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Five American Songs
1998
soprano
piano
duration 9'
first performance:
Kate Buchanan and Denette Whitter
Boston University Concert Hall / February 3, 1990
SCORE
Factory Windows are Always Broken
Anecdote of the Jar
American Primitive
Old Smoky
In a Parlor Containing a Table
RECORDING—Extension Works: Karol Bennett and Kathleen Supové
n.b. this is poor quality transfer from a cassette tape
TEXTS
Factory Windows are Always Broken
Factory windows are always broken.
Somebody's always throwing bricks,
Somebody's always heaving cinders,
Playing ugly Yahoo tricks.
Factory windows are always broken,
Other windows are left alone.
No one throws through the chapel-window
The bitter, snarling derisive stone.
Factory windows are always broken.
Something or other is going wrong.
Something is rotten—I think in Denmark.
End of the factory-window song.
Vachel Lindsay (1879–1931)
Anecdote of the Jar
I placed a jar in Tennessee,
And round it was, upon a hill.
It made the slovenly wilderness
Surround that hill.
The wilderness rose up to it,
And sprawled around, no longer wild.
The jar was round upon the ground
And tall and of a port in air
It took dominion everywhere.
The jar was gray and bare.
It did not give of bird or bush,
Like nothing else in Tennessee.
Wallace Stevens (1879–1955)
American Primitive
Look at him there in his stovepipe hat,
His high-top shoes, and his handsome collar;
Only my Daddy could look like that,
And I love my Daddy like he loves his Dollar.
The screen door bangs, and it sounds so funny—
There he is in a shower of gold;
His pockets are stuffed with folding money,
His lips are blue, and his hands feel cold.
He hangs in the hall by his black cravat,
The ladies faint, and the children holler:
Only my Daddy could look like that,
And I love my Daddy like he loves his Dollar.
William Jay Smith (b.1918)
Old Smoky
On top of Old Smoky,
all covered with snow,
here I lost my true lover
through a courting too slow.
Courting is a pleasure,
and parting is a grief,
but a false hearted lover
is worse than a thief.
A thief he will rob you
and take all you have,
but a false hearted lover
will send you to your grave.
The grave will decay you,
and turn you to dust,
not a boy in ten thousand
a poor girl can trust.
traditional (American)
In a Parlor Containing a Table
In a parlor containing a table
And three chairs, three men confided
Their inmost thoughts to one another.
I, said the first, am miserable.
I am miserable, the second said.
I think that for me the correct word
Is miserable, asserted the third.
Well, they said at last, it's quarter to two.
Good night. Cheer up. Sleep well.
You too. You too. You too.
Galway Kinnell (b.1927)