Poetry on Opera by U. Carew Delibes

Near the End of Don Giovanni

The terror starts with the entrancing entrance of
Commendatore’s shattering note in the brass
one long, diminished seventh chord. This is not love,
but hell that paramour Don Giovanni has
come to. “A cenar teco m’invitasti,” Ho!
“e son venuto.” But this is quite a repast!
Persistently he’s asked. Repent! “Pentiti!” “No!”
The level of the tension rises. Fearless, he,
Don Giovanni claims he’s not afraid. And so,
the floor is opened, and he is mercilessly
engulfed by rising, fingered flames of hell. Above,
they sing his end. It’s “worthy of the life he leads.”

The Aria of Mozart’s Magic Flute Queen of Night

The aria of Mozart’s Magic Flute Queen
of Night is beautiful; but horrifying too.
She sings of hell, revenge, death and despair. The fiend,
then launches into bloodcurdling, bird-call abuse.
But hear, hear, hear. The music is so beautiful
it carries one away with its high-flying view
of th’ human voice. How can a shrieking be that full—
a mother’s curse and filled with so much loveliness?
It seems unreal, unfathomable, crude but cool,
a powerful arpeggio of vile vengeance,
as if all bonds of nature had been broken free
forever and were left in utter emptiness.

The Opera Singer Singing Wagner

He stood upon the stage, a portly man, not fat.
He had a shock of hair that hung about his head,
like golden flax, a neck-length cut, and thick at that.
His countenance was stern, inviting awe and dread.
And when he sang, his voice was hefty, strong and loud.
It shook the welkin round, and was by fury fed.
His attitude was massive, arrogant and proud.
The audience was captivated by his might.
He stood up tall and wide, and he was well endowed.
So overall he was a most impressive sight.
He only stumbled once, recovered firm and flat.
It wasn’t long before his stature was aright.

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