untitled

Under the summer tree..., 2000

For Solo Piano

Movements:

I. They sing their dearest songs... and one to play;

II. And they build a shady seat...Ah, no; the years, the years;

III. See the white storm-birds wing across!

This work explores the reaction to personal loss so profoundly expressed in the poem, During Wind and Rain by Thomas Hardy. The first movement utilizes one pitch cell throughout in two contrasting ways. The first is aggressive, rhythmic, driving and rumbling, while the other is lyrical, melodic and tender. The second movement is reflective, distant and introverted; an expression of sadness in the style of a Siciliano. The sections are repeated in the tradition of this old dance form, and yet, even though identical pitch sets are used, the music is transformed in its presentation. The third movement begins without pause, somewhat tentatively and hesitantly and then rushes furiously forward. Bursts of anger alternate with more temperate sadness. The first movement of this work was commissioned by the Fortnightly Musical Club of Cleveland for their 25th year of commissioning new works and premiered in February 1999.

During Wind and Rain, By Thomas Hardy

They sing their dearest songs-- He, she, all of them--yea, Treble and tenor and bass, And one to play; With the candles mooning each face.... Ah, no; the years O! How the sick leaves reel down in throngs! They are blithely breakfasting all-- Men and maidens--yea, Under the summer tree, With a glimpse of the bay, While pet fowl come to the knee.... Ah, no; the years O! And the rotten rose is ript from the wall.

They clear the creeping moss-- Elders and juniors--aye, Making the pathways neat And the garden gay; And they build a shady seat.... Ah, no; the years, the years; See the white storm-birds wing across! They change to a high new house, He, she, all of them --aye, Clocks and carpets and chairs On the lawn all day, And brightest things that are theirs.... Ah, no; the years, the years; Down their carved names the rain-drop ploughs.

They sing their dearest songs-- He, she, all of them--yea, Treble and tenor and bass, And one to play; With the candles mooning each face.... Ah, no; the years O! How the sick leaves reel down in throngs!	They are blithely breakfasting all-- Men and maidens--yea, Under the summer tree, With a glimpse of the bay, While pet fowl come to the knee.... Ah, no; the years O! And the rotten rose is ript from the wall.
They clear the creeping moss-- Elders and juniors--aye, Making the pathways neat And the garden gay; And they build a shady seat.... Ah, no; the years, the years; See the white storm-birds wing across!	They change to a high new house, He, she, all of them --aye, Clocks and carpets and chairs On the lawn all day, And brightest things that are theirs.... Ah, no; the years, the years; Down their carved names the rain-drop ploughs.