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ISSN 1409-6900 | UDK 82+7     Blesok no. 69 | volume XII | November-December, 2009



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                     Peer-reviewed journal
Blesok no. 69November-December, 2009
Prose

Dinner Service for Guests

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p. 1
Rumena Bužarovska

    I have lived with my sister since the death of her husband (God rest his soul!). He was a good man, though how he put up with Bella all those years is beyond me. She’ll be the death of me, too, sooner or later.
    My sister calls herself a ‘multi-media composer and musician’. When I gossip about her with my friends I call her a dabbler, because in fact she can’t play anything except the piano—and she does that badly. She refuses to play classical music because someone once said, many years ago, that under her fingers Chopin sounded like a hammer banging upon an anvil. It may have been me who said so, but that is of no importance. What is important is that, after receiving this comment, and most probably after receiving many similar remarks in the course of her studies, Bella started playing some strain of modern jazz which my ears have not learnt to abide to this day.
    For a long time she performed her jazz before audiences dominated by young men with hard-pressed lips and thick-rimmed glasses and women of a certain age whose self-styled hairdos, though impeccable at the front, were unkempt at the back. Then all of sudden she became a composer and started writing ‘contemporary’ scores. My ears were even more troubled by this music, if one can call it such. Her pieces typically started with the repetitive hitting of a key in the lower register of the piano, continuing until the sound faded away completely. The piece would then proceed with the staccato banging of a key in the higher register, followed by a tremendous noise in the middle register—repeated in such a manner until the piece came abruptly to an end. All this ‘dialogue’, as the critics dubbed it, reminded me rather more of the ‘dialogues’ she and her late husband Simon had enjoyed at home than anything resembling what could be called a work of art.
    My sister’s experiments in music further evolved in the field of orchestration. Having always been au fait with contemporary trends, Bella soon realized that, where the Balkans were concerned, the greatest demand was for art related in some way or another to war. This theme had the benefit of enabling foreigners to identify the only thing they knew about the area with the additional advantage that they could pride themselves upon their compassion in being so


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