UNA LACRIMA ssaattbb soprano solo Italian and English
Se potessi essere qualsiasi cosa al mondo,
vorrei essere una lacrima
perchè nascerei nei tuoi occhi,
vivrei sulle tue
e morirei sulle tue labbra.......
If I could be anything in the world,
I would want to be a tear,
because I would be born in your eyes,
live on your cheek,
and die on your lips.
ON THE WIND for
Southern Crescent Chorale Janice Folsom, Artistic Director and Conductor Fayetteville, Georiga
Poem by the composer
I ride the wind–
flying through a space not seen, but felt–
fresh air flows freely between each strand of hair.
I close my eyes
and all my senses are more so in this space.
Higher, yet higher still–
Can you feel it? Can you?
I ride the wind.
No beginning nor ending,
I am whole.
I take the wind, wild and unencumbered,
to destinations unknown.
Who will go with me?Will
No definition to destiny, only the thrill of new beginnings.
I’m cloaked by an other-worldly hush
of that which can not be defined.
Fly free with me,
as a ripened stalk of golden wheat
blowing aimlessly at will–
one with the silence of my dance.
Embellish the veiled hush joyfully
as the wind randomly sends me,
propelling me from the roots of my life upward
with arms outstretched
in celebration of each of life’s breaths
I am a Living Soul!
a son and daughter of the Heavenly Father,
I am both grain and chaff–
sacred yet profane while glorifying the God-Presence
in a dynamic exchange of wills.
Take the wind......the wind which moans,
which even hums and causes old buildings to sing silent songs,
and branches to bend,
to the mountain from whence we all came......
and kites to fly with soft, bowed tails.......
I am on the wind—
Take my hand, and soar!
NEW COMPOSITION PERFORMED at the ALABAMA MUSIC EDUCATORS ASSOCIATION on 21 January 2010
CARNEGIE HALL on 2 May 2010
I AM text by Ranier Maria Rilke, translated by Stephen Mitchell ssaattbb, soprano and bass soli, a cappella
I am. Don't you hear my voice surging forth with all my earthly feelings? They yearn so high that they have sprouted wings and whitely fly circles around your face. My Soul dressed in silence rises up before you, alone. Can't you see? Don't you know that my prayer is growing ripe upon your vision, as upon the tree. I grow strong with all magnificence! I turn myself into a star's vast silence above the strange and distant city, Time.
WORLD PREMIERE of i am the secret fire in all things
i am the secret fire in all
things, SSAA divisi, and two soprano soloists, was premiered Friday, November 7, 2008 in Vancouver, Canada, by the Vancouver
Chamber Choir, Jon Washburn, Conductor. The Hildegard von Bingen text,
translated by Wilson Hall (retired professor of English and dear friend), is a text which fosters many opportunities
to depict the mysterious nature of God, His transcendence into all the
human experience, and the hope, through vulnerability, that resonates in the gravamen for individual transubstantiation
through the struggles inherent in Life's Stuff. Set for eight
real parts of women's voices, this
new work celebrates the transforming power of spirituality, the
evolution of the human spirit when one amalgamates with "unknowing," and
the ecstasy that saturates Life when one acknowledges the God Presence
i am the secret fire in all things Hildegard von Bingen translated by Dr. Wilson Hall
i am the secret fire in all things and everything bears my aroma, and as the breath of mankind is the breath of praise, so lives all things and will not die. i flame out as Godly passionate life over fields of grain. i glow in the shimmer of the fire coal. i burn in the Sun, the Moon, and in the Stars. in the breeze is the secret life of me that spiritually holds all things together. i am fire of fire. i am life. I AM LIFE. Alleluia!
I'm thinking of a Harvest Moon, rusted and round, hung low in blackened space. Yet coming without warning with berries wrapped in frosted ribbon and in gray gloom, cold..... I find myself melancholy wondering about wasted love. Longing, loneliness, Knowing that frost's first showing in latter days of October comes quickly, I wrap myself in Nature's confusion, as Indian Summer enshrouds me in lazy days of barefoot innocence, perched high on branches of favorite trees in fields of dancing grass, and simple thoughts blow at the will of the wind. Blackberry Winter– with crisp, biting chill and thorn-pierced heart sears blood-red berry, and only burned blossoms remind me of you. –John Ratledge