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Tag: “La Traviata”

“Eugene Onegin”

years ago, when I first started paying
attention to opera, I listened to Joan
Sutherland and Luciano Pavarotti
singing “La Traviata” on my
headphones for six months solid,
Alfredo, Alfredo, I sang, di questa
core / Non puoi comprendere tutto
l’amore

now there’s “Eugene Onegin“,
Tchaikowsky’s homage to Pushkin,
the celebrated Russian poet who
wrote the national epic, turning it
into another prideful, musical this
time, monument

at first I’d been reluctant to take it on,
wary of other too ponderous Russian
productions, all heavy and lugubrious,
fraught with the trying tribulations of
too many harsh winters, I fathom

but after only a brief folkloric
interjection, too ecclesiastical a
reference for me, the story moved on
to less pompous things, an unfolding
love

Onegin is a rake, a rogue, a young
man not yet smitten, Tatyana, a
country lass but from a good manor,
hopelessly falls in love with him

he, of course, will break her heart

he will also break the heart of his
friend Lensky, when he dances an
écossaise, a grand waltz, and a
cotillion with Olga, Lensky’s
intended, and, parenthetically,
Tatyana’s sister

Olga had, injudiciously, allowed
Onegin to flirt

Lensky, offended, challenges
Onegin to a duel

in an aria that will haunt you forever,
Lensky commits himself to his fate,
be it Olga or the ineluctable hereafter,
knowing that she couldn’t either have
much loved him

you’ll cry

Kuda, kuda, you’ll also sing, kuda
vy udalilis,
like I will into surely at
least next month

I won’t tell you who wins, but it’s
tragic

and unforgettable

Richard

“One Last Poem for Richard” – Sandra Cisneros

One Last Poem for Richard

December 24th and we’re through again.
This time for good I know because I didn’t
throw you out — and anyway we waved.
No shoes. No angry doors.
We folded clothes and went
our separate ways.
You left behind that flannel shirt
of yours I liked but remembered to take
your toothbrush. Where are you tonight?

Richard, it’s Christmas Eve again
and old ghosts come back home.
I’m sitting by the Christmas tree
wondering where did we go wrong.

Okay, we didn’t work, and all
memories to tell you the truth aren’t good.
But sometimes there were good times.
Love was good. I loved your crooked sleep
beside me and never dreamed afraid.

There should be stars for great wars
like ours. There ought to be awards
and plenty of champagne for the survivors.

After all the years of degradations,
the several holidays of failure,
there should be something
to commemorate the pain.

Someday we’ll forget that great Brazil disaster.
Till then, Richard, I wish you well.
I wish you love affairs and plenty of hot water,
and women kinder than I treated you.
I forget the reason, but I loved you once,
remember?

Maybe in this season, drunk
and sentimental, I’m willing to admit
a part of me, crazed and kamikaze,
ripe for anarchy, loves still.

Sandra Cisneros

_____________

Sandra Cisneros is in a direct line from
Elizabeth Barrett Browning, you’ll note,
from the Romantic Age through to the
XXlst-Century emancipation and
independence of women, Elizabeth could
never ‘ve so cavalierly abandoned a lover
in fiction, much less fact, in the Romantic
Age, not to mention two, or three, maybe
even, gallants, any more being, of course,
unthinkable, without dire consequences,
often suicide, see Anna Karenina, Madame
Bovary, the lot, for details, Violetta Valéry
in “La Traviata”

what remains however is the stark,
emotionally driven truth of their
declarations before either of
their consorts

the Romantic ideal still burns bright, in
other words, in our cultural imagination,
see even my own derivations

Richard