Mezzo Soprano (or Alto), Clarinet (or Viola) and Piano
'I dreamed of him last night'
A cycle of 5 songs dealing with themes of love, bereavement and loss, setting poems by Lord Alfred Douglas, Helen Waddell, Robert Hugill and two poems
by M.V. Lively taken from "How can you write a poem when you're dying of AIDS".
'emotional and thought provoking' - Blake Engel, CMU, Pittsburgh
1. The Dead Poet
2. David's Lament for Jonathan (Helen Waddell)wordsmusic
Low in thy grave with thee
Happy to lie,
Since there’s no greater thing left
Love to do;
And to live after thee
Is but to die,
For with but half a soul
what can Life do?
So share thy victory
or else thy grave,
Either to rescue thee,
or with the lie;
Ending that life for thee,
That thou didst save,
So Death that sundereth
might bring more nigh.
Peace, O my stricken lute!
They strings are sleeping
Would that my heart could still
Its bitter weeping.
Peter Abelard
translated by Helen Waddell (by permission of Miss Mollie Martin and Stanbrook Abbey)
Another day without you,
and no-one seems to know
The earth still keeps on turning,
the Thames still seems to flow
And as I look about me,
well life still seems the same
Why is it only me that needs to cry out your name.
Another night without you,
and in those lonely hours
I thought I felt your lips on mine
and felt our spirits soar
But as I look about me,
my life was just the same
Without you there beside me
I must cry out your name
I see your face in every single passer by
And hear your voice
no matter how hard I try forgetting you
Every waking hour,
details of our life,
memories of joy,
call to me in your name.
Another day without you,
each minute of my time
I fill with pointless moments
to keep you from my mind
And as I look around me,
my life's dull round's the same
Why is it only me that cries out
Another day without you,
Another night without you
Another night alone.
Soft for music dies within the room
Where once the bridge that heaven sings
to man, returning him to grace
is empty space.
Soft, for music silenced never can return
and we the living, must
its passing mourn,
sighing in the gloom.
Soft, still within the silence, lies the love
he crafted here upon an earthly stave;
The song, moon slivered nights
and sunscaped days.
Soft, threading memory stakes the muted claim
which we the living,
tearful bear,
the blame denial of our grave.
Soft, dying music's timbre strikes the note
discordant; Chaos brings the age of truth.
To him returns all harmony
and places, times and innocence.
Soft, here the living ache,
seek the dawn of melodies.
Each day his love reborn
sustains undying hopes.
M.V. Lively from "How can you write a Poem when you're dying of AIDS" published by Cassell
Poet's note: On Sunday 24 January 1988, a candlelight procession took place in London in memory of those who died in the UK from AIDS. The route started in Hyde Park and proceeded along Park Lane, Haymarket, Piccadilly, Trafalgar Square and along Whitehall past Downing Street into Parliament Square, where it finally stopped outside the Queen Elizabeth Conference Centre. As many as could of the 5000 present gathered in the square and observed a two-minute silence, then dispersed.
The flickering light
unsteady in my glass
Susceptible to each
new gust of wind,
constantly being re-lit
cradled against the capricious
breeze
reminded me of you.
The last ten months of your life.
Your living life flamed fight
against AIDS.
Around me other candles
witnessed for the loved,
now dead.
The brave flames of those
with AIDS and HIV
borne unashamedly with
fierce joy.
And many more
Acolytes
Brothers and sisters
bonded
by this act of love,
this
Memorare.
In the silence
I cried
Tear-sealed eyes
like a blind man
for whom light
can only be a memory.
Oh, my lovely light!
Where are you now?
extinguishing the hazarded
flame
cradled in my hands.
Was then a brother
placed his arms around my grief.
'Look up' he said.
And there flickering
in my eyes
a thousand lights
held high by saints
who loved.
You are not
gone.
No darkening night
can ever snuff,
put out
your love's light.
Inside me burned a pride
at being there
There shared care of it.
And you,
shone brighter in the gathering dusk.
