Reviews for Humanism in Italian Renaissance musical thought

The average rating for Humanism in Italian Renaissance musical thought based on 2 reviews is 4 stars.

Review # 1 was written on 2012-11-08 00:00:00 Joaquin Dorfman Yowza.

Review # 2 was written on 2014-05-04 00:00:00 Michael Chico I didn't love this the way I thought I would, if that makes sense. I've read Lorde's work before, but I never sat down and read a book of her poetry, cover-to-cover. After a while they all seemed to be the same poem, and they were so heavy with metaphor that I often didn't know what she was trying to say. These are some of my favorites: The Dozens Nothing says that you must see me in the street with us so close together at that red light that a blind man could have smelled his grocer' and nothing says that you must say hello as we pass in the street, but we have known each other too well in the dark for this, and it hurts me when you do not speak. And no one you were with was quite so fine that I won't remember this and suffer you in turn and in my own fashion which is certainly not in the street. For I can count on my telephone ringing some evening and you exploding into my room through the receiver kissing and licking my ear.... I hope you will learn your thing at least from some of those spiteless noseless people who surround you before the centipede in you runs out of worlds one for each foot. Sowing It is the sink of the afternoon the children asleep or weary. I have finished planting the tomatoes in this brief sun after four days of rain brown earth under my fingernails honey-thick sun on the back of my neck the tips of my fingers are stinging from the rich earth but more so from the lack of your body. I have been to this place before blood seething commanded my fingers fresh from the earth dream of a furrow whose name should be you. Change of Season Am I to be cursed forever with becoming somebody else on the way to myself? Walking backward I fall into summers behind me salt with wanting lovers or friends a job wider shoes a cool drink something to bite into freshness place to hide out of the rain out of the shifting melange of seasons where cruel boys I chased and their skinny dodgeball sisters flamed and died in becoming the brown autumn left in search of who tore the streamers down at graduation … Who Said It Was Simple There are so many roots to the tree of anger that sometimes the branches shatter before they bear. Sitting in Nedicks the women rally before they march discussing the problematic girls they hire to make them free. An almost white counterman passes a waiting brother to serve them first and the ladies neither notice nor reject the slighter pleasures of their slavery. But I who am bound by my mirror as well as my bed see causes in color as well as sex and sit here wondering which me will survive all these liberations.