Bateau ivre

Maurice Delage (13 novembre 1879 - 1961): Bateau ivre, poema sinfonico (1954) ispirato dall’omonima poesia di Arthur Rimbaud. Orchestre National de la RTF, dir. Manuel Rosenthal.

Et je voguais, lorsqu’à travers mes liens frêles
Des noyés descendaient dormir, à reculons !

Sette Pianeti

Gustav Holst (1874 - 1934): The Planets, suite per orchestra (1914-16). Royal Liverpool Philharmonic Orchestra & Chorus, dir. sir Charles Mackerras.

  1. Mars, the Bringer of War
  2. Venus, the Bringer of Peace
  3. Mercury, the Winged Messenger
  4. Jupiter, the Bringer of Jollity
  5. Saturn, the Bringer of Old Age
  6. Uranus, the Magician
  7. Neptune, the Mystic

Non è astronomia, è astrologia più mitologia 😉
Quale dei sette pianeti di Holst è il vostro preferito?


La Chasse fantastique

Ernest Guiraud (26 giugno 1837 - 1892): La Chasse fantastique, poema sinfonico (1887) ispirato dalla Légende du beau Pécopin et de la belle Bauldour (1842) di Victor Hugo. Louisville Orchestra, dir. Jorge Mester.
La composizione segue fedelmente la descrizione della caccia nel racconto di Hugo, un passo del quale è citato da Guiraud in esergo sulla partitura:

« Al suono del corno, la foresta s’illumina, nei recessi più remoti, di mille luci straordinarie, di ombre che passano nella boscaglia, di voci lontane che gridano: a caccia! La muta abbaia, i cavalli nitriscono, gli alberi fremono come scossi dal vento. »

La Belle Dame sans Merci – I

Sir Alexander Mackenzie (1847 - 28 aprile 1935): La Belle Dame sans Merci, ballata sinfonica op. 29 (1883) ispirata dall’omonima ballata di John Keats. Orchestra filarmonica di Malta, dir. Michael Laus.

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
  Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge has withered from the lake,
  And no birds sing.

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
  So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel’s granary is full,
  And the harvest’s done.

I see a lily on thy brow,
  With anguish moist and fever-dew,
And on thy cheeks a fading rose
  Fast withereth too.

I met a lady in the meads,
  Full beautiful — a faery’s child,
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
  And her eyes were wild.

I made a garland for her head,
  And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
She looked at me as she did love,
  And made sweet moan.

I set her on my pacing steed,
  And nothing else saw all day long,
For sidelong would she bend, and sing
  A faery’s song.

She found me roots of relish sweet,
  And honey wild, and manna-dew,
And sure in language strange she said —
  ‘I love thee true’.

She took me to her Elfin grot,
  And there she wept and sighed full sore,
And there I shut her wild wild eyes
  With kisses four.

And there she lullèd me asleep,
  And there I dreamed — Ah! woe betide! —
The latest dream I ever dreamt
  On the cold hill side.

I saw pale kings and princes too,
  Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
They cried — ‘La Belle Dame sans Merci
  Thee hath in thrall!’

I saw their starved lips in the gloam,
  With horrid warning gapèd wide,
And I awoke and found me here,
  On the cold hill’s side.

And this is why I sojourn here,
  Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is withered from the lake,
  And no birds sing.