#Soave sia il vento

[immaculate-imperfection]

"Soave sia il vento" ['May the wind be gentle'] from Mozart's opera Così fan tutte (1790)

Two years ago my mom died quite suddenly. She didn't like classical music but she did like this when I played it for her. Now I can't hear it without starting to cry.

In this piece, the wives wish for their husbands to have a safe journey. There is such an incredible touching tenderness in the music. There is sadness that they leave. There is worry for going by ship always had the very real risk of dying at sea. And there is love, so so much love.

May the wind be gentle, and the waves be calm, and may every element benignly answer to our wishes.

I hope my mom is safe. I love you so much. I miss you so so much.

[culturevulturette]

Chillax...

[widevibratobitch]

me when theyre playing mozart ensembles too slow

[turangalila]

Giaches de Wert (1535 - 1596)

Il settimo libro de madrigali a cinque voci novamento composto & dato in luce (Antonio Gardano, Venice, 1581)

– In qual parte si ratto

In qual parte sì ratto i vanni muove / il vincitor augel del sommo Giove? / A farsi un nido altiero, / ove la prole sua nasca e s’impiumi. / Di che saranno al nido i nodi avinti? / d’odorosi giacinti. / Ma questo, quando e dove? / Or ora e nella destra al Re de’ fiumi. //

E per librarlo, si che non sia offeso / da vento iniquo e fiero, / di che gli porrà il peso? / Di bianca perla e schietta. / O Aquila, o Giacinti! O perla eletta! / O Gonzaghi, o Farnesi, o Margherita! / Qual s’aspetta da voi prole gradita. //

– Tirsi morir volea

Tirsi morir volea, / Gl'occhi mirando di colei ch'adora; / Quand'ella, che di lui non meno ardea, / Gli disse: "Ahimè, ben mio, / Deh, non morir ancora, / Che teco bramo di morir anch'io." //

Frenò Tirsi il desio, / Ch'ebbe di pur sua vit'allor finire; / Ma (E) sentea morte,in (e) non poter morire. / E mentr'il guardo suo fisso tenea / Ne' begl'occhi divini / E'l nettare amoroso indi bevea, //

La bella Ninfa sua, che già vicini / Sentea i messi d'Amore, / Disse, con occhi languidi e tremanti: / "Mori, cor mio, ch'io moro." / Cui rispose il Pastore: / "Ed io, mia vita, moro." //

Cosi moriro i fortunati amanti / Di morte si soave e si gradita, / Che per anco morir tornaro in vita.// [Giovanni Battista Guarini]

Giaches De Wert – Il Settimo Libro De Madrigali. The Consort of Musicke, Anthony Rooley. (1989, Virgin Classics Digital – VC 7 90763-2)

[stoportotouch]

approximately 99% sure that one of the people in Opera and i were at school together before i transitioned. which. not necessarily unremarkable. however there is something ironic about the fact that she and i (and somebody else) are doing soave sia il vento in our Concert. considering the plot of cosi.

[the-cat-at-the-theatre-door]

the past experience revived in the meaning an old deuteronomy fanmix  [listen]

01. Lux Aurumque - eric whitacre | 02. This Little Light of Mine - a covering | 03. Der Nussbaum (The Chestnut Tree) - london promenade orchestra  | 04. I’ve Been This Way Before - neil diamond  |  05. Carry That Weight - the beatles   |  06. Libiamo ne’ lieti calici (live) - plácido domingo | 07. someone new - hozier  |  08. Homeward Bound - bryn terfel | 09. whispering - alex clare  | 10. Dear Fellow Traveller - sea wolf  | 11. Hey Brother - the mayries & dan berk | 12. Return - james newton howard  | 13. Now Sleeps the Crimson Petal Op. 3 No. 2 - roger quilter, thomas allen & geoffrey parsons | 14. Soave sia il vento - miah persson, angela brower & alessandro corbelli  | 15. Annie’s Song (instrumental) - james galway | 16. Songs My Mother Taught Me - Paul Robeson  | 17. Golden Slumbers - josh young | 18.  silhouette - aquilo | 19.  I Tried - rory campbell  | 20.  Eclipse - john denver | 21. Yearning - carl moir   | 22. The Secret Garden - aurora  | 23. Keep On - michael nesmith | 24. All The Faces - creed bratton  | 25. Constellations - the oh hellos  |  26.  Willow Tree March - the paper kites |  27. Memory (instrumental) - jian wang & göran söllscher | 28.  This Is A Changing World - noel coward  | 29.  When It’s Time - lotte kestner | 30. The Sands of Time Are Sinking - the scottish festival singers  | 31.  100 Years (Acoustic) - five for fighting | 32.  The Prayer - helene fischer & andrea bocelli | 33. I Wish I Had a Hundred Years - fernando velázquez  | 34. The Long Road (Acoustic) - passenger  |  35.  Across The Vast, Eternal Sky - the choir of royal holloway |  

