{"id":753,"date":"2015-03-06T22:50:07","date_gmt":"2015-03-06T22:50:07","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/microsites.ifagiolini.com\/betrayal\/?p=753"},"modified":"2015-03-31T09:34:01","modified_gmt":"2015-03-31T09:34:01","slug":"shameful","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/microsites.ifagiolini.com\/betrayal\/shameful\/","title":{"rendered":"Shameful writing"},"content":{"rendered":"

Gesualdo rarely worked with the lyrics of well known poets. One who wrote a poem set in the Third book of madrigals<\/em> (1595) was\u00c2\u00a0Annibale Pocaterra (1559-1593), a doctor at the University of Ferrara.<\/p>\n

Pocaterra’s father attended the famous Este court<\/a>, where Gesualdo met and married his second wife, Leonora<\/a> d’Este, and found much inspiration in the work of other composers. Pocaterra’s poems were also set by Luzzaschi and Fontanelli but his most famous work was his Due dialogi della vergogna<\/em> (1592), a discussion of shame.<\/p>\n

\"Vergogna\"<\/p>\n

A study<\/a> of this dialogue and its historical context makes interesting reading. Though its views on women are very much of their siecle (does anyone float face up when drowned?), other insights hold true: “In the end, honor and infamy belong to those who are responsible for them”.<\/p>\n

Pocaterra’s contribution to Gesualdo’s third book (and to\u00c2\u00a0Betrayal<\/em>) is ‘Dolcissimo sospiro’, which ends with a Heine-like twist that casts shame on the object of the author’s heart’s desire for running off with someone else:<\/p>\n

Dolcissimo sospiro che esci da quella bocca
\nove d\u00e2\u20ac\u2122Amor ogni dolcezza fiocca,
\ndeh, vieni a raddolcire
\nl\u00e2\u20ac\u2122amaro mio dolore:
\necco ch\u00e2\u20ac\u2122io t\u00e2\u20ac\u2122apro il core.<\/p>\n

Ma, folle, a chi ridico il mio martire?
\nAd un sospir errante
\nche forse vola in seno ad altro amante?<\/p>\n

Sweetest of sighs, <\/em>
\nbreathed from that mouth <\/em>
\nupon which Love showers every sweetness, <\/em>
\nah, come and sweeten <\/em>
\nthe bitterness of my pain: <\/em>
\nbehold, I open my heart to you. <\/em>
\n\u00c2\u00a0<\/em>
\nYet, fool that I am, to whom do I speak of my torment? <\/em>
\nTo an errant sigh <\/em>
\nflying perhaps to the breast of another lover? <\/em><\/p>\n

Capable of restraint when required, Gesualdo does not leap on this twist and express it with a portentous chromatic shift, but rather lets the realization dawn slowly. He can’t resist his own shameless little joke, however, in only very narrowly avoiding consecutive fifths (forbidden in Renaissance compositional theory) on arriving at the word “errante”.<\/p>\n

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