zt: Maurizio Pollini: a life in music

It was 50 years ago that the then 18-year-old Maurizio Pollini won the International Chopin Piano Competition in Warsaw. Held once every five years, the competition's stature is evidenced not only by its winners – Martha Argerich and Krystian Zimerman followed Pollini – but by its losers: both Vladimir Ashkenazy and Mitsuko Uchida were runners-up. In 1960 Pollini was the youngest of the 89 entrants. The judges included Nadia Boulanger and chair Artur Rubinstein, who declared: "that boy plays better than any of us jurors." Pollini's triumph confirmed the scale of his emerging talent, but it was his response to winning that proved to be one of the defining facets of his subsequent career. It is has become part of the Pollini myth that after his victory he became something of a recluse, prone to nerves and cancellations, who didn't properly re-emerge until the late 1960s, by which time his youthful verve and engagement had been transformed into a dauntingly icy professionalism.

Pollini's restrained on-stage demeanour and dapperly conservative off-stage appearance indeed promote a strong sense of detached accomplishment. But he is by no means a "musical adding machine", as he was once described. His distinguished silver hair, aquiline profile and line in smart grey suits may have prompted the observation that he resembled a typical Fiat factory executive, but in reality his political history reveals him as closer to a typical Fiat factory union organiser. He continually fishes in the pockets of those expensive jackets for an apparently never-ending supply of cigarettes, smoking no more than a quarter before stubbing one out and lighting another. Speaking in his London hotel suite – the connecting suite used purely for his practice mini-grand piano – he is in fact sociable, relaxed and eager to trade industry news and word of his fellow travellers on the global merry-go-round of top-level classical music.

As for the aftermath of Warsaw, he acknowledges that "the natural thing for me to have done having won was to play concert after concert after concert. It's true that I wasn't willing to become a Chopin specialist, but the idea that I was a recluse really has been overstated. I was very young and thought I needed more time to develop my musical interests and a bigger repertoire. I wanted to explore other arts and other things. So I stayed away from concerts for about a year and a half, and when I returned I didn't take on too many. But I always enjoyed performing and I made my debut in London in 1963. By the end of the 60s my performance schedule had extended itself to a more normal rhythm. As for my progression as a performer, I'll leave it to others to say, but some development and change at that stage of your career is hardly unusual."

Pollini's technical mastery is undisputed, but the idea that he is too emotionally detached, that he "interrogates" music as opposed to conducting a "sympathetic interpretation", has become a commonplace of discussion about his work. One of his greatest champions was Edward Said, who presented the other side of the coin. Said praised Pollini for his commitment to music and excluded him from the generality of "most pianists", who, Said claimed, are like "most politicians" in that they "seem merely to wish to remain in power". Instead, with Pollini his "technique allows you to forget technique . . . what comes through in all Pollini's performances is an approach to the music – a direct approach, aristocratically clear, powerfully and generously articulated." Said went on to say that "even when Pollini doesn't achieve this effect – and many have remarked on his occasional glassy, tense, and hence repellent perfection – the expectation that it will occur in another of his recitals remains vivid. This is because for the listener there is a sense of a career unfolding in time. And Pollini's career communicates a feeling of growth, purpose and form."

It is a career that has encompassed radical left-wing politics and been fired by a punishing perfectionism (for which London audiences ought to be grateful, in that it was Pollini's threat to cancel a 1983 concert at the Barbican because of its notoriously poor acoustics that began the process of improving the hall's sound). Most of all, it has combined the great peaks of the classical and romantic piano repertoires with a commitment to new music. Alfred Brendel, one of the few pianists who can write from an equally elevated position, explains that great work "continuously needs to be brought to life, and to relate to our own time. If handled rightly, the result should be far removed from musical consumerism and mental sloth. Ideally, the performer should champion the neglected and the new along with established masterworks, and by no means exclude famous pieces just because they are famous. In his programmes, Maurizio Pollini has admirably stayed this course."

There will be opportunities to assess a very large part of Pollini's career in London this year as he embarks on a five-concert Royal Festival Hall season spread over five months that is both a history of piano music and a statement of his relationship to it. Starting with a Bach concert on 28 January, he will then play the late sonatas of both Beethoven and Schubert before a "French" programme of Chopin, Debussy and Boulez and a concluding concert in May featuring Schumann, Liszt and Stockhausen. "I have played a recital in London more or less every year throughout my career and have a very strong relationship with the London public," he explains. "I like their way of listening and their deep interest in music, and so I thought it was possible to do something larger and different. I have played these works many times and they are all extraordinarily important works for the piano. Put together, they form something of a line, something of a story of piano music. But it is not a rigorous or strict line. They are closely connected to me and my overall musical interests, so it is also my personal line and, in a way, my personal story."

