Different Opinions Toward Ponce

ANDRÉS SEGOVIA

Manuel M. Ponce was granted by the resplendent skies of Mexico an enviable gift for music, by its soil a filial love for the songs and other traditional forms of its native art, by those who dwell upon it, his fellow countrymen, grief first, partial recognition of his merits later, and unanimous veneration at the end of his life.

It is impossible to speak of the musical talents of Ponce without mentioning also his vast culture and his well-assimilated erudition, without recalling his generous qualities as a teacher, without referring to his ability as a writer. Above all, it is not possible to speak of Manuel Ponce without remembering, with deep sentiment and respect, the rectitude of his character, the smiling saintliness of his soul, the exemplary spirituality of his life, and, in his last years, the endless patience with which he endured the martyrdom of his painful illness. The last time I took leave of him, his abundant white hair already seemed to be a halo of unearthly luminosity.

Apart from the mastery of technique inherent in so honest and studious a weaver in sound as Ponce, his works reveal plenitude of spirit -sails swelling in the wind- a feeling of leisure -awaiting quietly the finding of a happy theme to be interwined and woven without any haste to conclude and deliver the composition- and as a consequence, absence of material preoccupations. Whoever has known the Franciscan life of Ponce will feel surprise on reading this last statement; but his surprise will vanish when he considers that to be freed of material preocuppations is possible both for him who has risen above necessity, reaching luxury, and for him who, not having attained such a level, is content wwith the indispensable.

I remember that in Paris the gentle Maestro lived in a tiny room which the industry and tirelessness of Clema, his wife and companion, made gay and inviting -sorrounded by the smallest possible number of things- the fragile little table, where he shared his frugal meals with anyone in need -such as the Russian composer, always accompained by his son, who was also a composer- the sofa which became a bed at night, and a few tired chairs in which we always sat down with the greatest care and consideration. In this spotless sanctuary of poverty, the piano was the altar where Ponce officiated almost ceaselessly, studying, analyzing and composing. Whenever I arrived unexpectedly at that humble dwelling and did not hear the usual sound of the piano discreetly issuing from within, I was seized with fear that the Maestro was ill. And such, indeed, was the case. Only sickness or absence could interrupt that constant outpouring of beauty, whether his own creation, or that of others.

There is one work by Ponce, among the many and beautiful things born of his love for the guitar, which deserves special mention, "Concierto del Sur" for guitar and small orchestra, dedicated to the writer.

It would be an unpardonable omission to finish these notes without making very clear the incomparably important place which Ponce occupies in the current revival of the guitar. Anyone who loves the instrument -let alone those who have professed its religion- unless he is hard-hearted and empty-headed, must reverence the memory of Ponce. He lifted the guitar from the low artistic state in which it had lain. Along with Turina, Falla, Manen, Castelnuovo, Tansman, Villa-Lobos, Torroba, etc., but with a more abundant yield than all of them put together, he undertook the crusade full of eagerness to liberate the beautiful prisoner. Thanks to him -as to the others I have named- the guitar was saved from the music written exclusively by guitarists.

From the time that I first became acquainted with Ponce in Mexico in 1923, until the physical pain of his final illness stifled his will to create, he composed more than eighty works for the guitar; large or small, they are all of them pure and beautiful, because he did not have the cunning to write while turning his face, like the sunflower, toward wordly success.

I, more than anyone else, owe gratitude to Ponce because he responded with the deepest to my ceaseless eagerness to metamorphose the guitar. And thanks to the spiritual forces which he and other illustrious friends of mine have put into action, I am now able to contemplate with intense joy the transformation of the chrysalis into the butterfly.

Guitar Review. 1948.

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