Iche liebe dich, so wie du mich
am Abend und am Morgen,
noch war kein Tag,
wo du und ich night teilten
unsre Sorgen.
Auch waren sie f�r dich und mich
geteilt leight zu ertragen;
du tr�stetest im Kummer mich,
ich weint in deine Klagen,
in deine Klagen.
I love you, as you me
in the evening and in the morning,
nor was there ever a day
where night cleft us.
Born for it, you and I
Never to be divided.
You protest and bear me whenever I grieve,
Just as I cry to see you suffer.
Somehow I quite like the texts (or what I managed to understand, someone please correct my translation) of the Beethoven Lieder that Maja tried to teach me the beginnings of today.
I have a long way to go, even when we transposed the notes two notes up to accomodate my voice.
I've lost a lot over the past few practiceless weeks.
Tomorrow I sit with Emanuel, and try to get more than eight pages done on the rest of his proposal.
Yesterday, a young lady that came out to the cabaret with us, turned to me at some point and said "You're going to Toronto?!? I spent two years there! You're going to LOOOOOOVE Toronto!"
Gods did that make me feel better. Not only did it disprove what everyone's been saying about how once you go to TO, it sucks you in and you never leave (she's living in Montreal now, and is in Paris only briefly before gallivanting about the Pyrhenees) but somehow, despite my stubborn "I'm doing what I want to do" determination, I still really needed to hear that.
Of course I'm going to love it. It's what I do. And if it's not loveable, I'll make it so. If anything, what I've learned here should stay with me long enough to instill at least some of it there.
Beginning with strange moments like inviting up the waitress from the Indian restaurant downstairs, to see the bed that I'm selling, and the appartment layout in general.
We sat and talked and laughed and had coffee and the unabashed extroversion that ended up turning us into friends is One Of Those Great Lessons.
Today we sang in the hot sun, sheltered by the great stone columns of the Place des Vosges, surrounded by passing strangers, stopping not only to hurl a coin, but to discuss this or that about german Lieders, Schubert's use of semitones, the jazzification of Edith Piaf.
Twenty six euros for an hour's work. That's about a programmer's salary, but not even Maja can sing eight hours a day.
I barely sang at all, I was just the support team. Smiles and applause and sheer appreciation of the way Carmen's love song rang off the arching passageways.
I did get ice cream out of it, though, and a huge look into another shining shard of life. Later, we wandered to observe the other artists, a group performing pieces from Mozart's "Il nocce del Figaro" with boombox accompagniement, a string quartet, a powerful soprano with doe-eyes and the perfect stage presence.
We wandered Bastille afterwards, and talked and laughed and compared notes of all our cities, and compared how it feels to find ourselves in three different postal codes over the course of one week.
We spoke of love and asked each other hard questions, we laughed and spoke of clever things, and despite our language barriers we made subtle jokes and saw understanding in each other's eyes.
We said goodbye at the train station, sang one last try at "Delira Dubbiosa" and promised to see each other next year. Next year in Canada, she said, the year after in Germany.
That works for me.
And hell, in two years, maybe I'll be spending more than vacation time there.
Anything is possible. All of it, as much as I can reach, and further with each day, is wonderful.