The Year of Whitman

Tonight's the Night!

scott@scottguinn.com (Scott Guinn) — Thu, 14 Oct 2010 15:16:00 +0000

OK, yes. I have been neglecting my poor little blog. I promise that will change!

It's a good feeling to begin the day of a performance feeling comfortable with all of the music. Tyson Deaton and I have spent this week putting everything together and merging our interpretations. There have been arguments (as there almost always surely will be) and we have had to call the composer of one of the pieces to mediate. But, everything has been settled now, we're on the same page and I feel like it's going to be a very good program.

One little note to my audience tonight. The first half of this program is very heavy, dramatic, and maybe a little long. It deals with war and death. I just want you to know that the second half is lighter, more hopeful and much shorter. If you make it through the first half, you're home free!

So, come on out and enjoy an evening of great poetry, good music and two good musicians (if I do say so myself)!!

A Brand New Song

scott@scottguinn.com (Scott Guinn) — Tue, 10 Aug 2010 02:46:00 +0000

I just love the smell of new music on the computer.

Today I received the finished score of "To a Stranger," a piece I commissioned from composer David T. Little. The commission was made possible by a very generous grant from the Walt Whitman Project (Greg Trupiano, Artistic Director) in Brooklyn, and pianist Tyson Deaton. It's a unique piece that, I think, captures the meaning of this poem.

The piece came with an interesting note from its composer saying,

In an odd way, this song is as much a stranger to me as the characters it discusses are to
each other. That is, I can’t say that it is recognizably my music, to the same extent that
another piece of mine would be. Still, as I was writing, I had a strange feeling that we
knew each other—this piece and I. That I knew what was to come next, though I didn’t
always know why; that the piece and I knew each other’s secrets, though it still felt slightly
foreign. Though this is nothing like I had ever experienced before, I suppose it’s fitting,
given Whitman’s words.

When I spoke with David this afternoon in a little Lincoln Center cafe in New York, we discussed how the piece captures a "subway moment" of one person seeing another and in an instant the thoughts expressed in the poem shoot through their head. I'll talk about this more when I discuss the poem in a few days, but that moment was very much on Little's mind while he composed. I think the music captures the formation of those thoughts and I can't wait to dive into it when I return to Knoxville.

It's a rare treat to begin work on a piece of music days after its completion. I look forward to continuing the collaboration with David, Tyson and Carol!

Text Discussion #12: When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom'd - Memories of President Lincoln

scott@scottguinn.com (Scott Guinn) — Mon, 09 Aug 2010 01:43:00 +0000

William Neidlinger only sets the first verse of "Lilacs" in his song "Memories of Lincoln." Rather than wade through all sixteen verses here, I am only going to discuss the verse Neidlinger set. Some great criticism of the whole poem can be found here, and the whole text can be found here.


Lilacs at sunset in Ft. Tryon Park, New York. Photo from berk2804 on flikr.

When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom'd

When lilacs last in the dooryard bloom'd,
And the great star early droop'd in the western sky in
the night,
I mourn'd, and yet shall mourn with ever-returning
spring.

Ever-returning spring, trinity sure to me you bring,
Lilacs blooming perennial and drooping star in the west,
And thought of him I love.

Gay Wilson Allen points out in his book Walt Whitman's Poems (New York University Press, 1968) that Whitman uses the "symbols from the time of year when [Lincoln was assassinated]--lilacs, Venus, the evening star..." as a means to contrast the assassination with the beauty of the spring that surrounded it, the gruesomeness of this particular death set against the overwhelming beauty of lilacs in spring and the goddess of beauty and her star standing watch over all of it. Perhaps, like in some other war poems, he was striving to find the beauty even in this utterly devastating blow. I think, though, that he is saying that forever more this beauty will serve as a constant reminder to him of that horrible night at Ford's Theatre.

There isn't much for me to say about this. While Whitman is using symbolism here, it is pretty clear what he is referring to. In the second stanza of the poem, he talks about how the lilacs, because of their perennial blooming, will serve as a constant reminder of the killing. I think here, however, when he refers again to the star drooping in the west, it is Lincoln and his time setting on the world. Lincoln was from the west (remember at this time, Illinois was a western state, not a mid-western state). I'm not saying Whitman was meaning for this to be the case, but his use of the word "trinity" when referring to the three things spring will now bring (lilacs, Venus's decent/Lincoln's setting star, and the thoughts the lilacs trigger) lends a holiness to Lincoln's memory. I have said before that I believe Whitman's religion was his love for his country and all things American. He had a great respect for Lincoln and it isn't a far leap to make that Whitman would bestow a sort of god-like status upon the slain leader, especially considering that the shooting occurred on Good Friday.

A Change in Personnel

scott@scottguinn.com (Scott Guinn) — Mon, 09 Aug 2010 00:46:00 +0000

A quick little update regarding personnel for one of the performances. Due to an unforeseen conflict, Carol Zinavage will not be able to perform with me on October 14. Because of scheduling conflicts with the hall, among other requirements, I was not able to reschedule for a date where we were both free. So, Tyson Deaton will now play this performance. Carol will still prepare the program with me and remains a vital part of the team I've assembled for these performances.

A HUGE thank you goes out to Andy Wentzel and the faculty at UT for being flexible with me on this issue!

The First Rehearsal

scott@scottguinn.com (Scott Guinn) — Fri, 06 Aug 2010 02:08:00 +0000

I mentioned earlier that today was the first rehearsal for the recital with piano. Well, it happened, and it was good! It went much better than I had expected. Those expectations aren't knock against the fantastic Carol Zinavage, I mean it to say that with repertoire like this, one never knows what putting the pieces together is going to be like.

Fortunately, we were both prepared and got through the Rorem, Richard Pearson Thomas AND the Urqhart sets in about an hour and a half. If you're familiar with the Rorem pieces, you know they are very difficult individually for both the pianist and the singer. Putting the two parts together is even more difficult due to the way they are sometimes set against each other and the close harmonies that result. The Thomas pieces are even more problematic with the thick textures and complex rhythms and harmonies.

With "new" music, it's always interesting to go into a first rehearsal like this. Usually there are few recordings available, if any, or those that are available are not good resources because (speaking generally) one performer is not prepared, the recording used an older edition of the score, or the quality of the recording is so that you can't really get anything from it. So, you're going in a little blind, which isn't always a bad thing.

With that, I'm happy to provide a positive update and say that I'm very happy with today. Being much further ahead of where you thought you were is always a pleasant surprise!!

Composer Spotlight - Gerald Busby

scott@scottguinn.com (Scott Guinn) — Fri, 30 Jul 2010 22:41:00 +0000

Gerald Busby is an absolutely delightful person, if you ever get the chance to meet him. That opportunity came to me sort of by accident. After I had decided what I was going to program on this Whitman recital, I had to get the music. Most of it was available through the invaluable Glendower Jones at Classical Vocal Reprints. However, Gerald's piece, "Behold this Swarthy Face," was not, and Glendower did not know whom I should contact to get it. So, I put out an inquiry on Facebook to see if anyone knew how to get in touch with Gerald. Nothing. I searched online. The material available didn't have any contact info that I could use. He did have a Facebook page, but it didn't look as if he used it much, and I wasn't even sure if it was really him or not. After exhausting the options I figured I had, I decided to email Thomas Hampson. It was his album, after all, that introduced me to the work, so I guessed that he might be able to give me some guidance. I found an email address for his NYC office and fired off a message, expecting to wait several days for a response since he was just a little busy with an international superstar career.

The next day his assistant, Christopher Dingstad, emailed me back with Gerald's contact info which he had obtained from Hampson's accompanist on the Whitman album, Craig Rutenberg. Pleasantly surprised and extremely grateful for the information and the encouraging words from Rutenberg and Hampson, I called Gerald. After a brief game of phone tag, we connected and had the most wonderful conversation about his piece, Whitman and growing up in Texas (he is from Tyler, just east of where I grew up, Corsicana.)

Gerald Busby began his career as a text book salesman servicing the Rocky Mountain states. When we met in his apartment at the Chelsea Hotel, he told me about his taking piano lessons from an early age. After selling his textbooks to the professors, he would seek out an unused piano in the college's practice rooms. It was in one of these practice rooms that he wrote his first piece. As he describes it,

One day at Colorado State University in Fort Collins, I wrote down a piece I had improvised and played it from the score. I looked at it away from the piano and then played it again. It was a good piece. It looked good and it felt good and I was elated. It was an epiphany. I had completed something that I didn’t even know I had begun like walking and walking and walking without knowing where you’re going and then suddenly you’re there. You don’t need anybody to tell you. You just know. But you want somebody to tell you anyway. That’s your ego.

His music reflects his personality, exuberant and witty with a current of mischievousness running underneath it all; there's a sort of sly look behind what he's saying. Busby's first teacher was composer Virgil Thompson, but it wasn't a typical student/teacher relationship. Gerald refers to Thompson as a sort of zen master. He was introduced to Thompson accidentally when he was hired to cook for a friend who was hosting Thompson in an attempt to gain the composer's favor. Thompson was more interested in the food on the plate than in the attempt to impress him. From that encounter, the two began a friendship. Later, when Gerald asked if Thompson would like to see a piece he had written, Thompson replied with an emphatic, "NO!" and said that instead he wanted to eat more of Busby's food to see how well he made different elements come together to make something.

