2008-04-11

Nothing Like

Obviously, this isn't a sonnet, but I've been filling out insurance forms for the past few days, preparing to buy a new house on my own. This has brought back, in hideous clarity, my mother's battle with cancer.

*

My mother ran our household
with single-minded rule.
She made our choices for us
for clothes and work and school.
With little say, my Gran and I
looked sadly at each other.
I murmured hopeful words to her
"I'm nothing like my mother."

My mother was well-organized
but lacked imagination.
She claimed I was endeavouring
to rise above my station.
I thought of the ideas she
was quick enough to smother,
and then I said, defensively,
"I'm nothing like my mother."

My mother died of cancer; she
was ill for several years.
I see the way I'm headed and
I'm trying to still my fears.
At the funeral, my friends and I
just looked at one another.
I mouthed, again, the desperate words
"I'm nothing like my mother."

2008-04-02

The Three Divos

This is not a poem, but about voices that are sheer poetry.

On Saturday, I attended the debut concert of The Three Divos in Ottawa, Canada. They are three talented men with incredibly beautiful voices, who have worked hard to achieve their high level of excellence and we are extremely fortunate that these men chose to come and live here.

They are:
Franko Tenelli, tenor
Igor Emelianov, baritone
Alexander Savtchenko, bass
and they were accompanied by the equally talented Julia Gavrilova on the piano.

The first part of the evening's entertainment consisted of nine selections from Italian operas. The second half consisted of Russian pieces -- some operas and some folk songs. All three voices were amazing in the different arias presented but one, in particular, gripped my soul. I speak of Igor Emelianov, who put exquisite emotion into the words without coming across as overblown.

I felt as though Mr. Emelianov's voice had surrounded me with warmth and energy. It made me want to sigh, and laugh, and cry at the various situations presented by the music. I cared about what was happening. Was it the selections he sang that prompted such a reaction from me? It's possible, of course, but I don't think so for I was familiar with some of the pieces sung by the other men and, while I enjoyed them prodigiously, I didn't feel the same emotional reaction as I did to Mr. Emelianov.

I have been hearing all their voices for the last few days, remembering the music and the delightful presentation of it. But I hold Mr. Emelianov's singing in a special place in my heart.