Pollini was born in Milan in 1942. His father, Gino Pollini, was a well-known architect – "one of the first people in Italy to introduce modern architecture in the 1930s" – who was also a keen amateur musician. His mother had trained as a pianist and singer, and his uncle, Fausto Melotti, was a leading Italian modernist sculptor. "I grew up in a house with art and artists. Old works and modern works co-existed together as part of life. It went without saying."

His musical talent was recognised early and he was sent to a piano teacher at the age of six. Later he remembers being given a recording of the Brandenburg Concertos when he had his tonsils removed and attending a Toscanini rehearsal at La Scala. By the age of 15 his Milan recital of Chopin's Etudes had been well reviewed in the Italian press. Despite attending the Milan conservatoire, Pollini carried on with normal school studies alongside music. "I was interested in many things, and it wasn't until I was relatively old that I worked purely on the piano. It was not that I wasn't dedicated to the music, which I was, it was just that I wasn't really thinking that much about my future. Of course, in hindsight, there was never any other life that I realistically could have taken."

Despite his protestations, his immediate post-Warsaw career was not plain sailing. An American tour was postponed, and his 1963 London debut, playing Beethoven's third piano concerto with the LSO under Colin Davis, was dismissed as "rushed" by the Times, which claimed that "his only concern seemed to be getting the notes over and done with".

Pollini studied briefly with Arturo Benedetti Michelangeli and, as his repertoire developed back into the classical and romantic canon, he also began a deep engagement with the music of his own time. In the 60s he started his relationship with the music of both Stockhausen and Boulez, whose second piano sonata has become one of his signature pieces – he will play it at his April concert at the Royal Festival Hall. "It is a piece of music that has everything. A masterpiece. The so-called emotional aspect that is so valued in the great works of the past is very evident here. It should be appreciated and understood by the general public far better than it is."

He says that while Stockhausen and Boulez are "completely established, they are still not that often performed. For me they are wonderful and classic pieces of the repertoire. We now see Stravinsky and Debussy and Ravel and Bartok as part of the normal repertoire. I would add Berg to that list and say that Schoenberg and Webern are almost on it. The great masters of the second half of the 20th century – Boulez, Stockhausen, Berio, Nono, Ligeti – still appear to be a little further away from the general public as everyday music for a normal concert."

Pollini's relationship with the Marxist avant garde composer Luigi Nono, whom he first encountered in the mid-60s, has been one of the most important of his career. "I became a great enthusiast for his music and asked him to compose something for the piano. That took quite a lot of courage because it seemed that the piano was completely outside of his interests at that time." Nono, who had already written work condemning American involvement in Vietnam, composed two pieces for Pollini, including one for piano, voice and tapes, that commemorated a murdered Chilean revolutionary.

And Pollini's involvement in new music went hand in hand with the polarised politics of the time. He, Nono and their friend, the conductor Claudio Abbado (under Abbado's baton Pollini has since gone on to play with some of the great orchestras of the world), performed radical work all over Italy and encouraged new audiences to attend traditional concert halls, "The starting point was that art should be for everybody," Pollini says. "At La Scala there was someone who had contact with the local factory councils, which were not trade unions but directly run by workers. So with Abbado at La Scala we gave a cycle of concerts for students and workers. As an attempt to build a new public it was very positive and interesting, but the ideas were not really taken forward or developed further."

Pollini married in 1968 and has one son. Although on the radical left in the 1970s, he says he had no time for that decade's violent revolutionaries in Italy. "The centre and right parties were totally corrupt, but the so-called revolutionary left had a terrible influence and actually allowed the right to get more power. There were bombs and murders. There is a lot of suspicion to this day as to right-wing conspiracies and who actually did what and who knew what. But in the end these 'awful people of the left' proved very useful for the right."

He remains a man of the left and despairs of Silvio Berlusconi's continuing grip on power. "It is a different situation to the 70s, but it is still a terrible state of affairs. Berlusconi is taking one step after another to become a dictator in passing laws which are in conflict with democracy. What is happening is a farce and in one sense it is obviously comical and embarrassing, but it is also very dangerous, and the left seems too weak to provide effective opposition. And in artistic terms the situation is deplorable. Obviously there is a financial crisis, but this government is actually against culture, and their cuts are making life for musical institutions almost impossible, which is an unnecessary disaster."

