XML FeedsTags: mezzo
All Heaven and it was One Hour Old
By M Ryan Taylor on Feb 8, 2008 | In Song Cycles | Send feedback »
Available Editions:
Free PDF Editions:
- All Heaven and it was One Hour Old - Medium Voice.pdf
- All Heaven and it was One Hour Old - Medium High Voice.pdf
- All Heaven and it was One Hour Old - High Voice.pdf
- All Heaven and it was One Hour Old - all 3 editions - Medium - Medium High and High.pdf
Printed Edition on Lulu.com:
All Heaven and it was One Hour Old
All 3 keys in a spiral bound book.
About "All Heaven and it was One Hour Old"
This song cycle is based on the Christmas poetry of Katherine Tynan, an Irish catholic poet who at one time, early in her career, was championed by William Butler Yeats. The five lovely, thought provoking poems that were chosen from her works for this song cycle capture the spirit of Christmas with a distinctly unique voice. They are filled with the hope and passion of a true believer, but not a brash one. Tynan’s poems are thoughtful, contemplative, the works of someone who will always stop and ponder an issue rather than resort to tired cliches.
One of these poems is really quite an amazing find. The Christmas Bird, never published until now, was located in a special collection of Katherine Tynan Hinkson papers by myself. Members of my family and I transcribed the barely legible hand-written manuscript especially for use in this song cycle (it took a few days, and we had to guess at a few of the words in the end, but we think we got most of it right). Like the other poems it is filled with unique symbols that I find very attractive and moving.
I hope this music and the message of Tynan’s poetry will add to your Christmas season, whether in your recital, concert or church service. Merry Christmas to you, whatever the day may be!
Recordings:
Songs 1-3 :
Songs 4-5 :
Live performance by Venicia Wilson and Lynn Claire Jemison-Keisker at The Salty Cricket Composers Collective Inaugural Concert, February 23 2008 at the Salt Lake City Pickle Company.
The Texts:
All poems by Katherine Tynan, from various collections and sources.
- The Christmas Bird
Due to copyright restrictions this text cannot be displayed here.
Please download an edition of the song cycle to view it. - All Heaven and it was One Hour Old
The Christmas moon shines clear and bright;
There were poor travellers such a night
Had neither fire nor candlelight.
One plucked them stars out of the sky
To show the road to travel by;
So that the ass go warily.
She had all Heaven safe in her hold,
Hidden within her mantles fold:
All Heaven and it was one hour old.
Her hair under, over Him spread
His spun gold coverlet and His bed,
Twined with his little golden head.
She sang and rocked Him to-and-fro
Such songs as little babies know,
With lullaby sweet and lulla lo.
He had no need of moons or suns,
Nor the gold-crested bird legions,
Singing their lauds and orisons.
The Christmas moon shows a cold beam:
He hath His mother she hath Him:
Together they sleep, together dream. - Bethlehem
WHERE man was all too marred with sin,
The ass, the ox were bidden in.
Where angels were unmeet to come
These humble entered Holydom.
"Their innocent eyes and full of awe
Saw the fulfilment of the law.
There in the stable with the beast
The Christmas Child hath spread His feast.
These gave their bed and eke their board
To be a cradle for their Lord.
Their honey-breath, their tears all mild,
Warmed in the cold the new-born Child.
These His adorers were before
The Kings and Shepherds thronged the door.
And where no angels knelt there kneeled
The innocent creatures of the field. - Bring Him Peace
THE Kings to the Stable
They brought sweet spice,
The gold and the silver,
And jewels of price.
But the Dove by the manger
She would not cease
Mourning so softly:
Bring Him Peace; bring Him Peace!
The Kings from the Orient
Brought nard and clove.
The Dove went mourning:
Bring Him Love; Bring Him Love.
What would content Him
In silver and gold,–
A new-born Baby
But one hour old?
Not myrrh shall please Him
Nor the ambergris,
What hath sweet savour
Of His mother’s kiss?
There is clash of battle,
And men hate and slay:
From the noise and the tumult
She hides Him away.
But His sleep is fitful
In His Mother’s breast,
The Dove goes mourning:
Give Him rest; give Him rest! - Old Song Re-Sung
I saw three ships a-sailing,
A-sailing on the sea,
The first her masts were silver,
Her hull was ivory.
The snows came drifting softly,
And lined her white as wool;
Oh, Jesus, Son of Mary,
Thy Cradle beautiful !
I saw three ships a-sailing,
The next was red as blood,
Her decks shone like a ruby,
Encrimsoned all her wood.
Her main-mast stood up lonely,
A lonely Cross and stark.
