4 minutes de belles voix de la Nouvelle Zélande

Les deux premières minutes ... 



 
When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

Le groupe vocal ''VOCES 8''



https://www.classicfm.com/composers/stopford/music/lully-lulla-lullay/
An ancient carol from Coventry, reworked in the 21st century.
British composer Philip Stopford composed this version of the Coventry Carol in 2008. 

The original Coventry Carol dates from the 16th century and was traditionally performed in Coventry as part of a mystery play called The Pageant of the Shearmen and Tailors. The rocking lullaby tells the story of the Massacre of the Innocents — when King Herod ordered all male infants under the age of two to be killed.


It's sung though from a mother's perspective, as a beautiful lament for her doomed child.

The words are:
Lully, lullay, Thou little tiny Child,
Bye, bye, lully, lullay.
Lullay, thou little tiny Child,
Bye, bye, lully, lullay.
O sisters too, how may we do,
For to preserve this day
This poor youngling for whom we do sing
Bye, bye, lully, lullay.
Herod, the king, in his raging,
Charged he hath this day
His men of might, in his owne sight,
All young children to slay.
That woe is me, poor Child for Thee!
And ever mourn and sigh,
For thy parting neither say nor sing,
Bye, bye, lully, lullay.

un vieux classique  

une troisième   version de TUNDRA (by Ola GJEILO)

Heaven-Haven is a choral arrangement by Barber of his solo song of the same name, Opus 13, no. 1. It is a beautiful example of Barber’s post-Romantic ‘voluptuous’ style, as best seen in his opera Vanessa. The composer uses the most sensual of chords in a shifting, unstable tonal context. The text is an 1866 work by the great British poet Gerard Manley Hopkins. Written before his experiments in sprung rhythm, its wistful humanity and beautifully changing meter foreshadow his more mature works. 


I have desired to go Where springs not fail; 
To fields where flies no sharp and sided hail 
And a few lilies blow. 
And I have asked to be
 Where no storms come, 
Where the green swell is in the havens dumb, 
And out of the swing of the sea.


SOURCE : https://www.clevelandart.org/sites/default/files/documents/program-notes-for-performances/2013-01-30_Chanticleer_Program-web-vF.pdf

Cik naksnīnas pret ziemeli redzēj' kāvus karojam
Ē, redzēj' kāvus karojam;
Karo kāvi pie debesu, vedīs karus mūs' zemē;
Ē, vedīs karus mūs' zemē

(How many nights against the North wind
I saw the Northern Lights fighting;
Fighting in the sky, the Northern Lights
Bring wars to our land.)

It was night, and I had gone on deck several times
Iceberg was silent; I too was silent
It was true dark and cold
At nine o'clock I was below in my cabin
When the captain hailed me with the words:
"Come above, Hall, at once! The world is on fire!"
I knew his meaning, and, quick as thought
I rushed to the companion stairs
In a moment I reached the deck
And as the cabin door swung open
A dazzling light, overpow'ring light burst upon my startled senses!
Oh, the whole sky was one glowing mass of colored flames, so mighty, so brave!
Like a pathway of light the northern lights seemed to draw us into the sky
Yes, it was harp-music, wild storming in the darkness;
The strings trembled and sparkled in the glow of the flames
Like a shower of fiery darts
A fiery crown of auroral light cast a warm glow across the arctic ice
Again at times it was like softly playing, gently rocking silvery waves
On which dreams travel into unknown worlds.


Source : https://genius.com/Eriks-esenvalds-northern-lights-lyrics

Oeuvre très originale de Jakub Neske : MIRONCZARNIA
J'essaie d'imaginer les heures de répétition !



http://neske.eu/j/en/scores/Jakub%20Neske%20-%20Mironczarnia%20(Meeroncharnya)%20SATB%20English.pdf

http://neske.eu/j/en/scores/Jakub%20Neske%20-%20Mironczarnia%20SATB%20-%20remarks.pdf

ANTIWAR SONG

O What Is That Sound
O what is that sound which so thrills the ear
Down in the valley drumming, drumming?
Only the scarlet soldiers, dear,
The soldiers coming.


https://poemanalysis.com/o-what-is-that-sound-by-w-h-auden-poem-analysis/
O what is that light I see flashing so clear
Over the distance brightly, brightly?
Only the sun on their weapons, dear,
As they step lightly.

