Finnish government was finally revealed yesterday. Some people may think that the appointment of incompetent ministers to positions in the government was what Kokoomus meant by the slogan “Finland’s Hope”. For anyone else, however, the grotesqueness of these appointments verges on a something of a sick practical joke.

Of course, given the results of the election overall, it was always going to be impossible to find a foreign minister as competent as Erkki Tuomioja. In many ways, Tuomioja embodied what it means to be truly European: he speaks a multitude of languages, he has international roots; he is extremely articulate, well-read and sophisticated, with a long grounding in international diplomacy. What’s more, he wasn’t going to be told what to do by a certain president of the United States (conspiracy theorists may wish to read this article by the Times' William Rees-Mogg on the subject of Jack Straw’s unfathomable removal in the 2006 cabinet reshuffle from his post as foreign secretary. Given the audacity and arrogance of the present US administration, nothing would surprise me…)

And so, despite offering ‘hope’ (albeit of a rather dubious nature) to the citizens of Finland, the Kokoomus, in their wisdom, has offered us Ilkka Kanerva. With most Conservative governments, sleaze only begins to seep through their squeaky-clean exteriors after several months in power (e.g. the Conservatives in Britain during the Thatcher / Major years, and more latterly the new Swedish government, whose culture minister, it was revealed, had neglected to pay her television licence for years, and whose trade minister was found guilty of tax evasion and resigned after one week in office. Of course, the US administration goes without saying. Will these people never learn?) But now, to add to the sheer perverseness of the new Finnish appointments, we have a series of ministers touted for government positions whose shady dealings have already been exposed on more than one occasion.

So, as foreign minister we now have a man not renowned for his social, political or linguistic adroitness, but who has throughout his political career been embroiled in countless scandals, notably one involving several young women and a series of lewd text messages, and whose stubborn demeanour makes him utterly unsuited to a position in international diplomacy. The question as to how (or, indeed, whether at all) he will cooperate with President Tarja Halonen (who vetoed his appointment as head of the Bank of Finland) remains to be seen. Cynics and conspiracy theorists may also see this as yet another concerted effort to make sure Halonen no longer takes part in EU summits. To quote a colleague, it’ll only take a few excruciating evenings at the same table with him to make Halonen stay at home of her own accord…

Then there’s the former culture minister, Suvi ‘golf course’ Lindén, who resigned after it was revealed that she had secured government funding for a golf course in which she owned a considerable number personal shares. Conveniently for her, she’s now been moved to the department of communication, where her shady dealings won’t cause as much harm. I was very surprised to read that student organisations were largely happy with the new government. Jyrki Katainen (one of the many current parliamentarians who believe that universities are factories and that students should be forced to graduate regardless of whether they have in fact learnt anything) has predictably been appointed chancellor, and the idea that he, of all people, is prepared to give students a penny extra to alleviate their poverty is absurd in the extreme. At least, in a show of some sanity, Astrid Thors has been appointed Europe minister.

Anna mun kaikki kestää…

Dedicated Followers of Fascism

Here's a link to Sarfraz Manzoor's review in today's Guardian of what sounds like a very interesting film indeed – and what an excellent heading! The issues this review points up are worthy of much further discussion later (when I've got less work to be getting on with...)

Without having yet seen it (why does it take so long for British films to reach Finland?) Shane Meadows' This is England seems to continue in the footsteps of other recent British 80s and 90s Zeitgeist films (Billy Elliot, The Rat Catcher, The Queen – see my post below). I'm sure I'll eventually write a more extended piece about this film once it arrives in cinemas here, so if anyone from Finnkino is listening, you know what to do!

The Burden of Freedom

It's hard not to take issue with the news in this morning's Guardian Unlimited (which you can read here) that plans are afoot to introduce a programme of "civility enforcement" throughout the blogsphere. The need for a set of guidelines on how to behave within the online community is perhaps timely, though it does raise the issue of to what extent freedom of speech can be exercised in a forum that is at once private and public.

