L E T T E R T O M A R I A

Sincro Bellini - Norma - Casta Diva Verdi - La Traviata - Amami Alfredo

I don’t remember who said:“God, what must Your Angels’ singing in Heaven sound like

if on EarthYou granted us

To listen to such a voice”?

Maria … You had already reached the top of your career

and gloryWhen I was in my sixteens, seventeens DESPERATE. “Another year has gone by

without a crywithout a complain

breaking through the day ..” Words read I no longer

remember whereBut that I kept repeating at each

new birthdayOf a life lived as a prisoner,

In my tragic family.

Year after Year …Each day exactly alike the previous

oneIn the estranging and silent

lonelinessIn the frustration of a BURNING

youthPressing .. PRESSING, inside …

A very tall wallImpassable

Between me and LIFE.

You came to me through the radio, Maria …One winter evening .

(Never loved music until then! Not even pop songs …)

A voice …The voice sings … Says things …

I don’t understand the words .Or, to be exact, I don’t understand the

whole text .But, all the same, I “see” …

A pale tree.On the top of a stony hill.

Under the tree a girl.She’s cold .

She’s hungry.She’s afraid. The sorrowful,

Subdued, Heart-rending cry

Of someone who knows no hope.It is my same cry.

Due to the same sorrow.Every note a sigh, a cry, a scream

Of my exiled soul, Of my trampled-on life.

And I cry … cry … cry …

It was CALLASSinging “Casta Diva”, from Bellini’s Norma.

But behind the DruidessThere was You, Maria,

Transfiguring Your sorrowCrouching at the foot

Of the withered tree …And, on that evening,

You helped me To do the same.

And took me away with you.Upward, upward, upward … through far-away Paradises,

Where no sorrow, no wickednessCould touch us.

When suddenly, one after the other, the notes start to fall into line.

A silver staircase going up … up …Notes made of tears and changed into silver

steps.The staircase goes up.

Up … up … up.

Crystal castles

Gushes of limpid water.

Carpets of multicoloured flowers

Mountains painted in gold by the Sun.

And in silver by the Moon.

And deep caverns.Enchanted grottoesFull of caskets overflowing with treasures.

Upward, upward, upward … through far-away Paradises, Where no sorrow, no wickednessCould touch us.

It’s thanks to you also, Maria, If I did not go mad,

Nor commit suicide: You had allowed me

to enter a wonderful fable.Then for me as well

the horizon opened up! The Prison wall fell …A LIFE OF MY OWN!

MariaI stopped identifying with you.The transfert came to an end!

What was left was my deep Love. My Admiration for the woman.

My Devotion to the Artist

A warm mid-September dayYou went away

In silenceTaking everyone by surprise.

You were still so young!! I did not suffer for your “going

away”! I thought that now

You would be in peace at last.In your Magic World,

That you had made me know! How much you gave, Maria!!!!

Do you knowWhat still strikes me most

NowIn the year of Grace 2007?

Sailing on Internet, Switching from a site to another, And finding thousands of articles

Concerning you, Maria, your Greatness,

Not only in all western languages, But in Chinese, Corean, Hebrew and

Japanese.Just to mention a few.

Perhaps this is the greatest MiracleMade by Maria Callas,

Dramatic and Agile Soprano! Being able to transform her Soul into a

Voice! To “tell

Perhaps this is the greatest Miracle

made by Maria Callas, Dramatic and Agile Soprano! Being able to transform her

Soul into a Voice! To “tell”

With no need for a translation,

Because all world-creatures Have the same Feelings

That reminds me of the swallow of Wilde’s “Happy Prince”: the Swallow who, being winter near at hand,

starts her migration towards warm countries, and takes a

short rest perching for a while on a statue’s shoulder,

realizing that it is crying!The statue, in fact, holds the

soul of the Happy Pprince, so called for living thoughtlessly

in his castle, absolutely unaware of his own people’s trcan’t avoid tears. oubles.

Whereas now, looking down from the top of his pedestal,

he can see them all and, realizing his past selfishness,

can’t avoid tears

The statue is covered with precious stones and golden scales.

“Pick them one by one with your beak, Swallow, and take them to whoever may need them”

begs the Prince. “But it’s late autumn – replies the Swallow – “All of my sisters have already left! In a short while

snow will be here and I risk dying of cold!.”

The Prince’s statue to cry.Of all its golden scales,

Of all its gems, To give them to the poor …

The Swallow flyingFrom neighbourhood to neighbourhood,

From house to houseTo lay down her gifts

On the window-sills of the most needy. And winter catching her,

Too tired now, To migrate towards warmer lands …

And cold killing her … In the kiln where the naked statue

and the dead swallowAre thrown

The bird’s heart surviving, intact.

The same heart that you are still giving us, Maria,

Through the many registrations of your voice.

The few people Who could see you on your death-bed,

Said you were very beautifulWith the long black tress lying on your shoulder. I like to remember you

Laying upon your smile, Your charming eyes, The last photograms

of a documentary devoted to you: Some red roses

Sweetly pushed offshore, By the deep blue Aegean waves

Receiving your ashes

THANK YOU, [email protected]

www.gabriellla.it (3 L)