Semi-explanation below the cut

Feel free to ignore this one, if you care not for context, but let me see if I can explain this because I am not completely pleased with the order *but* it’s a lot like Gus’ in that it isn’t necessarily always fully lyrically applicable, but rather tells the expanse of a life lived. 

The opening few songs are mostly free of lyrics - Deuteronomy was slow to talk when he was a kitten. He spent a good majority of his young kittenhood non-verbal and late to talk compared to his fellows, but he was still blossoming incredibly quickly developmentally, particularly in mental and telepathic capacity. He started understanding things that were odd for kittens to understand (and his second mother indicated that there was...a light behind his eyes that was difficult to place that signified a wisdom far beyond his years). The first few songs lack lyrics (or have very few) to illustrate this tentative step into a life that is celebrated (being the heir), and how he is valued but comes into himself slowly.  

“I’ve Been This Way Before” is when Deuteronomy finally starts to speak - and when he begins, he skips right over his babble and the present. He speaks about pasts he knows - so many of them - in great detail, remembering places he’s never been and cats he’s never met. He goes from being non-verbal to talking *non-stop*, often cryptically and with little reason. At this point he speaks *beyond* his own past lives; he speaks about the lives of other cats as well. And it’s at that point where it’s realized that Deuteronomy’s life isn’t going to be an easy one - he won’t just be carrying on his own life; he’ll be carrying on the lives of hundreds - thousands - of others. Not only is he meant to lead the Tribe (and after the death or disappearance of his later siblings, the *only* one left to lead), he’s meant to keep their memories as well (an ill advised combo).  

Though a relatively wise, empathetic-to-a-fault, and even tempered child, and willing to attended his training dutifully, like most young cats, Deuteronomy doesn’t take all too kindly to the promise of responsibility at first - as he entered his maturation years, he began to act out. Along with his foster brother, Gus, he settled into his “devil may care,” “sowing his wild oats” era, not quite wanting to dwell on how heavy his life was about to become, flitting from cat to cat (that’s where the “buried 99 wives” rumour comes from - there are plenty of notches in the old tom’s belt and plenty of other kittens, much as most cats lives are wont to be), experience to experience, theoretically place to place (he never leaves entirely), longing to drift off and explore the world before inevitably being tied down to his responsibilities (knowing still that he did need to return to them and never thinking he never wanted to - he always did want to). They have their fun (to a just about alarming level), but those whispers and visions he has just don’t...stop. He can ignore them all he likes, but they just get louder and clearer and begin to teach him things that he couldn’t quite grasp before; things you cannot really *be* taught. His venturing outside of the Junkyard shows him the extent of things he never experienced. So, though he longs for a continued adolescence free of the burden of his gifts and responsibility, he quickly realizes that he cannot have one. He has too many cats depending on him - there are too many wrongs in the world that he can’t run from. His father is old - Maladeen has passed on - he is the only one left. So, though it’s not entirely what he wants, he returns to his family fully, hangs up his belt, and takes up his mantle.

