Another daily poem from The Paris Review – this time an early piece by Adrienne Rich.
Recorders in Italy
It was amusing on that antique grass,
Seated halfway between the green and blue,
To waken music gentle and extinct.
Under the old walls where the daisies grew
Sprinkled in cinquecento style, as though
Archangels might have stepped there yesterday.
But it was we, mortal and young, who strolled
And fluted quavering music, for a day
Casual heirs of all we looked upon.
Such pipers of the emerald afternoon
Could only be the heirs of perfect time
When every leaf distinctly brushed with gold
Listened to Primavera speaking flowers.
Those scherzos stumble now; our journeys run
To harsher hillsides, rockier declensions.
Obligatory climates call us home.
And so shall clarity of cypresses,
Unfingered by necessity, become
Merely the ghost of half-remembered trees,
A trick of sunlight flattering the mind?—
There were four recorders sweet upon the wind.
I love the contrast between the nostalgic vision of carefree youth on holiday in the Old World and the shadow of a harsher future, with its “rockier declensions” and obligatory return. It’s vacation time, and the players are “casual heirs of all we looked upon,” moving lightly by ancient walls and under cypresses. But obligations lie ahead, pulling them away from this fleeting paradise.
Was it really like that? Were these memories of half-remembered trees just a trick of the sunlight?
But the time, and the music – gone now – were “sweet upon the wind”.
I really liked this one – perhaps even more than usual because we returned from a mini-vacay last week that brought us from holiday fun to obligations again. Sigh.
Do the obligations, though, make us appreciate the holidays more?
Probably. Rather in the way – perhaps – that there is a wonderful sense of relief if we stop banging our head against the wall.
I have just noticed the painting above your post. It shows the muscular back of a man down to his buttocks and two women in close engagement with oone another, on showing her breasts and nipples. This “art” at the time was known to really be covert pornography that could be “respectably” displayed and shared by those wealthy enough to commission it. Just recalled this snippet of art history and thought would share!
Quite so.
Looking back allows for the mind to abstract and re~create the past now without the immediacy of the present. True. But in every moment the mind selects and constructs its truth for that moment.
This is true.