Another highlight of Busby's career was his work on Robert Altman's film, Three Women. Again, it was chance that made this opportunity possible, chance and the quality of his music. He sent a tape to the director for consideration. Altman's method for deciding which composer he would use for the film's music was that he would play the three tapes he had received for a gathering of friends (this time is was Lilly Tomlin, Peter O'Toole and Elliot Gould). Altman would actually time which tape kept the audience quiet the longest, which one held their attention and ears. Busby's won.

Below I've added some video of Gerald in his own words as well as some samples of his music. The first music sample is the opening credits of Three Women, the second a song for mezzo-soprano and viola that shows off his incredibly witty side.

Musings on Preparation

scott@scottguinn.com (Scott Guinn) — Wed, 28 Jul 2010 23:28:00 +0000

I've spent the past month making the initial preparations of the music for this recital and have reached the point where I'm ready to start putting things together with a pianist. In fact, I'll have my first rehearsal with the wonderful Carol Zinavage on August 5. We'll have about seven weeks (probably 7-14 hours) to put everything together before I have to travel out of town for another engagement. When I return, we'll have four days (probably 2 hours) before the performance to brush up the work of August and September. That might not sound like a lot of time, but in this business where operas can be rehearsed and performed in the span of two weeks, it's plenty. (To highlight the luxury of time, I will have even less time with my other pianist, Tyson Deaton. We will probably have 4-6 hours of rehearsal together before we give our first performance in February. Because of that, we've been in constant communication on the music, discussing what we've learned from our solo practicing. I'll have the advantage of having already performed the music when we have our first rehearsal, which will lighten the burden of our rehearsals.)

With that, I thought I would take a moment and share some thoughts on preparation and the music so far.

Each singer has a different process for learning music. The ideal approach championed by most is to look at the text first and familiarize yourself with it, learning the ins and outs before you put it to the music. After you've mastered the text, you're ready to learn the music. Some learn the music sans text, first singing through a piece on "la" or some nonsense syllable. Once they have the notes firmly lodged in their brains and throats, they add the words. Sometimes adding the words comes when the pianist is added into the mix; sometimes the notes are learned with the pianist behind the piano...much to the chagrin of the pianist.

My approach is a little different. I do like to familiarize myself with the text first, but when I'm singing in English, I don't always do this. This time, because of this blog, and because of the research I did prior to setting a program, I already had some degree of familiarity with the texts. So, when I was ready to sit down with the music, I went ahead and worked both the text and music almost simultaneously.

Sitting down at the piano to start learning a piece is probably my favorite moment as a musician. There's hope, possibility, and a sense of uncovering a treasure for the first time. My piano skills aren't great, but they are good enough to play my line and to get a feel for the accompaniment. I've always found that if a melodic line is firmly in my fingers, it's firmly in my brain and easier for me to sing. So, I sit down and play through the music lightly humming along so as not to reinforce any wrong notes that I probably will play in the beginning. After my line is played into my fingers, I add the voice to put it all together. This starts with me "marking" or half-singing so that I don't waste voice while I'm working the words into the music. When I feel comfortable that the synapses are adequate, I add more voice. A standard practice session at this stage can last anywhere from an hour-and-a-half to three hours where I'll hammer out maybe three songs, depending on their length and difficulty.

The most difficult pieces on this program to learn have without question been the Thomas pieces. They're vocally difficult, musically difficult as well as rhythmically difficult. The intervals are not what you would expect and he uses a lot of meters that I'm not used to seeing or counting (6/4, 7/4, 9/4, 10/4, 3/2, etc.). The question of tempos and whether to feel the "big beats" (in 6/4: feeling the two big beats) or the small beats (in 6/4: the six quarter notes) was a big one to answer and one that me and the pianists will have to ultimately decide together. These pieces are a big sing. Every piece is, in every sense, an operatic aria demanding different styles of singing (loud, soft, high, low, legato, declamatory). It's tricky because you have to pace yourself so that you're able to still sing the vocally challenging passages in the other pieces, both in the set and the rest of the program. As a whole, these pieces call on every tool I have available as a singer and musician; as a result, they will end up being the center-piece of the program. I'll talk more about this when I discuss the pieces individually in another post.

So, how do I know I'm ready to merge my work with the pianist? For me, it's when I'm comfortable with the notes and have a feel of the line of the piece, how its parts make up the whole. I know I'm comfortable with the notes when I can step away from the piano and sing them correctly a cappella. I'll check in with the keyboard every-once-in-a-while to make sure I'm staying true to the intervals, etc. When that goes well, I know I'm ready for the next step. At this point, some memorization is also starting to happen. It's another clue that it's time to put it all together: when you find yourself singing (correctly) snippets of the songs at random points throughout the day.

I think a singer must be secure in their music when going into rehearsals with the pianist. It's at this stage that the knowledge of the song will take on a new depth as you learn another artist's perspective on the piece. Without at least a basic familiarity with the piece going in, it's very easy to be overwhelmed, which raises the danger of running into the inability to do anything more than a surface interpretation of a song.

One other thing I'm thinking about at this stage of prep, is, of course, interpretation. Do my interpretations agree with the composers'? If not, am I able to reconcile the two, or do I have to set my thoughts aside and go more with what the composer wants? So far, I've been able to reconcile some of the differences. I'll expand on those differences in the individual song posts, but I have been happy to find that the differences have not been great ones.

Preparing for a recital is a huge undertaking. This program has twenty-four individual songs on it which have to be learned and memorized. They have to be mastered so that I can communicate the pieces without any barriers between me and the audience. The regular theatrical aides of communication aren't available to me in the recital setting. As we all know, there are no sets, no costumes, no make-up and no lighting. I have to rely on the music and the colors my pianist and I are able to bring out of that music. Watching two people on a stage with none of the finery of an opera production sounds like a boring evening. But, if the performers are in complete command of their music, the audience can sit back and be led on the journey mapped out by the performers.

Text Discussion #11: Reconciliation - Drum Taps

scott@scottguinn.com (Scott Guinn) — Tue, 27 Jul 2010 19:08:00 +0000

Reconciliation

Word over all, beautiful as the sky,
Beautiful that war and all its deeds of carnage must in time be utterly lost,
That the hands of the sisters Death and Night incessantly softly wash again,
and ever again, this soil'd world;
For my enemy is dead, a man divine as myself is dead,
I look where he lies white-faced and still in the coffin--I draw near,
Bend down and touch lightly with my lips the white face in the coffin.

I was first introduced to this poem in Vaughn Williams' Dona Nobis Pacem. At that time, what struck me the most was the personification of Death and Night and how those two constants in life rejuvenated the world.

To me, this poem is echoed in Wilfred Owen's poem, "Strange Meeting," that is set so effectively at the end of Benjamin Britten's War Requiem. While not an outright reflection of Whitman's poem, Owen makes again the allusion to an after-the-battle relationship between enemies. Here with Whitman we have the survivor of the battle making amends with the slain enemy. In Owen's poem, the newly slain Allied soldier arrives in the Underworld and is met by an Axis soldier he killed in battle. The Axis soldier explains who he is and they sleep together in peace, pointing out that both sides meet in the same place in the end, regardless of their differences. Both poems emphasize the peace that comes after the battle and the reconciliation among enemies, and both do this by putting the enemies together in very intimate and visually powerful circumstances: a funeral and the grave.

This poem's title also suggests the reconciliation of life and death by pointing out that we all share at least one thing in common, death, as Linda Sue Grimes points out in her criticism of the poem. She goes on to point out the religious undertones of this poem by highlighting the scriptural references to Whitman's use of "Word" as an allusion to God, and drawing a line from Whitman's soldier deciding to kiss the dead enemy rather than curse him to the scripture saying "Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you." (Matthew 5: 43, 44)

In this poem Whitman is also pointing out that even in the brutality of war, beauty can be found. That beauty is as simple as the fact that the war will end, and the land will heal with the hard feelings between the enemies. Time will erase it all leaving only the non-tangible trinkets of memories (which die with their holder) and the written record left to be interpreted by generations many times removed from the actual event.

The moment between the two soldiers is also touching. Whitman's description is very powerful and illustrative. In just two lines he boldly paints the scene of the dead body in the coffin. You can imagine the coldness the living soldier feels as he bends to kiss the dead. He kisses the slain man "lightly" suggesting a reverence and perhaps even a little trepidation for the act. He also realizes that the man lying in the coffin, stripped of the rhetoric of the enemy, is a man same as him.

The poem taken as a whole leads to a washing away of the ugliness of the war while also tying up the confrontation between the embattled participants, and all in six lines.

Concert Dates Announced

scott@scottguinn.com (Scott Guinn) — Wed, 21 Jul 2010 18:35:00 +0000

Here are the dates for the Whitman recitals. I'm very excited about these concerts and am looking forward to the prospect of adding a couple more to this schedule.

All but one date will feature the entire program. Due to time constraints, the concert in Pembroke, NC will have a shortened program. Those details will be available closer to the performance. Carol Zinavage will play the concert in Knoxville and Tyson Deaton will play the other dates.

October 14, 2010: Knoxville, TN
February 17, 2011: Hartsville, SC
March 2, 2011: Pembroke, NC

See this page for more information!