M.V. Lively from "How can you write a Poem when you're dying of AIDS" published by Cassell
'When I am dead, mydearest, Sing no sad songs to me'
A song cycle on the theme of renewal. 6 poems by Christina Rosetti trace the parallel cycles of winter leading to a new spring, and death leading to new life and resurrection
When I am dead, my dearest,
Sing no sad songs for me;
Plant thou no roses at my head,
Nor shady cypress tree:
Be the green grass above me
With showers and dewdrops wet:
And if thou wilt, remember,
And if thou wilt, forget.
I shall not see the shadows,
I shall not fear the rain;
I shall not hear the nightingale
Sing on as if in pain:
And dreaming through the twilight
That doth not rise nor set,
Haply I may remember,
And haply may forget.
A voice said, ‘Follow, follow’: and I rose
And followed far into the dreamy night,
Turning my back upon the pleasant light.
It led me where the bluest water flows,
And would not let me drink: where the corn grows
I dared not pause, but went uncheered by sight
Or touch: until at length in evil plight
It left me, wearied out with many woes.
Some time I sat as one bereft of sense:
But soon another voice from very far
Called, ‘Follow, follow’: and I rose again.
Now on my night has dawned a blessed star:
Kind steady hands my singking steps sustain,
And will not leave me till I shall go hence.
Remember me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day
You tell me of our future that you plann’d:
Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.
I wonder if the sap is stirring yet,
If wintry birds are dreaming of a mate,
if frozen snowdrops feel as yet the sun
And crocus fires are kindling one by one:
Sing, robin, sing:
I still am sore in doubt concerning Spring.
I wonder if the Springtide of this year
Will bring another Spring both lost and dear;
if heart and spirit will find out their Spring,
Or if the world alone will bud and sing:
Sing, hope, to me;
Sweet notes, my hopes, soft notes for memory.
The sap will surely quicken soon or late,
The tardiest bird will twitter to a mate;
So Spring must dawn again with warmth and bloom,
Or in this world or in the world to come:
Sing, voice of Spring,
Till I too blossom and rejoice and sing.
'Oh, what is life and what is Man? Oh, what is death?'
A scena for High Tenor and Strings setting words from William Blake's long poem, 'Jerusalem', in the form of a sequence of accompanied recits and arias.
Oh, what is life and what is Man? Oh, what is death?
Wherefore
Are you, my children, natives in the grave to where I go?
Or are you born to feed the hungry ravenings of destruction,
To be the sport of accident, to waste in wrath and love a weary
Life, in brooding cares and anxious labours that prove but chaff?
Oh Jerusalem, Jerusalem, I have forsaken thy courts;
Thy pillars of ivory and gold, thy curtains of silk and fine
Linen, thy pavements of precious stones, thy walls of pearl
And gold, thy gates of thanksgiving, thy windows of praise,
Thy clouds of blessing, thy cherubims of tender mercy,
Stretching their wings sublime o'er the little ones of Albion.
Oh human imagination, O divine body I have crucified!
I have turned my back upon thee into the wastes of moral law.
Oh Babylon, Oh, Babylon
There Babylon is builded on the waste, founded on human desolation
O Babylon, thy watchman stands over thee in the Night: O Babylon
Thy severe judge all the day long proves thee, O Babylon,
With provings of destruction, with giving thee they heart's desire.
The walls of Babylon are souls of men, her gates the groans of nations, her towers are the miseries of once happy families.
Her streets are paved with destruction, her houses built with death,
Her palaces with Hell and the grave, her synagogues with torments
Or everhardening despair, squared and polished with cruel skill.
Yet thou wast lovely as the summer cloud upon my hills,
When Jerusalem was thy heart's desire in times of youth and love.
Thy sons came to Jerusalem with gifts; she sent them away
With blessing on their hands and on their feet, blessings of gold
And pearl and diamond. Thy daughters sang in her courts;
Mount Zion lifted his head in every nation under heaven,
And the Mount of Olives was beheld over the whole earth.
The footsteps of the Lamb of God were there. But now no more,
No more shall I behold him; he is closed in Luvah's sepulchre.
Dost thou forgive me, thou who wast dead and art alive?
Look not so merciful upon me, O thou slain Lamb of God,
I die! I die in thy arms, though hope is banished from me.
What we crave in love
is often ellusive.
when asked, "why do you love him?"
we choke to answer.
then do so with cliches
or repeat the echoes
we hear from mother's grave
but seem never too sure.
