valentin silvestrov | memory, loss, veiled feelings that sing to themselves in the dark

or a shroud overneath the entire world, it has to be a sphere and this covering, it's a drapery:: his 'postludium,' a symphonic poem for piano and orchestra, haunts me like the ghost of a dream of a memory of a broken heart that bleeds tears everywhere into a puddle the shape of a dead hummingbird