Text Discussion #10: Vigil Strange I Kept on the Field One Night - Drum Taps

scott@scottguinn.com (Scott Guinn) — Mon, 19 Jul 2010 19:34:00 +0000

Vigil Strange I Kept on the Field One Night
(word in italics indicates cuts by Richard Pearson Thomas)

Vigil strange I kept on the field one night;
When you my son and my comrade dropt at my side that day,
One look I but gave which your dear eyes return'd with a look I shall never forget,
One touch of your hand to mine O boy, reach'd up as you lay on the ground,
Then onward I sped in the battle, the even-contested battle,
Till late in the night reliev'd to the place at last again I made my way,
Found you in death so cold dear comrade, found your body son of responding kisses,
(never again on earth responding,)
Bared your face in the starlight, curious the scene, cool blew the moderate night-wind,
Long there and then in vigil I stood, dimly around me the battle-field spreading,
Vigil wondrous and vigil sweet there in the fragrant silent night,
But not a tear fell, not even a long-drawn sigh, long, long I gazed,
Then on the earth partially reclining sat by your side leaning my chin in my hands,
Passing sweet hours, immortal and mystic hours with you dearest comrade--not a tear, not a word,
Vigil of silence, love and death, vigil for you my son and my soldier,
As onward silently stars aloft, eastward new ones upward was your death,
Vigil final for you brave boy, (I could not save you, swift was your death,
I faithfully loved you and cared for you living, I think we shall surely meet again,)
Till at latest lingering of the night, indeed just as the dawn appear'd,
My comrade I wrapt in his blanket, envelop'd well his form,
Folded the blanket well, tucking it carefully over head and carefully under feet,
And there and then bathed by the rising sun, my son in his grave, in his rude-dug grave I deposited,
Ending my vigil strange with that, vigil of night and battle-field dim,
Vigil for boy of responding kisses, (never again on earth responding,)
Vigil for comrade, swiftly slain, vigil I never forget, how as day brighten'd,
I rose from the chill ground and folded my soldier well in his blanket,
And buried him where he fell.

One of the questions I keep coming across with this poem is the question of whether or not this is describing a father/son relationship, a close relationship among comrades, or if this is another poem in which homoeroticism is again on display. After reading this and becoming familiar with it, I'm sticking with my initial reaction, that is the reaction that this is about a father losing his son on the battlefield. To me, the emotions expressed here best fit that relationship. The father is obviously proud of his son and awards him the compliment of calling him a comrade, an equal in the ranks. It implies a relationship that extends to true friendship as well as the given familial relationship. Plus the expression of ownership ("my son," "my comrade," "my soldier") leads me more toward a father speaking of his son rather than a man talking about a close friend or a lover.

This is the poem on the program that resonates with me most. It's very immediate and always leaves me still and speechless after reading it. M. Wynn Thomas, in his essay, "Fratricide and Brotherly Love," in the Cambridge Companion to Walt Whitman (Greenspan, Ezra. New York: Cambridge Univ. Press, 1995), says that one likely source or inspiration for this poem comes from his brother George's experience in battle. "When [Whitman] had moved to Washington directly after first finding George in Falmouth camp, Whitman sent a letter home to his mother in which he particularly mentioned the name of George's cook, Tom: 'Tom thinks all the world of George--when he heard he was wounded, on the day of the battle, he left every thing, got across the river, and went hunting for George through the field, through thick and thin'" (pg. 38). This along with the countless other stories Whitman heard while serving in the hospitals probably contributed to this poem.

This poem is interesting in that it is addressed both to the dead soldier-son and to the reader. The father directly addresses the son in the first two sections of the poem, the death and vigil. However, in the final section--the burial--he turns to the reader and speaks of the son in the third person. Thomas also mentions this in his essay, saying that the original draft of the poem used the third person singular throughout the poem. The question then becomes, why switch the voice in the end? I would say the switch to the third person makes the death and the finality of the burial more tangible. Throughout the poem we are lulled into the feeling that we are witnessing a conversation between two people, sometimes forgetting that one of the participants in that conversation is dead. When dawn comes and it is time to bury his son, the voice changes and we are hit with the reality that the son is dead and speech directed to him will not be returned any more. Now the son is "he" rather than "you" and this combined with the description of him being wrapped in his shroud and dropped in the ground give the last part of the poem an impact that is made stronger by this switch in voice.

So, what do we see in this poem? As I said earlier, it is in three sections. The first is the killing of the son "Vigil strange"..."the even contested battle"), followed by the father's return for the vigil ("Till late in the night"..."we shall surely meet again"), and ending with a burial ("Till at latest lingering of the night"..."And buried him where he fell"). The death is swift with the son being cut down at the very beginning of the fight. The father looks back in shock on his fallen son, there is a brief moment of a wordless good-bye, then the father fulfills his duties as a soldier and runs back to the battle. When he returns for the vigil his son is long dead. There is no mention of how much time has passed, only that it is late that same night and the stars are bright. We are told of a vigil that is silent and void of tears and, really, any outward signs of grief. The image we are presented with is one of a man sitting quietly beside a body. Someone passing by would have no idea whether the live one had any connection at all to the dead one. However, to the father, these are the sweetest hours and he doesn't wish to cloud them with selfish demonstrations of grief that would not even be witnessed by the only other person present. Instead he intends to focus on being with the body and reflecting on his son's sacrifice and their life together. With the dawn comes the need to put his son to rest. He digs a "rude dug grave," uses his son's blanket as a shroud and buries him on the spot where he fell.

The imagery at work here is really quite stunning. You sense the darkness of the night illumined only by the stars, the grass the father is sitting on, the breeze of the night, your chest tightens more and more the further you read and, once the son is buried, you're left with a sense of "what next?" which is probably the same feeling the father had once he had finished shoveling the dirt back into place.

Text Discussion #9: Dirge for Two Veterans - Drum Taps

scott@scottguinn.com (Scott Guinn) — Mon, 21 Jun 2010 17:27:00 +0000

Dirge for Two Veterans

          The last sunbeam
Lightly falls from the finish'd Sabbath,
On the pavement here, and there beyond it is looking,
          Down a new-made double grave.

          Lo, the moon ascending,
Up from the east the silvery round moon,
Beautiful over the house-tops, ghastly, phantom moon,
          Immense and silent moon.

          I see a sad procession,
And I hear the sound of coming full-key'd bugles,
All the channels of the city streets they're flooding,
          As with voices and with tears.

          I hear the great drums pounding,
And the small drums steady whirring,
And every blow of the great convulsive drums,
          Strikes me through and through.

          For the son is brought with the father,
(In the foremost ranks of the fierce assault they fell,
Two veterans son and father dropt together,
          And the double grave awaits them.)

          Now nearer blow the bugles,
And the drums strike more convulsive,
And the daylight o'er the pavement quite has faded,
          And the strong dead-march enwraps me.

          In the eastern sky up-buoying,
The sorrowful vast phantom moves illumin'd,
('Tis some mother's large transparent face,
In heaven brighter growing.)

          O strong dead-march you please me!
O moon immense with your silvery face you sooth me!
O my soldiers twain! O my veterans passing to burial!
          What I have I also give you.

          The moon gives you light,
And the bugles and the drums give you music,
And my heart, O my soldiers, my veterans,
          My heart gives you love.

This and the next poem we'll discuss are the two poems on the program that I find most moving. Other poems cause a deep reaction and affect me, but these two poems are the only ones that stop me in my tracks with their imagery and tone.

This poem first appeared in Sequel to Drum Taps that was published shortly after the original volume. The formal structure of this poem is, again, pretty uniform throughout. Gay Wilson Allen points out (see this post for citation), the rhythmic pattern of the stanzas generally adheres to 3-4-6-3 pattern of strong syllables (pg. 216). Each verse of this poem builds on the last to paint the scene of the procession.

It is dusk on a Sunday evening as the speaker looks out his window (I imagine he is above the crowd and not an active participant because the language presented here suggests that the speaker is looking down on what is happening rather than actually being inside the procession or crowd of onlookers). The serenity of the first lines of the poem are immediately spoiled by the specter of a newly dug grave. This isn't just a regular grave, though. It is a double grave, large and foreboding, something that stops you and causes you to just stand and stare as you ponder its significance. Over this, Whitman beautifully translates the exchange of day and night by pointing out the moonrise in the east just after talking about the fading rays of the western setting sun. He describes the moon's beauty as it ascends over the houses by using the less frequently used definition of the word "ghastly", I would even argue that he goes so far to change the connotation of the word from meaning something frightful and ugly, to something hauntingly beautiful. I say that because of the other words Whitman uses to describe this moon: "silvery round", "beautiful", "immense and silent". It's very fitting for the macabre scene that has been laid out. It also brings a touch of beauty to a grim setting, setting up the suggestion that there is something beautiful in the soldiers' sacrifice.

As the sound of the bugles and drums enter the scene, they are still out of sight. Their sound precedes them, monopolizing the environment with the steady beating of the death-march. As the procession approaches, our witness is affected more and more by what he is hearing. The pounding of the drums "strikes him through and through," suggesting that pounding literally moves him, causes him to physically shake with each stroke of the mallet, like a gun-shot causes one to reflexively twitch. As the two dead soldiers pass below him, he is completely overwhelmed by the image and the sound of the march. It has invaded not only the space around him, but it has taken over his senses and made way inside his body as well, Whitman says it "enwraps" him. He is no longer a passive on-looker, he is now so affected by what he's seeing and the story it suggests (a father and son killed together in battle) that he is overcome with love for the soldiers despite not knowing who they are.

This causes him to see his surroundings differently. The moon is no longer "immense and silent". It is now vested with a specific emotion, sorrow, and takes on the quality of a mother's face looking down on her husband and son as they make their way to their grave, the gateway they must pass through to be with her again. As the pair gets closer to that gateway, her faces grows brighter with expectation. As she is sorrowful for their fate, she anticipates the reunion.