A few silly love verses
will not suffice
love is too complex.
we need Freud and
every other cosmic theory
just to explain it
of course, we need not ponder
at all so long as we do it.
'the courage to create ourselves anew, all this and more we have fought and won'
Twelve Duets for Alto and Guitar based on poems by Carl Cook, written for Rupert Damerell (counter-tenor) and Andrew Keeping (guitar), who gave the first performance at Burgh House, Hampstead. The fantasia for solo guitar, using themes from the song cycle, Harvest Ramble was also written for Andrew Keeping.
1. Let this harvest pass, o love
Let this harvest pass, o love
not every crop can yield
expected satisfaction. the best
of weathers may take
a sudden turn, destroying
nutrients we waited
long through wintry nights
to bless our table.
Let this harvest pass, o Lord.
dissease, distress, despair,
exempts us from living immortally. a
assigning what burdens we bear
a perrennial rest. this spring that once
was ours depletes the soil, turns
our little seeds into the mud now heavy,
now hushed, now heartfelt like death.
2. perhaps there is something
perhaps there is something
we do not know
untold to us
unseen in dreams
the lyrics sung above our dreams
3. Something so simple
Something so simple
as a kiss
could kill for
lack of it
or build eternal
structures
for generations
to flourish
4. try the door
try the door
turn the knob
ring the bell
if you must
but under the mat
lies the key that someone
left for you
to make yourself at home.
5. let's walk to the beach
let's walk to the beach
where the bonfire
burns and heap all our
trinkets and all our garbage and all our trash
into the great flames
6. Our world is full of banalities
Our world is full of banalities
moments of inconsequence
irrational unrealities. time is
spent waiting and waiting,
for what exactly we are not sure,
a little laughter breaks
the sequence of desperation. love
is a cure of some things.
Come to me in the space
I have cleared for you.
seduce the furies. release the pain.
forgive the unspeakable past.
to heal is all we can hope for.
love comes easiest
with health. our hearts are seeking
a common center
7. We are whatever we are
We are whatever we are
and whatever we
deem so possible. we
tread on discovery
at every moment but only
to triumph when we
dare to dance an unsavory
waltz with defeat.
Not every conduit is lit
not every promise
fulfilled. even love, at times,
retreats in desperation.
what seeds to sow and how
to sow them can yield
a harvest or a sorrow. be glad
for every fruit however small.
8. After the rain
After the rain
after the streets have dried
after the drops
have fallen and ceased to dance
o where are you now?
what are your thoughts?
how will you travel
the dry terrain of naked choice?
Before the sun
before the light releases you
before the shadows
disappear and find us mute...
o when to speak?
why the stammered words?
who amidst this fury
will gather our deliverance?
9. of death
Of death
remember this
it is not the end
of all things
merely the end
of some things and
of those things
they are not
the things eternal.
10. For the memories ungranted
For the memories ungranted
for the tears that could not hold torrential tides
for the hopes unheeded from
the times we failed to press the passing time
It is a coming and a coming back again
perhaps in styles and forms
we have not dared to wish
like lilacs in the wind that may be us
Igloos aren't the most comfortable
homes in the world but they
are adaptable and whether we like it
or not (ask any Eskimo)
we have no choice or will. living
upon glaciers thicker than
the eye can fathom requires a certain
degree of pragmatic accomodation.
11. Sweet is the night air
Sweet is the night air
when all lay dying.
solemn is the cricket
of a soldier's winter.
the fog rolls proverbial
across mounted
stones announcing another
name of remembrance.
so sweet is the night air.
so still.
the limbs that bare no leaves.
death is a quiet wakening.
12. When all this is over
when all this is over
as all this must
we may again embrace
with a tenderness
beyond this time
beyond these tears
and vain regrets
time surely cannot give us
back the years
nor reclaim the yearnings
of our youth
but the faith to forgive
the strength to redeem friendships
where we thought
we had none
and the courage
to create ourselves
anew
all this and more
we have fought
and won
Settings of four moving poems by Ivor Gurney - Song, Requiem, To His Love and Song and Pain. The poems were written in the light of the First World War. Robert Hugill's songs address issues of love, friendship and loss to form a trajectory from loss to acceptance.
