Double tanka for Ash Wednesday

Pietro Perugino, Moses Leaving for Egypt, fresco from the Sistine Chapel

 

My poetic Lent
began in the dentist's chair.
The drill whirred and struck
an un-numbed crevasse of bone:
sublime sharp sliver of pain.

I thought of Mozart,
so young, the Sistine --
Allegri's lament
piercing his soul: a dagger
he transformed into a pen.

 

Allegri's Miserere mei was first heard by Pope Urban IV in 1630. He was so struck by its beauty that he declared it could only be sung in the Vatican's Sistine Chapel. The music alternates plainchant with verses for two choirs, one choir singing a simpler version and the other, a quartet, "commenting" on each verse with an ornamented variation which includes an ethereal, extremely high ornamentation sung by a boy soprano. In addition to allowing the music to be sung only at certain services, it also became forbidden -- on pain of excommunication -- for the music to be written down or transcribed. According to tradition, which is corroborated by letters, the young Mozart, at age 14, visited the Sistine Chapel in 1770, heard the music, and was deeply affected by its mystery and beauty. That evening, he wrote it down from memory, making a few corrections after a second visit to the chapel. In 1771 he gave a copy to a British historian, who had it published in London. The Pope summoned Mozart to Rome and praised his genius, and the ban was lifted.

Our choir sings the Miserere mei twice during Lent: once on Ash Wednesday evening, and once on Good Friday afternoon. So we sang it last night, along with a beautiful mass setting by Herbert Howells and William Walton's Drop Drop Slow Tears: the novocaine was worn off by then!

 

Comments

[maria]

A lovely double tanka and wonderful music, with its amazing history. I hope your dental issues are not bothersome today. Thank you for posting this amazing introduction to and performance of Miserere mei.

[Beth]

Thanks, Maria. Actually my tooth hurts quite a bit but it's better than it was in the middle of the night, and will repair quickly, I think (and hope!) Glad you liked the music. It's pretty otherworldly -- I always get chills when the soprano (in our case, my friend Carole) hits those high Cs.

[Duchesse]

I enjoyed the BBC program greatly, learning and shivering... and hope your surgery restores you to full capability.

[Hattie]

So wonderful.

[Tom]

I think I'd rather suffer a fiery dart unto mine soul, than a hot drill bit into an unanaesthetised tooth. What a nerve, really! And that music is stunningly, heart-achingly beautiful. We try never to miss a programme by Simon Russell-Beale.

[Natalie]

Oh Beth! Ouch ouch ouch! I so deeply sympathise and hope you complained loudly and strongly to the dentist who was so careless. How could he/she have slipped up so badly? Not properly anaesthetised tooth and drilling into the nerve? I am shocked, horrified. Do not go back to this dentist. I hope you're feeling better, much better.

Ah, the music. In my indignation I forgot the music and I marvel that you could make a poem out of that dental outrage.
The music is wonderful.

[Beth]

Tom, Natalie: I was exaggerating, a little...he had given me novocaine, just not enough for one particular spot be because we didn't know exactly what was going on - it was some exploratory periodontal root cleaning, not a tooth being drilled. He's a fine surgeon and takes very good care of me; he stopped immediately when I winced, and gave me more anesthetic. A bit of creative license in order to capture a poem, I'm afraid. Thank you for your empathy about dental woes - my Achilles heel is definitely in my mouth!

Glad you all enjoyed the music!