Tre cose strane
7/4/11 09:52![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
Three strange things happened on my way to work this morning.
I saw a dead crow in the middle of the road.
The sun came out.
I passed a mezzo-soprano practicing in Waterfront Park.
I was so struck by the strange magic of the other two things that I stopped, turned around, and went back to ask her what she was singing. She, it turns out, was a young man with sweet, wild features, his blue nylon windbreaker hood pulled up around his face. He finished his song as I listened.
"What are you singing?"
"Amarilli mia bella," he said, "by Giulio Caccini. He wrote it not very long after Columbus came to America."
We spoke for a few moments, he made sure I had the song title right ("It's standard," he said. "You can find it in Twenty-Four Italian Songs and Arias." "I had that book once!" I replied. "Well, find it again," said he); I thanked him for singing and he thanked me for riding my bike, and I went on to work.
I don't know how to weave these three things together yet.
I saw a dead crow in the middle of the road.
The sun came out.
I passed a mezzo-soprano practicing in Waterfront Park.
I was so struck by the strange magic of the other two things that I stopped, turned around, and went back to ask her what she was singing. She, it turns out, was a young man with sweet, wild features, his blue nylon windbreaker hood pulled up around his face. He finished his song as I listened.
"What are you singing?"
"Amarilli mia bella," he said, "by Giulio Caccini. He wrote it not very long after Columbus came to America."
We spoke for a few moments, he made sure I had the song title right ("It's standard," he said. "You can find it in Twenty-Four Italian Songs and Arias." "I had that book once!" I replied. "Well, find it again," said he); I thanked him for singing and he thanked me for riding my bike, and I went on to work.
I don't know how to weave these three things together yet.
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7/4/11 17:22 (UTC)(no subject)
7/4/11 17:51 (UTC)(no subject)
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7/4/11 18:52 (UTC)(no subject)
7/4/11 21:05 (UTC)i looked up the lyrics and they are about a young man trying to convince his lover that his love is true...
the sun coming out may have something to do with that, like a sign from heaven that his love is indeed true.
and the dead crow... maybe that's representative of the death of the girl's (or boy's) resistance against believing in her young man's love?
so, i like to imagine that the couple is now united and moving forward in their lives...
fanciful me!
(no subject)
7/4/11 21:43 (UTC)Now that I'm really looking at those lyrics, the part gently translated as "open my breast and see what's written on my heart" has been rendered in some places as ripping him open...well, it makes me sad, because the poor crow was kind of like that.
So maybe Amaryllis didn't believe him, and he died--and his spirit flew into the singer in the park...
As beautiful as the sunshine and the singing were, the sequence of events has left me feeling more eeriness than cheeriness.
(no subject)
8/4/11 09:15 (UTC)(no subject)
8/4/11 16:41 (UTC)Still need to go in search of that bumper sticker for you.
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24/4/11 09:39 (UTC)Sadly, no. :)
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8/4/11 22:01 (UTC)I like that your singer thanked you for riding your bike. Such courtesy!
I wonder if your events could be summarised thus: the death of your old life; a fresh light: see what's written on your heart.
(no subject)
8/4/11 23:29 (UTC)see what's written on your heart.
The letters there are awfully weathered. I'll have to read them by feel.