In 2007, To His Love came 2nd in the English Poetry and Song Society's Ivor Gurney competition and Requiem came 4th.
My heart makes songs on lonely roads
to comfort me while you are away
and strives with lovely sounding words
its crowded tenderness to say
Yet I am glad that love has come
to bind me fast, and try my worth
for love's a powerful lord and gives
his friends dominion over the earth
I walk deserted ways and see
against the forward dark your face
Pale glimmering against the dark:
Your face I see with pride, and pain
So that, one turn, I did desire
Never to see that face again.
2) Requiem
Requiem
Pour out your light, O stars, and do not hold
Your loveliest shining from earth's outworn shell
Pure and cold your radiance, pure and cold
My dead friend's face as well
Requiem
Pour out your bounty, moon of radiant shining
On all this shattered flesh, these quiet forms;
For these were slain, so quiet, still reclining,
In the noblest cause was ever waged with arms.
3) To His Love
He's gone and all our plans
are useless indeed.
We'll walk no more on Cotswold
where the sheep feed
quietly and take no heed.
His body that was so quick
is not as you
knew it, on Severn river
under the blue
driving our small boat through.
You would not know him now...
but still he died
nobly, so cover him over
with violets of pride
Purple from Severn side.
Cover him, cover him soon!
and with thickset
masses of memoried flowers
hide that red wet
thing I must forget.
4) Song and Pain
Out of my sorrow have I made these songs,
out of my sorrow;
Though somewhat of the makings eager pain
from joy did borrow.
Some day, I trust, God's purpose of pain for me
shall be complete,
And then to enter in the house of joy...
Prepare, my feet.
Settings of four late poems by A E Housman - He looked at me, He would not stay for me,
Because I liked you better, and A.J.J. - When he's returned.
The poems were written in the after the First World War and reflect the homo-erotic strand in Housman's poetry.
In 2008, He Looked at me came 3rd in the English Poetry and Song Society's A.E. Housman competition.
He looked at me with eyes I thought
I was not like to find,
The voice he begged for pence with brought
Another man to mind.
Oh no, lad, never touch your cap;
It is not my half-crown:
You have it from a better chap
That long ago lay down.
Turn east and over Thames to Kent
And come to the sea's brim,
And find his everlasting tent
2) He would not stay for me
He would not stay for me, and who can wonder?
He would not stay for me to stand and gaze.
I shook his hand, and tore my heart in sunder,
And went with half my life about my ways.
3) Because I liked you better
Because I liked you better
Than suits a man to say,
It irked you, and I promised
To throw the thought away.
To put the world between us
We parted, stiff and dry;
`Good-bye,' said you, `forget me.'
`I will, no fear', said I.
If here, where clover whitens
The dead man's knoll, you pass,
And no tall flower to meet you
Starts in the trefoiled grass,
Halt by the headstone naming
The heart no longer stirred,
And say the lad that loved you
Was one that kept his word.
4) A.J.J – When he's returned
When he's returned I'll tell him -- oh,
Dear fellow, I forgot:
Time was you would have cared to know,
But now it matters not.
I mourn you, and you heed not how;
Unsaid the word must stay;
Last month was time enough, but now
The news must keep for aye.
Oh, many a month before I learn
Will find me starting still
And listening, as the days return,
For him that never will.
Strange, strange to think his blood is cold
And mine flows easy on:
And that straight look, that heart of gold,
That grace, that manhood gone.
The word unsaid will stay unsaid
Though there was much to say;
Last month was time enough: he's dead,
The news must keep for aye.
Settings of four moving poems by Ivor Gurney - Song, Requiem, To His Love and Song and Pain. The poems were written in the light of the First World War. Robert Hugill's songs address issues of love, friendship and loss to form a trajectory from loss to acceptance.
In 2007, To His Love came 2nd in the English Poetry and Song Society's Ivor Gurney competition and Requiem came 4th.
My heart makes songs on lonely roads
to comfort me while you are away
and strives with lovely sounding words
its crowded tenderness to say
Yet I am glad that love has come
to bind me fast, and try my worth
for love's a powerful lord and gives
his friends dominion over the earth
I walk deserted ways and see
against the forward dark your face
Pale glimmering against the dark:
Your face I see with pride, and pain
So that, one turn, I did desire
Never to see that face again.
