La Maschera
Anonymous Venecian poetry for CARNEVALE
music: composed & performed by Chris Chambers
Audio Production: David Johnson
Video Production: Anne Maria Clarke
The Mask Maker: English Translation
How beautiful are these masks!
How ugly are these masks!
Yes they are me. I create them.
They call me the mask maker.
I place tiny pieces of paper.
I begin at the border.
After the eyebrows, then the nose and the mouth.
One day I make a mask that laughs.
One day I make a mask that cries.
One day I make a beautiful mask.
One day I make an ugly mask.
How easy it is to make a face with different expressions.
But what a pity they have no heart.
They have no circulation of blood.
They feel neither cold nor heat.?
They cannot say why they laugh or cry.
But with me they are different.
When I put tiny pieces of paper on their eyes,
They see me and give me their feelings.
When I put tiny pieces of paper on their mouths,
They speak to me and tell me many things.
When I put tiny pieces of paper on the nose –
I see that they breathe!
That they live!
But then, maybe they are real and we are masks!
How beautiful are these masks!
How ugly are these masks!
Yes they are me. I create them.
They call me the mask maker.
I place tiny pieces of paper.
I begin at the border.
After the eyebrows, then the nose and the mouth.
One day I make a mask that laughs.
One day I make a mask that cries.
One day I make a beautiful mask.
One day I make an ugly mask.
How easy it is to make a face with different expressions.
But what a pity they have no heart.
They have no circulation of blood.
They feel neither cold nor heat.?
They cannot say why they laugh or cry.
But with me they are different.
When I put tiny pieces of paper on their eyes,
They see me and give me their feelings.
When I put tiny pieces of paper on their mouths,
They speak to me and tell me many things.
When I put tiny pieces of paper on the nose –
I see that they breathe!
That they live!
But then, maybe they are real and we are masks!
My husband Pat and I discovered this poem a few years ago in a little Mask- Makers shop tucked away in the Castello area of Venice. Our daughter who was studying in the city at the time had gifted us with money to buy masks for the upcoming Carnevale and we had spent a delightfully playful hour trying on and choosing. When we finally made up our minds, the old mask-maker popped this printed poem into the package with our purchases. We never knew who wrote it - for it bore no name - yet we are grateful to the author – whoever it is!
Much love
Anne Maria Clarke
x x x
Much love
Anne Maria Clarke
x x x
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