Advanced Attempt At Annual Inventory

Advanced Attempt At Annual Inventory

Full many a gem of purest ray serene,

The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear:

Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,

And waste its sweetness on the desert air.

~~Thomas Gray, Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard

XCIII 
Indeed the Idols I have loved so long 
Have done my credit in this World much wrong: 
Have drown'd my Glory in a shallow Cup 
And sold my Reputation for a Song. 

~~Omar Khayyam, The Rubaiyat

Arguably there are physical bases of the modern (both Julian and Gregorian) calendars on the nature and properties of the earth’s orbital around the sun and the moon’s orbital around the earth.  But long before planetary science had established its physical underpinnings, the mundane economic rationale for its implementation was the landlords’ need for taxation to be levied on an harmonic periodicity.  Ergo the demands of collecting taxes promptly made the practice of observing the upkeep of the calendar a matter of necessity.

Thus it came to pass that monthly and annual inventory takings became as much a part of the routine business cycle as keeping track of elapsed time spent at the workplace itself, nay applied against specific projects.

Ad extremum, it has become a tradition, going back a few years, for me to take stock of myself, delve into the inner recesses of my reverie, on the first day of any fresh year.  What better means to look into the disposition of your soul than to get some insights into your thirst and sensibility for music?  Concretely, this has translated into putting together a new crop of playlists on YouTube.  And of course, the attendant endeavor to share them with anybody in cyberspace who could be bothered to listen, and might even enjoy doing so.

This year’s motif for this habitual indulgence is a return to my passions of yore, to some elusive episodes of my Yamato Escapades.  The unwitting “usual suspects” vehicles of this journey are Brenda Lee and Caterina Valente both of whose artistic repertoires have been part of the vocal styles I loved and attempted to emulate over the years.

Brenda Lee is seventy-seven days younger than me.  I am 105 days shy of being thirteen years younger than Caterina Valente.  This trivia which I gleaned from sketches of their respective bio-data was somewhat of a surprise to me.  I got introduced to Brenda in the summer of 1965 and to Caterina three summers later.  I followed both artists religiously since.  I’d never have suspected that Caterina was much older than Brenda.

Aside from these two adorable ladies, I added a third playlist.  This one will serve as the vehicle for my New Year’s resolution which I pledge to keep or exhaust myself trying.  The pledge consists of being able to make a vocal rendition of the piece, by my 70th birthday, without a tearful cracking of my voice at the following touchy verses:

“I'll sail on your smile I'll ride on your touch
I'll worship your eyes that I love so much
But if you go, go on I won't cry
Though the good be gone, from the word goodbye.”

I still have all of 363 days to make good on my pledge.  So wish me luck all you good people out there.  Meanwhile, please enjoy my modest offering.  And please don’t shoot the messenger should it not meet your expectations or tickle your fancy.

{Best of Brenda Lee}

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8mbRGVHXMoY&list=PLjC-YRc2AjQANG3Tyk6KUBVLjscuB9648

{If You Go Away~~Various Artists}

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uMwIKER1OkU&list=PLjC-YRc2AjQDZmNGPSauH1fe0_S0ERwA8

{Caterina Valente Selections}

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ThuzUZjRNrI&list=PLjC-YRc2AjQDq1vfvZe7KFQln-_DQTO2h

The more I try to deliver on my resolution, the more I came to realize I might have gotten myself a very tall order.  I’m afraid I’ll have to resort to taking a few showers a day to improve on the odds.  Else I end up invoking the immortal thoughts of the poet, to wit: {C.f., http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/174603 }

I hold it true, whate'er befall;

I feel it, when I sorrow most;

'Tis better to have loved and lost

Than never to have loved at all.

                      ~~ Sir Alfred Lord Tennyson, In Memoriam

To somehow modulate the poignant bite of Rod MacKuen’s original English lyrics I attempted to improvise some unauthorized variations.  Below is the final stanza sample of this endeavor:

If you go away as I know you must
There'll be nothing left in the world to trust
Just an empty room, full of empty space
Like the empty look, I see on your face
I’d have been the shadow, of your sorry plight
If I thought it might, keep me at your sight
Please don’t go away, Huwag mo ko’ng lisanin! [Tagalog],

Ikanai de ne! [Japanese], Ayaw ‘kog biya-i! [Bisaya], Bitte geh nicht fort! [German], Ne me quitte pas! [French], Nie zostawiaj mnie! [Polish].

Revising the verses to my own liking used to work for me before.  My own variation of the verses allows me to immerse myself on the emotion of the song rather than being distracted by trying to remember the words.  But in a song as sentimental as this one being submerged in the song’s emotion may just precisely be the problem I’m trying to overcome.

If this time-tested trick does not work for me this year, I’ll have to seek refuge in the resigned fatalism of uncle Omar and add another item to my long list of defeats over the ages:

XXXIX 
And not a drop that from our Cups we throw 
For Earth to drink of, but may steal below 
To quench the fire of Anguish in some Eye 
There hidden--far beneath, and long ago.

~~Omar Khayyam, The Rubaiyat