Cosi fan tutte, ossia La Scuola degli Amanti – Thus Do They All, or The School For Lovers

Mozart’s opera buffa is a perplexing one, and in spite of appearances, a very dark one indeed.

It is this mix of comedy and tragedy that attracts me, and led me to write this post.

Così was written quickly, over the autumn and winter months 1789 and premiered on January 26, 1790, on the eve of the Mozart’s 34th birthday.

Dramatis Personae

Fiordiligi: Lady from Ferrara and sister to Dorabella, living in Naples

Dorabella: Lady from Ferrara and sister to Fiordiligi, living in Naples

Guglielmo: Lover of Fiordiligi, a Soldier

Ferrando: Lover of Dorabella, a Soldier

Don Alfonso: an old philosopher

Despina: a maid

Cosi fan tutte, 23 January 1995, ROH

Synopsis

In a coffeehouse, Guglielmo and Ferrando, two soldiers, discuss with Don Alfonso,an old philosopher, the faithfulness of their fiances, Fiordiligi and Dorabella. Don Alfonso dismisses all that, and bets that he can prove within a day that Fiordiligi and Dorabella like all women, are fickle.

Cosi fan tutte, Act 1, Scene 1: Coffeehouse. Source: Royal Opera House, London

The two men will pretend they have been called to active duty, and they will leave (only to return in disguise). They announce the “bad” news ot their fiances, and they sail off to “war”. As they do, Don Alfonso, Fiordiligi and Dorabella wish them a safe trip: Soave sia il vento—”May the wind be gentle”

When left alone, Alfonso predicts that he will prove that all women are unfaithful: Oh, poverini, per femmina giocar cento zecchini? (Poor ones, (how stupid can you be) to wager 100 sequins on a woman?)

The arrangement is that the two men will return disguised as mustochioed Albanians and will attempt to seduce the women, swaping one for another. Ferrando will (attempt to) seduce Fiordiligi and Guglielmo will seduce Dorabella.

Cosi fan tutte, Act 1, Scene 2: In the sisters' home. Source: Royal Opera House, London

In the sisters’ home, Don Alfonso meets alone with Despina, the maid of the sisters, and bribes her to cooperate, as he is afraid that she will recognize the two men in spite of their disguise. Despina is fully part of the plot as the two “Albanians” enter the scene and offer to the two sisters their unlimited and irresistible charm.

Cosi fan tutte: Act 1, Scene 2: In the sisters' house. Source: Royal Opera House, London

The charm of the “Albanians” is not working and Despina asks Alfonso to take over. Extreme actions have to be taken. The two “Albanians” fake severe illness and Despina arrives disguised as a doctor to treat them. Eventually the two sisters succumb to the charm of the “Albanians” and the swap is done.

Cosi fan tutte: Act 2. Source: Royal Opera House, London

The four are now ready to be wedded, but in the “swap” mode. Despina now disguised as a notary presides over the event. Don Alfonso has won the bet! Women are fickle!

In a sudden change of the scene, the “Albanians” disappear, and the two soldiers return to find their beloved ones and confront them with the “contract” of their marriage to the “Albanians”.

Cosi fan tutte: Act 2. Source: Royal Opera House, London

In the finale, the men receal their “mixed” identities, and they all accept that life must be accepted with the good and the unavoidable bad times.

But of course it is not “life” we are talking about, the story is about people, and trust, and betrayal. And the moral of the story is that you cannot trust anyone! Unfortunately it is not only women who are fickle, everyone is fickle!

A Philosopher

What is a philosopher? What is philosophy? Definitions vary. I will quote some passages from Bruce Alan Brown’s article  (included in ROH’s program of the 1995 performance).

Thomas Allen as Don Alfonso in MET's production of Cosi fan Tutte (2005)

…..Pierre Richelet’s dictionary of the French Lnaguage (1775) gives as its primary definition of philosophy “love of wisdom” or “clear and distinct knowledge of things natural and divine”; but other senses of the word are given as well, including “firmness and loftiness of mind by which one puts oneself above the accidents of life and the false opinions of the world”.

It is precisely this trait which so distinguishes Alfonso from his young friends and which moves him to explain to them that “[....] in ogni cosa /Ci vuol filosofia” (philosophy is necessary in all things) after both sisters have been proved to be unfaithful. A “philosophical” attitude implied a forgiving nature, as one sees at the end of COSI.

….. The entire opera is premised on Rousseau’s notion that experience precedes understanding. Alfonso cannot simply tell the soldiers that women are inconstant, or the sisters know precious little about love. If they are truly to learn his lessons, they must experience the pain that comes from being deceived of their initial notions. The cruelty for which Don Alfonso has so often been criticized is the same as that of the tutor in Rousseau’s Emile, ou De l’Education, whose pedagogy amounts to “a minutely organized and vigilantly executed conspiracy”.