O what are they doing with all that gear,
What are they doing this morning, morning?
Only their usual manoeuvres, dear,
Or perhaps a warning.

O why have they left the road down there,
Why are they suddenly wheeling, wheeling?
Perhaps a change in their orders, dear,
Why are you kneeling?

O haven't they stopped for the doctor's care,
Haven't they reined their horses, horses?
Why, they are none of them wounded, dear,
None of these forces.

O is it the parson they want, with white hair,
Is it the parson, is it, is it?
No, they are passing his gateway, dear,
Without a visit.

O it must be the farmer that lives so near.
It must be the farmer so cunning, so cunning?
They have passed the farmyard already, dear,
And now they are running.

O where are you going? Stay with me here!
Were the vows you swore deceiving, deceiving?
No, I promised to love you, dear,
But I must be leaving.

O it's broken the lock and splintered the door,
O it's the gate where they're turning, turning;
Their boots are heavy on the floor
And their eyes are burning.

Weep, o mine eyes
Language: English
Available translation(s): FRE
Weep, o mine eyes and cease not,
[alas, these your spring tides methinks]1 increase not.
O when begin you to swell so high
that I may drown me in you?


From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
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"Weep, O Mine Eyes" is one of the most famous madrigals of the English composer John Bennet.[1] It is written for four vocal parts and was first published in his first collection, Madrigalls to Fovre Voyces, in 1599.[2][3] The composition is an homage to John Dowland, being based partly on Dowland's most famous piece, "Flow My Tears".[4][5]

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

"Keep Your Lamp(s) Trimmed and Burning" is a traditional gospel blues song. It alludes to the Parable of the Wise and Foolish Virgins, found in the Gospel of Matthew at 25:1-13, and also to a verse in the Gospel of Luke, at 12:35.

The song has been attributed to Blind Willie Johnson, who recorded it in 1928; to Reverend Gary Davis, who recorded it in 1956; and to Mississippi Fred McDowell, who recorded it in 1959.

The song has been included in several hymnals.[1]



The song is in call-and-response format. As is common with traditional songs, lyrics vary between performers – in this instance, often very widely. A usual first verse is:

Keep your lamp trimmed and burning,
The world (or "work") is nearly done (or "The time is drawing nigh")

"The world" and "the time" relate to the apocalyptic prophecies of the New Testament. "The work" can do so also, but suggests that the song may derive from an African-American work song.

Une interprétation française de Mironczarnia  (Jakub Neske) 

Un peu long, mais de belles voix : 
And the band played Waltzing Matilda (Eric Bogle)





When I was a young man I carried me pack
And I lived the free life of the rover.
From the Murry's green basin to the dusty outback,
Well, I waltzed my Matilda all over.
Then in 1915 my country said, "Son,
It's time you stop rambling, there's work to be done."
So they gave me a tin hat and they gave me a gun
And they marched me away to the war.
And the band played Waltzing Matilda,
As the ship pulled away from the quay
And midst all the cheers, flag waving and tears,
We sailed off for Gallipoli

It's well I remember that terrible day,
How our blood stained the sand and the water
And of how in that hell that they called Suvla Bay
We were butchered like lambs at the slaughter.
Johnny Turk, he was ready, he primed himself well.
He rained us with bullets, and showered us with shell,
And in five minutes flat, he'd blown us all to hell,
Nearly blew us back home to Australia.
And the band played Waltzing Matilda,
As we stopped to bury our slain,
and we buried ours, and the Turks buried theirs,
Then we started all over again.

those who were livinge just tried to survive
In that mad world of blood, death and fire.
And for ten weary weeks I kept myself alive
While around me the corpses piled higher.
Then a big Turkish shell knocked me arse over head
And when I awoke in me hospital bed
And saw what it had done, sure I wished I was dead.
I never knew there were worse things than dying.
For I'll go no more Waltzing Matilda,
All around the green bush far and free
To hunt and to pace, a man needs both legs,
No more waltzing Matilda for me.

They collected the crippled, the wounded, the maimed,
And they sent us back home to Australia.
The armless, the legless, the blind and the insane,
Those proud wounded heroes of Suvla.
And when our ship pulled into Circular Quay
I looked at the place where me legs used to be
And thanked Christ there was no one there waiting for me
To grieve, to mourn and to pity.
But the Band played Waltzing Matilda
As they carried us down the gangway,
But nobody cheered, they just stood and stared,
Then they turned all their faces away.

