Mezzo-Soprano: Amelia Glikin
Piano: Benjamin Carter
There are few poets whose work has been engaged with by composers to the same extent Emily Dickinson has. Her poems are a treasure trove spanning the entire range of human emotions and experiences, and her inherently singable phrasings make setting her texts a rewarding and fulfilling venture. I selected four Dickinson poems spanning universal themes of hope, love, death, and spirituality because I wanted my song cycle to encompass as broad an emotional range of Dickinson’s work as possible. Arguably my favorite part of setting any text is the intellectual reckoning that must be taken to attempt to understand the author’s intentions as much as possible, and Dickinson’s work espouses a genius and nuance that I feel I am still reckoning with even after composing the song cycle. Dickinson is one of the greatest and most profound poets this world has ever seen, and I sincerely hope that her work will continue to receive the attention and respect it deserves, living on in every composition using her writing.
I. “Hope” is the thing with feathers
"Hope" is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -
And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard
And sore must be the storm -
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm -
I've heard it in the chillest land -
And on the strangest Sea -
Yet - never - in Extremity,
It asked a crumb - of me.
II. The Moon is distant from the Sea
The Moon is distant from the Sea -
And yet, with Amber Hands -
She leads Him - docile as a Boy -
Along appointed Sands -
He never misses a Degree -
Obedient to Her eye -
He comes just so far - toward the Town -
Just so far - goes away -
Oh, Signor, Thine, the Amber Hand -
And mine - the distant Sea
Obedient to the least command
Thine eye impose on me -
III. I felt a Funeral, in my Brain,
I felt a Funeral, in my Brain,
And Mourners to and fro
Kept treading - treading - till it seemed
That Sense was breaking through -
And when they all were seated,
A Service, like a Drum -
Kept beating - beating - till I thought
My mind was going numb -
And then I heard them lift a Box
And creak across my Soul
With those same Boots of Lead, again,
Then Space - began to toll,
As all the Heavens were a Bell,
And Being, but an Ear,
And I, and Silence, some strange Race,
Wrecked, solitary, here -
And then a Plank in Reason, broke,
And I dropped down, and down -
And hit a World, at every plunge,
And Finished knowing - then -
IV. This World is not Conclusion
This World is not Conclusion.
A Species stands beyond -
Invisible, as Music -
But positive, as Sound -
It beckons, and it baffles -
Philosophy, don't know -
And through a Riddle, at the last -
Sagacity, must go -
To guess it, puzzles scholars -
To gain it, Men have borne -
Contempt of Generations
And Crucifixion, shown -
Faith slips - and laughs, and rallies -
Blushes, if any see -
Plucks at a twig of Evidence -
And asks a Vane, the way -
Much gesture from the Pulpit -
Strong Hallelujahs roll -
Narcotics cannot still the Tooth
That nibbles at the soul -
-Emily Dickinson