Allen as Don Alfonso with Cecilia Bartoli’s Despina at the production premiere of the Met's Così Fan Tutte in 1996

….It is Despina, not Alfonso, who presents the most complete “philosophy” of love in Cosi fan tutte. The creed she recites just before the first finale is a mixture of proverbial folk wisdom and current “naturalist” philosophy, probably learnt second-hand. The taking of a second lover, she declares, is not merely prudence byt a “law of nature”.

Jonathan Miller

I was lucky to have seen Jonathan Miller’s 1995 production of Cosi fan tutte in the Royal Opera House, London. This was his debut in Covent Garden, and what a debut it was! It is a production that has already been staged seven times since. From the archives of the Royal Opera House I can see that the production has been now modified to adopt a modern set and costumes and devices: the singers are using iPhones!

On Wine and Love – Περι Οινου και Ερωτος

Εισαγωγη

Οινος και Ερως, διδυμο ανικητο.

Δυσκολη η ζωη.

Πιο δυσκολη αν σου λειπει το ενα απο τα δυο.

Ασηκωτη αν σου λειπουν και τα δυο.

Διαβαινω και περισυλλεγω, και ευχομαι Εορτας με Οινο και Ερωτα εις απασες και απαντες.

Ξεκινω με Ευριπιδη, απο την τραγωδια του “Ιφιγενεια εν Αυλιδι”. Συνεχιζω με τον Αθηναίο Αντιφάνη απο τον Δειπνοσοφιστη Β του Αθήναιου,  τον Παλλαδά της Αλεξάνδρειας, και κλεινω με τον Ανδρεα Εμπειρικο.

Ι. Ευριπιδη, Ιφιγενεια εν Αυλιδι (480-406 π.Χ.)

Χορος

Καλοτυχοι που χαιρονται τον ερωτα

με μετρο

και συνεση κρατουν

και τη γαληνια τους καρδια

δεν την χτυπουν παραφορες

οταν διπλες τις σαϊτιες ο χρυσομαλλης Ερωτας

επανω τους καρφωνει -

τη μια χαρα τετρακλωνη

την αλλη συμφορα!

Μη μου τη ριχνεις της συμφορας τη σαϊτια

γλυκια μου Αφροδιτη.

Ας μην ειναι πανεμορφο της κλινης μου το ταιρι

ας ειναι ο ποθος μου γλυκος,

μεραδι ας εχω στις χαρες

κι ας λειπει το περισσιο.

(Μεταφραση Κωστα Τοπουζη, Εκδοσεις Επικαιροτητα)

ΙΙ. Το Αφανερωτο Φανερο (Αντιφανης, Αθηναιος κωμωδιογραφος, 408-334 π.Χ.)

Ο Αντιφανης στον Β Δειπνοσοφιστη του Αθήναιου ακουγεται να λεει:

“Να κρυψει, Φειδια,

ολα τ’αλλα καποιος θα μπορουσε εκτος απο δυο,

το οτι πινει κρασι και τ’οτι μπλεχτηκε σε ερωτα.

Διοτι αυτα τα δυο τα φανερωνουν τα ματια

και τα λογια τους – ετσι οσους τ’αρνουνται

αυτους κυριως… τους κανουν φανερους”

(Μεταφραση Θεοδωρος Γ. Μαυροπουλος, Εκδοσεις Κακτος)

ΙΙΙ. Παλλαδάς (Αλεξανδρεια, 4ος αιωνας μ.Χ.)

Το θανατο χρωστουν ολοι οι θνητοι, και κανεις τους

αν αυριο θα ζει δεν το γνωριζει.

Καλα στο νου σου να το βαλεις, ανθρωπε μου,

και να ευφραινεσαι – δωρο του Διονυσου η ληθη του θανατου.

Τερπου, στο βιο τον εφημερο η Αφροδιτη ας σ’οδηγησει.

Και τ’άλλα όλα, ασε να τα ρυθμισει η Τυχη.

(Συμποτικα Επιγραμματα, Μεταφραση Παντελη Μπουκαλα, Εκδοσεις Αγρα)

ΙV. Ανδρεας Εμπειρικος, Η Μανταλενα (Αθηνα, 1970)

Εγω φιλουσα σαν τρελος την Μανταλενα. Την φιλουσα παντου, στα στηθη, στα μαλλια, στα ματια, που ησαν ολα νοτισμενα απο γλυκιαν αρμυρα, αλλα τη στιγμη που την φιλησα εν τελει, στο στομα, η ηδυτης του φιλιου ητανε τοση, που τα χερια μου γλυστρησαν απο το κορμι της, και επεσα με παφλασμο μεσα στο νερο.