2) Requiem
Requiem
Pour out your light, O stars, and do not hold
Your loveliest shining from earth's outworn shell
Pure and cold your radiance, pure and cold
My dead friend's face as well
Requiem
Pour out your bounty, moon of radiant shining
On all this shattered flesh, these quiet forms;
For these were slain, so quiet, still reclining,
In the noblest cause was ever waged with arms.
3) To His Love
He's gone and all our plans
are useless indeed.
We'll walk no more on Cotswold
where the sheep feed
quietly and take no heed.
His body that was so quick
is not as you
knew it, on Severn river
under the blue
driving our small boat through.
You would not know him now...
but still he died
nobly, so cover him over
with violets of pride
Purple from Severn side.
Cover him, cover him soon!
and with thickset
masses of memoried flowers
hide that red wet
thing I must forget.
4) Song and Pain
Out of my sorrow have I made these songs,
out of my sorrow;
Though somewhat of the makings eager pain
from joy did borrow.
Some day, I trust, God's purpose of pain for me
shall be complete,
And then to enter in the house of joy...
Prepare, my feet.
The Poet pleads with his Friend for Old Friends
Though you are in your shining days,
Voices among the crowd
and new friends busy with your praise.
Be not unkind or proud,
But think about old friends the most:
Time's bitter flood will rise,
Your beauty perish and be lost,
For all eyes but these eyes.
He wishes his beloved were dead
Were you but lying cold and dead,
And lights were paling out of the West,
You would come hither, and bend your head,
And I would lay my head on your breast.
And you would murmur tender words,
Forgiving me, because you were dead:
Nor would you rise and hasten away,
Though you have the will of the wild birds,
But know your hair was bound and wound
About the stars and moon and sun:
O would beloved that you lay
Under the dock-leaves in the ground
While lights were paling one by one.
He wishes for the cloths of heaven
Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams
The Lake Isle of Innisfree
I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.
And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet's wings.
I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the road-way, or on the pavements gray,
I hear it in the deep heart's core.
W.B.Yeats
Four poems by W. B. Yeats set for Soprano and Piano.
1) What should I say
What should I say,
Since faith is dead,
And truth away
From you is fled?
Should I be led
With doubleness?
Nay, nay, mistress!
I promised you,
And you promised me,
To be as true
As I would be.
But since I see
Your double heart,
Farewell my part!
Though for to take
It is not my mind,
But to forsake
One so unkind
And as I find,
So will I trust:
Farewell, unjust!
Can ye say nay?
But you said
That I alway
Should be obeyed?
And thus betrayed
Or that I wiste--
Farewell, unkissed.
2) It is necessary
It is necessary to deceive in order to live
My wit is nought, I cannot learn the way
Never let friendship get in the way of advantage
This is the only recipe.
3) The Pillar
The pillar perish'd is whereto I leant,
The strongest stay of my unquiet mind:
The like of it no man again can find.
From east to west still seeking though he went,
To mine unhap. For hap away hath rent
Of all my joy the very bark and rind:
And I: alas by chance am thus assign'd
Daily to mourn, till death do it relent.
But since that thus it is by destiny.
What can I more but have a woeful heart:
My pen in plaint, my voice in careful cry,
My mind in woe, my body full of smart:
And I myself, myself always to hate,
Till dreadful death do ease my doleful state.
4) Is it possible?
Is it possible
That so high debate,
So sharp, so sore, and of such rate,
Should end so soon as was begun so late?
Is it possible?
Is it possible
So cruel intent,
So hasty heat and so soon spent,
From love to hate and thence for to relent?
Is it possible?
Is it possible
That any may find
Within one heart so diverse mind,
To change or turn as weather and wind?
Is it possible?
Is it possible
To spy it in an eye
That turns as oft as chance on die,
The truth whereof can any try?
Is it possible.
Is it possible
For to turn so oft,
To bring that lowest which was most alort,
And to fall highest yet to light soft:
It is possible.
All is possible
Whoso list believe
Trust therefore first, and after preve,
As men wed ladies by licence and leave.
