Did you ask dulcet rhymes from me?
Did you seek the civilian’s peaceful and languishing rhymes?
Did you find what I sang erewhile so hard to follow?
Why I was not singing erewhile for you to follow, to understand—nor am I now;
(I have been born of the same as the war was born;
The drum-corps’ harsh rattle is to me sweet music—I love well the martial dirge,
With slow wail, and convulsive throb, leading the officer’s funeral:)
—What to such as you, anyhow, such a poet as I?—therefore leave my works,
And go lull yourself with what you can understand—and with piano-tunes;
For I lull nobody—and you will never understand me.
— Walt Whitman
At our Triad rehearsal last night, we read It Might Happen Today for the first time. It was at the very end of the rehearsal (so, somewhere in the area of 9:15 PM), the interlocking rhythms required unflagging concentration, and we were joined by two new members in the tenor section. So, on one hand, everyone was probably too information-overloaded and/or too spent, to offer any remark on the music itself; on the other, we sang only slightly under tempo, and pretty much forged our way straight through, with only one stop-and-restart. The composer is well content.
This evening, Peter & I have a short rehearsal with Considering my Bliss Options. The piece itself is short, so we can have quite an intensive and productive session, and nevertheless be done in perhaps under an hour.
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