For this glorious luxury of admiring you
Tonight, I have my singing lesson. Like any passion that sets in, I think only of that, even if, in reality, I face many obstacles, including this second one that I have to learn. Per la Gloria d’adorarvi (For the glory of loving you) is a beautiful ritornello from Giovanni Battista Bononcini’s opera Griselda.
The text reads as follows:
For the glory (I would say glorious luxury) of admiring you
I wish to love you
Oh dear lights (sloes)
To love I will suffer
Yes, yes, I will suffer!
I will suffer,
I will love you,
Dear lights
Without hope of delights,
Vain affection,
It is so overwhelming.
But your combs so soft (your honey eyes),
How could I not look at them?
How could I not love you?
I will suffer,
I will love you,
Dear lights
For the record, I stumbled in a dating site upon a photo of a man whose eyes would melt Benedict XVI’s old gonads and the dried tits of the nuns who are asleep at his feet. That is more or less the feeling I must adopt for this piece, when, eaten away by a movement called not tramway, but desire, one comes to throw all will into the garbage of insanity. However, it seems to me that my heart is suspicious now. A little old, the guy, to pretend to be the lover with testicles ready to launch the assault. But we can act, especially at our ages, can’t we? The difficulty is elsewhere.
The piece, very harmonious, as judged by Pavarotti’s video, is simple and challenging to interpret. I’ve been breaking my voice there for a week. First of all, I took it too slowly, I pressed my notes too hard. Nothing light, nothing friendly. And then, these notes, beyond the upper C zone, are very uncomfortable for me. And I realize that Pavarotti takes them almost in a head voice when he has to do them in pianissimo. No wonder! But hey, don’t compare yourself to this great singer either. I’ll push my hoarse vocal cords as I can!
How can I give you glory, beautiful melody, for I will suffer from trying the impossible to seduce you?
I’m looking for myself in all this. Then, I am still waiting for a definite answer from a publisher. No report? If... Everything suddenly seems fragile to me, my voice breaks, I want too much, I don’t relax, it only seems to be due to pious wishes, all this, these beautiful airs, these handsome past youth, these promises that take time to mature. And yet, this insistent look that existence gives us. This life, these beautiful eyes, that I will suffer from loving them, because, in their finiteness, there is no glory but to admire them...