Freedom of speech is something of a problematic concept. In the West, newspapers claimed that freedom of speech gave them the right to publish potentially inflammatory cartoons depicting the prophet Mohammed. It seemed (at least in the press here) that many people were surprised at the scale of the backlash in the Muslim world against these "innocuous" cartoons. People failed to see that, under the banner of freedom of speech, Muslims were exercising their right to say that they found the publication of this material offensive. Freedom (of speech or any other kind) is a subjective category and has to work both ways, something that blogger 901am is quoted on in the article in today's Guardian (though I fail to see what the issue of censorship has to do with "rabid feminists"... Explain?) Freedom of speech gives the BNP the "right" to whip up tension in volatile areas of the country and spread a message of hatred and intolerance; David Irving and others like him have the dubious "right" to deny the Holocaust if they wish. Orhan Pamuk most certainly has the right to touch upon unfortunate aspects of Turkish history.

At the Edinburgh International Book Fair in August last year I went to an event held by the International PEN, an association "promoting literature, defending freedom of expression". There are far more journalists around the world facing prison sentences than we can imagine. The list of examples on PEN's website of journalists imprisoned for doing their job is too long to comprehend. In the light of this, the idea that blogs too should be censored, and that those who breach the "contract of civility" criminalised, is hard to swallow. Freedom of expression comes in many forms. Murdered journalists Anna Politkovskaya and Veronica Guerin felt not only a right but a duty to expose facts for what they are and to hold those responsible to account. Guerin was murdered by the very criminals she was writing about, and as for Politkovskaya...

Suomen toivo?

Further to my previous post about the disastrous Finnish general election, I came back from Lapland (blog entry to follow) to find this article in Friday's Metro. Because the paper is only available as a PDF, I'm not sure how to create a link to it, so will copy it here in its entirety. I'll translate it at some point, but for now here it is in its glorious original form. Well done, Kaarina!

Suomen toivo (– Kaarina Hazard, Metro pe 23.3.07)
Sitä olisi joku hölmömpi kolumnisti voinut ennen vaaleja olla hyvinkin sitä mieltä, että ei voi mitenkään kokoomuksen hörökorvaleikki upota kansaan, että ei tässä nyt lukutaitoinen suomalainen sillä tavalla vietävissä ole, että hullunkuriset perhekortit kävisivät noin niin kuin poliittisen agendan vakavasta esityksestä. Sama kolumnisti olisi hyvinkin voinut olla sitä mieltä, että Niinistön ja Kataisen muodostama parivaljakko on jotenkin nolo, sillä tavalla läpinäkyvän isäpoikainen, että ei voi täysi-ikäinen äänestäjäkunta nauramatta tuommoista katsella. No, katselipa hyvinkin, eikä nauranut yhtään, korkeintaan yhteisestä mielihyvästä. Ei ollut kokoomuksen kampanja huono, ei, vaan onnistunein aikoihin. Suomen Toivo -kampanja on kuulkaa semmoinen sulka mainostoimisto Bob Helsingin hattuun, että ei ikinä.

Kysymys kuuluu: Miksi yli 60 000 suomalaista äänesti Sauli Niinistöä? Tämähän on se sama mies, joka puoli sukupolvea sitten ei muuta tehnyt kuin hokenut inhimillisesti ikävää, mutta systeemin kannalta välttämätöntä leikkausta ja monoa. Tämäkö on kaikki nyt unohdettu? Mitä ilmeisimmin. Tuolloin Niinistö niitti mainetta miehenä, joka nimenomaan pystyi kävelemään valuuttalainatakausvelkavankeuskärsimysten lihaisien kasojen yli silmän rävähtämättä, katse suunnattu kansakunnan ja valtiontalouden horisonttiin. Ja nyt samaa miestä halutaan kosketella kauppakeskuksissa. Mikä tässä välissä on muuttunut, maailma vai Niinistö? Arvatenkin molemmat.