His strong belief in the social benefits of art remains undimmed. "I think great art has entirely progressive aspects within it, elements that are somehow outside the detail of the text or even the political opinions of the person who made it. Art itself, if it is really great, has a progressive aspect that is needed by a society, even if it seems absolutely useless in strictly practical terms. In a way art is a little like the dreams of a society. They seem to contribute little, but sleeping and dreaming are vitally important in that a human couldn't live without them, in the same way a society cannot live without art."

He says he is in some ways disappointed that work he has been championing since the mid-60s has yet to break through to general acceptance. "It was always a difficult task. In the 1970s there was a movement that could well have propelled this music more into the mainstream. If that movement had succeeded then you wouldn't have to make any special case to play Stockhausen's Klavierstücke. But somehow it didn't happen, and since then there has been a tendency not to push forward the contemporary boundaries of the core repertoire. And so we have to go on making the case."

And whether the work is old or comparatively new, he says the real interest comes from the fact that it is composed in "a strong and vibrant new language, which Chopin's and Beethoven's were in their time, just as Boulez's and Nono's have been in theirs. And contemporary music has within it both a link to the past, from the older music it developed out of, and, if it is of the highest quality, a life of its own in which it matures and develops over time."

His relationship with the music to be played in his London season goes back 40 or 50 years. "And over that time it becomes better and more rewarding. It doesn't matter if you play these pieces all the time, or go for years without playing them at all, which often happens to me. They are always there in your mind. You think about them and refer to them all the time. You also entertain the hope, although it is sometimes an illusion, that you will understand them a little better over time. These are relationships that go on forever, and so long as you keep playing the piano they will never be concluded."

Kerwin

早上一早从芝加哥飞Enfield，在出租车上对司机说：我的车在停车场上扔了三个星期，天这样冷，电池一定死掉了。他说：我会帮你启动。其实，临走前就想到了这个问题，特地把车头对在空场边。果然，车死了，他帮我启动了。

一进办公室，Mark说看看谁来了，我顺着他的手，Kerwin，我大叫起来。他抱着我不放手，才想起三年没见面了。只是在网上时时讲话，我们都没有觉得这么长的时间没见面，因为太熟悉彼此了。

我把他扔到会议室，就去和Radha讲话去了。事情太多，对Kerwin讲，下了班我们去吃饭。

下了班，去那里？想想还是去了他的旅馆。找了半天餐馆，还是回到了旅馆的餐厅。他一定要挨着我，我笑笑说：“我要是个男人该多好！”他也大笑，说：“那我们就时时在一起了”。

他又说喜欢我现在的发型。其实，只是留长了，随便往后扎起来。我没有发型时最好看，最自然，最符合我的气质。我从来不去理发店，从来都是自己收拾。我头发好，又浓又密又黑，还自然卷，卷的恰到好处。每次有人问我在那里做头发，我都很感谢上帝。

我给他看我新年在伦敦给他买的领带，他说好看。。。他说你干吗总要给我买领带。我说你时时惦记一个人，是一种幸福的感觉，不是吗？

他告诉我，我离开ATG后，好几个人每次见到他就问我。。。很多人爱你啊！他说。我愣住了，眼睛开始发湿。

我们在iPhone上开始和Tom，Ve讲话。。。最后Kerwin说，因为你我们几个总是在一起。是啊，我说没有你们我如何活？

Kerwin讲：“今年你一定带我回中国，我陪你妈打麻将，我还没去过中国呢，我祖籍是梅县人啊！”。

我说：“好，梅子龙，今年我们一定回中国！”。

Dora Carrington

Carrington was not a member of the Bloomsbury Group, though she was closely associated with Bloomsbury and, more generally, with "Bohemian" attitudes, through her long relationship with the homosexual writer Lytton Strachey, whom she first met in 1916. Distinguished by her cropped pageboy hair style (before it was fashionable) and somewhat androgynous appearance, she was troubled by her sexuality; she is known to have had at least one lesbian affair (with Henrietta Bingham). She also had a significant relationship with the writer Gerald Brenan.

