domenica 2 novembre 2014

Passions.

I’ve never done it, but today I feel like dedicating this post (a light one, it’s Sunday) to a Friend who this past week felt worse than I felt when I found out about my illness. We were both incapable of accepting reality, we thought impossible that it was happening to us. Dear Cristina, acceptation becomes natural in strong people, so you’re settled. I hope I’ll make you smile, since I’m talking about people you know very well. By the way, you’ve always loved tortelli, if we are Friends…

Passions
Fate mocked me.
When I was little I wanted to become a singer. Luckily, destiny decided against it. Can you imagine to sing with the communicator? I can’t. This thing already deforms English words, and I won’t even talk about Mantua’s dialect.

In high school I started playing the guitar with a schoolmate of my brother’s (totally communist, I must say, but music overcomes socio-political barriers). Dear Paolo, if I had known I wouldn’t have stressed you with A flat or C sharp, and I wouldn’t have ruined my fingertips, waiting for calluses to form (it takes a while). Oh yes. They take quite a while !

But I was so proud when I learnt the chords for «Canzone del sole» by our Lucio. We broke the balls of whole family, playing endlessly, feeling we mastered not only the instrument, but music and the whole world. All the universe gravitated around those little four notes, repeated indefinitely to accompany that marvelous poem that everyone of us considered his own.

And James Taylor, all of us felt we were friends. And Harvest, and Neil Young ? Every song of the album by heart, the best English course ever. Babbel, or what’s its name, couldn’t compare. The favorite was the poor John Denver, with his old style country that could be compared, in Italy, with Raul Casadei’s « liscio ». But I loved it so much. Whn I learnt from the radio (Internet wouldn’t be available for almost thirty more years) of his death, I ran to my attic to cry like a child for a whole afternoon.

Then the time of "schitarrate" came, as I called them with two other chaps you all know, the different twins. Marco and Nicola had a guitar for two, so we seldom met all together. We sang, each watching, hypnotized, the chords of his own instrument, basically because we felt ashamed, since we mostly knew by heart the words of each song.
I remember when we learnt the arpeggio of "Wish you were here" by Pink Floyd. We flew, even if fingers couldn’t catch up with us…

The twins were « artistically » special. They took any black and white photograph and they copied it perfectly with a pencil. The extraordinary thing was that they drew together, but not alternating. They began and ended at the same time, starting one from the right, the other from the left, meeting halfway.

I remember very well a portrait of Mohammed Alì, not yet a Muslim and still being called Cassius Clay. Drops of sweat seemed to have fallen on the sheet of paper.

Extraordinary qualities, very badly exploited. One « tonto » is a bank director, the other « tortello » is accountant. What makes me sad isn’t the squandering of their immense talents, but the fact that they aren’t on Facebook, which means I can’t insult them « live » publishing this post...

I do hope some common friends will report my cogitations to tonto and tortello.
Anyway, in the worst of cases next time they come to see me they will do me a "màruch". So lucky to be « differently privileged ». Right, Cri?

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