Pirullisesta, tylystä leikkurista on vuosien saatossa kasvanut mediaan henkistynyt mies, viestinten leiritulille nyt saatu semmoisissa inhimillisissä kärsimyksissä marinoitu possu, että maukkaampaa saa hakea. Kun Tanjan kanssa polut erosivat, jäikö mies tänne tekstareita salarakkaille lähettelemään, ei jäänyt. Sen sijaaan hän arvokkaasti liiteli Eurooppaan, vetäytyi niin sanoaksemme, kuka tietää, ehkä rakkauden satuttama mies.

Ja sitten tuli tsunami. Jos Niinistö olisi löydetty lyhtypylväästä keikkumasta paikallisen misukan kanssa, olisi hänen julkinen tarinansa tällä haavaa ehkä toinen. Mutta lomalla oman pojan kanssa. Ja sitten, yllättäen, todistaa tämmöistä hirveää kärsimystä. Ja nähdä paikallisten ystävällisyys. Euroopan rahamaailma ja aasialainen lähimmäisenrakkaus, nämä kun yhdistää, niin... tämähän on... kuin lähetyssaarnaaja, Tarzan ja Stanley yhdessä ja samasssa persoonassa! Ei jäänyt maailmalle vaikka miten anottiin, vaan palasi meidän luo! Niin – kun asiaa oikein silmin katsoo, alkavat Sauli-rakkautemme osaset kuin itsestään ajautua paikoilleen.

Leave our music alone!

I recently wrote a customer review of a recording of Walton's sublime Viola Concerto for Amazon. I was a bit worried that they wouldn't publish it, as it is rather harsh. Violinists (Vengerov included) should keep their hands off our music, or, in the words of William Primrose, they "should be shot". Here is the full review, including the bits I borrowed from other reviewers, which the Amazon staff deleted...

Leave our music alone!
When oh when will violinists learn to leave our music alone? To quote from another reviewer: "I was left speechless and wordless [...] you will notice things you never heard before in this concerto however well you know it." I am always left speechless at the audacity of many violinists, who seem to believe that they can simply pick up a viola and play it - I was under the impression that this took years of practice and dedication. [Here I must add that Nigel Kennedy is an exception to this principle: his recording of the Walton Viola Concerto is superb.] I know this concerto very well indeed, and the list of things I had "never heard before" is far too long to outline here.

Mr Vengerov is clearly an exponent of that insipid Romantic school of violin playing - eschewed by most serious artists - whereby an almost hysterical use of vibrato and grimacing through every cadence is apparently the only way to reap artistic dividend, or to compensate for the lack thereof. That said, no amount of throwing oneself around the stage can save this truly shocking rendition of a wonderful, important piece of music. Walton was first and foremost a modernist (something Kennedy fully understands in his recording), and there is no place in this concerto for gushing Romanticism, even less so for such sloppiness (tuning, bowing etc) and disregard (contempt?) for the sound qualities of the instrument as are displayed here. I couldn't agree more with another reviewer: stick to the violin, playing the viola is not a circus act.

I am less well acquainted with the Britten concerto, though I have no hesitation in concluding that better recordings must surely be available. A quick glance through Amazon reveals a Decca re-release with Mark Lubotsky conducted by the composer - I rest my case.

Turning the lights off

Even as I begin writing this I'm unsure whether it's wise to get myself started on the (deplorable) outcome of Sunday's general election in Finland. I don't think the result could have been any worse: for anyone involved in the arts, anyone on a low income, anyone with young children (and – God forbid! – only one income), the homeless, the infirm... the list goes on.

What riles me most of all is the cynical fashion in which these right-wing candidates (and, here, I suppose I mean specifically those of the Kokoomus) pitch themselves at young voters. Living in a world where, by and large, the only people I come into contact with are people who think like I do, it's easy to forget that our planet is apparently populated with idiots – after all, W was elected twice. Are people really so stupid that they look at a brightly-coloured poster and think "I'll vote for them", without thinking for a second about what these people stand for? Katainen and his cronies want to turn Finland into a mini-USA, where everybody fends for themselves, and where relying on the state is frowned upon. This from a party whose election slogan was "Suomen toivo" (Finland's Hope). What hope? What hope is there for anyone who suddenly loses their job, or who is unable to work because of an illness? What hope is there for artists who can barely support their families because grants are almost non-existent?