In June 1918 Virginia Woolf wrote of Carrington in her diary: "She is odd from her mixture of impulse & self consciousness. I wonder sometimes what she’s at: so eager to please, conciliatory, restless, & active. . . . [B]ut she is such a bustling eager creature, so red & solid, & at the same time inquisitive, that one can’t help liking her." Carrington first set up house with Lytton Strachey in November 1917, when they moved together to Tidmarsh Mill House, near Pangbourne, Berkshire; she continued to live with him at Ham Spray House from 1924 although the home had been purchased by Lytton in the name of her husband, Ralph Partridge, who lived there also at weekends with his lover and future wife Frances Marshall.

Strachey died of cancer at Ham Spray in January 1932. Carrington, who saw no purpose in a life without Strachey, committed suicide two months later by shooting herself with a gun borrowed from her friend, Hon. Bryan Guinness (later 2nd Baron Moyne).Her body was cremated and the ashes buried under the laurels in the garden of the Ham Spray House in Wiltshire.

心烦如麻

天很冷，芝加哥风很大，我在暖和的家里那里也不想去，心里惦记妈妈。妹妹又走了，妞妞过两天也要回来。妞妞说：姥姥真罗嗦，有强迫症。。。是啊，当年我因此跑了出来，把她留给爸爸，只想过自由的日子。

可是，我一想她一个人在北京，就心如刀绞。虽说有朋友，可是和亲人们都合不来。这样不着边际的个性，让我怎么办？

我最早也只有四月份回去？可是一想回去，又怕极了她每天啰嗦，抱怨。。。

----
James的email简直像个阴谋，我非常生气。对Mark讲了，又把以前的信找出来，做证据吧。下周看看Mark的反应。我其实是个男权主义的真正受害者。比如，现在的工作，当我在伦敦时，一个楼就我和前台的秘书是女人，其他都是男人。英国的女人，特别是中年女人，好像都不工作，我在上下班的火车上，几乎看不见30岁以上的女人。伦敦的街头也几乎看不到孩子。好在我看上去还年轻，还可以鱼目混珠。和男人一起工作，尤其是技术工作，是一件非常艰难的事情，首先要考虑他们的自尊心和feeling，我总是很低调，总是恭维他们，很多时候，他们错了，我也不太吭气。他们自然地看不起你，不把你当回事，可以不顾事实，而是想当然地对你指手画脚，想当然妄自评论你。

伦敦中国城

我几乎每天到这里吃晚饭。其实，我不是很爱吃餐馆里的中国饭，倒是更愿意吃韩国饭或日本饭。我住的西区，小餐馆一家接着一家，除了墨西哥餐馆相对少一些，其它的是因有尽有。

只是中国城挨着SOHO和Covent Garden，在最热闹的地方。每天都是灯火通明，喜气洋洋。我第一天去，着实吃了一惊，因为太拥挤热闹，花花绿绿，简直不像一个真实的世界。比起美国大城市的中国城，要鲜亮很多。

伦敦的地盘很小，中国城自然也不大。倒是个四四方方的“城”，每一面都有一个牌楼，挂着红灯笼。据说伦敦最早的华人聚居点是莱姆豪斯（Limehouse），早在1800年代初期，一些来自中国华南地区的劳工和水手就流落伦敦，在船厂区落户。到了20世纪初，聚居于当地的越来越多的华人主要视邻近船厂区的华裔水手为顾客。后来当地渐渐变得以合法鸦片烟馆和贫民窟而出名，相对于今日唐人街著名的餐馆和超市。

现今的中国城是二战之后，随着中国餐饮逐渐受欢迎以及香港移民的大批涌入，爵禄街一带开始出现众多中国餐馆，一些从船厂区搬来的业主不断向当地其他族裔顶让商铺，后来华人势力逐渐占据了爵禄街一带，开始被视作“唐人街”。

伦敦的中国人很多，大街上随时都可以听到中国话。所以，中国城里更是熙熙攘攘，餐馆里任何时候都有很多人。这里最多是粤菜馆，很家庭化。店面一般都很小，桌椅紧密。店名俗气平凡，比如：好日子湘菜馆，红满天川菜馆，湾区小馆，喜福来，翠亨廷。。。可也有几家名字新鲜生猛：比如：梁山好汉，伦敦人民公社。。。

还有中药铺子，按摩针灸诊所，超市，小礼品店，里面充斥了粗糙便宜的瓷器和工艺品，百货服装店几乎没有。反正大家来中国城就是为了吃。

伦敦的冬天阴沉，不是小雨就是小雪，但不冷。我在红红绿绿的小巷里窜来窜去，就是想看红尘里的挣扎，享乐和欲望。

出了中国城，周围是更繁华鲜艳的伦敦市中心。霓虹灯打在千百年坚实的石头建筑上，双层的红色汽车过来过去，环形路口上挂了很多街牌，雪雨淅淅淋淋。。。

在这些浮华艳丽的夜晚，我总是迷路，找不到回家的方向。

Robert Henri

"It is harder to see than it is to express. The whole value of art rests in the artist's ability to see well into what is before him."