The speaker takes comfort now in the death march and the soft light of the moon. They become tokens of respect for the soldiers and entice the speaker to give all he can. He sees that the dead have their music, have their light, and now only need love. That he gives without hesitation and unconditionally.

Setting this poem in the gloaming and just after nightfall seems odd to me. I understand why Whitman chose to do it, however. The image of the moon has been used as a powerful language tool throughout literature. It evokes a peacefulness and has the ability to color the most gruesome scenes as more palatable and easier to talk about. So, in order for Whitman to have that tool, the setting had to accomodate. The explanation could also be something as simple as an old custom I'm not familiar with or a real funeral he witnessed with a timing dictated by necessity. The setting is very effective, none-the-less, and I don't take issue with it. I just want to point it out as something unique and influential on the interpretation.

Quick Comment on Comments

scott@scottguinn.com (Scott Guinn) — Mon, 14 Jun 2010 02:01:00 +0000

It looks like there is steady readership building (albeit a small one, but we're new!), and now that we're talking about poetry, I'd like to invite you to comment on my interpretations, your interpretation, or whatever in the comment section. One of the reasons I started this blog was to tap into other people's readings of these poems. Honestly, those other interpretations can inform my interpretation. Plus, I really enjoy the back and forth that can happen when two or three informed decisions come together.

So, if you disagree with me, don't be afraid to say so...as long as it's in a civil tone. I don't mind listening to other points of view, and if I don't agree with you, I'll respectfully tell you why as we discuss our differing opinions.

Thanks!

Text Discussion #8: A Sight in Camp in the Daybreak Gray and Dim - Drum Taps

scott@scottguinn.com (Scott Guinn) — Sun, 13 Jun 2010 19:44:00 +0000

A Sight in Camp in the Daybreak Gray and Dim

A sight in camp in the daybreak gray and dim,
As from my tent I emerge so early sleepless,
As slow I walk in the cool fresh air the path near by the hospital tent,
Three forms I see on the stretchers lying, brought out there untended lying,
Over each the blanket spread, ample brownish woolen blanket,
Gray and heavy blanket, folding, covering all.

Curious I halt and silent stand,
Then with light fingers I from the face of the nearest the first just lift the blanket;
Who are you elderly man so gaunt and grim, with well-gray'd hair, and flesh all sunken about the eyes?
Who are you my dear comrade?

Then to the second I step--and who are you my child and darling?
Who are you sweet boy with cheeks yet blooming?

Then to the third--a face nor child nor old, very calm, as of beautiful yellow-white ivory;
Young man I think I know you--I think this face is the face of the Christ himself,
Dead and divine and brother of all, and here again he lies.

On the surface, this poem seems very straight-forward and simple. Normally, I would leave it at that since I don't believe in looking for symbolism or other meanings in every word of a poem. Sometimes a duck is just a duck. In this poem, however, I think there is a deeper meaning than just telling the story of a soldier reviewing three of his dead comrades early in the morning.

First, let's talk about the setting, early morning in a Union camp. The morning is peaceful, but the speaker is not, due to a sleepless night and restlessness that is the result of uncertainty about whether he will live to see the end of the day. It's also one of those misty, foggy mornings that are common in the early Appalachian spring.

I'm not disputing the story of the poem, by that I mean that this poem is, on its surface, about a man walking through the camp and looking at three fallen soldiers. What I am saying is that Whitman is using this tale to make a bigger statement about the war and the fate of the Union.

We see three men lying under a blanket, each with a different set of characteristics. The old man with his graying hair and sunken eyes, the young boy just experiencing the first blush of manhood and finally the young man in his prime. The first layer of this scene exhibits the broad swath of age that the military required to fight the war. This wasn't today's army of twenty-year-old soldiers. This was an army whose enlisted ranks ranged from very old to very young. Looking deeper, though, the question that kept popping up was why does the speaker see the Christ in the final soldier? It seemed somewhat out of key with the rest of the poem.

Stepping back and looking at the big picture of the poem, it was then that I saw the crucifixion scene: a dead Christ figure with two comrades in death. With this imagery, Whitman is pointing to the stakes of the war and just how important he views the outcome of the fight. Christians believe that Christ died for the sins of the world, both those before his death and especially for those ever after. The two men who died with Christ were robbers; one mocked Christ, the other professed his belief and was told by Christ that he would join him in the kingdom of Heaven.

In this poem, the relationships are different, but the meaning is similar. The two thieves on the cross each served a different purpose, one to show that it was never too late to be redeemed, and one to serve as an example of what happened when redemption was refused. The comrades of Whitman's Christ-figure are also used as examples. The old man exhibits the fight of the old to regain the country they were familiar with and devoted to, fighting for their generation's nostalgia and for future generations' well-being. The young boy symbolizes the innocence lost by the relatively young country; he is literally Innocence dead.

Finally, the third soldier is Whitman's Christ-figure. This soldier, with "a face nor child nor old," is a justification for the lost innocence. Comparing him to Christ is Whitman's way of saying that the soldier's death (and those that will follow him) will not be in vain and has been for the good of the country; those deaths will ultimately redeem the nation. It's the (now) old adage of the soldier dying to protect our liberty. Even a quick glance at Whitman's poetry will show a religious devotion to country, so seeing this soldier as his Christ and the War as his Golgotha is reasonable.

Whether you take it at face value or view it as a symbol of the War as redemption, it's a powerful piece of poetry. The imagery evokes the reality of war by showing how the cost was paid by young and old alike. It's also an example of Whitman's naivety at the start of the war. Having not yet been an eye-witness to the carnage, there is still a hopefulness in the writing that will later darken as the poet sees the true cost up close. His love of country and belief in the cause will not waver, but his tone will change from the optimism of a sideline supporter to the realism of a participating player.

Text Discussion #7: Beat! Beat! Drums! - Drum Taps

scott@scottguinn.com (Scott Guinn) — Sat, 12 Jun 2010 17:52:00 +0000

Beat! Beat! Drums!

Beat! beat! drums!--Blow! bugles! blow!
Through the windows--through doors--burst like a ruthless force,
Into the solemn church, and scatter the congregation;
Into the school where the scholar is studying;
Leave not the bridegroom quiet--no happiness must he have now with his bride;
Nor the peaceful farmer any peace, plowing his field or gathering his grain;
So fierce you whirr and pound, you drums--so shrill you bugles blow.

Beat! beat! drums!--Blow! bugles! blow!
Over the traffic of cities--over the rumble of wheels in the streets;
Are beds prepared for sleepers at night in the houses? No sleepers must sleep in those beds;
No bargainers' bargains by day--no brokers or speculators--Would they continue?
Would the talkers be talking? would the singer attempt to sing?
Would the lawyer rise in the court to state his case before the judge?
Then rattle quicker, heavier--you bugles wilder blow.

Beat! beat! drums!--Blow! bugles! blow!
Make no parley--stop for no expostulation;
Mind not the timid--mind not the weeper or prayer;
Mind not the old man beseeching the young man;
Let not the child's voice be heard, nor the mother's entreaties;
Make even the trestles to shake the dead, where they lie awaiting the hearses,
So strong you thump, O terrible drums--so loud you bugles blow.

Before we discuss what this poem is about, let's take a few moments and talk about form. Whitman was not a poet known for his adherence to the standard poetic forms, nor did he usually hold any one poem to a predictable form. Here, however, we have a loose form that Whitman adheres to, three seven-line stanzas each beginning with the same line of text. In their book, Walt Whitman's Poems, Gay Wilson Allen and Charles T. Davis point out that the following six lines in each stanza are "anapestic-iambic in feeling, though trochaic substitution in the first and final stanzas adds force to the throb of the drums." (pg. 201)

The poem was written at the start of the war but before he left Brooklyn for Washington, D.C. Broadly speaking, it is a poem about how war takes over everything and monopolizes every facet of life, that is, the life on the soil on which the war is being fought. Looking deeper, we see the march of war from the farms in stanza one, to the city in stanza two. In stanza three it marches through the battlefield without stopping for diplomacy, through the halls of power where the seasoned statesman tries to reason with the zeal of his younger colleague, and finally through the homes as it takes a father and son to the front.

Throughout the poem is the constant pulse of the drums and scream of the bugle. These are, obviously, symbolic of the constant news of this time, the secessions, the battles and all the talk that surrounds a march to war. It seems as if Whitman is encouraging this march forward while at the same time highlighting the effect it will have on everything in the country. I suppose that could be seen as a mechanism for discouragement (pointing out the cost while sarcastically hollering for war to be waged), and it might be the music clouding a strict textual interpretation, but in this poem I see a clear call to battle by someone who does not yet know--who could know?--what the cost really will be.

This is the only poem that appears twice on my recital program. I wanted to avoid multiple settings, but could not avoid it with this poem. In Richard Pearson Thomas's Drum Taps, it is set in its entirety. In William Neidlinger's Memories of Lincoln, it is set more as a prologue to "When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom'd" and "O Captain! My Captain." I'll write more about that when I discuss that piece.

Text Discussion #6: O Tan-Faced Prairie-Boy - Drum Taps

scott@scottguinn.com (Scott Guinn) — Thu, 10 Jun 2010 02:00:00 +0000

I want to explain for a moment how these poetry discussions will take shape. I will first publish the whole poem (with two exceptions I will note as they come up in the rotation). Like the earlier posts, I'll italicize the words the composer chose to set if they did not set the whole poem. Following the poem I'll lay out my interpretation based on these points:

What I thought the poem was about
How I interpret Whitman's use of various words and tone
Discussion of any symbolism I see, if any

These are all very subjective points and I'm sure others will have different opinions. That is one reason why I'm writing this blog. I want to hear those other opinions, and if I think they are better than mine, I'd be willing to examine them further. I'm also going to try to approach these texts separate from the music. Sometimes that will be easy as I haven't begun musical work on all of the pieces yet. Sometimes that will be difficult because the composer's interpretation is already ingrained. When I discuss the song itself, that is when I will put the two interpretations, mine and the composer's, side by side to see where they are alike, where they are different, and how those differences can be reconciled.

