Perfection

I was at a wedding at the end of August, between two lovely young people involved in the classical music scene in the city: both talented and delightful. What struck me, apart from the expected pleasure (the beauty of bride, the emotions of the speeches, the joy of the crowd), was the musical selection. In my opinion, it couldn't have been done better. What made it more special was that the highly talented young opera singers who performed are all good friends of the bride and groom:

~ the processional music was "Soave sia il vento" (Così fan tutte) and then "Laudate Dominum" (Mozart)

~ during the register signing, it was Strauss's Morgen

 ~ the recessional was the love duet (piano version) from Götterdämmerung's Prologue

~ at the start of the reception the bride and groom danced to Ella Fitzgerald singing Night and Day

~ during a pause in the speeches, the groom told us that his new wife had always encouraged him to keep at his solo piano career; in her honour he played her favourite piece, Clair de Lune

~ An English language version of "Mann und Weib" (from The Magic Flute) used their names in place of "Mann" and "Weib" and opera singers popped up all over the ballroom to join in.

~ an e.e. cummings poem (used in Hannah and Her Sisters) was the reading during the ceremony:

somewhere i have never travelled,
gladly beyond somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond 
any experience, your eyes have their silence: 
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me, 
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me 
though i have closed myself as fingers, 
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain,has such small hands

Total. Heartfelt. Perfection.