While struggling with a lukewarm chicken pesto pizza—not unlike Proust’s madeleine—during a mid-week office party, I was beset by a tide of remembrance of a more recent past, ruminating on images of carefree traipsing around small Torinese cobblestone lanes, magenta Europa Cantat songbook in one hand and a cup of crema di Grom in another. These were more genteel times, I thought nostalgically, setting out to type this post. (The real reason: was beset by gentle reminders/chiding to complete this blog entry!!)
As a sort of inferior nod to Eric Bank’s Twelve Flowers (a brilliant, demanding composition that we performed for the Due North concert in September) here are twelve dispatches from an unforgettable summer of song:
Go down Via San Quintino and turn left — not the first, not the second, but the third.
Directions to Il Vicolo, as instructed by the hotel receptionist
Lyrics to Fruit Canon:
Mango mango, mango mango; mango mango mango.
Kiwi kiwi kiwi, kiwi kiwi kiwi, kiwi kiwi kiwi, kiwi kiwi kiwi-
Ananas, banana! Anandas, uh!
VI.Text from Agnus Dei (Corrado Margutti) by way of Lorca:
Noche de rostro blanco. Nula noche sin rostro.
Bajo el sol y la luna. Triste noche del mundo.
Breakfast items: plain croissants, pain au chocolat, jam tarts, scrambled eggs, shaved ham, pepperoni slices, pineapple juice, berry juice (great when mixed with acqua frizzante!), espresso, orzo
Away from the expansive piazzas and ornate palazzos, gathered within the belly of a cosy Piedmontese townhouse, we sang O Sacrum Convivium in memory of the late Luigi Molfino, so magical and moving in the intimate spaces of Turin.
36°C — The temperature registered on the thermometer one sunny/sweltering afternoon. I looked at the woolly gloves I had packed into my luggage with a very specific type of remorse.