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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Is ARANJUEZ a pining after the composer's mother ? (Joaquin Rodrigo - 1901-1999 - who composed the " Aranjuez " concerto on piano in 1938/9 and which later was destined for the guitar and orchestra, turned blind at the age of 3, due to complications with the onset of diphtheria. His Turkish pianist wife Victoria Kamhi whom he married in 1933 is said to have remarked that the exquisitely captivating composition of universal appeal recalled " happier days " in his life. What could be " happier " than those days at his mother's side. Despite the eminently masterful version by Paco de Lucia, I am convinced Pepe Romero's rendering the most moving and apt. This is a tentative essay in Rodrigo's recall.) T. Wignesan, April 19, 2018 Age cannot wither your bright fond face Nor the cares of my shrunken shuttered world Oh ! What would I not give for a mere glimpse Of those cheerful tearful eyes orbs of merry gold The silvery dancing glint trailing golden down your uncombed strands The scent of fresh milk drenched in sweat bathed in myrrh breath Your darling eyes doting on my tight shut suckling lids The lambent darkness pulling back the shrouded dawn The myriad pullulating chirping chants rousing up the morn And I in your downy cradled gently lilting lap surfing in your warmth Was that a fleeting memory or a momentous cuckoo call Still dim and growing dimmer by the day All that is real palpable the wet steamy heat of your merciful lips And the humming coaxes of your gently trailing voice Do I still recall as if I were still in your arms Real ripe deep in my thoughts Age cannot wither your bright fond face Nor the cares of my shrunken shuttered world Oh ! What would I not give for a mere glimpse Of those cheerful tearful eyes orbs of merry gold The multiple cries you wake to during interminable nights The plastered stink of limbs to dry with Cologne The cooing chest-humming drones along with ticklish cuddles With never so much as a rebounding complaint Who can forget that tell-tale melodious rant And then you dressed me up into stuffed woolen bundles To show me off Every evening bright by the neighbouring patio and plaza Me proud as a pigeon in a fountain puddle The toys you dangled in my cradle The jingle you played with deft fingers on a toy tympan And the excruciating melody Drowning the simmering light in deep dungeon night Never to be released again Never to light up your proud face again Though the sweet scent of your holy breath Blesses ever so gently my temples against yours… Age cannot wither your bright fond face Nor the cares of my shrunken shuttered world Oh ! What would I not give for a mere glimpse Of those cheerful tearful eyes orbs of merry gold © T. Wignesan - Paris, 2018
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