(Γραπτα ή Προσωπικη Μυθολογια, Εκδοσεις Αγρα)

Υ.Γ.1 Η εικαστικη διασταση της σημερινης “Ελληνικης” αναρτησης προερχεται απο τους: Bronzino, Caravaggio, Velazquez, Cabanel, Cezanne.

Υ.Γ.2 Ισως σας ενδιαφερει και η “Συρραφη περι Διονυσου“, μια παλαιοτερα αναρτηση μου.

Ingeborg Bachmann and Paul Celan: Heart’s Time wrapped in Darkness

Paul Celan was born in 1920 in Bucovina, Romania. He became one of the most prominent 20th century poets. Celan committed suicide in Paris, in 1970, before turning 50.

Ingeborg Bachmann, was born in 1926 in Klagenfurt, Austria. She wrote poems, libretti, novels and is considered one of the most talented German – Austrian writers of the 20th century. Bachmann died in rather strange circumstances in a fire in Rome, in 1973.  She was 47 years old.

Heart’s Time (Herzzeit) is the title of a book published in Germany in 2008 (the English translation has been published in 2010) containing more than 200 items of correspondence between the two lovers, friends.

Dr. Klaus Hübner observes in his review of the book’s publication:

“Love is always a very private matter, and it is only by means of the extent to which the lovers are known that an element of public awareness and interest is added to it. This is surely true in the case of the relationship between Ingeborg Bachmann (1926–1973) and Paul Celan (1920–1970). The works of these two writers belong to the essential core of German-language literature after the end of the Second World War, and they also belong to it because, in their different ways, they are marked by the collapse of German civilisation during the Nazi era, above all by the industrialised murder of many millions of Jews and its unspeakable and unending consequences. What would German lyric poetry be without Bachmann’s Die gestundete Zeit from 1953 (title poem of this collection variously translated as Mortgaged Time, The Respite, and Time Borrowed) or Anrufung des Großen Bären from 1956 (i.e. invocation of the Great Bear)? Without Celan’s Mohn und Gedächtnisfrom 1952 (i.e. poppies and memory) or Sprachgitter from 1959 (i.e. language-grille)? What would the memory of the ‚Fifties and ‚Sixties be without the celebrated Gruppe 47? Our view of the post-war period would be incomplete without Bachmann’s and Celan’s verses, voices and photos.”

“Glorious news” the 21-year old Ingeborg Bachmann writes in a letter to her parents, the “surrealist poet” Paul Celan has fallen in love with her. It is May 1948, Vienna. Celan sends Bachmann his poem In Ägypten (in Egypt) with the dedication: “For Ingeborg. To one who is painfully precise (peinlich genau), 22 years after her birth, from one who is painfully imprecise.“

Celan visits Bachmann in Vienna and stays there for a month or so. He then goes to Paris where he is going to stay until his death in 1970.

Visit “Once upon an Autumn” to read “Corona”,  the last poem that Celan wrote before leaving Vienna in 1948.

In 1950, Bachmann received her Doctor of Philosophy from the University of Vienna with her dissertation titled “The Critical Reception of the Existential Philosophy of Martin Heidegger,”

Bachmann writes to Celan in 1949:

“Sometimes I’d like nothing better than to get away and come to Paris, to feel you touch my hand, how you touch me completely with flowers and then not to know yet again where you come from and where you are going.  To me you come from India or from a more distant dark, brown land, to me you are the desert and the sea and everything secretive. I know nothing about about and that is why I am often so afraid for you, I cannot imagine that you are doing the same things the rest of us are doing here, I should have a castle for us and bring you to me, so that you can be my enchanted lord, we will have many tapestries in it and music and invent love. I have often thought that “Corona” is your most beautiful poem, it is the most perfect anticipation of a moment where everything becomes marble and exists forever. But here it is not my “time”.  I hunger for something that I will not get, everything is flat and vapid. tired and used-up even before it is used.   in mid-August I will be in Paris just for a few days. Don’t ask me why, but be there for me, for one evening, or two or three. Take me to the Seine, we want to look down into it for a long time until we’ve become small fish and recognize each other again. “

Although they are no longer “lovers” in the exact sense of the word, the correspondence continues stronger than ever. Ina Hartwig in her Frankfurter Rundschau review (published in 2008) relates.

“In September 1950 she will mention her first “nervous breakdown” and tell Celan that she is “lost, desperate and embittered”. She writes: “I have such desire for a little comfort” and she entreats him: “Please try to be good to me and hold me tight!” He obviously senses a good portion of stylisation here, in any case he soon cautions his now most sought-after companion to be “a little more sparing with your demands”. Because, he continues, she has “had more from life” than most of her contemporaries. Jealousy? This is the astoundingly sober reply to a letter from June 1951, in which she admits: “I love you and I don’t want to love you, it is too much and too difficult…”"

In his article “Expressing the Dark“, Hans-Gunnar Peterson observes:

“What impelled her was a wish to work with death as a motif and with reflections on the hidden forces of violence and oppression in society. She was appalled and yet fascinated by the fact that crimes against humans are being committed on such a large scale also outside of the boundaries of war. “Since long have I pondered the question of where fascism has its origin. It is not born with the first bombs, neither through the terror one can describe in every newspaper … its origin lies in the relations between a man and a woman, and I have tried to say … in this society there is permanently.”"

