Con Dowland

Palabra cantada en ángulo incierto. Las más bellas romanzas de una época se hacen de todas las romanzas. Y no importa si el origen es la tristeza o la alegría. La bella canción se nutre de lo que nos rodea, sea catedral o prostíbulo. Volver a escuchar a Dowland después de un año, es reencontrarse con aquel principio ineludible a la historia de la música. Al fin y al cabo, la música académica tuvo su génesis en la canción popular y en sus intermedios instrumentales. 

Dowland creó en la incertidumbre de dos tiempos. Es renacentista por atmósfera, barroco por ángulo incierto. Luz y penumbra. A los siglos fue uno de los grandes trovadores. Se que no descubro la pólvora con lo que digo. Pero es tan necesario decirlo una y otra vez, con Dowland se amanece y anochece, se muerte y vuelve a vivir. 

Come again sweet love doth now invite- "First Booke of Songes or Ayres" (1597).

Come again! sweet love doth now invite

Thy graces that refrain

To do me due delight,

To see, to hear, to touch, to kiss, to die,

With thee again in sweetest sympathy.

Come again! that I may cease to mourn

Through thy unkind disdain;

For now left and forlorn

I sit, I sigh, I weep, I faint, I die

In deadly pain and endless misery.

All the day the sun that lends me shine

By frowns doth cause me pine

And feeds me with delay;

Her smiles, my springs that makes my joy to grow,

Her frowns the winter of my woe.

All the night my sleeps are full of dreams,

My eyes are full of streams.

My heart takes no delight

To see the fruits and joys that some do find

And mark the stormes are me assign'd.

But alas, my faith is ever true,

Yet will she never rue

Nor yield me any grace;

Her Eyes of fire, her heart of flint is made,

Whom tears nor truth may once invade.

Gentle Love, draw forth thy wounding dart,

Thou canst not pierce her heart;

For I, that do approve

By sighs and tears more hot than are thy shafts

Do tempt while she for triumphs laughs.

Can she excuse my wrongs with Virtue's cloak?- "First Booke of Songes or Ayres" (1597).

Can she excuse my wrongs with Virtue's cloak?

Shall I call her good when she proves unkind?

Are those clear fires which vanish into smoke?

Must I praise the leaves where no fruit I find?

No, no, where shadows do for bodies stand

Thou may'st be abus'd if thy sight be dimmed

Cold love is like to words written on sand

Or to bubbles which on the water swim

Wilt thou be thus abused still

Seeing that she will right thee never?

If thou cans't not o'ercome her will

Thy love will be thus fruitless ever

Wilt thou be thus abused still

Seeing that she will right thee never?

If thou cans't not o'ercome her will

Thy love will be thus fruitless ever

Was I so base, that I might not aspire

Unto those high joys which she holds from me?

As they are high, so high is my desire

If she this deny, what can granted be?

If she will yield to that which Reason is

It is Reason's will that Love should be just

Dear, make me happy still by granting this

Or cut off delays if that I die must

Better a thousand times to die

Than for to live thus still tormented

Dear, but remember it was I

Who for thy sake did die contented

Better a thousand times to die

Than for to live thus still tormented

Dear, but remember it was I

Who for thy sake did die contented

In darkness let me dwell- 1610. Canta: Anne Sophie Von Otter

In darkness let me dwell; the ground shall sorrow be,

The roof despair, to bar all cheerful light from me;

The walls of marble black, that moist'ned still shall weep;

My music, hellish jarring sounds, to banish friendly sleep.

Thus, wedded to my woes, and bedded in my tomb,

O let me dying live, till death doth come, till death doth come.

My dainties grief shall be, and tears my poison'd wine,

My sighs the air, through which my panting heart shall pine:

My robes my mind shall suit exceeding blackest night,

My study shall be tragic thoughts, sad fancy to delight.

Pale ghosts and frightful shades shall my acquaintance be:

O thus, my hapless joy, I haste to thee, I haste to thee.