Tre cose strane

[darkemeralds]

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.

Comments

[karen_jk]

I love your description of the singer. :)

[darkemeralds]

He seemed almost Elven.

[branchandroot]

Perhaps it will be a day of small sun-breaks.

[darkemeralds]

Dear God, we could use them. That would be wonderful.

[executrix]

He sounds like "Emma," the counter-tenor in Iris Murdoch's "The Philosopher's Pupil."

[darkemeralds]

He had a lovely, rich voice. I've sung with a number of counter-tenors, and the quality of this fellow's voice was really more genuinely mezzo--though there was a bit of that hooty counter-tenor hollow-room sound. It was really beautiful.

[dine]

sounds magical and full of portents, all the way around.

[darkemeralds]

Yes! That was exactly how it felt. Magical and portentous.

[darkemeralds]

PS Your icon is perfect for it. I suspect the counter-tenor was hiding something a bit like what your fairy there has, under his blue windbreaker hood.

[vampirefan]

how unusual! and you know, it's awesome that we have an online journal like this because you were able to record these random happenings and we were able to read about it.

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!

[darkemeralds]

Good story!

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.

[kis]

Glad to hear someone is keeping Portland weird.

[darkemeralds]

What? You mean counter-tenors singing Italian art songs in the park aren't an everyday aspect of life in all towns?

Still need to go in search of that bumper sticker for you.

[tehomet]

You mean counter-tenors singing Italian art songs in the park aren't an everyday aspect of life in all towns?

Sadly, no. :)

[ravurian]

On the way home from dinner last night, on the walk back from the station, my sister suddenly lurched sideways and stopped, foot paused mid-step above the corpse of a sparrow on the pavement. It was leaning down as if bowing, wings tucked in, beak touching the pavement. It wasn't lying on its side as it might have been if it had been snatched from the air by a cat. It wasn't flattened or crushed as it might have been if it had been hit by a car. It looked for all the world as if it had just got tired and was resting its head against the ground. I suppose that birds must die of natural causes all the time, but I don't think I've ever seen the corpse of one before. We looked at it for a moment and then carried on walking. At the next bus stop, my sister's girlfriend got off the bus. It wasn't her stop, and she hadn't seen us, but we all three coincided randomly. I thought that this was probably significant, since before the bird and before the bus, we had been talking about their relationship. Hmm.

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.

[darkemeralds]

Magical morning/magical evening.

see what's written on your heart.

The letters there are awfully weathered. I'll have to read them by feel.