Prokofiev was ill and could not attend the performance of his First Piano Sonata played by somebody else. He listened to it on the telephone.
Prokofiev was ill and could not attend the performance of his First Piano Sonata played by somebody else. He listened to it on the telephone.
“I clapped, then the radiance
contrasted white breath to the ivory slab, loaves in heat
sent in a pinch between windows between highways
we want a way, we want the link to prod a window
the odd of invent it and thought such that massed
before us the regular lyric prong as basis and asymmetric at any
moment…”
Clark Coolidge | This Time We Are Both