While my wife and I were enjoying an after-dinner game of Scrabble tonight we were listening to music. The CD she chose to play was one I picked up a few years ago in Italy, and is a performance by a local choir from the small town of Arta Terme. They sing in a variety of languages, including German, as well as Italian and the local Friulan. The disc brings back a happy memory of my visit there, but I think that its impact operates at a deeper level than that.
One of the songs the choir performs is Der Lindenbaum, which I believe is by Schubert. I speak hardly a word of German, but each time I listen to that song I am close to tears. The reason for this is unclear to me, but in the absence of the words the secret of its power must lie in the music itself. How does music work like that? I have never understood exactly, but I can be absolutely wrecked by music.
Thinking about this, it occurred to me that all art must operate at a similar level, quite beneath the level of our consciousness. When we are exposed to any work of art there must be things going on that defy translation into any other medium. A long time ago I had a girl friend who was a mathematician. I remember her attempts to explain to me the concept of a “beautiful” equation. I never could grasp that idea, but it does seem that there must be something happening there that is analogous to the way in which art moves us, in that nobody ever attempts to “translate” an equation into some other form of expression. If your “spirit” actually resonates in that way, then you get it: if not, presumably, then not.