Oh, Jesus, Son of Mary,
Bring all men to that ark !
I saw three ships a-sailing.
The third for cargo bore
The souls of men redeemed,
That shall be slaves no more.
The lost beloved faces,
I saw them glad and free.
Oh, Jesus, Son of Mary,
When wilt thou come for me?
Star and Manger, by M Ryan Taylor
Leafs from The Diary of an Old Soul
By M Ryan Taylor on Feb 6, 2008 | In Song Cycles | Send feedback »
Available Editions:
Free PDF Editions:
- Leafs from the Diary of an Old Soul - Medium High Voice.pdf
- Leafs from the Diary of an Old Soul - Medium Low Voice.pdf
- Leafs from the Diary of an Old Soul - Medium High & Medium Low Voice editions.pdf
Printed Edition on Lulu.com:
Leafs from the Diary of an Old Soul
Contains both Medium High
& Medium Low Voice Editions
About "Leafs from the Diary of an Old Soul"
C.S. Lewis, perhaps the greatest Christian apologist of the 20th century and author of the popular children’s book series, "The Chronicles of Narnia," considered George MacDonald his mentor and spiritual guide. MacDonald himself was an Anglican minister for a time, but was forced to give up the ministry because of his radical beliefs. He is best known for his fairy tales, but also wrote many sermons, books and some poetry.
"The Diary of an Old Soul," MacDonald’s largest poetic work, consists of 365 four-line stanzas, one for each day of the year. These poems deal mainly with MacDonald’s strife in reconciling himself to God. Out of these pleadings I have selected a number of stanzas that speak to me. They are primarily about life, death, rebirth, beauty and the power of creation. "Leafs from the Diary of an Old Soul" was composed mainly in 2003.
Recordings:
I performed 2 Selections from Leafs from the Diary of an Old Soul before the work was completed at a new composition showcase on BYU Campus in 2003.
At this time there are no other recordings available. Be the first to record the entire set in concert. Send your live recording to be posted here. I’ll be glad to link back to your singer site. Contact info is listed in all editions of the piece.
The Texts:
Excerpted from The Diary of an Old Soul by George Macdonald. Note: Entries that spanned several days in the original collection have been dated with the day the poem began. A few entries were edited or truncated by myself for poetic and musical reasons.
- Thy Fishes Breathe - Entry of January 5th
Thy fishes breathe but where thy waters roll;
Thy birds fly but within thy airy, sea;
My soul breathes only in thy infinite soul;
I breathe, I think, I love, I live, but thee.
Oh breathe, oh think, O Love live into me! - Come to me Lord - Entry of January 30th
Come to me, Lord: I will not speculate how,
Nor think at which door I would have thee appear,
Nor put off calling til my floors be swept,
but cry, "Come, Lord, come any way, come now."
Thou wilt interpret life to me,
and men, art, nature, my own soul’s mysteries;
bringing truth out, clear joyous to my ken,
Fair as the morn trampling the dull night.
Then the lone hillside shall hear exultant cries;
The joyous see me joy, the weeping weep;
The watching smile,
as Death breathes on me his cold sleep. - Gloriously Wasteful - Entry of March 2nd
Gloriously wasteful, O Lord, art thou!
Sunset faints after sunset into the night,
Spendorously dying from thy window sill forever.
In the perfect time,
When we are in our natal home,
What if thou make us able to make like thee:
To light with moons, to clothe with greenery,
To hang gold sunsets over a rose and purple sea!
Then one to his neighbor may call out,
"Come! Brother come hither:
I would show you a thing;"
And lo, a vision of his imagining,
then each soul to each the closer cling! - Childness Fresh - Entry of October 20th
I shall with childness fresh, look up to thee;
Thou, seeing thy child with age encumbered sore,
wilt round him bend thine arm more carefully.
And when grim Death doth take me by the throat,
Thou wilt have pity on thy handiwork;
and draw my soul out,
gladder than thy saved creatures from the narrow ark
who rushing out leaped and laughed and cried for joy,
And the great rainbow strode across the dark. - To Part for Praise - Entry of December 12th
Give me a world, to part for praise and sunder.
The brooks be bells;
The winds in caverns dumb, awake fife and flute, flageolet and voice;
The fire shook earth itself be the great drum;
Rivers, seas, icebergs fill the great score up and under;
Let the air the regions bass out thunder!