So now every April I sit on my porch
And I watch the parade pass before me.
And I see my old comrades, how proudly they march
Reliving their dreams and past glory,
I see the old men all tired, stiff and sore
Those forgotten heroes from a forgotten war
And the young people ask "What are they marching for?"
And I ask myself the same question.
But the band plays Waltzing Matilda,
And the old men still answer the call,
But year after year, the numbers get fewer
Someday, no one will march there at all.


Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda.
Who'll come a-Waltzing Matilda with me?
And their ghosts can be heard as they march by the billibong
Who'll come a-Waltzing Matilda with me?

Mama
Thinks I'm living in a convent,
A secluded little convent
In the southern part of France.

Mama
Doesn't even have an inkling
That I'm working in a Nightclub
In a pair of Lacy pants.

So please, sir.
If you run into my Mama,
Don't reveal my indiscretion,
Give a working girl a chance.

Hush up,
Don't tell Mama,
Shush up,
Don't tell Mama...
Don't tell Mama,
Whatever you do.
If you had a secret,
You bet I would keep it.
I would never tell on you.

I'm breaking every promise
That I gave her,
So won't you kindly do a girl
A great big favor?
And please, my sweet patater,
Keep this from the Mater,
Though my dance
Is not against the law.

You can tell my Papa, that's all right,
'Cause he comes in here every night,
But don't tell Mama what you saw!

Mama
Thinks I'm on a tour of Europe,
With a couple of my school chums
And a lady chaperone.

Mama
Doesn't even have an inling
That I left them all in Antwerp
And I'm touring on my own.

So please, Sir
If you run into my Mama
Don't reveal my indiscretion.
Just leave well enough alone.

Hush up,
Don't tell Mama.
Shush up,
Don't tell Mama;
Don't tell Mama
Whatever you do.
If you had a secret,
You bet I would keep it.
I would never tell on you.

You wouldn't want to get me
In a pickle,
And have her go and cut me off
Without a nickle.

So let's trust one another,
Keep this from my mother,
Though I'm still as pure as mountain snow.

You can tell my Uncle
Here and now
'Cause he's my agent anyhow,
But don't tell Mama what you know.

You can tell my grandma, suits me fine
'cause yesterday she join the line
But don't tell mama what you know.

You can tell my brother,
That ain't grim
'Cause if her squeals on me
I'll squeal on him,

But don't tell Mama, bitte
Don't tell Mama, please, Sir.
Don't tell Mama, what you know.

If you see my, Mummy,
Mum's the word!

Une parenthèse canadienne : THE DEAD SOUTH : 
In Hell I'll Be In Good Company



Dead Love couldn't go no further
Proud of and disgusted by her
Push shove, a little bruised and battered
Oh Lord I ain't coming home with you
My life's a bit more colder
Dead wife is what I told her
Brass knife sinks into my shoulder
Oh babe don't know what I'm gonna do
I see my red head, messed bed, tear shed
Queen bee, my squeeze
The stage it smells, tells, hell's bells
Miss-spells, knocks me on my knees
It didn't hurt, flirt, blood squirt
Stuffed shirt, hang me on a tree
After I count down, three rounds
In hell I'll be in good company
Dead Love couldn't go no further
Proud of and disgusted by her
Push shove, a little bruised and battered
Oh Lord I ain't coming home with you
My life's a bit more colder
Dead wife is what I told her
Brass knife sinks into my shoulder
Oh babe don't know what I'm gonna do
I see my red head, messed bed, tear shed
Queen bee, my squeeze
The stage it smells, tells, hell's bells
Miss-spells, knocks me on my knees
It didn't hurt, flirt, blood squirt
Stuffed shirt, hang me on a tree
After I count down, three rounds
In hell I'll be in good company
In hell I'll be in good company
In hell I'll be in good company

Désolé Thalia, je ne savais pas que c'était du "flood''. Et Je ne savais pas non plus que j'étais la cause d'une surcharge de travail pour toi. J'arrête donc mes pérégrinations musicales.

Tu peux poster, mais à petites doses.

Non non : quand on me dit que j'emm... je n'insiste pas.