Written by Nurel Javissyarqi
Translated by Agus B. Harianto
Anton Bruckner (September 4, 1824 – October 11, 1896) is Austrian composer known for his symphonies, masses, and the motet. His symphonies considered as the final phase marker of Austro-German Romanticism. Because of his harmonies are rich, and polyphonies are long and complex. His music composition helps to define contemporary musical radicalism that took dissonant, modulation without preparation, and complicated harmony as well. His symphonies received criticism over its length, so many repetitions, frequently revised, and the doubt about what version could be more prior. (http://id.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anton_Bruckner)
We are in the church of Sankt Florian in the middle of nature of Austria, between Linz and Steyr. Walk along wide curves, among the angels that fly with the trumpet in their mouth and bring our soul to the paradise, peaceful sounds of music. The news said that the world would not come, as if it is far from this place. In front of a large organ there was a man sitting who slightly bent. From his face shined something of medieval beliefs. The man was Anton Bruckner. Under the shadow of the organ, far from all chaos, his art was compounded and put in his mind great thought large. He does not know the world and the world did not know him. Like Chopin thinks with piano and so was Bruckner thinks with the organ. Symphony is his field such as the songs to Schubert. If Mozart has a pardon, Bruckner has greatness. With so simple pitch, he composed the marvelous themes. Nature is one of the great powers that lives in the Bruckner’s music. Like Beethoven, he often walked around with a music note in his hand. But he did not escape to the nature, but living in the middle of it like his own home.
(Excerpts of opinions J. Van Ackere, in the book of “Musik Abadi” (Eternal Music), translated by J. A. Dungga, Gunung Agung, Djakarta, n. d (no date), the original book entitle “Eeuwige Muziek”, published by NV Standaard-Boekhandel, Antwerpen, Belgie, which is retranslated into English would be more or less like above).
When I wrote something, especially interpreted artwork. I was waiting for the feeling eerie, hair stand on end.
At that time necessity would be presented, how flew the sentence to feel great penetration. The coming of creation was entering to the soul.
My fingers did not want to stop. Pulse beats sailed since the tune. So was that time, interpreted the work of the psychology of Anton Bruckner.
Was my fuzz would fly or have been, as the weeds swept away by the storm. Leaves flied up and away into the sky of imaginary, beyond the purple-blue of life.
There were unmarked, but it incarnated essential testimony. It voiced confidentiality, expanded the wings of melody.
Stretching the sound is not enough to hear once, always fill the empty niches, in certain existence. Brought eternal spiritual on the whole elusive grace.
Or by itself, the work had been perfect of its working, capable to thrill the listeners. As such magnets pull, far and remove, trembling endlessly.
What I wrote in the middle. How my subjectivities mixed with objectivities. To be agape with surprise to make bridge, for the sake of the existence of points of each.
Testimony to the life has the most beautiful values in it. Purifies blindness, breaks the inflexibility of ear.
Like the finishing of poetic after the resolution of conflict. Intercepted to wrong-time encouragement, barren and deadly.
Here I imagined the city of Vienna, Prague, Galicia, like I imagined Yogyakarta. The artists are often meeting each other, the painter, musician, literary, dancers and the others as well.
The atmosphere forms the characteristics of its motivator becomes powerful to teach the life in art. Passion endlessly to search was created. Researching, probes beyond the previous achievements.
The craziness is seriousness, melancholy of the soul to be worried, manifests tough mental to dig nobleness of manners.
Lift wells water from the wells of life, splashed it to be the curve of rainbow. Touched the river of social life, on the stones inhabits it.
Hearing the music of Anton Bruckner, I was taken by the wind blowing to the court of ancient temples. It performed the beginning of the Greek theater Before Century. The plays writers are like Aeskilos (525-456 BC), Sophocles (496-406 BC), Euripides (484-406 BC), etc.
The tones composed by Bruckner is not primitive, but there are the teachings of the gods.
Chants respect heroes in their grave. The story of the hunt on the stage, clothed in animal skins, sharp-pointed spears was flashing.
Combined with the echoes of spirits condenses the ear. Giant trees stand upright for thousands of years, rocked by the wind of Godhead.
The song of history keeps reverberate, tragedies are interpreted, in order to find the real meaning. From the Sun rise until the sunset of the twilight of civilization.
From its low pitches reflects rainbow of the night (?). The gods come down to condone the brave, blessed them with the fall of the morning dew.
Or through the drizzle at the opening window of princess, accompanied by the reasoning of presence of a fairy dressed in gorgeous and smooth silk.
When its tone combination was increasing, the stretching of blooming stars formed diversified creatures into the hills of light.
So was Bruckner’s music presents magical nuances, like the expression of J. Van Ackere: “He does not know the world and the world doesn’t know him.”
When his music stopped, the hum of calls was still existing and infiltrating the silent, raising the instinct of listeners.
The end of romance is meaningful through grains of the holy blessed. Poured wine into goblets, which lifted up by the pliant fingers of whitening times.
I was as if flown to ride it, into his body, and came to take a walk in the city of Vienna, with the distance of mysterious sight.
Long and gentle of the repetition of Bruckner’s music is as deep as the philosopher Leo Tolstoy (1828-1910) in developed the human values, in his work “A Calendar of Wisdom – Wise Thoughts for Every Day.”
The pure harmony such an angel without passion but conscience motivation, filled the air repeatedly to teach the souls embeds the faith, as deep as the devotion.
Solid mixture of various things, on the seriousness of plugging the faith, as far as the dagger slicing on the meat of regrets.
The final symphony of consciousness is the greatness of will of the Creator. He realizes, all derives from magical hands of His-generosity.
He developed the expanded inner on gardens of the music history, among the previous figures.
Bruckner with his quest; the perfect loneliness stretched.