Moonstruck

Evening falls over the neighboring  soybean fields in Jinonice, Prague. Not so far away is a busy highway to the west where I live and less than  four kilometers  east is the Vltava River, but all around the area are agricultural fields and greenbelts where there are deer and small animals that are easily startled in the early morning.

There is virtually no place in Prague where there is not a field and no pheasants.   Quail and partridge abound in nearby fields as do  rabbits and large hares. Often  harriers and hawks can be seen skimming the fields for their evening dinner. Larks burst into the air  like warbling skyrockets. The evening heavens put on their shows of glory that animation an film can only imitate.





When evening falls,  footsteps seem less hurried. It is a time for peace and recollection, of inner meditation.



Evening cloudburst of gold fills the heavens with glory as a tracer is left from a plane passing overhead.



A half moon emerges upon the evening sky over Barrandov to the south. I have  walked the distance many times and far beyond to Chuchle, approximately fourteen kilometers  and each time is still a mystery, a new adventure in exploration of my limited world.





Silberner Mond du auf Himmel's

Rusalka implores the moon for help, but we all know that the moon is deaf and cold and sterile...

and in the case of Greek Mythology, brutal. Artemis transformed Actaeon into a stage and then loosed his hounds on him to tear him limb from limb because he accidentally  stumbled into her sacred grove while she was bathing with her maidens.





Anne Truelove implores the moon in Stravinksy's Rake's Progress to guide her through her to Tom who is not one whit worthy of her love in a most difficult cabaletta with words from W H Auden.





And my whole heart yearns for beauty in life and security in evening rest--






Wir sind durch Not und Freude Hand und Hand gegangen-


Who can ever forget the incredible Lucia Popp that last night she stood in front of the curtain in the Wiener Staatsoper as she sang Strauss, Vier Letzten Lieder?


Yet the mumbling crowd and tourists were as brutal as ever to her. "It sounds better on the recording..." I heard a  girl sniggling down the  polished marble staircase.  Stunned, I stopped to listen to the  nasty comments. What would she know of standing in front of an orchestra on stage?  It's not a recording, it's what singers do. It's a one-shot thing and the music is incredibly difficult. So it sounds easy, but you must have  amazing technical skill to sustain the Strauss pianissimo and  continue those long lines. Let's not talk about the courage it  takes to stand on stage-- or the mental stamina of getting through any performance. And sorry, but there's no amplification there. You can hide behind a mike and mouth words to a gullible audience. When you sing-- nobody sings for you and everything else in the world must stop to listen.

It's the difference between someone who sings in the chorus and the one who's trained as a soloist. Mental toughness, discipline, technical skills,  unusual voice and stamina are all requirements to survive. It's not just another pretty face or make-up, it's really something different inside. And nobody cares what you look like if the voice is beautiful.

Who knew that night when  the General Direktor Drese came out to voice his regrets that these few performances of  the Four Last Songs were the last performances that Lucia Popp would ever make. Her contract had suddenly been broken and we would see her no more. And we thought like children that it was because of the gossip running in the streets that it was because of the incoming Holender and his reputation for being unpleasant with singers.


But it was not so-- Lucia Popp died of cancer not so long after--

But that night, there was a hush and the audience sat transfixed in their seats, unwilling to clap because an era had ended. Lucia had sung her farewells  and we all felt the loss of a very great diva...

How hard it must have been for the conductor and orchestra and all the house staff  to watch  her stand there and sing these songs with the knowledge that they were indeed her parting words...

Wie sind wir wandermuede-- ist dies etwa der Tod?

we are so wander-weary-  is that something like death?


Evening falls...


And each time I stand before the moon, I find myself repeating the arias over again and yearning for the time when the boxes will open, the music will be unpacked and I will take my place once more beside the piano which gave me  my sense of joy and beauty in life.


How can a bird live when it cannot sing?

And so I beg and beg and beg for the day to be introduced to Frau Steinway, because she is the kindest to my voice...

and his fingers the most magical in all the world.

and what should I bring to him besides Berg, Mahler, Wagner, Strauss and Brahms?

I have so little in this world  so that all that is left is the forgotten voice which he discovered in the Lichtenstein Palace so long ago.


So the Freni did not like my shoes, but she took my money without complaint.

So I stand here before the moon and beg, hoping that at last my prayers will be heard.

And remember with longing the closing of Mahler, Fahrenden Gesellen,

"da wusst ich nicht, wie das Leben tut,
war alles, alles wiedergut!
Ach alles wiedergut!
Alles! Alles!
Lieb' und Leid,
und Welt und Traum!"

G. Mahler


so I knew not how life would go
and wish that all would be  good again
everything, everything!
love and sorrow
and world and dreams,,,