And out across the silence
Of never-ending streets
Twisting into hopeless conglomeration
And into the black night
Flooding out through endless space
In shadows splayed through sightless eyes
And silhouettes of shadows
And shadows of shapes
Shapes of images
Images of stone
The deep moan of loneliness
Through the solemn stillness roared
I am listening to opera arias as I work at editing my novel, The Lion and the Sun. Nessun Dorma came on, my eyes glazed over, and I had to stop reading and just listen. It is a beautiful aria and brings back beautiful memories.
Uruhngnn chut chut sprnnghn
Chut chut sringrn kik kik kik
Shrung shrut shrut pinge enng
Shrut shrut sprnnghn kik grik
Vissi d’arte, vissi d’amore,
non feci mai male ad anima viva!
Con man furtiva
quante miserie conobbi aiutai.
Sempre con fè sincera
la mia preghiera
ai santi tabernacoli salì.
Sempre con fè sincera
diedi fiori agl’altar.
Nell’ora del dolore
perchè, perchè, Signore,
perchè me ne rimuneri così?
Diedi gioielli della Madonna al manto,
e diedi il canto agli astri, al ciel,
che ne ridean più belli.
Nell’ora del dolor
perchè, perchè, Signor,
ah, perchè me ne rimuneri così?
She is discrete, of course
More than that, quite proper
She sits alone at the small table
Sipping her Chartreuse cocktail
Yellow Chartreuse
Mixed with gin and orange juice
Poured over ice
She disdains the orange spiral
How infrequent her lonely outings
Or not lonely -- alone
Without her children in tow
Without her distant husband
The broad sidewalk
Is filled with people
She watches a couple
Walking hand-in-hand
She is shielded by the cafe's
Small cabinets de verdure
And by her own
Garden of Gethsemane
What will she say
When the man asks
If he may join her
"I am just about to leave?"
Or will she gesture
To the empty chair
And with the hint of a smile
Say, “Ah, mais, oui.”
She ponders this
Sitting at her small table
Looking in her glass
Only the ice is left