Another element of Americanised politics to be found in the imminent new government's plans is that of Reaganomics: of investing in big business and introducing tax cuts for the already phenomenally rich in the misguided and misleading hope (Suomen toivo...) that this increased wealth will filter down to the less well-off members of society. Apparently Katainen, Niinistö et al haven't taken the time to look at the effects this policy had during the Reagan years. His administration (and Thatcher's for that matter) saw the gap between rich and poor widen more than ever before. I suppose we shouldn't be surprised, seeing as Thatcher claims that society doesn't exist.

All politicians – in Britain, Finland, the rest of the EU, though sadly not in the USA – are keen to woo voters with their green credentials. All too often, however, things are not what they seem. David "Dave" Cameron is perhaps the finest example of the great green swindle: cycling to Westminster while his papers travel behind him in three cars; travelling by private helicopter to Manchester to be photographed stepping on a tram, and so on. Katainen and the rest of the Kokoomus want to make us think they're green, but jumping on the climate change bandwagon isn't enough. Where are the caps on emissions for big business (of course, there are none, because business is everything in their world), the targets for emission reductions? One thing is clear: building the sixth nuclear reactor in Finland, thereby shunting the problem into the future, is not the answer.

The environment secrtary David Miliband deserves a lot of credit for the very real work he is currently undertaking in the UK to introduce a legally binding policy for emissions reduction through until 2050. Let's hope the new Finnish government will follow suit, though sadly this looks increasingly unlikely. Would the last person to leave the country please turn off the lights?

A soothing, milky bath alone

The trend of publishing entertaining little snippets on the sides of milk cartons seems to be spreading fast. I know in America they often print public information, such as missing persons' announcements, but in Europe it seems we stick firmly to the literary. When I was in Iceland in summer 2005, each milk carton carried an Icelandic proverb complete with an accompanying illustration, all drawn by children under 10. These certainly make for great teaching material: needless to say, my host – who studies Icelandic – started collecting them all. Perhaps I should have started collecting these Finnish "maitorunot" (milk poems), because should I ever take leave of my senses and embark upon teaching Finnish they would undoubtedly come in very handy.

I was recently asked to translate one of the milk poems for a competition (goodness knows what kind of competition...). Complete with metre and rhyming structures, the poem chosen was a challenge to translate – not least for someone who doesn't normally touch poetry with a bargepole. Here's the translation I eventually produced and the original, so that those of you with Finnish can see how it was all done!

Vain maitokylpy rauhoittaa
herkkänahka prinsessaa.
Ammeessansa kruunupää
joka ilta unelmoi:
”Kun lempilehmä laulaa,
kun ukulele soi,
niin joku, ihan kuka vaan
minut hakee tanssimaan.
Poljen maata, pyörähdän,
kenkäni niin hävitän!”

Eppu Nuotio


A soothing, milky bath alone
can satisfy the haughty throne.
Soaking in her tub each night,
the crown princess dreams with delight:
"Whensoe'er my pet cow sings
and the ukulele rings,
then someone, given half the chance,
will come and fetch me for a dance.
I tread the boards, I spin around.
and dash my shoes into the ground!"

Trans. DH

Kersti Juva on hyvin vihainen!

Here's a photograph of a group of SKTL members (with me on the far left) at the protest outside the parliament on Friday afternoon. It was a cold, wet, grey day, but at least we all had fun and the politicians were doing their best to convince us that they were actually listening to what we had to say... We'll see if anything ever happens, and whether the next government takes the financial struggles of those working in the arts any more seriously in the future.

Undoubtedly the wittiest placard of the day was Tiina's "Kersti Juva on hyvin vihainen": this just goes to show that, even if you live in darkest Wales, you can still make your voice heard in a protest at the other side of Europe. That's commitment for you!

The sheer Britishness of it all...