The Moon Songs
By M Ryan Taylor on Feb 5, 2008 | In Song Cycles | Send feedback »
Available Editions:
Free PDF Editions:
- The Moon Songs - High Voice.pdf
- The Moon Songs - Medium Low Voice.pdf
- The Moon Songs - High Voice & Medium Low Voice Editions.pdf
Printed Edition on Lulu.com:
The Moon Songs
High Voice & Medium Low Editions
About "The Moon Songs"
Whimsical, macabre, deeply spiritual: the poetry of Vachel Lindsay has long attracted me for it’s wild variety, lyric sensability and deep emotional impact. Although made famous by such poems as "The Congo" and "General William Booth Marches into Heaven" (the title poems for the anthologies from which "The Moon Songs" were selected), I have been attracted mainly to his more concise poems "in which the moon is the principle figure of speech." These poems explore human perspective, Linday’s hypothesis being that "the moon is a mirror" in which we find what we bring. Lindsay wrote many of these moon poems and it was difficult to choose between so many fine poems. In the end, I based my selection on variety, dramatic contrast and a progression towards my own view of the moon, one that is spiritual.
"The Moon Songs" were written in 1999 at the request of my friend, Heather Chipman (before she married and became Heather Morrey). They have since been revised and updated. Originally the seventh song was scored for six soloists, this updated version replaced that piece of chamber music with a version in solo form.
Recordings:
The Moon Songs (incomplete, 5 of 7) performed by soprano Heather Chipman (now Morrey) and pianist Dwight Bigler. Recorded live at a Brigham Young University recital.
- What Grandpa told the Children.mp3
- What the Hyena Said.mp3
- What the Little Girl Said.mp3
- What the Miner in the Desert Said.mp3
- What the Rattlesnake Said (not available)
- The Strength of the Lonely.mp3
- What the Man of Faith Said (not available)
The Texts:
Selections from General William Booth Marches into Heaven and The Congo by American poet, Vachel Lindsay.
- What Grandpa Told the Children
The moon? It is a griffin’s egg,
Hatching to-morrow night.
And how the little boys will watch
With shouting and delight
To see him break the shell and stretch
And creep across the sky.
The boys will laugh.
The little girls, I fear, may hide and cry.
Yet gentle will the griffin be,
Most decorous and fat,
And walk up to the Milky Way
And lap it like a cat. - What the Hyena Said
The moon is but a golden skull,
She mounts the heavens now,
And Moon-Worms, mighty Moon-Worms
Are wreathed around her brow.
The Moon-Worms are a doughty race:
They eat her gray and golden face.
Her eye-sockets dead, and molding head:
These caverns are their dwelling-place.
The Moon-Worms, serpents of the skies,
From the great hollows of her eyes
Behold all souls, and they are wise:
With tiny, keen and icy eyes,
Behold how each man sins and dies.
When Earth in gold-corruption lies
Long dead, the moon-worm butterflies
On cyclone wings will reach this place -
Yea, rear their brood on earth’s dead face. - The Moon’s the North Wind’s cooky
The Moon’s the North Wind’s cooky.
He bites it, day by day,
Until there’s but a rim of scraps
That crumble all away.
The South Wind is a baker.
He kneads clouds in his den,
And bakes a crisp new moon that . . . greedy
North . . . Wind . . . eats . . . again! - What the Miner in the Desert Said
The moon’s a brass-hooped water-keg,
A wondrous water-feast.
If I could climb the ridge and drink
And give drink to my beast;
If I could drain that keg, the flies
Would not be biting so,
My burning feet be spry again,
My mule no longer slow.
And I could rise and dig for ore,
And reach my fatherland,
And not be food for ants and hawks
And perish in the sand. - What the Rattlesnake Said
The moon’s a little prairie-dog.
He shivers through the night.
He sits upon his hill and cries
For fear that I will bite.
The sun’s a broncho. He’s afraid
Like every other thing,
And trembles, morning, noon and night,
Lest I should spring, and sting. - The Strength of the Lonely
The moon’s a monk, unmated,
Who walks his cell, the sky.
His strength is that of heaven-vowed men
Who all life’s flames defy.
They turn to stars or shadows,
They go like snow or dew –
Leaving behind no sorrow –
Only the arching blue. - What the Man of Faith Said
The dew, the rain and moonlight
All prove our Father’s mind.
The dew, the rain and moonlight
Descend to bless mankind.
Come, let us see that all men
Have land to catch the rain,
Have grass to snare the spheres of dew,
And fields spread for the grain.
Yea, we would give to each poor man
Ripe wheat and poppies red, –
A peaceful place at evening
With the stars just overhead:
A net to snare the moonlight,
A sod spread to the sun,
A place of toil by daytime,
Of dreams when toil is done.
The Moon : Oil Painting by M Ryan Taylor