poem by e e cummings
Ghislaine Deschambault, soprano
Pamela Reimer, piano
recorded at McGill Music Multimedia room
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Note de programme
La couleur archaique et intemporelle de ce magnifique poeme de e.e. cummings en a de toute evidence impregne l'expression musicale. Compose rapidement, au fil de la plume pour ainsi dire, ce petit lied chante simplement la beaute de l'etre aime, en l'ornant de ces temps anciens ou c'est a meme un luth qu'un haute-contre l'aurait declame, et fait sien...
Marc Hyland
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Indications pour la voix: Comme l'indique le schema, chanter a partir de l'extremite du piano, en projetant votre voix vers la table d'harmonie pour creer des resonances par sympathie. Lorsqu'indique, tourner legerement la tete vers le public.
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Indications pour le pianiste:
Les notes marquees d�un petit cercle doivent sonner comme des harmoniques brouillees (sons fantomes) : pour les produire, etouffer legerement la corde correspondante a l�interieur du piano, et jouer la note sur le clavier avec l'autre main, pour obtenir une sonorite brouillee "autour" de la hauteur indiquee.
To the pianist :
Notes with a small circle above them should sound like harmonics (ghost tones): to produce them, touch the corresponding string inside the piano lightly and strike the key on the keyboard with the other hand , to produce a blurred sound "around" the pitch indicated in the score.
Unless otherwise indicated, keep the pedal down so that the singer, as he projects his voice inside the piano, will generate waves of sympathetic vibrations in the piano.
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In Thy Beauty
(poem by e.e. cummings, from Tulips and Chimneys)
my love thy hair is one kingdom
the king whereof is darkness thy forehead is a flight of flowers
thy head is a quick forest filled with sleeping birds
thy breasts are swarms of white bees upon the bough of thy body
thy body to me is April in whose armpits is the approach of spring
thy thighs are white horses yoked to a chariot of kings
they are the striking of a good minstrel between them is always a pleasant song
my love thy head is a casket
of the cool jewel of thy mind the hair of thy head is one warrior
innocent of defeat thy hair upon thy shoulders is an army
with victory and with trumpets
thy legs are the trees of dreaming whose fruit is the very eatage
of forgetfulness
thy lips are satraps in scarlet in whose kiss is the combining of kings
thy wrists are holy which are the keepers of thy blood
thy feet upon thy ankles are flowers in vases of silver
in thy beauty is the dilemma of flutes
thy eyes are the betrayal of bells comprehended through incense
Ei-do-lons Ei-do-lons
(end of the cummings poem) (two last words added by the composer:)
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