Bachmann with Henze

In 1953 Bachmann goes to Rome, where she works with Hans Werner Henze, the German composer, and writes two libretti for his operas: the Prince of Homburg, and The Young Lord.

In 1957 the two “lovers” meet again and their relationship is revitalized. But it is only an interlude. They go back to their own separate lifes until 1961, when Ingeborg experiences a writer’s block wen it comes to her correspondence with Celan.

Psalm

Paul Celan

No one moulds us again out of earth and clay,

no one conjures our dust.

No one.

Praised be your name, no one.

For your sake

we shall flower

Towards

you.

A nothing

we were, are, shall

remain, flowering;

the nothing-, the

no one’s rose.

With our pistil soul-bright

with our stamen heaven-ravaged

our corolla red

with the crimson word which we sang

over, 0 over

the thorn.

Bachmann writes to Celan shortly before the “blockage” in her writing in 1961: “I really think that the greatest disaster is inside you. The wretched stuff that comes from outside – and you don’t need assure me of the truth of this, because I am well aware of much of it – is certainly poisonous, but it can be overcome, it must be possible to overcome. It is up to you now to confront it properly, after all you see that every explanation, every event, however right it might have been, has not diminished the unhappiness inside you, when I hear you speaking, it seems to me as if … it meant nothing to you that many people have made an effort, as if the only things that counted for you were dirt, maliciousness, folly. … You want to be the victim, but it is up to you to change this…” (Ina Hartwig ).

Bachmann with Henze in Rome

“Enigma” 1967

Ingeborg Bachmann

Nothing more will come.

Spring will no longer flourish.

Millennial calendars forecast it already.

And also summer and more, sweet words

such as “summer-like”–

nothing more will come.

You mustn’t cry,

says the music.

Otherwise

no one

says

anything.

After 1967 Bachmann almost sopped writting poetry and turned to prose. Marjorie Perloff explains:

“Why did Bachmann stop writing lyric poems?  In an interview, she remarked: “I have nothing against poems, but you must try to understand that there are moments when suddenly, one has everything against them, against every metaphor, every sound, every rule for putting words together, against the absolutely inspired arrival of words and images.”  What she means here, I think, is that, in the writing of lyric, she couldn’t seem to get around the male and patriarchal voice so powerful in German poetry.  “I had only known,” Bachmann admitted in 1971, “how to tell a story from a masculine position.  But I have often asked myself: why, really?  I have not understood it, not even in the case of the short stories.”  Then, too, Bachmann feared, as did her contemporary Paul Celan, that German lyric too easily falls into the trap of “harmony,” the harmony which, as Celan puts it, “no longer has anything in common with that ‘harmony’ which sounded more or less unchallenged, side by side with the most dreadful.”  The reference here is of course to the Holocaust: Bachmann was well aware of the difficulty Celan speaks of.”

‘For me it is not a question of a woman’s role, but the phenomenon of love – how you love. […] Love is a work of art, and I don’t believe many have the capacity for it.’ Ingeborg Bachmann said this in an interview in 1971. By then, her correspondence with Paul Celan was long over. In the early 1960s, Celan had been in the midst of an existential crisis that clouded his relationship with her. (Angelika Reitzer)

In late spring 1970, Gisèle Celan-Lestrange, estranged wife of the poet Paul Celan, wrote to the Austrian poet Ingeborg Bachmann, an early love and life-long friend of the poet’s: “In the night from Monday to Tuesday, 19 to 20 April, he left his apartment, never to return… ” (Bachmann-Celan Correspondence, p. 197). (Ina Hartwig).

“My life is over, for during the transport he has drowned in the river’, says the dream ‘self’ in Bachmann’s novel Malina; and ‘he was my life. I loved him more than my life.’ (Malina: A Novel. Translated by Philip Boehm. Holmes & Meier, 1990.)” (Angelika Reitzer)

The Monk of Cappadoccia – Part II

This is the second part of the story of Kostas T, a Monk in Cappadoccia.

Part I ended when Elektra, the Alsatian French psychoanalyst had just arrived in Cappadoccia for a week’s visit, to recharge her batteries and, maybe rethink her life.

After laying his eyes on Elektra, Kostas felt for the first time since Iphigenie left him the desire for a woman to reemerge from the depths of his wounded manhood. The cell where he spent most of his time all of a sudden became his prison.

