Vive Saint Sara

Please don’t look at me like that – I’m fine.
I see the fear in your eyes,
but I’m not scared you know.
What goes up must come down,
when you fly you eventually fall –
Ok, some plummet – but that’s not the point.

I know you’re about to cry – please don’t.
Your trembling chin is quite funny, still
I’d rather if you didn’t cry.
We could take a break – South of France is always good.
Really? You’re lovely, so glad you’re my mum –
Just one thing – no garlic bread, you and dad always get it.

That’s better – I like your laugh.
Think we could go Saintes Maries de la Mer?
I quite like it there, the chapel is perfect and,
you know if we go in May we’ll be just in time
to catch dear Sara-la-Kali. I remember the Catechism too –
We should take her some money – she might help.

The funny look isn’t needed – I’m not silly.
She might like a robe too and,
Some jewels to decorate her chamber wouldn’t go amiss.
Might make up for the Carmina Burana we’re so bad at.
I just adore those cute little candles everywhere –
The Gitans and their beautiful melodic pieces – so enchanting.

I like your smile – makes you look radiant.
You know Marie-Jacobe will be there too and,
Marie-Salome. Think we’ll be kissing them again?
I hope they remember me, it’s been a while.
Just remember they like it when you sing –
A thousand times – ‘Vive Saint Sara…vive vive!’

Opus

When you sit it begins. A libretto[1] won’t help you
understand it better. There’s no ordinary motif],
just that resounding drone hiding under the overture.
So grandioso[2]. The power of the opera where a little make-up and,
expressionist mime become a hoax. All of a sudden –
you’re somebody else.

Through the binoculars you see the lights out on the sea,
thoughts of nocturnes long ago. They were only
the scattered fisherman’s lamps.
An interlude in between the shadows. The wind howls and the sea shines as,
you watch your life revolve like the white wash astern before your eyes –
and you stand forte[3] on the terrace.

The pain chases you verismo[4]. The melancholic ghosts
take a minor hold of you. Their falsetto[5] embodies your desire for life,
but the moon emerging from a cloud makes death sweeter.
A glissando[6] from one moment to another. You find yourself
shedding a tear and you’re drowning…presto[7]. It’s life that has a finale[8] –
not its capriccio[9] melody.

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[1] The text of an opera or any other vocal work.
[2] Played grandly.
[3] Loud /strong.
[4] Modeled after every day life.
[5] A style of male singing where by partial use of the vocal chords, the voice is able to reach the pitch of a female.
[6] Sliding between two notes.
[7] A direction in sheet music indicating the tempo is to be very fast.
[8] Movement or passage that concludes the musical composition.
[9] A quick, improvisational, spirited piece of music.