Poetic Muselings

For some reason, yesterday I was thinking about recognizing a piece of music, and I realized that there are a goodly number of opera arias that I would have no trouble identifying, including many from Madam Butterfly, Rigoletto, Il Trovatore, and Aida, to name a few.

Yes, I like opera, but, more to the point, my mother was a huge opera fan. Mom and Dad had a subscription to the Metropolitan Opera. Sometimes Dad would beg off for one reason or another and then Mom would take me instead. I check around my extremely large stash of poems – I keep them on Google Drive – and turned up the two below.

Mom’s favorite opera composer was Wagner; mine was – and is – Verdi. The Metropolitan Opera website has videos.

http://www.metopera.org/Discover/video/

Here’s one of the Anvil Chorus from Il Trovatore:

http://www.metopera.org/discover/video/?videoName=il-trovatore-vedi-le-fosche-anvil-chorus&videoId=1472543314001

About Metropolitan Opera

The poem below is about one time when Mom took me instead of Dad. The opera was one of the Wagner Ring series; I believe it was Die Valkerie. I wish I could bring up detailed memories of the whole thing, but all that’s left are bits and pieces.

Metropolitan Opera

I wanted to capture
the entire performance,
each soaring voice,
scenery and costumes,
the story of Alberich’s ring,
made from Rhine gold,

but all that remains
is a darkened
auditorium,
the conductor
haloed in a
bright spot,
and Brunhilde
trumpeting,

Yo, Ho, Yo, Ho.

About A Night at the Met

Mom was far more of a fan of both opera and classical music than Dad was. Dad thought of the opera as a nice place for a nap. At least he was quiet. <grin>

A Night at the Met

A nice place for a nap,
a spot someone else chooses
The whole evening’s a trap,
a land mine of excuses.

A nice way to torture
to the clamor of trumpets
I dream of departure
and piles of fine crumpets.

Why am I here
when I could be in bed,
or at home watching Gunsmoke
or even unwed?

Here I am, stuck
until curtain comes down
pretending to listen
with nary a frown.

Drink a toast to Yo Ho
when freedom will ring.
My imprisonment’s over
when the Valkyries sing.