With that, our first poem.

O Tan-Faced Prairie-Boy

O tan-faced prairie-boy,
Before you came to camp came many a welcome gift,
Praises and presents came and nourishing food, till at last among the recruits,
You came, taciturn, with nothing to give--we but look'd on each other,
When lo! more than all the gifts of the world you gave me.

In my eyes, this is a very straight-forward poem. I imagine a Union camp in the middle of a muggy summer. The veterans are going about their duties when fresh recruits arrive. The speaker in this poem has been used to the regular gifts that come into the camp, like any soldier receiving regular care packages from home. He has grown so used to them and to the drudgery of life outside of battle that he is looking for something new, something that will give him hope.

He finds it in this new recruit. He sees the boy (a word that can probably be taken quite literally, 14-16 years of age most likely), and for some reason is drawn to him, perhaps a resemblance to a brother or close cousin, or maybe even a known relative. The boy is quiet, sullen, unsure of his future and probably quite scared. He has come to camp with a brave face on as he acts the part of a man. When the speaker catches the eye of the new recruit, something in the boy is drawn to the speaker as well. That is when this gift is given.

The obvious question for this poem is the gift, what is it? I think it's easy. It's a smile or a gesture of recognition, depending on if you think the speaker knows the boy or not. I come to this decision by going in the opposite direction of the penultimate line of the poem. The boy is there, very stern and with nothing to give but something spiritual or physical, such as a smile. When he sees the speaker, he gives that gift because I think the boy is relieved to see someone who he thinks (for whatever reason) is going to make his new life easier. It's quite moving when you think of it like that. Prairie sunshine comes to camp and reminds the speaker of something better, something hopeful.

Text Discussion #5: The Real War Will Never Get in the Books - Specimen Days

scott@scottguinn.com (Scott Guinn) — Wed, 09 Jun 2010 03:30:00 +0000

This will be a lengthy entry because the entry in Specimen Days is long and Rorem set the first and the last words, then cut heavily in the middle. So, as I've done in the previous posts, and because the context is important, I'll publish the whole entry and italicize the words Rorem set.

The Real War Will Never Get in the Books

And so good-bye to the war. I know not how it may have been, or may be, to others--to me the main interest I found, (and still, on recollection, find,) in the rank and file of the armies, both sides, and in those specimens amid the hospitals, and even the dead on the field. To me the points illustrating the latent personal character and eligibilities of these States, in the two or three millions of American young and middle-aged men, North and South, embodied in those armies--and especially the one-third or one-fourth of their number, stricken by wounds or disease at some time in the course of the contest--were of more significance even than the political interests involved. (as so much of a race depends on how it faces death, and how it stands personal anguish and sickness. As, in the glints of emotions under emergencies, and the indirect traits and and asides in Plutarch, we get far profounder clues to the antique world than all its more formal history.)

Future years will never know the seething hell and the black infernal background of countless minor scenes and interiors, (not the official surface-courteousness of the Generals, not the few great battles) of the Secession war; and it is best they should not--the real war will never get in the books. In the mushy influences of current times, too, the fervid atmosphere and typical events of those years are in danger of being totally forgotten. I have at night watch'd by the side of a sick man in the hospital, one who could not live many hours. I have seen his eyes flash and burn as he raised himself and recurr'd to the cruelties of his surrender'd brother, and mutilations of the corpse afterward. (See, in the preceding pages, the incident at Upperville--the seventeen kill'd as in the description, were left there on the ground. After they drop't dead, no one touch'd them--all were made sure of, however. The carcasses were left for the citizens to bury or not, as they chose.)

Such was the war. It was not a quadrille in a ball-room. Its interior history will not only never be written--its practicality, minutiae of deeds and passions, will never be even suggested. The actual soldier of 1862-'65, North and South, with all his ways, his incredible dauntlessness, habits, practices, tastes, language, his fierce friendship, his appetite, rankness, his superb strength and animality, lawless gait, and a hundred unnamed lights and shades of camp, I say, will never be written--perhaps must not and should not be.

The preceding notes may furnish a few stray glimpses into that life, and into those lurid interiors, never to be fully convey'd to the future. The hospital part of the drama from '61 to '65, deserves indeed to be recorded. Of that many-threaded drama, with its sudden and strange surprises, its confounding or prophecies, its moments of despair, the dread of foreign interference, the interminable campaigns, the bloody battles, the mighty and cumbrous and green armies, the drafts and bounties--the immense money expenditure, like a heavy-pouring constant rain--with, over the whole land, the last wail of women, parents, orphans--the marrow of the tragedy concentrated in those Army Hospitals--(it seem'd sometimes as if the whole interest of the land, North and South, was one vast central hospital, and all the rest of the affair but flanges)--those forming the untold and unwritten history of the war--infinitely greater (like life's) than the few scraps and distortions that are ever told or written. Think how much, and of importance, will be--how much, civic and military, has already been--buried in the grave, in eternal darkness.

The first question I had after reading this entry was about the date Whitman wrote it. Was it written after Lee's surrender, or as he was compiling these pieces for publication? Whitman doesn't date the entry. The date doesn't have any real significance on the interpretation of the text, and my initial research hasn't turned up a definitive date. My guess is that this was written for the publication of the collection. The key sentence is this one, "In the mushy influences of current times, too, the fervid atmosphere and typical events of those years are in danger of being forgotten." To me, that says that Whitman is looking at this with some time between the war and his writing.

There is an urgency to this entry. Whitman is saying that the real story of the Civil War will never get into history books. It's a common observation of those who experience major historical events. World War II and Viet Nam veterans say the same thing about their wars. How many New Yorkers have I heard say that history will not be able to relay what it was like in the city on September 11? So, Whitman is doing his part to pass his experience on to history so that his own words will not come true.

Another notable point is that Whitman is evenhanded when talking about the North and the South. His primary concern here is the atrocities of war, not those who fought it or were responsible for it. This is also highlighted by his caring for both Union and Confederate soldiers, as I've said before.

Rorem's treatment of the text, which I'll discuss in a separate post, will probably direct some of my thoughts. This one surely has more to say underneath the surface.

Making the Cut

scott@scottguinn.com (Scott Guinn) — Tue, 08 Jun 2010 17:54:00 +0000

Putting this program together has sometimes been a little difficult (as I outlined an earlier post, my original idea for a layout failed). My next task was to put the poems and songs I had chosen into an order where they told a story or where there was some semblance of one poem leading to the next. The sets where the composer had already made that choice for me was easy, although I'm still wondering if the Rorem is a good place to start. My decision there is more musical than textual, but I haven't quite decided for sure. What has happened in the first half is that I've tried to take a journey though the different scenes of the war beginning Whitman's prose and mostly first hand accounts, followed by his poetry that is mostly a re-telling of experiences had by the soldiers. After that, I move to the assassination of Lincoln with a song that incorporates two poems Whitman wrote for that historical moment and one of the "Drum Taps" poems that the composer uses for a different purpose, a poetic funeral march for the dead President. I'll talk more about that when it comes up in the series on musical discussions.

With the assassination covered, I move to close this dark part of the program. Here is where my first bit of trouble happens. I chose the poem, "Joy, Shipmate, Joy," to make one more comment on Lincoln's death. I also loved Vaughan Williams's setting of it with the voice and piano constantly fighting against each other in a two against three setting that very much suggested movement at sea. However, after looking at the poem more closely, I'm seeing that it doesn't really fit with the narrative that I'm trying to put across to the audience. So, I've decided to cut the song from the program. This has two benefits, one it makes the program a little shorter--a good thing since it is running at about an hour and a half, and two it takes the program into a more American direction with Paul Hindemith and Charles Naginski pushing that envelope depending on one's definition of an American composer. (Both were born outside of the U.S., but spent considerable time here with Hindemith becoming a citizen in 1946, long after he wrote the song I'm featuring. Naginski was born in Egypt, but came to the U.S. around 1917 to study and remained here until his death in 1940.)

The second half of the program is a loose story of a relationship, from that first glance of someone that interests you, to a declaration of spending a life together. I'll give you brief outline here and will discuss the poems more in depth individually in their own posts.

"Ages and Ages Returning at Intervals" is the declaration of sexual being. It is a very provocative text that lays out the speaker's feelings that he is at home in these feelings. "As Adam Early in the Morning" echos that in a more subdued way and is more direct in its language. "Sometimes with One I Love" is that glimmer of doubt that sometimes surfaces when one is about to enter into a relationship. Old hurts come back to haunt the new love, sometimes sabotaging it. With "To a Stranger" we have that first glance, seeing that person across the proverbial crowded room and playing a scene out in our head of what could be. "Among the Multitude" takes that glance a little further by acknowledging the other person's return of the gesture. "O You Whom I Often and Silently Come" has our two lovers together for the first time; we see that spark of new love. In "We Two Boys Together Clinging" it's the fun side of a relationship, a doppelganger is found. "Behold This Swarthy Face" takes a picture of a more intimate side of the relationship, perhaps one that is coming into focus after some time together. Finally, with "We Two," a sort of marriage with a declaration of sticktoitiveness. The song "Walt Whitman" is a postlude that I thought made a good button on the program.