All is possible.
5) Farewell, Love
Farewell, Love, and all thy laws for ever:
Thy baited hooks shall tangle me no more.
Senec and Plato call me from thy lore,
To perfect wealth my wit for to endeavour.
In blind error when I did persever,
Thy sharp repulse, that pricketh aye so sore,
Hath taught me to set in trifles no store
And scape forth, since liberty is lever.
Therefore farewell, go trouble younger hearts.
And in me claim no more authority;
With idle youth go use thy property,
And thereon spend thy many brittle darts.
For, hitherto though I've lost my time,
Me lusteth no longer rotten boughs to climb.
Sir Thomas Wyatt (1503? - 1542)
Four poems by Sir Thomas Wyatt, plus an extract from one of his letters, set for tenor and piano.
Four poems by W.B.Yeats set for soprano and large ensemble, with a very prominent harp part.
words
The Poet pleads with his Friend for Old Friends
Though you are in your shining days,
Voices among the crowd
and new friends busy with your praise.
Be not unkind or proud,
But think about old friends the most:
Time's bitter flood will rise,
Your beauty perish and be lost,
For all eyes but these eyes.
He wishes his beloved were dead
Were you but lying cold and dead,
And lights were paling out of the West,
You would come hither, and bend your head,
And I would lay my head on your breast.
And you would murmur tender words,
Forgiving me, because you were dead:
Nor would you rise and hasten away,
Though you have the will of the wild birds,
But know your hair was bound and wound
About the stars and moon and sun:
O would beloved that you lay
Under the dock-leaves in the ground
While lights were paling one by one.
He wishes for the cloths of heaven
Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams
The Lake Isle of Innisfree
I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.
And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet's wings.
I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the road-way, or on the pavements gray,
I hear it in the deep heart's core.
W.B.Yeats
006512
Love Remembered NEW
11'30
Soprano (or tenor) and Clarinet quartet
Four songs to poems by Constantine Cavafy in English translations, these are revised arrangements of the cycle with piano.
Their Beginning
Come Back
Chandelier
December 1903
006513
Love Remembered NEW
11'30
Soprano (or tenor) and String quartet
Four songs to poems by Constantine Cavafy in English translations, these are revised arrangements of the cycle with piano.
Baritone and Piano sextet (Piano, 2 Violins, 2 Violas, Cello). music
He's gone and all our plans
are useless indeed.
Settings of four moving poems by Ivor Gurney - Song, Requiem, To His Love and Song and Pain. The poems were written in the light of the First World War. Robert Hugill's songs address issues of love, friendship and loss to form a trajectory from loss to acceptance.
These are revised versions, using piano sextet, of songs which were originally written for piano accompaniment.
words
1) Song
My heart makes songs on lonely roads
to comfort me while you are away
and strives with lovely sounding words
its crowded tenderness to say
Yet I am glad that love has come
to bind me fast, and try my worth
for love's a powerful lord and gives
his friends dominion over the earth
I walk deserted ways and see
against the forward dark your face
Pale glimmering against the dark:
Your face I see with pride, and pain
So that, one turn, I did desire
Never to see that face again.
2) Requiem
Requiem
Pour out your light, O stars, and do not hold
Your loveliest shining from earth's outworn shell
Pure and cold your radiance, pure and cold
My dead friend's face as well
Requiem
Pour out your bounty, moon of radiant shining
On all this shattered flesh, these quiet forms;
For these were slain, so quiet, still reclining,
In the noblest cause was ever waged with arms.
3) To His Love
He's gone and all our plans
are useless indeed.
We'll walk no more on Cotswold
where the sheep feed
quietly and take no heed.
His body that was so quick
is not as you
knew it, on Severn river
under the blue
driving our small boat through.
You would not know him now...
but still he died
nobly, so cover him over
with violets of pride
Purple from Severn side.
Cover him, cover him soon!
and with thickset
masses of memoried flowers
hide that red wet
thing I must forget.
4) Song and Pain
Out of my sorrow have I made these songs,
out of my sorrow;
Though somewhat of the makings eager pain
from joy did borrow.
Some day, I trust, God's purpose of pain for me
shall be complete,
And then to enter in the house of joy...