"Art cannot be separated from life. It is the expression of the greatest need of which life is capable, and we value art not because of the skilled product, but because of its revelation of a life's experience."

"Paint what you feel. Paint what you see. Paint what is real to you."

"Different men are moved or left cold by lines according to the difference in their natures. What moves you is beautiful to you."

"There is only one reason for art in America, and that is that the people of America learn the means of expressing themselves in their own time, and their own land."

Robert Henri's open letter to the Art Students League about Thomas Eakins, (29 October 1917):

Thomas Eakins was a man of great character. He was a man of iron will and his will to paint and to carry out his life as he thought it should go. This he did. It cost him heavily but in his works we have the precious result of his independence, his generous heart and his big mind. Eakins was a deep student of life, and with a great love he studied humanity frankly. He was not afraid of what his study revealed to him.

In the matter of ways and means of expression, the science of technique, he studied most profoundly, as only a great master would have the will to study. His vision was not touched by fashion. He struggled to apprehend the constructive force in nature and to employ in his works the principles found. His quality was honesty. "Integrity" is the word which seems best to fit him. Personally I consider him the greatest portrait painter America has produced.

悼

我很久没读他的书了，知道他死了，还是非常震惊。

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你在这座古老的院子里
和老树，废墙，苔藓，寂静的黄昏
一起，分分秒秒
守候着死亡
就像孩子
向往着
一个美丽的节日
不耐烦的时候
就喃喃自语
它会到来，它会到来

在它到来之前
你涂涂抹抹，精心准备
用强壮的手指
写下了很多
小房子般的方块字
里面有温暖的灯光，花朵
和一个
叫清平湾的地方

你当然不知道
在你居住的城市里
我曾与你为邻
经常经过你的窗口
我站住，踮起脚
看见一颗很干净的心
在午后的风里
轻轻叹息

太阳总是在
最明亮的时候
跌落
有时在河边
又有时在山上
那个日子终于来到了
正是我们迎接它的时辰
你转身时的微笑
让我泪流满面

Edward Hopper的荒凉岁月

爱德华·霍普（Edward Hopper；1882年7月22日－1967年5月15日）Self-Portrait, 1906

孤独的火车

有了iPhone后，一睁眼的第一件事就是查信。我是亚马逊的好顾客，他们也当仁不让地每天给我发信，用各种书籍来诱惑我口袋里的钱。王尔德说过，对诱惑最好的抗拒就是被诱惑。

今天亚马逊推荐最好的自传，其中有一本是康妮。莱斯的自传。我因为十分厌恶布什和他的四人帮，所以不会花钱去买他们几个人的书。但是，我对莱斯却感兴趣，一个黑姑娘，能做到这步，也是极其了不起的。她很自律，又会弹琴，身材娇小美丽。。。

我看了一眼介绍。她的家世也奇特。她出身在阿拉巴马，真正的South。我看过一本关于South的画册，哪里连空气里都饱含乡愁和悲哀。离我家不远的地方，就是芝加哥真正的黑人中产阶级的住宅区，天气好的时候，我喜欢去那一带散步，因为我像是到了South。黑人民族有一种很特别的特征，敏感，虔诚，悲哀而甜蜜。更确切地说，是一种诗意的梦幻气质，让你想到很多美丽的词：荒芜，哀伤，家园，故乡，蓝调，欲望，教堂，孩子，老人，死亡，和墓地。。。

她姥姥是个很有地位的黑人牧师的女儿，受过良好的教育。姥爷的皮肤很白，是个黑白混血儿，而且白人的血统比黑人要比例大的多。可这也逃脱不了被歧视的命运。很小的时候，有一天，被一个白人用鞭子抽了，气急了，反打了白人。又被吓坏了，撒腿就跑。第二天一早，发现自己口袋里只有一分钱，坐在一个火车站旁。一辆火车经过。那一声汽笛给了他永恒的孤独感。