And there it is. So, is this a themed recital, and am I fooling myself into thinking it isn't? I like to think that it is just loose framework to tie some of the pieces together rather than a theme with repertoire chosen to fit (and it isn't that since the repertoire was chosen first). Wishful thinking on my part?

Text Discussion #4: Inauguration Ball - Specimen Days

scott@scottguinn.com (Scott Guinn) — Tue, 08 Jun 2010 03:06:00 +0000

Ned Rorem sets most of this entry. After hearing some feedback saying that the ~~strikethrough~~ was difficult to read, I'm going to italicize the words Rorem set while publishing the whole entry here.

Inauguration Ball

March 6.--I have been up to look at the dance and supper-rooms, for the inauguration ball at the Patent office; and I could not help thinking, what a different scene they presented to my view a while since, fill'd with a crowded mass of the worst wounded of the war, brought in from second Bull Run, Antietam, and Fredricksbugh. To-night, beautiful women, perfumes, the violins' sweetness, the polka and the waltz; then the amputation, the blue face, the groan, the glassy eye of the dying, the clotted rag, the odor of wounds and blood, and many a mother's son amid strangers, passing away untended there, (for the crowd of the badly hurt was great, and much for nurse to do, and much for surgeon.)

The Patent Office Building was the first official building to serve as a venue for a presidential inaugural ball. The building served as a hospital from September 1861-June1862, and again in September 1862-April 1863. Joann P. Krieg's book, A Whitman Chronology (Iowa City: University of Iowa Press, 1998) doesn't say when Whitman worked at the hospital, but she does mention an article written by Whitman that appeared in the New York Times on February 26, 1863 where he discusses the advantages the newly constructed hospitals have over the hospitals "set up in public buildings, such as the Patent Office hospital" (pg. 51). This shows that Whitman is writing this from his point of view, an important distinction.

This entry taps into some animosity that must have been present around the festivities of the inauguration. While the re-election of the President was something Whitman was pleased with, I can only imagine that a large ball in the midst of a long war with heavy casualties struck some as somewhat a tone-deaf political move. Never-the-less, the ball was well attended and, by some accounts, the attendees were not model guests.

In the reading I've done, cynicism is rare in Whitman's writing, especially when writing about the administration. However, this entry comes off very cynical to me, and I don't say that as a criticism against Whitman. Considering the history he had with war wounded, it is easy to understand how he would take some offense.

Here Whitman directly contrasts the festivities of the ball with the sights and sounds of the hospital. The ladies' perfumes are set against the "odor of wounds and blood." The "violins' sweetness" is lined up beside a soldier's groan. "Beautiful women" are matched against "the blue face" and "the glassy eye of the dying." Finally, while the inaugural ball will be well staffed with waiters and cooks and any number of people to keep the guests happy, "many a mother's son amid strangers, [were] passing away untended," and there was much work for the few nurses and surgeons to tend to. It is, perhaps, a brief look at a small disappointment experienced by Whitman at the way life sometimes plays out. In Whitman's mind, this building was sacred now. Having this ball, where people could pass the time and gleefully forget about the war for a few hours, was a slap in the face to the soldiers who had suffered and died in that building. In reality, it was probably cheaper to hold the ball--a tradition that had been in place since the first presidential inauguration--in a public building rather than constructing a temporary facility as had been done at the several previous inaugurations.

Whether one agrees with Whitman or not, this piece of text is another example of Whitman's devotion to the soldiers he cared for.

Text Discussion #3: An Incident - Specimen Days

scott@scottguinn.com (Scott Guinn) — Sun, 06 Jun 2010 02:46:00 +0000

"An Incident" is part of a larger entry in Specimen Days titled "Hospital Scenes.--Incidents." This larger entry contains two accounts or observations from the hospital (Carver hospital) and two tellings of happenings on the battlefield after the fighting that day had finished. The writing in all of these accounts is very straightforward and blunt, as we will find in a moment. These other smaller entries don't have any bearing on the text Rorem chose to set, so I will simply point you to where you can read them, if you are interested.

An Incident

In one of the fights before Atlanta, a rebel soldier, of large size, evidently a young man, was mortally wounded top of the head, so that the brains partially exuded. He lived three days, lying on his back on the spot where he first dropt. He dug with his heel in the ground during that time a hole big enough to put in a couple of ordinary knapsacks. He just lay there in the open air, and with little intermission kept his heel going night and day. Some of our soldiers then moved him to a house, but he died in a few minutes.

As I said, it's very straightforward and blunt. As you can see in the pictures on the right, a knapsack is not very large, but it is not very small, either. I point this out to say that it was no small accomplishment for this wounded soldier to dig a hole, with only the heel of his boot, large enough to fit two of these knapsacks. So, with that in mind, let's look a little closer at this text.

The campaign for Atlanta began on May 4, 1864 and ended on September 1 when General John Bell Hood abandoned the city followed by General Sherman's occupation. There is no way to know in which of the several fights before the occupation our rebel soldier was wounded, but one would think it would have to be in one of the skirmishes between May and early July, only because it would take some time for the story to reach Whitman in Washington. It really isn't important, other than to give some context and provide some detail to the scene of the tale.

The text is very haunting in its imagery. We see a stout Southern lad of probably 18 to 21 years of age lying on the ground with part of his skull blown off. His brain is exposed to the open air. When he falls to the ground, you can imagine that there is great shock, a) that he is still alive, and b) that he probably knows he is seriously wounded.

Our soldier's coping mechanism is the digging of this hole. I would imagine that he was in a great amount of pain and, like one wiggles down the dentist's chair, this was about all he could do to distract himself from it. What strikes me about this text is that despite it being so just-the-facts-ma'am, the soldier's suffering and situation is crystal clear. This soldier laid there for three days and two nights with part of his brain exposed to the elements and everything that crawls on the ground, digging a hole--quite possibly what he thought was his grave--with the heel of a well worn boot. None of his comrades came to take him to a camp for the wounded or to put him on a cart bound for a hospital, no one from the Union army came to help until moments before his death. All he could do was lay there and dig and patiently wait for death to come.

As is the case with many of these war writings, the heaviness of the text is sometimes suffocating. It is quite stunning that these relatively few words convey such hopelessness and suffering. This entry is a testament that the atrocities of the Civil War were so horrible that it only takes a few words to paint the scene.

Text Discussion #2: Specimen Case - Specimen Days

scott@scottguinn.com (Scott Guinn) — Sat, 05 Jun 2010 03:27:00 +0000

"Specimen Case" is from an excerpt of "Some Specimen Cases" where Whitman writes about several wounded soldiers he is visiting. During 1863 Whitman served as a visitor to the wounded, both Confederate and Union, in the hospitals around Washington. I'll talk more about this later in a series of posts on Whitman's biography. For the purposes of this discussion, I think it is enough to say that Whitman was devoted to what he saw as his duty and his contribution to the war effort. Even though he was a strong pro-Union man and abolitionist, this devotion went beyond that. His caring for soldiers from the South and the North prove this.

Like "A Night Battle," there is a fair amount of text before Rorem's excerpt. Like last time, I'll begin where Rorem begins and then paraphrase the beginning of the entry. You can read the whole of Whitman's entry here.

Specimen Case

...Poor youth, so handsome, athletic, with profuse shining hair. One time as I sat looking at him while he lay asleep, he suddenly, without the least start, awaken'd, open'd his eyes, gave me a long steady look, turning his face very slightly to gaze easier--one long, clear, silent look--a slight sigh--then turn'd back and went into his doze again. Little he knew, poor death-stricken boy, the heart of the stranger that hover'd near.

Whitman begins this entry by describing his subject, a young Irish man named Thomas Haley of Company M, 4th New York cavalry. He tells us that Haley came to the U.S. expressly to enlist and fight.

In her book, Whitman and the Irish, Joann P. Krieg says that Haley's motive for immigration was not the norm among other Irish fighters. "Approximately a third of the 140,000 Irish who served in the Civil War were from the New York area," she says. Krieg goes on to say that unlike many of their comrades, the Irish's motivation to fight was not related to slavery. In fact, many of them were sympathetic to the South's position. However, that was overridden by their devotion to their new country and "the idea of the union of states." (pg. 117).

According to the roster of the 4th New York Cavalry (pg. 1113),

HEALY, THOMAS.--Age, 22years. Enlisted January 28, 1863 at New York; mustered in as a private, Company M, February 13, 1863, to serve three years; died from wounds received in action, June 14, 1863, at Washington, D.C.

For the sake of consistency and clarity, I will continue to use Whitman's spelling of Pvt. Haley's name. There are any number of reasons for the difference in spelling from it being incorrect on the roster to Whitman getting the information wrong.

One note on dates: The entry on the cavalry roster says that Pvt. Haley "died from wounds received in action, June 14, 1863, at Washington D.C." Judging from the dated entry in Speciman Days, this is the date the Private was wounded, not the date he died. Whitman dates his Specimen Days entry June 18. In it he says, "I saw Tom when first brought here, three days since..." This would mean that Pvt. Haley was wounded on June 14 and arrived at the hospital the following day, which would be a reasonable assumption as he was most likely wounded in the second battle of Winchester.

