The bottom of my trousers ready and rolled up for me when I grow old

The bottom of my trousers rolled

I grow old.. I grow old..

I shall wear the bottom of my trousers rolled.

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Eliot


Kurt Schwitters’ advice on Performing Urlauten/ Ursontata

Good to know that it is also called Urlauten, which I personally prefer to Ursonata. 
Urlauten is a better word:
similar but not to be confused with umlaut (two .. on certain letters) > Ursonata has plenty of
Laut (loud) > poem to be performed out loud
Ur (old) sounds like Uhr (watch, clock, hour) = watchloud (as loud as a watch/ hour) 
Urlauten= plural of Urlaut = oldlouds 
similar but not to be confused with watchlouds
Umlauten are loud just like how the Urlauten should be read. It takes a long time to read them out loud.
Kurt Schwitters’ comments on Ur Sonata

“The Sonata consists of four movements, of an overture and a finale, and seventhly, of a cadenza in the fourth movement. The first movement is a rondo with four main themes, designated as such in the text of the Sonata. You yourself will certainly feel the rhythm, slack or strong, high or low, taut or loose. To explain in detail the variations and compositions of the themes would be tiresome in the end and detrimental to the pleasure of reading and listening, and after all I’m not a professor.”
“In the first movement I draw your attention to the word for word repeats of the themes before each variation, to the explosive beginning of the first movement, to the pure lyricism of the sung “Jüü-Kaa,” to the military severity of the rhythm of the quite masculine third theme next to the fourth theme which is tremulous and mild as a lamb, and lastly to the accusing finale of the first movement, with the question “tää?”…”
The fourth movement, long-running and quick, comes as a good exercise for the reader’s lungs, in particular because the endless repeats, if they are not to seem too uniform, require the voice to be seriously raised most of the time. In the finale I draw your attention to the deliberate return of the alphabet up to a. You feel it coming and expect the a impatiently. But twice over it stops painfully on the b…”
“I do no more than offer a possibility for a solo voice with maybe not much imagination. I myself give a different cadenza each time and, since I recite it entirely by heart, I thereby get the cadenza to produce a very lively effect, forming a sharp contrast with the rest of the Sonata which is quite rigid. There.”
“The letters applied are to be pronounced as in German. A single vowel sound is short… Letters, of course, give only a rather incomplete score of the spoken sonata. As with any printed music, many interpretations are possible. As with any other reading, correct reading requires the use of imagination. The reader himself has to work seriously to become a genuine reader. Thus, it is work rather than questions or mindless criticism which will improve the reader’s receptive capacities. The right of criticism is reserved to those who have achieved a full understanding. Listening to the sonata is better than reading it. This is why I like to perform my sonata in public.”

The full poem/ score
Thanks to the following page for providing information:

Things that George Orwell liked and didn’t like

 These are different from Barthes’.
I like English cookery and English beer, French red wines, Spanish white wines, Indian tea, strong tobacco, coal fires, candlelight and comfortable chairs. I dislike big towns, noise, motor cars, the radio, tinned food, central heating and modern furniture.
from Autobiographical note by George Orwell

Roland Barthes from Roland Barthes by Roland Barthes

“Being incessantly short of time (or you imagine yourself to be), caught up in deadlines and delays, you persist in supposing that you are going to get out of it by putting what you have to do in order. On your desk and in your files, how many lists of articles, books, seminars, courses to teach, telephone calls to make. As a matter of fact, you never consult these little slips of paper, given the fact that an anguished conscience has provided you with an excellent memory of all your obligations. But it is irrepressible: you extend the time you lack by the very registration of the lack. Let us call this the program compulsion (whose hypomaniacal character one readily divines); states and collectivities, apparently, are not exempt from it: how much time wasted in drawing up programs? And since I anticipate writing an article on it, the very notion of program itself becomes part of my program compulsion.

Now let us reverse all this: these dilatory maneuvers, these endlessly receding projects may be writing itself. First of all, the work is never anything but the metabook (the temporary commentary) of a work to come which, not being written, becomes this work in itself (…). Afterwards, the work is never monumental: it is a proposition which each will come to saturate as he likes, as he can (…). Finally, the work is a (theatrical) rehearsal, and this rehearsal, as in one of Rivette’s films, is verbose, infinite, interlaced with commentaries, excursuses, shot through with other matters. In a word, the work is a tangle; its being is the degree, the step: a staircase that never stops.”

Roland Barthes from Roland Barthes by Roland Barthes