他临死前，对女儿，也就是莱斯的妈妈说的最后一句话是：我们在这辆孤独的火车上疾驶而过。

人生就是一辆孤独的火车！

文学的语言，音乐的语言，绘画的语言

我对这个问题的思考，是因为看了马MM的一些文章后的疑惑。特别是她对傅聪和萨伊德的一些看法。

我自己不懂音乐，所以喜欢读专家的乐评，就像我喜欢“红学”甚至喜欢《红楼梦》本身。艺术评论解读艺术作品，最后的结果往往出乎作者自己的意料之外。

比如，艾略特的《荒原》，（在这里，不同意沈睿一下，她认为“WasteLand”应该翻译为《垃圾场》，我认为《荒原》是最好，也是最恰当的翻译。Waste本身是荒芜，荒凉的意思，《荒原》又是中文中非常常用，有几多含义，又极其诗意的一个词，再恰当不过了。《垃圾场》过于直白，确定，狭义，又没有诗意。）。当《荒原》声誉鹤起，被认为是一代心声，一个时代的记录以后，艾略特老老实实地承认，他写这首诗的目的只是出于一种对诗的语言的探索，而没有更多的企图和思想。比如这一段：

虚幻的城市
冬晨的棕色烟雾下
人群涌过伦敦桥
那么多人，
我想不到死神毁了那么多人，
时而吐出短促的叹息，
每个人眼睛看定脚前……
钟敲九点，最后的一声死气沉沉。

----艾略特《荒原》

这大概是被引用最多的一节，因为反映了“第一次世界大战后人心的荒凉”等等。。。但是爱略特自己却根本不是这个意思。

你能说因为艾略特自己不是这个意思，《荒原》的评论家们都是吃狗屎的，胡说八道的吗？恰恰相反，这正是《荒原》成为经典的原因。艺术的功效在于能唤起人们的意识和联想，而当作者自己创作的时候，他一定是有自己的潜意识。而当作品引起巨大共鸣，经受了时间的考验后，你可以回头再去考察检验那些存在于作品内的“潜意识”，这里面的“普世价值”也许作者自己根本没有意识到。

再回头说傅聪和萨伊德，还有马MM。这么说吧，我对莫扎特，贝多芬的理解受教于傅聪，对阿多诺，普鲁斯特的理解受教于萨伊德，对巴赫的理解受教于马MM。傅雷对人物的个性有极强的洞察力和定性能力，他对周恩来，莫扎特，贝多芬的评论是我读过的最到位的总结。我是萨伊德的粉丝，喜欢他的柔中有刚的性格和流畅，细腻，哀伤的抒情语言，我非常喜欢他的《晚期风格》，这是萨伊德了解到自己患了白血病后写的最后一本书，是对他钦慕的音乐家的礼赞，也是对自己即将过去的一生的回顾。这两人也是音乐大家。可是马MM对他们的微词却使我疑惑了很久，因为她不喜欢他们的地方恰恰是我最欣赏他们的地方。

我开始以为是我自己不懂音乐，看不到马MM能够洞察的地方。可傅聪，萨伊德自己就是音乐家，不至于犯这种错误啊。我一直在想这个问题，直到我最近又一次重读梵高时，我才突然醒悟。

我对绘画的知识比我对音乐的知识多多了。梵高是我的终生所爱，绝不亚于马MM热爱巴赫。我对梵高的生平，作品和绘画技巧也应该是非常熟悉的。可是，今年的某一天，我在翻看梵高时，突然写下了这样的一句话：

梵高是耶稣投生为画家，他燃烧的星空就是各各他的十字架。

我又马上想起了傅聪也说过莫扎特类似的话。而我却不是抄袭傅雷的话，只是我那一瞬间灵光一闪的切切实实的感受，是我热爱了梵高多年以后，最深刻的感受。

我终于解开了我的疑惑。傅聪，萨伊德在评论音乐家时用的是文学的语言，诗的语言，而不是音乐本身的语言。这和他们自己诗人的性格，强烈的感觉，和丰富的表达能力有关，而不是他们对音乐的感觉粗糙，观念老化，或者给谁谁谁定型，模式化。马MM是在试图用音乐的语言去描述音乐家和他们的作品，她从细节上入手，很多技术分析。而我也是用很感性的语言描述梵高，而没有具体的分析他的生平和技巧。但是，这也不说明我对梵高的认识大而空洞，或者模式化。和一般的音乐家相比，傅雷和萨伊德更具有诗人，文学家的才华和洞察力。