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Is ARANJUEZ a pining after the composer's mother

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

Copyright © | Year Posted 2018




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