He felt strong carnal desire for Elektra. He had to have her at any cost.

Kostas left the monastery climbing the steep rocks in order to meet his lover.

It was a hot embrace from the very beginning.

The week of Elektra’s holidays was almost over.

Day after day the two lovers would meet and enjoy endless love making.

But she was now due to return to her home and regular life.

Kostas could not believe that he would lose her.

Endless discussions were fruitless.

At the end, Elektra decided to return to her home, and come to Cappadoccia  again after three months, hoping she would convince Kostas to abandon the monastic life and go to Alsace with her.  She told this to Kostas openly and promised to write to him every day.

Kostas became restless after Elektra went back to Alsace.

He would read her letters and write back to her the same day he read them.

In his mind he was ready to return to the ordinary life of people, and he started feeling guilty for not taking this decision earlier, when Elektra was still in Cappadoccia.

He spent endless sleepless nights, dreaming with his eyes open, that he was in Colmar, with Elektra, and the Monastery in Cappadoccia was just a dream.

To his surprise, one day he received a photo showing Elektra in New York.

She had attached a note saying that everything was wonderful, she went to New York for a three day conference,  and that next day she would visit an old friend of hers in Long Island.

On the next day, Elektra joined the legions of Angels, when she was shot when exiting her friends car in the parking lot of a Long Island Restaurant.

The local newspaper reported on the murder:

“Elektra Meyer, 30, of Colmar, France, died shortly after being rushed to a hospital after she was shot in the parking lot at the back of the La Cantina restaurant on Main Street.

Investigators believe Meyer had just gotten out of the silver Mercedes of Joe Bray, who was driving, when at least one gunman ambushed her as she arrived with Joe Bray at the restaurant for the day.

According to the Long Island business registry, Bray was a shareholder in the eatery through a numbered company.

The restaurant has for years been a popular destination for diners looking for a traditional Italian meal in Long Island.

But La Cantina was described, during the 2002 trial of a Manhattan lawyer charged with drug smuggling for the Rizzi clan, as a known hangout for drug traffickers. The lawyer, who was eventually acquitted, was barred from going to the restaurant when he was released on bail.”

Long Island Police collecting evidence in the parking lot

The police found Kostas’ photo and address in Elektra’s purse and notified him immediately.

Kostas could not come to terms with Elektra’s death.

Who was her friend?

Why did the criminals shoot Elektra and not Bray?

He swore to take revenge, no matter what it took for him to do that, and left the monastery for good.

His life was never going to be the same.

Kostas found refuge in a nearby town., where he became known as “the Monk”.

In order to make a living he started working as a barman in a bar.

One night he met Frank R.

Frank was an American, a marine veteran of the Afghan war.

He was tough and reserved, but gradually developed a liking for Kostas.

The two men would often chat and arrived at the point where they considered themselves to be friends.

However, things were not what they appeared to be.

Frank presented himself as a businessman, working on behalf of an American Corporation trading goods between Asia and the US.

In reality, Frank was the person responsible for the movement of opiates from Afghanistan through Turkey to Europe.

Frank preparing for work

He belonged to a criminal organization that controlled more than half of the traffic.

For the reader who founds herself in totally unknown territory, I offer the following as supporting information.

“The general route for smuggling Afghan-produced opiates from Pakistan goes overland from Pakistan’s Balochistan province across the border into Iran, then passes through the northwestern region, which is inhabited by Kurds, and finally into laboratories in Turkey, where the opium is processed.

The shipments from Pakistan may be broken down into smaller shipments once in Iran. Iran is both a transit country and a destination for opium products. Iranian domestic production is believed to be quite low and unable to supply domestic demand. Opiates not intended for the Iranian market transit Iran to Turkey, where the morphine base is processed into heroin. Heroin and hashish are delivered to buyers located in Turkey, who then ship the drugs to the international market, primarily Europe.”

Frank one day was visited by his wife, Ulrike, who was a diplomat with the German Embassy in Ankara.

Frank and Ulrike were a harmonious couple.

They shared most of things in life, among them a double life.

Ulrike was in reality working for the Turkish Military Intelligence Agency, using her diplomatic job as a cover.

Ulrike and two of her toys

Frank had already spoken to Ulrike about his new friend, Kostas, and his tormented life.

Ulrike felt sorry for Kostas and in order to brighten his day, she invited her friend Evita to join her in her trip to Cappadoccia.

Evita was the daughter of the Argentinian Ambassador in Turkey and was spending a few months with her widowed father before going back to Buenos Aires in order to take over the family business.

Frank and Ulrike were wondering how Kostas would respond to the presence of the attractive Latin American.

Would she be able to help him get out of the deep depression and become alive again?

to be continued….

