lunes, 22 de noviembre de 2010

Cecilia y la música

Santa Cecilia, una noble romana del 230 d. de C., que al convertirse al cristianismo fue martirizada y que, según cuenta la leyenda, en medio de torturas, cantaba a Dios, fue por ese hecho, consagrada por el Papa Gregorio XIII (el mismo que implementó el calendario gregoriano que aún rige nuestros días) como patrona de la música y de los músicos. Se considera que Cecilia murió un 22 de noviembre, de ahí la fecha conmemorativa. En las pinturas se la representa con violines, flautas y órganos.

La Oda para el Día de Santa Cecilia, es un poema de John Dryden, musicalizado en 1739 por Georg Händel. Se divide en una introducción dedicada a la armonía, una enumeración de instrumentos musicales y un cierre dedicado a Orfeo. Recomiendo a las y los blogonautas que se les dificulte leer en inglés, la parte VI, dedicada al órgano, que cuenta con subtítulos.

Song For St. Cecilia's Day
by John Dryden (1631-1700)


From harmony, from heavenly harmony,
This universal frame began:
When nature underneath a heap
Of jarring atoms lay,
And could not heave her head,
The tuneful voice was heard from high,
"Arise, ye more than dead."
Then cold, and hot, and moist, and dry,
In order to their stations leap,
And Music's power obey.
From harmony, from heavenly harmony,
This universal frame began;
From harmony to harmony
Through all the compass of the notes it ran,
The diapason closing full in man.


What passion cannot music raise and quell?
When Jubal struck the chorded shell,
His listening brethren stood around,
And, wondering, on their faces fell
To worship that celestial sound:
Less than a God they thought there could not dwell
Within the hollow of that shell,
That spoke so sweetly, and so well.
What passion cannot Music raise and quell?


The trumpet's loud clangor
Excites us to arms
With shrill notes of anger
And mortal alarms.
The double, double, double beat
Of the thundering drum
Cries, hark! the foes come:
Charge, charge! 'tis too late to retreat.


The soft complaining flute,
In dying notes discovers
The woes of hopeless lovers;
Whose dirge is whisper'd by the warbling lute.


Sharp violins proclaim
Their jealous pangs and desperation,
Fury, frantic indignation,
Depth of pains, and height of passion,
For the fair, disdainful dame.


But oh! what art can teach,
What human voice can reach,
The sacred organ's praise?
Notes inspiring holy love,
Notes that wing their heavenly ways
To mend the choirs above.


Orpheus could lead the savage race;
And trees uprooted left their place,
Sequacious of the lyre:
But bright Cecilia raised the wonder higher;
When to her organ vocal breath was given,
An angel heard, and straight appeared,
Mistaking earth for heaven.

Grand Chorus

As from the power of sacred lays
The spheres began to move,
And sung the great Creator's praise
To all the bless'd above;
So when the last and dreadful hour
This crumbling pageant shall devour,
The trumpet shall be heard on high,
The dead shall live, the living die,
And Music shall untune the sky.

1 comentario:

Brujilda dijo...

¡Cuánta belleza, gracias!