For the first little while, things look up for Deuteronomy. He reunites with a queen from his past, meets another, they fall in love, they build their life together in spite of knowing that, ultimately, it will never be an easy one  (”Soave sia il vento” is a cry for the sea to be calm; much like a cry for life to be easy - though Mya, and Ginny - brain children of the always brilliant @theimpossiblescheme -​ know it might not be and Dee *knows* for certain it won’t be). Still, they are happy; they have their sons, Deuteronomy thinks on his mothers and passes their teachings on to them, and it seems perhaps he’s got a grasp on everything at last. 

But, as always, nothing good lasts for too long. Deuteronomy starts disassociating far more frequently - some nights it’s hard for him to recognize himself; understand where he begins and ends. He struggles to keep from turning inwards - as his father had as he struggled with his own underdeveloped psychic abilities - and it’s just as difficult for other cats to recognize him in tandem. It’s all just...too much. Too, too much. He feels like an exposed nerve all the time; everything hurts. Everyone’s feelings burn in his throat; all of their pain becomes his, and he just shoulders more and more with seemingly no end and it’s overwhelming.His cup runs over. He loves them too much - he cares *too much*. The only way he can quiet it down it to distance himself - try to be that unshakeable calm that his training demanded of him. It works. Kinda. The rest of the Junkyard notes this change. 

Things beyond his control start happening - defects and illnesses and power struggles and threats; and others within his control start slipping through as a result. He tries to hold onto everything but he’s only one cat. He loses his eldest son to the lure of powers beyond his understanding, Mya to her sympathetic heart, then Ginny to the Heaviside- almost in succession. At this point, Deuteronomy is at a loss; the pain of others mixes with his own - it doesn’t stop. It gets so bad, that it begins to run over through the cracks in his consciousness he is barely able to patch; being around Deuteronomy can just as easily be uncomfortable and emotionally painful as not. It’s a hard time for everyone. 

But one evening, at the pique of what seems like a never ending well of suffering, he sees something (whether it be a vision from the Everlasting Cat or her servants, he’s never been certain). He tells no one of what he sees (he takes that to his grave), but whatever it was, like a switch, it gives Deuteronomy this sudden, quiet feeling of...calm. It all falls into place; he is no longer struggling against his gift, he is working with it; he *understands* it, at long last. And with this new found sense of purpose, in spite of his loss, in spite of his grief, he continues on. 

Deuteronomy ages, becomes wiser, shares his wisdom with his family. Cats leave - cats come back - he gains a whole gaggle of in laws and grandkittens and grand nieces and nephews.  He teaches his family the importance of unconditional love; the act of forgiveness, both on oneself and towards others. Mya eventually returns to him; life has finally settled. But eventually things must come to an end; the great immortal - who was thought perhaps never to die - is a mere mortal after all. Deuteronomy’s final Ball is an entirely bittersweet affair and filled with lessons overlapping one another, the old cat hoping he’s passed everything he needed to onto his family. “The Prayer” is illustrative of a final duet with his dear Sillabub, who will take the mantle after him and has the honour of sending him up, passing on the final message he imparts his cats with. 

And he is sent off in the same way he was brought into the world - with a dramatic choir swell and then silence. 

[cartridgeconverter]

The Cosi tag is barren. This is so sad, alexa play Soave sia il vento

[scorcidipoesia]

Disegno della tua voce nella riva del sogno,

scogliere di cuscini con quest’odore di costa vicina,

quando gli animali buttati nella cala, le creature di sentina

odorano l’erba e per i ponti si arrampica

un tremito di pelle e di furioso godimento.

Allora mi capita di non conoscerti, aprire l’occhio di questa lampada

a cui sfuggi coprendoti il viso con i capelli,

ti guardo e non so più

se ancora una volta affiori dalla notte

con il disegno esatto di quest’altra notte della tua pelle,

con il ventre che palpita la sua respirazione soave

abbandonata appena nella nostra tiepida spiaggia

da un leggero colpo di risacca.

Ti riconosco, salgo per il profumo dei tuoi capelli

fino a questa voce che nuovamente mi sollecita,

contempliamo

nello stesso tempo la doppia isola sulla quale siamo

naufraghi e paesaggio, piede e arena,

anche tu mi sollevi dal nulla

con il tuo sguardo errabondo sul mio petto sul mio sesso,

la carezza che inventa nella mia cintura il suo galoppo di puledri.