Having lived outside the UK for most of the time that has passed since Princess Diana's death, it's interesting to revisit that moment in history from a foreign context, almost as an outsider. Sitting in the cinema this evening, I was struck by the notion that perhaps only Brits can truly appreciate the significance of the British monarchy, and thereby also fully understand what it is that makes this film such a towering piece of cinema.

As another reviewer has pointed out (on Amazon), Elizabeth II is omnipresent, permeating every facet of British society, and it is in its very attention to detail that "The Queen" triumphs. At first I was taken aback by the striking similarity between the actors and their real-life counterparts: Helen Mirren (who deserves the Oscar for this, perhaps her greatest performance) is frighteningly like the Queen in every respect, right down to pronouncing "Diana" with the stress on the first syllable - something only the Queen does. Michael Sheen's Blair was spot on too: that nervous chuckle, the grin, the walk. James Cromwell is uncannily like the Duke of Edinburgh...

I'd forgotten that these events took place almost immediately after New Labour's accession to power, and thinking of things in these terms sheds new light on the significance of the public reaction. The Tories had finally been kicked out of Westminster, there was a great sense of expectation, of change, and the questioning of the monarchy's relevance seems to go hand in hand with that new-found optimism. The film reminds us that Blair at least set out to be a "moderniser", and the Queen even asks whether he is "planning to modernise us".

Whether or not what happened during that week can be called "modernisation", it certainly shook the very foundations of the institution of the monarchy in Britain. I found it interesting how often people in the audience here laughed at what they saw. Yes, some of it is comical, but it's important to remember that the Royals really are like this; one of the many strengths of the film is that it never descends into parody and caricature. All in all I found watching "The Queen" a truly visceral experience - the likeness of the actors, the real archive footage, the sentiments of the time, the hysteria - and wept through much of it. I'm not exactly sure why. Perhaps it's something to do with our shared humanity, the unifying power of grief, and the sheer Britishness of it all.

Finished Product

After a year's hard work, how wonderful it is to be able to hold the finished product in my hands! This selection of Finnish fantasy literature (perhaps 'speculative fiction' would be a better term) offers a broad cross-section of writing both new and old, and demonstrates that elements of the fantastical have always existed, even in a body of literature as young as that in Finland.

Dedalus Books publishes an entire series of anthologies of fantasy literature in translation. A friend recently asked me whether there is a market for this kind of book in the UK. Perhaps an anthology of this kind will cross the boundaries between the fantasy / sci-fi readership, and the readership for all things Scandinavian.

My personal favourite is perhaps Pentti Holappa's 'Boman': the story of a talking, literate dog who through sheer power of will grows herself a pair of wings. Holappa's career has been long and varied, and in 1998 he won the Finlandia Prize for his novel 'Ystävän muotokuva' (Portrait of a Friend), a moving depiction of the relationship between two men in the post-war years in Helsinki. 'Boman' dates from 1959, but still I think there is a queer reading to be had. The more I read this text throughout the translation process the more this idea began to make sense to me. I'll read this text again and formulate a more coherent argument over the holidays.

Vases

The art of poetry translation is - like Sudoku (to which I am utterly hooked) - thoroughly mind-boggling. The ability to fit the full meaning and sense of a poem from one language into another, whilst retaining the feel and intensity of the original, is almost a holy grail in the world of translation. The aphorostic work of the Finnish poet Eila Kivikk'aho offers the translator a particular challenge: a vast body of her poems are written in haiku or tanka form, allowing only a given number of syllables per line (5-7-5 or 5-7-5-7-7 respectively). Here is one I translated several years ago, perhaps this will encourage me to have a go at some others.

'Ruukut'

En ole enää
sirpaleitten varassa.
Sain ehjän onnen.
Mitä kätken sen maljaan?
-Vanhan ruukun kappaleet.

(Eila Kivikk'aho)


'Vases'

No longer shall I
stand amidst the shards. I have
received pristine joy.
What shall I hide within it?
-The pieces of my old vase.

(trans. DH)

Much Ado About Nothing?