Whitman's description of the wounds Haley suffered say that he was shot through the lung and was laid in the hospital bed naked from the waist up. Due to the Private being heavily sedated, Whitman's interaction with Haley was probably minimal. I have to believe that Whitman did have at least one conversation with him because of the facts written in the entry (his motivation for coming to the U.S., lack of friends, etc), but Whitman still calls himself a stranger leading me to think there was not much interaction. Despite that, Whitman developed an attachment to the soldier--he calls him Tom at one point--and I think he is somewhat in awe of him, of the spirit to come here to fight, his bravery and his hanging on to life for so long.

As Whitman is in awe of Pvt. Haley, I am in awe of the text Rorem chose to set. It is a pivot point in the entry. Whitman goes from talking about Haley's wounds and his situation, to a more direct recollection. When I think of this scene, Whitman sitting at the Private's bedside, it's vivid and in color. It's evening, the light is low and the ward is quiet. There is a smell of medicine and lurking just underneath, the smell of death. It's a smell that is at once sweet and sour, and lingers in your nostrils years after you are exposed to it. The odor is heavy and you can feel it rushing into your nose as you breathe. Pvt. Haley is aware of his situation, and that look he gives Whitman is most likely his last. He breathes a sigh of gratitude that Whitman is there as a friend in the end, then turns and goes back to sleep. A woman told me once about the night her husband died. He had been bed ridden the whole week of his death and had been asleep or barely conscious that whole time. The only time he looked at anything, it was something he saw floating above his bed, something he kept trying to grab. The night he died, she was in the room with the family. Just before he died, he woke up, looked at his wife with clear eyes, held her gaze for a few moments, then quietly passed away.

Whitman doesn't say that Haley died after that "long, clear, silent look," but this text brings that widow's story to mind. To me, everything about the text is quiet and subdued with a sense of reverence for the dying soldier's life and circumstances. It is a very powerful moment packed into a few lines.

Composer Spotlight: David T. Little

scott@scottguinn.com (Scott Guinn) — Thu, 03 Jun 2010 14:57:00 +0000

One of the benefits of doing this program has turned out to be the number of living composers featured. Of the eleven composers whose works I'm performing, five are still living. To my colleagues in the musical theater world, that might not sound like a big deal. It is, however, a big deal in the classical singing world since a great majority of our time is spent singing music by composers long since dead. Throughout this year, I'll be posting about these composers, my conversations with them (if I've had one), and their music.

As I said in an earlier post, when I began researching this recital I knew that I wanted to commission a work for the program. Whitman is the most frequently set American poet, so one would think that there was plenty of material to choose from. There is a lot of material, however, I felt like this program in particular afforded me the opportunity to add to that collection by commissioning my own song.

After I graduated high school in 1996, I toured Europe with a group called The Sound of America Honor Band and Chorus. We met for a week or two of rehearsals in Carlisle, PA, then jetted off to Frankfurt, Germany for a month long tour of Germany, Italy, Austria, Switzerland and France. Playing in the band was a percussionist named David T. Little. Being a singer who was somewhat shy then, I stayed with the group of primarily singers I had attached myself to in Carlisle, though I do remember a couple of times when my path crossed with David's. Once the tour was over, we went separate directions.

In 2008, our paths crossed again at New York City Opera's VOX Festival, a showcase of new American opera, where David's piece, Soldier Songs was being presented. I wasn't singing David's work, but I was singing two other pieces in the festival. We did some catching up after the concert, Facebooked each other and went on with our lives again. When it came time to commission this piece, David's was the first name that popped into my head. I wanted someone who was out in the field working as a composer, someone whose work was getting attention, and someone who was a close contemporary. David was a perfect fit.

Here's a little about him from his website.

The music of American composer David T. Little has been described as “dramatically wild…rustling, raunchy and eclectic,” showing “real imagination” by New York Times critic Anthony Tommasini, and his work “completely gripped” New Yorker critic Alex Ross: “every bad-ass new-music ensemble in the city will want to play him.” Little’s highly theatrical, often political work draws upon his experience as a rock drummer, and fuses classical and popular idioms to dramatic effect.

His music has been performed throughout the world—including in Dresden, London, Edinburgh, LA, Montreal, and at the Tanglewood, Aspen, MATA and Cabrillo Festivals—by such performers as the London Sinfonietta, eighth blackbird, So Percussion, ensemble courage, NOW Ensemble, the New World Symphony, American Opera Projects, the New York City Opera, the Grand Rapids Symphony and the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra under Marin Alsop. He has received awards and recognition from The American Academy of Arts and Letters, the Mid Atlantic Arts Foundation, Meet The Composer, the American Music Center, the Harvey Gaul Competition, BMI, and ASCAP, and has received commissions from Carnegie Hall, the Albany Symphony, the New World Symphony, Pittsburgh New Music Ensemble, the University of Michigan, and Dawn Upshaw’s Vocal Arts program at the Bard Conservatory.
Upcoming projects include the opera Dog Days (2011; Robert Woodruff, director and Royce Vavrek, librettist), as well as new works for violinist Todd Reynolds, violist Nadia Sirota, pianist Kathleen Supové, cellist Brian Snow, baritone Scott Guinn, Third Coast Percussion, the New World Symphony, and Newspeak.

In 2004, Little founded the amplified octet Newspeak, for which he is also the drummer and artistic director. Hailed as “potent” (TheRestIsNoise.com), “innovative” (New York Magazine), and “fierce” (Time Out New York), Newspeak explores the relationship of music and politics, while confronting head-on the boundaries between the classical and the rock traditions. A New Amsterdam Records artist, Newspeak will release its first CD of commissioned works in November 2010.

Little holds degrees from Susquehanna University (2001), The University of Michigan (2002) and Princeton University (2006)–where he is currently completing a PhD in composition—and his primary teachers have included Osvaldo Golijov, Paul Lansky, Steven Mackey, William Bolcom, and Michael Daugherty. He currently teaches music in New York City through Carnegie Hall’s Musical Connections program, and serves as the inaugural Digital Composer-in-Residence for the UK-based DilettanteMusic.com.

For more information about David and his music, go here. I'll talk more about the poem we decided to set when it comes up for discussion.

For a taste of David's music, here is a video from Soldier Songs as performed in it's premiere at Le Poisson Rouge in New York, 2008.

Text Discussion #1: A Night Battle - Specimen Days

scott@scottguinn.com (Scott Guinn) — Thu, 03 Jun 2010 02:18:00 +0000

For these text discussions, I plan to go in program order, at least as it stands at the time of writing. The first set on the program is Ned Rorem's War Scenes, which is a set of five songs drawn from Whitman's Specimen Days. This work of prose was put together from snippets of Whitman's diaries. He compiled these writings at the request of "an insisting friend" who wished to know more about the poet's life and his encounters.

You ask for items, details of my early life...You say you want to get at these details mainly as the go-befores and embryons of "Leaves of Grass." Very good; you shall have at least some specimens of them all.

Rorem's songs come from Whitman's extensive writings about the Civil War, particularly the years 1863/'64.

Some of these entries are quite long and Rorem cut them heavily to fashion them into the songs. What I've decided to do for this entry is to begin where Rorem begins and include all of the text from that point to the end of Whitman's entry. Any text that Rorem cut, I'll ~~strike through~~ so that it can still be read for context. Before I go into my interpretation, I'll paraphrase the beginning of the entry not included here.

A Night Battle

...~~O heavens,~~ what scene is this? --is this indeed humanity--these butchers' shambles? ~~There are several of them.~~ There they lie, ~~in the largest,~~ in an open space in the woods, ~~from 200 to~~ 300 poor fellows--the groans the screams--~~the odor of blood,~~ mixed with the fresh scent of the night, ~~the grass, the trees~~--that slaughter-house! O well is it their mother, ~~their sisters~~ cannot see them--~~cannot conceive, and never conceiv'd these things. One man is shot by a shell, both in the arm and leg--both are amputated--there lie the rejected members.~~ Some have their legs blown off--some bullets through the breast--some indescribably horrid wounds in the face or head, all mutilated, sickening, torn, gouged out--~~some in the abdomen~~--some mere boys--~~many rebels, badly hurt~~--they take their regular turns with the rest, ~~just the same as any--the surgeons use them just the same.~~ Such is the camp of the wounded--~~such a fragment, a reflection afar off of the bloody scene--~~while over all the clear, large moon comes out at times, softly, ~~quietly shining. Amid the woods, that scene of fitting souls--~~amid the crack and crash and yelling sounds--~~the impalpable perfume of the woods--and yet the pungent, stifling smoke--the radiance of the moon, looking from the heaven at intervals so placid--the sky so heavenly--t~~he clear-obscure up there, those buoyant upper oceans--a few large placid stars beyond, coming ~~silently and~~ languidly out, ~~and~~ then disappearing--the melancholy, draperied night ~~above~~, around. And there, upon the roads, ~~the fields,~~ and in those woods, that contest never one more desperate in any age or land--~~both parties now in force--masses--no fancy battle, no semi-play, but fierce and savage demons fighting there--courage and scorn of death the rule, exceptions almost none.~~

What history, ~~I say,~~ can ever give--for who can know--the mad, determin'd tussle of the armies, ~~in all their separate large and little squads--as this--each steep'd from crown to toe in desperate, mortal purports?~~ Who know ~~the conflict, hand-to-hand--~~the many conflicts ~~in the dark, those shadowy-tangled, flashing moonbean'd woods--~~the writhing groups and squads--the cries, the din, ~~the cracking guns and pistols--~~the distant cannon--the cheers and calls and threats and awful music of the oaths--the indescribable mix--the officers' orders, ~~persuasions, encouragements--~~the devils fully rous'd in human hears--the strong shout, Charge, men, charge--~~the flash of the naked sword, and rolling flame and smoke? And still the borken, clear and cloded heaven--~~and sill again the moonlight pouring silvery soft its radiant patches over all. Who paint the scene, the sudden partial panic of the afternoon at dusk? Who paint the irrepressible advance of the second division of the Third corps, under Hooker himself, suddenly order'd up--those rapid-filing phantoms through the woods? Who show what moves there in the shadows, fluid and firm--to save, (and it did save,) the army's name, perhaps the nation? as there the veterans hold the field. (Brave Berry falls not yet--but death has mark'd him soon he falls.)

