Ideal

Just in case no one knew this fact, I will repeat and emphasise that I really like poetry! The rhyme and rhythm the poets use deeply resonates with me. This was understood by ancient troubadours travelling from village to village to tell their stories or bring news. They used rhyme and rhythm to help them recall what they wanted to tell. Also rhyming poetry has a "beat" similar to that of the human heart, hence the "resonating" effect on peoples everywhere. 

So when music and poetry combine (most song lyrics are poetic) there is an emotional connect. At least I find it so. Now some years ago I heard the songs composed by Francesco Paolo Tosti (1846 – 1916). An Italian by birth his songs became so popular in Victorian England that he became a British citizen in 1906. He was actually knighted by King Edward VII in 1908 for his services to the arts. Eventually he returned to Italy in 1913 and died in Rome in 1916 (my reference is Wikipedia).

As I said, when music and poetry combine I find that, without being too melodramatic, I am "transported" to another dimension. And this simple and gentle Tosti song, Ideale, with the lyrics shown below, certainly transports me back to times in my life with Magucha. (It has been recorded by many artists but I prefer the old, 1951 version, with piano accompaniment, sung by Beniamino Gigli. It’s on YouTube) 

Remember that this is a translation and the original Italian poetic form has not translated well I don’t believe. I still love the sentiment expressed.

Ideale  (Ideal) – a translation from the original Italian.

I followed you like a rainbow of peace

along the paths of heaven;

I followed you like a friendly torch

in the veil of darkness,

and I sensed you in the light, in the air,

in the perfume of flowers,

and the solitary room was full

of you and your radiance.

 

Absorbed by you, I dreamed a long time

of the sound of your voice,

and the earth’s every anxiety, every torment

I forgot in that dream.

Come back dear ideal, for an instant

to smile at me again,

and in your face will shine for me 

a new dawn.

 

Lyric: by Carmelo Erico. Music: by Francesco Paolo Tosti in 1882.

 

You see, again, without being too melodramatic, Magucha was my "Ideal".

Life

It is strange how the human condition is perceived and recorded. Not necessarily the dry APA (American Psychiatric Association) style required for “research papers” presented by neuroscientists or psychiatrists in their appropriate “Journals” but the more human kind - nearer the “heart” of humanity. The best of these are good novelists and especially, in my estimation, poets.

The human conditions or emotions most recorded in poetry, song and novels are, I believe, love, birth, life and death – those important milestones in anyone’s life.

As I have stated many times before, poetry affects me in more ways than I can possibly say. Poetry seems to touch some hidden part of my soul. There have always been poets – often, in olden times, troubadours bringing news and songs to far flung villages. And it was discovered very early on that the best way to remember long stories was to render them into verse. The rhyme and rhythm was easier to recall.

The rhythm is often associated with the beating of the human heart and a good reciter of poetry seems to capture that as he or she reads from the volume or recites from memory. This resonates with the listener.

I can only read in English so everything I read is either originally written in that language or translated. Whether it is the flexibility and the vast vocabulary of that language I’m not sure but there is a massive treasure trove of English poetry.  

I usually include a verse or two from a poem that has made an impression on me but now I attach below, the whole of what I think is my favourite poem written by a man I greatly admire and who suffered greatly – the American, Henry Longfellow. He married twice but both wives died – the first after a miscarriage in 1831 and his beloved second wife died an awful death, burned in a tragic accident in their home in 1861, a death from which he never really recovered. He died in Cambridge, Massachusetts, at the age of 75 in 1882. A great poet and a great man.

The Day is Done

The day is done, and the darkness

Falls from the wings of Night,

As a feather is wafted downward

From an eagle in his flight.

I see the lights of the village

Gleam through the rain and the mist,

And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me

That my soul cannot resist:

A feeling of sadness and longing,

That is not akin to pain,

And resembles sorrow only

As the mist resembles the rain.

Come, read to me some poem,

Some simple and heartfelt lay,

That shall soothe this restless feeling,

And banish the thoughts of day.

Not from the grand old masters,

Not from the bards sublime,

Whose distant footsteps echo

Through the corridors of Time.

For, like strains of martial music,

Their mighty thoughts suggest

Life's endless toil and endeavor;

And to-night I long for rest.

Read from some humbler poet,

Whose songs gushed from his heart,

As showers from the clouds of summer,

Or tears from the eyelids start;

Who, through long days of labor,

And nights devoid of ease,

Still heard in his soul the music

Of wonderful melodies.

Such songs have power to quiet

The restless pulse of care,

And come like the benediction

That follows after prayer.

Then read from the treasured volume

The poem of thy choice,

And lend to the rhyme of the poet

The beauty of thy voice.

And the night shall be filled with music,

And the cares, that infest the day,

Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs,

And as silently steal away.

                        Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Memories or dreams?

It is very strange how memory works. I might be going about my daily chores when a scent, a sound, a picture or something I might read, will suddenly recall an event or something about our lives together. Me with Magucha. I know that it is getting on for three years since she died (I just can’t use the euphemism “passed away”. It seems like an avoidance – to hide something). Sometimes she seems closer than at other times – like a dream – drifting in and out. 

All this reminds me of the reasons why I like poetry and why it has been used by troubadours and wandering minstrels down the centuries is that the cadence, the rhythm, matches that of music and the beat of the human heart – about sixty beats a minute. Before written language was invented, Hindus used the rhythm to help them remember verses of the Bhagavad Gita and other epic tales. Similarly the Greeks had wandering minstrels who would entertain people with tales of Olympus and the Gods who lived there. These stories were later collated by Homer and many other writers. 

This poem – and I know it may pull at the heart-strings – but I don’t care, it resonates for me - only because I grieve. This reminds me of Magucha and the love we shared.  It is all about memories. 

When tomorrow starts without me.

When tomorrow starts without me, I will not be here to see,
That the sun will rise and find your eyes; filled with tears for me,
But please know you're always in my heart, and I will forever love you,
And know, each time you think of me, I will be missing you too.

When tomorrow starts without me, I need you to understand,
That an angel came, he called my name and took me by the hand.
He told me it was time to go up to heaven far above,
And that I have to leave behind all those I dearly love.

When tomorrow starts without me, I know that you will cry,
For all my life I’d always thought that I would never die.
I had so much life ahead of me; I had so much to do,
It seems almost impossible that I was leaving you.

When tomorrow starts without me, I think of the good days, and the bad,
I thought of all our fights, next to all the fun we had.
If I could have stayed, just for a little while,
I would say I'd always be here, and then I'd make you smile.

When tomorrow starts without me, I'll realise that this could never be,
As all that would be left of me, is frozen in memories.
Then I thought of all the beautiful things that I would miss tomorrow,
I thought of you and when I did my heart was filled with sorrow.

When tomorrow starts without me I will walk through heaven’s gate,
I will feel at home even without my soul mate.
I know this is what I wanted, deep down within my bones,
And God looked down and smiled at me from his great golden throne.

When tomorrow starts without me I see everything He promised me,

“Today your life on earth is past, and now you can be free.”
“I promise no tomorrow as today will always last,
And since it's all the same you will not be longing for the past.”

So when tomorrow starts without me don’t think we’re far apart,
For every time you think of me I’m right here in your heart.

Attributed to David Romano.