Primavera – Ανοιξη

This is a post for Spring, for flowers, for love, for life.

Αυτη η αναρτηση ειναι για την Ανοιξη,τα λουλουδια, τον ερωτα, την ζωη.

Ξεκιναμε απο την Ιταλια, με την υπεροχη ζωγραφια του Sandro Boticelli, και την μουσικη του Antonio Vivaldi, το Allegro απο την Ανοιξη στις Τεσσερις Εποχες. Διευθυνει ο Herbert von Karajan την Ορχηστρα Berlin Philharmoniker, και βιολι παιζει η Anne Sophie Mutter.

Πηγαινουμε στη Γερμανια για τα τραγουδια της Ανοιξης και αρχιζουμε με το υπεροχο τραγουδι της Ανοιξης του Franz Schubert, σε ποιηση Ernst Schulze, με τον Sviatoslav Richter στο πιανο και ερμηνευτη τον Dietrich Fischer Dieskau.

Quietly I sit on the hill’s slope.
The sky is so clear;
a breeze plays in the green valley.
Where I was at Spring’s first sunbeam
once – alas, I was so happy!

When I was walking at her side,
So intimate and so close,
and deep in the dark rocky spring
was the beautiful sky, blue and bright;
and I saw her in the sky.

Σειρα εχει ο αλλος μεγας συνθετης της Γερμανικης Παραδοσης, ο Richard Strauss, που συνεθεσε το τραγουδι της ανοιξης, το πρωτο αναμεσα στα τεσσερα τελευταια τραγουδια, σε ποιηση Hermann Hesse. Σημειωνω οτι ο συνθετης δεν εζησε για να ακουσει την πρωτη εκτελεση των τραγουδιων αυτων. Ερμηνευει η μεγαλη  σοπρανο Lucia Popp, ενω την ορχηστρα διευθυνει ο Sir Georg Solti .

In shadowy crypts
I dreamt long
of your trees and blue skies,
of your fragrance and birdsong.

Now you appear
in all your finery,
shining brilliantly
like a miracle before me.

You recognize me,
you entice me tenderly.
All my limbs tremble at
your blessed presence!

Ωρα για επιστροφη στην Ελλαδα. Ο Μανος Χατζηδακις μας χαρισε τοσα και τοσα αριστουργηματα, ενα απο αυτα ειναι “Οι Πασχαλιες μεσα απο τη Νεκρη Γη”, που την ακουμε ευθυς αμεσως.

Συνεχιζω με το υπεροχο τραγουδι του Τακη Μωρακη σε στιχους Κωστα Κοφινιωτη “Ηρθες σαν την Ανοιξη” ερμηνευμενο απο την μεγαλη Στελλα Γκρεκα.

Ηρθες σαν την Ανοιξη

και μου φερες αυτο που λαχταρουσα

ρόδα και γαρύφαλλα
του έρωτα που χρόνια λαχταρούσα

Ήρθες αγαπούλα μου
και ήσουνα εκείνο που ποθούσα
τ’ όνειρο που ζήταγα να βρώ τόσο καιρό

Κοντά σου η ζωή ομορφαίνει
και σβύνει κάθε πίκρα παλιά

Και για να μην ξεχνιομαστε καθε νομισμα εχει δυο οψεις.  Μας το θυμιζει η Ελενη Βιταλη, με το σχετικα αγνωστο ασμα του Σπυρου Σαμοιλη σε στιχους Μενελαου Λουντεμη “Οι κερασιες θα ανθισουνε”. Μια υπεροχη ζεμπεκια, που την πρωτοτραγουδισε η Ισιδωρα Σιδερη.

Οι κερασιες θ’ ανθισουνε και φετος στην αυλη

και θα γεμισουνε με ανθη το παρτερι

σκληρη που ειναι η ανοιξη σαν εισαι διχως ταιρι

σκληρη που ειναι η ζωη

Άνοιξε το παράθυρο στην πρωινή γιορτή,
για νάμπουν οι μοσκοβολιές από το περβόλι.
Αχ, κάθε του τριαντάφυλλο και μια πληγή από βόλι,
και μια πληγή από βόλι είναι για σε, ποιητή!

Αλλαζουμε πορεια και απο τη μελαγχολια του μεγαλου Ποιητη περναμε στην ανεμελη θεωρηση της ζωης της Συννεφουλας, που εχει τρελανει κοσμο.

Κι ερχεται ο Απριλης αχ καρδουλα μου

να κι ο Μαης, ο Μαης Συννεφουλα μου!

Διχως τραγουδι δακρυ και φιλι

δεν ειναι Ανοιξη φετος αυτη!

Ομως δεν ειναι ολες οι κοπελιες σαν τη Συννεφουλα, η Λενιω ας πουμε φαινεται να δινει χαρα και καθολου στενοχωρια στο νεο που την ποθει. Ισως να οφειλεται στο οτι ολη η κατασταση ειναι ενα μυστικο.