Another year, another Finlandia Prize, another furore. This competition always sparks controversy, and given this year’s shortlist Paavo Lipponen’s decision was bound to awaken strong feelings whichever way the prize finally went. The decision this year to award the prize to Bo Carpelan, an author who has already won the prize once before, for his novel Berg (‘Mountain’), together with the fact that the shortlist included another previous winner, has prompted a much-needed debate on the nature of the prize in general. Many of the arguments presented could equally apply to competitions of any kind.

I was somewhat surprised to read articles, notably in Aamulehti, condemning the prize, the recipient and this year’s ‘dictator’. The idea that an author should not be allowed to win the same competition twice – for two separate works – seems absurd, but far more absurd is the notion that the point of the prize is that every author will eventually has his / her turn at winning. If everybody takes it in turns to win the prize, winning itself has no value or meaning.

Aamulehti’s esteemed literature critic Matti Mäkelä claims that the credibility of the Finlandia Prize is now irreparably damaged by virtue of its being awarded to the same author twice. Perhaps he should consider the fact that, whether we like it or not, the outcome of the prize IS subjective, the final decision is left to a single reader. On the contrary, the credibility of this institution in very much intact, as Antti Majander pointed out in today’s HS, the winner should represent ‘the best, not the most appropriate’ work of Finnish literature. If a writer is consistently excellent, should that go unnoticed simply because s/he has been acknowledged once before?

Last month, on the day the Finlandia shortlist was announced, I happened to bump into a nameless publisher in the Academic Book Shop. The said publisher was shocked and outraged that none of their books were to be found on the list. I couldn’t help wondering whether it had ever crossed said publisher’s mind that perhaps none of their books that year were worthy of a place on the shortlist amongst the crème of new Finnish literature this year.

Time and again it occurs to me that publishers are entirely blind to anything outside the ‘business’ of the book world. It seems that selling copies of a book is more important than rejoicing at the quality of that book. Similarly, the ability to assess objectively the quality of one’s own publications seems sadly lacking: not all books are great works of literature, no matter how much one publicly lauds them to anyone who will listen or dismisses the opinions of anyone who cannot see the emperor’s new clothing. In the tiny Finnish book market, winning the Finlandia or similar prizes ensures increased sales figures (naturally, the winner is always announced in the run-up to Christmas…) and continuing publicity for both novel and author. For the publisher, it seems that of primary importance is having the kudos of being able to say that ‘our book’ won the prize; ‘our book’ was shortlisted.

Media circuses like the Finlandia Prize or, say, the recent Sibelius Violin Competition, are becoming increasingly detached from what ought to be their fundamental raison d’être: to celebrate art, creativity, flair, genius. One need only read a single column in Helsingin Sanomat dealing with the Violin Competition to realise that what is most important is not musicality, but which of the automatons on stage can perform a Paganini caprice without making a technical mistake. Or one could listen to Madonna’s latest travesty to good taste and realise that what sells records is not creative genius (the woman’s sheer lack of originality never fails to astound me) but good marketing and pilfering the right pieces of music from real artists. No wonder Sony delayed the release of Fiona Apple’s marvellous third album for so many years: after all, if it’s not going to be a commercial success, what’s the point?

A Haunting, Haunted Memory

This morning I spent two hours rehearsing Alfred Schnittke’s String Trio (1985). It’s an enthralling work, at once taut and ridden with anxiety, yet at the same time highly emotional and very moving. Schnittke is a composer who has always commanded great fascination for me, and it has been both a pleasure and an honour to work in such detail on this piece. These rehearsals coincided with a series of lectures I have been attending on formal elements of sonata form, focussing largely on the first movement of Schubert’s String Quartet in A minor op. 29, the Rosamunde. It was only later, upon reading Richard Whitehouse’s introduction to the Schnittke Trio in the inlay cover of my CD (an excellent Naxos release of Schnittke’s chamber music for strings and piano) that the idea of a kinship between the formal approaches of the two composers became clearer.

