I was in the car on my way to work yesterday when I head the sad news about Luciano Pavarotti's passing. Last night I spent hours listening to Pavarotti's singing, from my collection of old and new cds filled with his grand voice.
Piano by D.H.Lawrence
Softly, in the dusk, a woman is singing to me;
Taking me back down the vista of years, till I see
A child sitting under the piano, in the boom of the tingling strings
And pressing the small, poised feet of a mother who smiles as she sings.
In spite of myself, the insidious mastery of song
Betrays me back, till the heart of me weeps to belong
To the old Sunday evenings at home, with winter outside
And hymns in the cosy parlour, the tinkling piano our guide
So now in vain for the singer to burst into clamour
With the great black piano appassionato. The glamour
Of childish days is upon me, my manhood is cast
Downin the floor of remembrance, I weep like a child for the past.
I grew up in a house filled with music. My mother's piano was never quiet, my father played along on several instruments, or he listened to LPs or music stations on the radio. They passed forward their love of music, and though I don't play much myself my cd-collection is always growing.
Luciano Pavarotti's voice will fill The House in the Woods also today.
The Blue Café and The Blue Garden also honored Pavarotti yesterday.