Απριλη μου ξανθε

και Μαη μυρωδατε

καρδια μου πως

καρδια μου πως αντεχεις

μεσα στην τοση αγαπη

και τις τοσες ομορφιες

Ο Κωστας Γιαννιδης δεν κραταει τιποτε μυστικο. Ζητα ανοιχτα και καθαρα “Λιγα Λουλουδια αν θελεις στειλε μου”.

Κι ας ελπισουμε οτι τα λουλουδια θα μεινουν φρεσκα για λιγες μερες και δεν θα καθομαστε να λεμε “Μαραμενα τα Γιουλια κι οι Βιολες” σε μουσικη Αττικ με τη φωνη της Κακιας Μενδρη.

Αλλαζουμε χωρα παλι, και παμε στη Γαλλια, μεσω Γερμανιας, οπου οι Rammstein τραγουδουν Fruhling in Paris,  και ευλαβικα αποτιουν τιμη στην ανεπαναληπτη Edith Piaf. Το ρεφραιν τα λεει ολα.

Oh non, rien de rien
Oh non, je ne regrette rien

The lips often redeem(ing) and tender
And they touch for ages/eternally
If I leave her mouth
Then I begin to shiver

Alvaro Mutis – Writer, Novelist, Poet

Today I want to pay tribute to one of my favourite South American writers, Alvaro Mutis.

By way of introduction

“These disasters, these decisions that are wrong from the start, these dead ends that constitute the story of my life, are repeated over and over again. A passionate vocation for happiness, always betrayed and misdirected, ends in a need for total defeat; it is completely foreign to what, in my heart of hearts, I’ve always known could be mine if it weren’t for this constant desire to fail.”

“Her blue-black hair was as dense as honey and fell to shoulders as straight as those of the kouros in the Athens Museum. Her narrow hips, curving gently into long, somewhat full legs, recalled statues of Venus in the Vatican Museum and gave her erect body a definitive femininity that immediately dispelled a certain boyish air. Large, firm breasts completed the effect of her hips.”

(See reference 3)

The Tramp Steamer’s Last Port of Call

My favorite Mutis novel is the Tramp Steamer’s Last Port of Call.  As Peter Orner observes:

“The Tramp Steamer” is a sea story. It is the story of an old dilapidated wandering boat that the narrator – an oil company executive who travels around the world – coincidentally sees limping into various harbors at different times in his life. Helsinki, Costa Rica, Kingston, Jamaica. He becomes, for years, haunted by the image of this tramp steamer. “This nomadic piece of sea trash bore a kind of witness to our destiny on earth….” A sea story, but also, like any great story maybe, it is a love story. Years after his last encounter with that strange, memorable boat, the narrator (again coincidentally, but as Mutis suggests, our lives are made up of these sorts of coincidences) meets the captain of it and becomes privy to the story behind the image.

(See reference 4)

Short Biography (Source: New York Review of Books)

Álvaro Mutis was born in 1923 in Bogotá, Colombia. As a child he lived in Brussels, returning to Bogotá to complete his education. He has lived in Mexico since 1956. Mutis is the author of poetry, short stories, and novels. His first poems were published in 1948, his first short stories in 1978, and his first novella, The Snow of the Admiral—the initial volume of the Maqroll series—in 1986. He has received many literary awards, including the Prix Medicis in 1989 and, most recently, the 2002 Neustadt Prize for Literature.

References

1. BOMB Magazine Interview

2. From Johns Hopkins University’s online site:  Diary of Lecumberri

3. The New Yorker, John Updike reviews Mutis’ book: “The Adventures and Misadventures of Maqroll”.

4. Peter Orner’s Brief Thoughts

Happy Valentine’s Day!

To the Women

"Poppy" Georgia O'Keefe

and Men on Earth and beyond,

I wish the happiest Valentine’s Day

Love is a hard, difficult thing

Tracey Amin

Our life is full of promises

Suffering is the bread if love is the butter

And it usually starts very differently

Tracey Amin

“When everything has been said,

when everything has been done,

just remember

I never stopped

loving you”

"Porchsester Baths" Tracey Amin 1988

Paradise is lost….

"Paradise Lost" Emil Nolde

……. but there is nothing more comforting than a kiss…

Roy Lichtenstein

…and a walk to the seashore

"By the Seashore" Emil Nolde

Happy Valentine’s!

Greek Folk Songs of Love – Διστιχα της Αγαπης

Μια και το πιο σπουδαιο, το πιο υπεροχο, το πιο δυσκολο στη ζωη ειναι η Αγαπη, ξεκινω το 2010 με διστιχα της Αγαπης, απο τη Συλλογη Ελληνικων Δημοτικων Τραγουδιων του Φοριελ (Πανεπιστημιακες Εκδοσεις Κρητης 1999). Καλη Χρονια και με Αγαπη!

