music        news/events        bio        contact        recordings Songbook 1 1983 voice piano  18 songs to be performed together or in smaller sets TEXTS Christopher Boyce's Suicide Note My thoughts are a jumble. My emotions are bled white. I have become callous. I have been dancing on a razor. I close my eyes and I feel my falcon beating hard into the wind.  Christopher Boyce (b.1953) TWO LEVERTOV SONGS Song for Ishtar The moon is a sow and grunts in my throat Her great shining shines through me so the mud of my hollow gleams and breaks in silver bubbles  She is a sow and I a pig and a poet  When she opens her white lips to devour me I bite back and laughter rocks the moon  In the black of desire we rock and grunt, grunt and shine  Denise Levertov (1923–1997) The Sage The cat is eating the roses: that’s the way he is. Don’t stop him, don’t stop the world going round, that’s the way things are. The third of May was misty; fourth of May who knows. Sweep the rosemeat up, throw the bits out in the rain. He never eats every crumb, says the hearts are bitter. That’s the way he is, he knows the world and the weather.  Denise Levertov (1923–1997) Shortnin' Bread Mama's little baby loves shortnin', shortnin', Mama's little baby loves shortnin' bread THREE OLD FRENCH SONGS Chanson Bachique Chanter me fait bons vins et resjoir; Quant plus le boi et je plus le desir, Car li bons vins me fait souef dormir; Quant je nel boi, pour rien n'i dor mi roie, Au resveillier voientiers beveroie En bon vin a soulas ey grant deport Quant plus le boi et je plus m'i acort Car ar de bon vin peut on revivre mort; Religion s'i assent et atroie, Et le bon vin doit on boire à grant joie. Chançon va t'en, ou bon vin mant solus. Maint homme a fait tumer en la palus, Et maint en fait gesir la nuit bestus, Et maint en fait cheoir en belle voie. Bien met l'argent qui en bon vin l'emploie. Je sui Joliete Je sui joliete Sodete, plaisons, jeune pucelete; N'ai pas quinze ans; Point ma melete Selonc le tans; Si deüsse aprendre D'ormors, et entendre  Les semblons Deduisons.  Mais je sui mise en prison. De Dieu ait maleïçon Qui m'i mist!  Mai et vilanie Et pechié fist De tel pucelete rendre en abiete. Trop i mes fist, par ma foi; En religion vif en grant anoi, Dieus! car trop sui jonete.  Je sens les dous maus desous ma œinturete: Honi soit de Dieu qui me fist nonnete. A la cheminee A la cheminee Et frait mais de janvier, Vueil la char salee, Les chapons, gras mangier; Dame bien paree, Chanter renvoisier, C'est ce qui m'agree: Bon vin à remuer, Cler feu sans fumee, Les des et la tablier  Sans tencier. TWO STEVENS SONGS Life is Motion In Oklahoma, Bonnie and Josie, Dressed in calico, Danced around a stump. They cried, “Ohoyaho, Ohoo” . . . Celebrating the marriage Of flesh and air.  Wallace Stevens (1879–1955) Depression before Spring The cock crows But no queen rises. T he hair of my blonde Is dazzling, As the spittle of cows threading the wind.  Ho! Ho!  But ki-ki-ri-ki Brings no rou-cou, No rou-cou-cou.  But no queen comes In slipper green.  Wallace Stevens (1879–1955) On Chloris Walking in the Snow I saw fair Chloris walk alone,  Whilst feather'd rain came softly down,  And Jove descended from his tower  To court her in a silver shower.  The wanton snow flew on her breast  Like little birds unto their nest;  But overcome with whiteness there,  For grief it thaw'd into a tear;  Thence falling on her garment's hem,  To deck her, froze into a gem.  William Strode (1602-1645) THREE ARP SONGS On Your Back or On Your Stomach The day is flat at times. Try as you may you just can't get up. There is no room to soar. You're forced to remain flat on your back  or on your stomach flat as a sheet of paper in a writing pad.  Jean Arp (1887–1966) trans. Joachim Neugroschel Cook me a Thunderbolt Water the moon for me Brush the teeth of my ladders for me. Carry me in your flesh valise onto my bone roof. Cook me a thunderbolt. Clap the earthquakes into a cage for me and pick me a bouquet of lightning. Cut yourself into two and eat one of the halves. Ejaculate yourself into the air haughtier than the fountains of Versailles. Turn yourself roll yourself into a ball Be a ball with archaic laughter rolling around a pill. Stick out all your tongues at roses. Give your tongues to the gentle rhinoce roses Go stew yourself into a stew Toady yourself into a toad Append yourself as a signature under my letter.  Jean Arp (1887–1966) trans. Joachim Neugroschel The Master Nailer  When I arrive my friends drop everything and dash up to watch me nail. My hammer and I are one. I can only nail nails into a bread crumb But when I nail nails into a bread crumb I nail so well that my friends forget everything and are literally transported transfigured into pure welkin. Only gradually gradually do they reappear do they recover in running azure then in flesh and blood after I've stopped nailing my nails into a bread crumb  Jean Arp (1887–1966) trans. Joachim Neugroschel FIVE AMBO GHOST SONGS The Dove Stays in the Garden The dove stays in the garden Oh you dove Oh that dove  I Have No Rattles I have no rattles am shabby for the shades The Ghost is Gone in Rags The ghost is gone in rags The ghost is gone in rags And the ghost in rags The ghost is gone in rags See How it Circles See how it circles The airplane on its airdrome Ah! the Roofs Ah! the roofs She climbs the roofs The boy sleeps in the bush This is like a swing  anonymous (Zimbabwe) trans. Bronislaw Stefaniszyn Sweet Peg Oh, the month of May, the merry month of May, So frolic, so gay, and so green, so green, so green! O, and then did I unto my true love say, Sweet Peg, thou shalt be my Summer's Queen. Now the nightingale, the pretty nightingale, The sweetest singer in all the forest quire, Entreats thee, sweet Peggy, to hear thy true love's tale: Lo, yonder she sitteth, her breast against a brier. But O, I spy the cuckoo, the cuckoo, the cuckoo; See where she sitteth; come away, my joy: Come away, I prithee, I do not like the cuckoo Should sing where my Peggy and I kiss and toy. O, the month of May, the merry month of May, So frolic, so gay, and so green, so green, so green; And then did I unto my true love say, Sweet Peg, thou shalt be my Summer's Queen.  Thomas Dekker (1570-1632) Les colchiques The meadow is poisonous but pretty in autumn.  The cows that graze there are slowly poisoned. Meadow saffron, the colour of lilacs, and of shadows under the eyes,  Grows there, your eyes are like these flowers. Mauve as their shadows And mauve as this autumn,  And for your eyes' sake my life is slowly poisoned.  Children from school come with their commotion.  Dressed in smocks and playing the mouth organ Picking autumn crocuses which are like their mothers Daughters of their daughters and the colour of your eyelids which flutter like flowers in the mad breeze blown.  The cowherd sings softly to himself all alone  While slow moving, lowing,  The cows leave behind them forever this great meadow ill flowered by the autumn.  Guillaume Apollinaire (1880–1918) trans. Oliver Bernard