Prepare, my feet.
1) What should I say
What should I say,
Since faith is dead,
And truth away
From you is fled?
Should I be led
With doubleness?
Nay, nay, mistress!
I promised you,
And you promised me,
To be as true
As I would be.
But since I see
Your double heart,
Farewell my part!
Though for to take
It is not my mind,
But to forsake
One so unkind
And as I find,
So will I trust:
Farewell, unjust!
Can ye say nay?
But you said
That I alway
Should be obeyed?
And thus betrayed
Or that I wiste--
Farewell, unkissed.
2) It is necessary
It is necessary to deceive in order to live
My wit is nought, I cannot learn the way
Never let friendship get in the way of advantage
This is the only recipe.
3) The Pillar
The pillar perish'd is whereto I leant,
The strongest stay of my unquiet mind:
The like of it no man again can find.
From east to west still seeking though he went,
To mine unhap. For hap away hath rent
Of all my joy the very bark and rind:
And I: alas by chance am thus assign'd
Daily to mourn, till death do it relent.
But since that thus it is by destiny.
What can I more but have a woeful heart:
My pen in plaint, my voice in careful cry,
My mind in woe, my body full of smart:
And I myself, myself always to hate,
Till dreadful death do ease my doleful state.
4) Is it possible?
Is it possible
That so high debate,
So sharp, so sore, and of such rate,
Should end so soon as was begun so late?
Is it possible?
Is it possible
So cruel intent,
So hasty heat and so soon spent,
From love to hate and thence for to relent?
Is it possible?
Is it possible
That any may find
Within one heart so diverse mind,
To change or turn as weather and wind?
Is it possible?
Is it possible
To spy it in an eye
That turns as oft as chance on die,
The truth whereof can any try?
Is it possible.
Is it possible
For to turn so oft,
To bring that lowest which was most alort,
And to fall highest yet to light soft:
It is possible.
All is possible
Whoso list believe
Trust therefore first, and after preve,
As men wed ladies by licence and leave.
All is possible.
5) Farewell, Love
Farewell, Love, and all thy laws for ever:
Thy baited hooks shall tangle me no more.
Senec and Plato call me from thy lore,
To perfect wealth my wit for to endeavour.
In blind error when I did persever,
Thy sharp repulse, that pricketh aye so sore,
Hath taught me to set in trifles no store
And scape forth, since liberty is lever.
Therefore farewell, go trouble younger hearts.
And in me claim no more authority;
With idle youth go use thy property,
And thereon spend thy many brittle darts.
For, hitherto though I've lost my time,
Me lusteth no longer rotten boughs to climb.
Sir Thomas Wyatt (1503? - 1542)
Four poems by Sir Thomas Wyatt, plus an extract from one of his letters, in a version for tenor and instrumental ensemble.
1) What should I say
What should I say,
Since faith is dead,
And truth away
From you is fled?
Should I be led
With doubleness?
Nay, nay, mistress!
I promised you,
And you promised me,
To be as true
As I would be.
But since I see
Your double heart,
Farewell my part!
Though for to take
It is not my mind,
But to forsake
One so unkind
And as I find,
So will I trust:
Farewell, unjust!
Can ye say nay?
But you said
That I alway
Should be obeyed?
And thus betrayed
Or that I wiste--
Farewell, unkissed.
2) It is necessary
It is necessary to deceive in order to live
My wit is nought, I cannot learn the way
Never let friendship get in the way of advantage
This is the only recipe.
3) The Pillar
The pillar perish'd is whereto I leant,
The strongest stay of my unquiet mind:
The like of it no man again can find.
From east to west still seeking though he went,
To mine unhap. For hap away hath rent
Of all my joy the very bark and rind:
And I: alas by chance am thus assign'd
Daily to mourn, till death do it relent.
But since that thus it is by destiny.
What can I more but have a woeful heart:
My pen in plaint, my voice in careful cry,
My mind in woe, my body full of smart:
And I myself, myself always to hate,
Till dreadful death do ease my doleful state.
Sir Thomas Wyatt (1503? - 1542)
Three of the poems by Sir Thomas Wyatt from Farewell, Love in alternative versions for tenor and instrumental quintet.