Ω, Παναγια μου Δεσποινα, βαρια που ειν’η αγαπη!

Μηδε ο τοπος με χωρει, μηδ’ ολο το σοκακι.

Για μαυρα ματια χανομαι, για μπιρμπιλια πεθαινω,

γι’ αυτα τα καταγαλανα σκαπτω την γην και μπαινω.

Τις ειδεν ψαρι στο βουνον, την θαλασααν σπαρμενην;

Τις ειδεν εις τετοιον καιρον αγαπη εμπιστευμενην;

Τι αδικια εις εμε, ματακια μου και φως μου

ολοι αγαπουνε την ζωην, κι εγω τον θανατον μου.

Μαυρα μαλλια στην κεφαλη, στες πλατες ξαπλωμενα,

αγγελοι τα κτενιζουνε, με διαμαντενια κτενια.

Να χαμηλωναν τα βουνα, να’ βλεπα το Μισιρι,

να’ βλεπα το πουλακι μου, με ποιονα τρωει και πινει.

Ας ητο τροπος ματια μου το χερι σου να κρατουν,

κι ευθυς ας με περεχυνε ο ιδρως του θανατου.

Απο τα γλυκα σου ματια, τρεχει αθανατο νερο,

και σε γυρεψα λιγακι, και δεν μοδωσες να πιω.

Μια ψυχη χωρις το σωμα, πια να ζησει δεν μπορει,

και πως εζησα ως τωρα, το θαυμαζω κι απορω.

Τηρα με πως εγινηκα, μαυρος σαν τον αραπη,

δεν ειμ’ απο την Αραπια, μον’ ειμ’ απ’ την αγαπη.

Die Tote Stadt – The Dead City

The mind is like Ariadne’s thread! When I read Katerina’s response to my post on Riga, my mind traveled to the Dead City, Die Tote Stadt, the Opera of Erich Korngold. and its magnificent aria, “Joy sent from above”. I dedicate this post to Katerina.

Ariadne with Dionysos, 4th century BC, from Chalki Greece, Louvre Museum

The opera is based on a novel by Georges Rodenbach, Bruges la Morte. The story is about Paul, a man who lost his wife Maria, and wonders in the city of Bruges, half asleep half awake, in a state of hallucination and mental disorder.

Marietta is a woman he meets and he considers to be Maria. Eventually he gets over the trauma of losing Maria, and leaves Bruges to continue his life.

Egon Schiele: Die Tote Stadt

“Mariettas lied” [Glück das mir verblieb}

Glück, das mir verblieb,
rück zu mir, mein treues Lieb.
Abend sinkt im Hag
bist mir Licht und Tag.
Bange pochet Herz an Herz
Hoffnung schwingt sich himmelwärts.

Joy, sent from above

Hold me close, my faithful love

Darkness ends the day

You will light my way

Fear is throbbing in our hearts

Hope is rising heavenward

Naht auch Sorge trüb,
rück zu mir, mein treues Lieb.
Neig dein blaß Gesicht
Sterben trennt uns nicht.
Mußt du einmal von mir gehn,
glaub, es gibt ein Auferstehn.

Joyful days must flee

Dearest love, stay close to me

Time will pass away

But true love will stay

Though we have to part in pain

Yonder there we'll meet again

Erich Korngold

Anne Sofie von Otter, the Swedish mezzo-soprano, in one of the best performances of the aria. The music of the aria is subliminal heaven. Otter’s singing is divine. The chamber atmosphere emphasizes the sensitivity of the music. I do not need to say anything more.

A Kiss is just a kiss, or is it something else?

The question of the title is not rhetorical. The kiss is one of the vehicles to supercede one’s one material existence and attempt the ultimate, which is the submersion into another body, thus abolishing one’s own existence.

The two lovers embrace and they momentarily forget their fatal destiny. Cold as the marble they inhabit. They embrace, but they stay apart.

The man wears a crown of vines, and the woman flowers in her hair. They are oblivious to the fact that they are on the edge.  They are content and harmonious.

A kiss may last for fractions of a second, but then also for centuries.

The couple embrace almost in depseration. Their bodies touch and tangle. There is no time to waste. Passion overflows the carnal vessels.

You must remember this
A kiss is still a kiss,
A sigh is just a sigh…
The fundamental things apply,
As time goes by.

And when two lovers woo,
They still say I love you
On that you can rely…
No matter what the future brings,
As time goes by.

And time goes by and before you know it, you feel the cold wind on your back and the dark shadow enveloping you, and you embrace the beloved one, and you seek in her mouth the taste of youth and the aroma of ever lasting passion.