Get Flash to see this player.
Description
One of our last productions. Method is always the same, free and non planned improvisation of voice and piano, on a poetic text. We have chosen a lyric by E. Montale, italian poet, Nobel prize winner. This time we tried also to have different takes on the same text. This was the first take, listen also to the second take for comparison.
Leave a Comment
You must be registered and logged-in to comment.
Lyrics
Meriggiare pallido e assorto
presso un rovente muro d’orto,
ascoltare tra i pruni e gli sterpi
schiocchi di merli, frusci di serpi.
Nelle crepe del suolo o su la veccia
spiar le file di rosse formiche
ch’ora si rompono ed ora s’intrecciano
a sommo di minuscole biche.
Osservare tra frondi il palpitare
lontano di scaglie di mare
m entre si levano tremuli scricchi
di cicale dai calvi picchi.
E andando nel sole che abbaglia
sentire con triste meraviglia
com’è tutta la vita e il suo travaglio
in questo seguitare una muraglia
che ha in cima cocci aguzzi di bottiglia.
-----------
Noon thought-sick and pale
under the scorching garden wall,
to hear a snake scrape past, the blackbirds creak
in the dry thorn thicket, the brushwood brake.
Between tufts of vetch, in the cracks of the ground
to spy out the ants’ long lines of march;
now they reach the top of a crumb-sized mound,
the lines break, they stumble into a ditch.
To observe between the leaves the pulse
beneath the sea’s scaly skin,
while from the dry cliffs the cicada calls
like a knife on the grinder’s stone.
And going into the sun’s blaze
once more, to feel, with sad surprise
how all life and its battles
is in this walk alongside a wall
topped with sharp bits of glass from broken bottles.
presso un rovente muro d’orto,
ascoltare tra i pruni e gli sterpi
schiocchi di merli, frusci di serpi.
Nelle crepe del suolo o su la veccia
spiar le file di rosse formiche
ch’ora si rompono ed ora s’intrecciano
a sommo di minuscole biche.
Osservare tra frondi il palpitare
lontano di scaglie di mare
m entre si levano tremuli scricchi
di cicale dai calvi picchi.
E andando nel sole che abbaglia
sentire con triste meraviglia
com’è tutta la vita e il suo travaglio
in questo seguitare una muraglia
che ha in cima cocci aguzzi di bottiglia.
-----------
Noon thought-sick and pale
under the scorching garden wall,
to hear a snake scrape past, the blackbirds creak
in the dry thorn thicket, the brushwood brake.
Between tufts of vetch, in the cracks of the ground
to spy out the ants’ long lines of march;
now they reach the top of a crumb-sized mound,
the lines break, they stumble into a ditch.
To observe between the leaves the pulse
beneath the sea’s scaly skin,
while from the dry cliffs the cicada calls
like a knife on the grinder’s stone.
And going into the sun’s blaze
once more, to feel, with sad surprise
how all life and its battles
is in this walk alongside a wall
topped with sharp bits of glass from broken bottles.
Mystified
Piano, verse, freeform vocals.
Improvisation that blossoms and changes like shimmering sunlight on
rippling water.
Not only is it good practice, it's turned out quite lovely!
Beautiful playing, and sensitive singing.
The verse, too, is wonderful.
Fun to read the Italian as you sing. Thank you for posting both languages.
I really enjoyed this! :)