It was interesting to learn that Schnittke wrote his String Trio in response to a commission from the Alban Berg Society of Vienna, and the idea of Vienna itself, almost as a mythical entity, ‘a haunting, haunted memory’, seems to be present throughout the work. Whitehouse talks of a ‘sensation of creative amnesia’ about the work, and it is this which makes me think most strongly of the Rosamunde. “The proceeding Adagio does not develop or especially intensify the material already heard, as prolong the sensation of creative amnesia; the composer striving for some semblance of formal logic, against overwhelming creative and emotional odds” (Whitehouse 1999).

The idea of striving towards formal logic – indeed, the very inevitability of formal logic – recalls for me the transition of the development back into the recapitulation in the first movement of the Rosamunde. The development reaches its climax at the massive diminished chord in bar 140. As far as the parameters of sonata form are concerned, Schubert has by this point already created a number of obstacles for himself, the minor / major tension of the first theme being perhaps the most obvious, and now finds himself at the end of the development on a vii°7 chord of A, being the dominant of D minor, not A minor in which the recapitulation must begin. In a discussion of this potential structural problem in the piece, the lecturer brought our attention to the idea of ‘hope denied’, something which by the late Romantic era had become a cliché, but which for Schubert perhaps represented genuine frustration, if you will, at the constraints of the form. No matter how far one develops thematic material and no matter how many tonal regions the development explores, it has to return to the tonic for a resigned recapitulation of the first theme.

The idea of ‘hope denied’ runs through Schnittke’s String Trio just as much. Tonality in the broadest sense was as much a feature of Schnittke’s idiom as it was of Schubert’s. The major third descending into the minor (seen, for instance, in the first theme of the Rosamunde and more specifically during the transition back to the A minor recapitulation) is also in play in Schnittke’s work, though in perhaps a more gestural way, by contrasting sections of music that allude to major and minor sensibilities. In rehearsing the piece we spent some time discussing a recurring section of the second (final) movement: cello harmonics (later in the viola), in a melodic fragment formed from a major triad, appear out of nowhere, a sunbeam momentarily perforates the greyness. What does it mean? Perhaps this is what Whitehouse means by the idea of composing ‘against overwhelming creative and emotional odds’. The harmonics offer us a glimmer of hope, of something that might have been or might be, but that hope is dashed three times (the number three holds particular formal and numerological significance throughout this piece). For me, this is the same glimmer of hope offered by Schubert in bar 140. Could the recapitulation really occur in D minor? Could it? But this, of course, is hope against hope, and after extensive searching for a tonic, the recapitulation arrives back in A minor after all, just as Schnittke’s faint sunbeam is quickly extinguished with ferocious, unrelenting minor ninths and tritones. “Muss es sein? Es muss sein.”

First Contact

What exactly is to be the purpose of this blog? I’m uncertain myself, as I tentatively type these first words. On the one hand it is what it says, a late review, a forum for views and reviews, ideas and opinions; a meeting place for the literary-minded, the critical, the humorous; a melting pot of minds, languages, cultures, politics. I see this blog as almost like a play with me and my closest friends as its cast of characters. Moments shared, thoughts provoked.

As the page develops I hope to share my thoughts on everything from books, theatre, language, the noble art of translation, music classical and otherwise noteworthy to the quirks of living in Finland, all things queer and subversive, eating in and out, travel, and the little observations that make life so endlessly fascinating.

Myself a Braidottian nomadic subject, this page should and will naturally develop into a multi-lingual forum, alternating primarily between English and Finnish, with a pinch of Swedish if I’m feeling lucky. Primarily, I would like to showcase notable works of new Finnish and Nordic literature, and explore the world of classical music, cinema and the arts in Scandinavia for the English-speaking reader. There are deplorably few works of Scandinavian literature published in English or films shown in the UK, so perhaps in some small way I can open the door ajar.

Mainittakoon, että pysyn ainakin vähäksi aikaa blog-vammaiseksi, joten nämä ensimmäiset viikot ja viestit menevät lähinnä kokeilun piikkiin. Ajan myötä sivu laajenee ja paranee, ja teknologian tuntemukseni senkun kasvaa – toivon mukaan!