Nella luce sei ombra e io sono luce, sono la luce della tua ombra

e tu gettata nelle alghe fingi l’ombra del mio corpo,

quando la sua angusta fronte ferisce le pietre e proietta

come un fragore di voragine all’altro lato, un territorio

che inutilmente investe e brama.

Ombra della mia luce, come raggiungerti,

come inguainare questo balenio nella tua notte!

Allora c’è un istante segreto

in cui gli occhi cercano negli occhi un volo di gabbiani,

qualcosa che sia orbita e richiamo,

una consacrazione e un labirinto di pipistrelli,

ciò che sorgeva nell’oscurità come un gemere a tentoni,

una pelle che si raffreddava e scendeva, un ritmo rotto,

si muta in convivenza, parola d’ordine, strappo

del vento che si infrange contro la vela bianca,

il grido della vedetta ci esalta,

corriamo insieme fino a che la cresta

dell’onda zenitale ci travolge

in una interminabile cerimonia di spume,

e ricominciano i naufragi, il lento nuoto verso le spiagge,

il sogno bocconi fra meduse morte e i cristalli di sale

dove arde il mondo.

Julio Cortazar

[yohgar]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Ultimate Opera [5 CD Box Set] THE ESSENTIAL MASTERPIECES.

[svetlanaknezevicworld]

𝓢𝓸𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓼𝓲𝓪 𝓲𝓵 𝓿𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓸.... Soave sia il vento Tranquilla sia l'onda Ed ogni elemento Benigno risponda Ai nostri desir Soave sia il vento Tranquilla sia l'onda Ed ogni elemento Benigno risponda Ai nostri desir Ai nostri desir Ai nostri desir Ai nostri desir Ai nostri desir Ai nostri desir Ai nostri desir Ai nostri desir Cosi Fan Tutte: May the Wind be Gentle by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart January 2023 #london #mozart #opera #lyrics #mylife #myLondon #myoperas #picofoftheday #athomeintheworld #dametraveler #interiors #traveldeeper #instamood #beauty #love #trending #stylediaries #fashionista #livingthedream #instafollow #passionpassport #lifeofawriter #lifeofaconsultant #makingtheimpossiblepossible #myworld🌎 (at Hampstead Heath) https://www.instagram.com/p/CncSwMmsWS9/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[fatchance]

Soave sia il vento, Tranquilla sia l'onda, Ed ogni elemento Benigno risponda Ai nostri/vostri desir.

Gentle be the breeze, Calm be the waves, And every element Smile in favor Of your wishes.

Georg Solti conducts the Chamber Orchestra of Europe in this 1995 recording. This lovely terzettino is sung by Renée Fleming (Fiordiligi), Anne Sofie von Otter (Dorabella), and Michele Pertusi (Don Alfonso). 

[gabriel-sabo]

[likespunglass]

Soave Sia Il Vento

after Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

In the wobbly pirouette between song & dust, dog-nosed living room windows & a purple couch that should have been curbed last July: Saturday sunlight cuts it all every time you lean into some kind of ballet pose. Your belly & knobby elbow & leotarded knee wavering in a slim balance. Jeté, effacé— I don’t know what they mean & nod anyway. You reach & spin & dog hair hangs in the air like the start of heartfelt applause.

–Adrian Matejka

[vento-del-nord]

Ora, in questa terra bruna

dove Amore suonò musica soave

noi andremo camminando, mano

in mano, resi indulgenti dall’amicizia,

non tristi che il nostro amore gaio

sia ora finito in questo modo.

Un briccone in veste rossa e gialla

picchia sull’albero, e tutt’intorno

al nostro isolamento il vento

va fischiando allegro. Le foglie

non sospirano mai, quando

l’autunno le prende di sorpresa.

…

Ci baceremo ancora, tesoro, prima

dei mesti addii di fine giorno.

Non essere triste, tesoro, per nulla

l’anno va ripiegando, invano.

James Joyce