I’ve dreamed of putting together a collection of Madrigals Macabre since I read Roger Zelazny’s A Rose for Ecclesiastes on Christmas Day, 1963. Although I’ve been writing the poems for almost half a century, something was missing. I figured out what it was—a framing short story. It is now included & my book's ready to be published.
Preface to Madrigals Macabre, a collection of verse with framing short story
“If there are no Madrigals Macabre, I will write some.” I was brimming with youthful hubris without even knowing the meaning of the word. My vow was skewed by both arrogance and ignorance. I had imagined my powers greater than Gallinger’s, and his muse would be mine.
Christmas 1963: One of my stocking stuffers was the November issue of The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction. The cover feature was Roger Zelazny’s A Rose for Ecclesiastes. The first eleven words of its opening line captivated me—Gallinger narrates:
“I was busy translating one of my Madrigals Macabre into Martian...”
I was but eleven years old. I didn’t know what a madrigal was. Macabre was something I vaguely associated with horror themed comics like Eerie Tales or Tales from the Tomb.
I devoured the story ravenously. Much was beyond the grasp of my young mind. But its sense of wonder filled in the blanks with fantastical imaginings. No doubt about it. This was the greatest work of science fiction to cross my path. It would hook me for life.
It had only one shortcoming. “Madrigals Macabre” is never again mentioned in the story although “his [Gallinger’s] Madrigals” is referred to once in passing. I was desperate to read one of the poems—preferably in Gallinger’s Martian translation.
I was not alarmed. My hubris was there to rescue me. “If there are no Madrigals Macabre, I will write some.” I was, after all, a poet. I’d written some passable limericks.
I did my research. I learned what a madrigal was from its popular culture origins to high culture compositions like Gabriel Fauré’s Opus 35. I delved into the concept of macabre in art, literature, and music in both popular and high culture. I paid particular attention to the Danse Macabre and to the motifs in the subgenre of speculative fantasy known as weird fiction.
It took nearly eight years. I was not satisfied with the cohesion of my artistic vision until I was a junior in college majoring in comparative literature. It was then I completed my first Madrigal Macabre. In July, 1969, I had written a conventional sestina about the Apollo 11 mission. I called it Liftoff: A Sestina. It followed the strict rules perfectly. Over the next few years, I turned it into something macabre. I twisted it until it became Macabre Liftoff: A Mutilated Sestina. I finally felt I had something Gallinger would find worthy.
I felt I had the weakest grasp of the musical component. I could play a couple of instruments, but my talent was mediocre at best. By then I knew what hubris was and, once again, called on this constant companion of mine. In early 1983, I began writing a science fiction novel, In Search of a Soul, set in 2075.
Nicole is a high-functioning autistic. Despite her perceived flaws, she feels compelled to change the social order and restore the US Constitution. In her distinctive voice with its terse, purposeful cadence; she explains why. She is helped by Shadya Diaz. They have been together since early childhood. Her music allows Nicole to maintain a sense of equilibrium. In particular, Nicole uses Shade’s Madrigals Macabre as mantras to overcome her neurological disorders.
This book is a compilation of lyrics to the songs Nicole finds most precious. Included, too, is Shade’s backstory. Precocious and irreverent, Shade’s narrative frames this collection of verse.
* * *
These are my Madrigals Macabre. They are my roses for Roger Zelazny. I am no longer afflicted by hubris. I am merely saddened I never got to hear Gallinger’s poems. I offer my humble compositions in homage to a great writer who had a profound influence on my life.
* * *
And here is the opening stanza to Macabre Liftoff: A Mutilated Sestina, the first Madrigal Macabre I wrote. There are two versions. An ‘R’ version and a ‘K’ version. The ‘R’ version is faithful to the Zeus, Leto, Pan, & Apollo accounts contained in The Greek Myths by Robert Graves—I used the revised 1960 edition when I composed both the traditional and mutilated sestinas. The ‘K’ version, quoted here, deviates from Graves’s accounts with macabre irony:
Macabre Liftoff: A Mutilated Sestina
If the Sun
Could ever eclipse the Moon
He would know the glow that comes from being Moon
The glow that Leto felt
When she was being kissed
By one who called himself god. Die the virgin!
Resurrect the sun in barren
Rock! Give him, perhaps, the name Apollo!
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