This entry is dated May 12, 1863. It details the epic battle at Chancellorsville that had ended a little over a week before Whitman wrote this. The Union participants were led by General Joe Hooker, the South by General Lee and Stonewall Jackson. This was the battle, in fact, that dealt Jackson the wound that would eventually kill him on May 10. The battle began on April 30 and ended on May 6 with a victorious South. Judging by the date this entry was written, Whitman is talking about the fighting of May 2 and 3. That matches the history, as it was May 2 when Jackson began his assault on the Union line.

Before I talk about the beginning of Whitman's entry, I need to layout a time line of events. It appears that Whitman saw the battle first-hand on May 2 and 3. His descriptions of the battle in the woods, the moonlight, the camp of the wounded, suggest an eye-witness account. It is definitely possible. However, I also think it is possible, perhaps even more so, that Whitman was relying on reports from the front and accounts of the wounded soldiers that were streamed into Washington immediately following the fighting.

In Stephen W. Sears's book, Chancellorsville, he notes that

The first Union wounded from the fighting on Friday and Saturday (May 1 & 2) reached Washington at nightfall on May 4. Walt Whitman watched from the wharf at the foot of Sixth Street. (pg. 410)

Whitman also mentions this in "The Wounded from Chancellorsville," which comes just before the entry Rorem chose to set. He says,

I was down among the first arrivals...You ought to see the scene of the wounded arriving at the landing here at the foot of Sixth street, at night. Two boat loads came about half-past seven last night.

This tells us two things. First, Whitman wrote "The Wounded from Chancellorsville" on May 5 (he only dates it "May '63"), and second, Whitman's attendance at the fighting on May 2 & 3 is questionable. It is possible he traveled the sixty miles back to Washington with the wounded as it was in 1863/'64 that he served as a visitor to the wounded in the hospitals. It is entirely plausible that he did some of that work as the soldiers were returned to Washington. It is also plausible that Whitman wrote "A Night Battle, Over a Week Since" as a compilation of reports from participants in the battle and official reports from the front. The biggest question that rises from this entry is, why did it take him over a week to write it when the report of the wounded streaming in was written the day after he witnessed the return of the soldiers?

Now to the text. The beginning of the entry details the battle. He describes troop movement, the breaking of the Union line by the South and Union's push back, and the times which these things occurred. He goes on to describe the battle of Saturday evening (May 2) that took place primarily in the woods. Overriding all of the mentions of cannon fire, battle cries and wounded soldiers is his description of the night, how the moon shone over all of this and how underneath all of this raging battle, nature was at peace. He washes the entire battlefield with moonlight which makes the horrific scene softer and somewhat dreamlike.

After this, he pivots to the "camps of the wounded," and this is where Rorem picks up. It is surely a grizzly depiction. He questions whether what he is witnessing (or hearing about) is even human, if the social fabric can take this sort of rending. Here too, he lays a layer of moonlight and serene nature underneath the brutal depictions of fatal wounds and unthinkable suffering.

When I read this I see two images. The first, Whitman or the speaker glides through the camps as if he is in a dream, bathed in moonlight. The other is one of a wounded soldier looking up at the moon which seems so close he feels as if he touch it. Thinking about those buoyant oceans soothes him as he wrestles with the pain.

It's the moonlight that strikes me the most in this entry. The descriptions of the wounds and suffering is indeed troubling, but the way he keeps going back to the moon and the starlight tells me that Whitman is struck by the calm present in this realm of chaos. It is, in fact, a distraction from the battle. It comes up in the middle of descriptions of fighting ("the many conflicts in the dark, those shadowy-tangled, flashing moonbeam'd woods--the writhing groups and squads"), he turns to it mid-paragraph ("And still again the moonlight pouring silvery soft its radiant patches over all"). He is always reinforcing the serenity of nature which serves as a backdrop to this macabre setting of blood and battle. It's an effective dichotomy that at once highlights the gruesomeness of this battle while also softening the blow (somewhat), casting a monochromatic silvery sheen over the charred woods, the bloody corpses, the Union's blue and the Confederate gray.

Themes and Variations

scott@scottguinn.com (Scott Guinn) — Tue, 01 Jun 2010 21:19:00 +0000

I hate themed recitals. To me, the singer is saying that he doesn't feel like the music can stand on its own. Now, a lot of people don't agree with me, and honestly, that's okay. Differences like that keep our business vibrant. After reading that, you might look at the title of this blog and think, "Well, gee, this is a blog about a themed recital." True, to a point. It was a challenge I thought a lot about, however, the poetry won out in the end.

The first performance of this recital is doing double duty as my graduate recital at the University of Tennessee. I started a masters at UT back in 2001 and left Knoxville in 2004 without finishing the degree. After I moved back to the area, I took a look at what credits I was lacking and decided to get in touch with the university to see if I could finish. Long story short, I was re-admitted. I had already been looking at music for a recital program and that research turned into research for my grad recital.

Academic recitals have a stigma of being somewhat staid in their set-up with the requisite groups in each of the main languages and the obligatory Baroque/early Classical piece at the beginning. Avoiding that prescription was priority number one; I wanted a program that would translate to the professional concert platform which meant it had to be interesting for the audience. To achieve this goal, I decided to build a program around the song literature of one language and/or one poet.

As I was doing some listening, I ran across Thomas Hampson's CD of songs set to Whitman's poetry and was moved by both the poetry and most of the settings. It was then that I decided I would build a program around Whitman's work, with this CD serving as the basis for my research.

The original plan was to lay out the different sets of the program to mirror the layout of the final edition of Leaves of Grass (LOG). That presented a couple of problems. First, the program was beginning to turn into a Ned Rorem program. As much as I enjoy Rorem's music, a whole program of his Whitman settings would not be an interesting evening for me or the audience. Second, not all of the groups in LOG had a poem that had been set to music. While I did want to commission one or two pieces for this recital, I would have had to commission many more to fill out a program. Finally, Drum Taps, Children of Adam, Calamus and the poems written about the end of life had much more material than the other sections making it a rather uneven program that looked like a reach in terms of making the idea for the set-up work. It began to feel like I was fitting the repertoire to the framework rather than the other way around.

So, I went back to square one. I knew I wanted to do a Whitman program, I wanted it to have some sort of structure, and I had two pieces that I absolutely wanted on the program: Rorem's War Scenes and William Neidlinger's "Memories of Lincoln". A few years ago I had performed Vaughan Williams's Dona nobis pacem. The poem that begins that piece is Whitman's "Reconciliation". Several years before that I had become acquainted with a piece by Richard Danielpour called American Requiem, which includes a haunting setting of the poem "Vigil". Apparently, the Drum Taps poems were resonating with me. In addition to this, I was drawn to Whitman's writing about male love, be it overtly homosexual or simply about male comradery in the middle nineteenth-century. This is how I came to the decision to divide the program in two with the first half showcasing the war poetry and the second half focusing on poems of friendship and love. With this set-up, I realized I was also able to make a small statement about two culturally relevant issues of the day: the cost of war and gay rights.

With the repertoire I've chosen, I think I've achieved a pleasing balance (to me, at least) between showcasing wonderful, interesting songs that stand on their own and a program fit around a theme, something that doesn't sit well with me. There is a definite frame in place, obviously. However, I feel like it is something that's dictated by the repertoire rather than repertoire chosen to fit the theme. It will definitely be a challenging project for me, and I believe that will translate into an interesting and challenging evening for the audience as well. In my opinion, that's a win-win! What do you think?

Welcome!

scott@scottguinn.com (Scott Guinn) — Sun, 30 May 2010 02:24:00 +0000

I've made a couple attempts at blogging, but this is the first time I'm doing it on a personal level. In October, I will perform a recital made of song settings of the poetry of Walt Whitman. I wanted to start this blog to chronicle the process of putting the recital together. I thought this being Whitman's birthday week, it was the perfect time to launch this blog and begin my public journey with this music and poetry.

I call this "The Year of Whitman" because it is a year from now that I hope to give the final presentation of this recital in New York as part of the celebration of the poet's birth. While that is still up in the air, I'm keeping it as a goal and my fingers crossed!

Obviously with a performance set for October, I have already decided on the songs that will appear on the program. One of the first posts I'll put up here will take you through my thoughts as I decided on the set-up of the program and which poems I would feature. Following that I hope to start with a discussion of the poetry, taking one poem a day and talking about my thoughts on the interpretation of the poem. Once I have worked through these poems, I'll approach the music and look at how my interpretation of the poem works with the composer's and how I'll look at resolving any differences. Throughout these discussions, I'll talk about other happenings related to the recital: venues, rehearsals, program adjustments, and other bumps and little victories along the way.

My hope is that this blog will serve as an outlet for me to get my thoughts out in the open while at the same time allowing a discussion of those thoughts with whomever wishes to offer a constructive piece of advice...if anyone actually reads along! Ultimately, I hope it will serve to promote some great American music and American poetry.