Small Ensemble High Voice,Oboe,Piano Accompaniment - Level 5 - Digital Download SKU: A0.981218 Composed by Judith Cloud. Contemporary,Standards. Score and parts. 17 pages. Judith Cloud #6689693. Published by Judith Cloud (A0.981218). Composer’s Notes In my parents' library there was an assortment of very old books that I used to leaf through while home for holidays. One of these, The Ladies' Wreath, was of special interest. The inscription inside the front cover read To Miss Sophia Venable by her friend William M. Duphuy, April 25, 1850. Within the collection of romantic short stories and poems was The Poet's Pen from the Greek didactic poet Menecrates. Here was something very different from the overly sentimental offerings in most of the volume. I imagined the solitary lady reading this would feel most exhilarated and even empowered. Ideas for setting the poem came almost immediately, with the oboe as a key figure. Having experimented with a choral setting, I settled on tenor, oboe and piano and in 1989 the piece was completed. I revised The Poet’s Pen in 2016. The Poet's Pen I was a useless reed; no cluster hungMy brow with purple grapes; no blossom flungThe coronet of crimson on my stem;No apple blushed upon me, nor (the gemof flowers) the violet strewed the yellow heathAround my feet; nor jessamine's sweet wreathRobed me in silver: day and night I pinedOn the lone moor, and shivered in the wind.At length a poet found me. From my sideHe smoothed the pale and withered leaves, and dyedMy lips in Helicon. From that high hour,I spoke! my words were flame and living power!All the wide wonders of the earth were mine;Far as the surges roll, or sunbeams's shine;Deep as earth's bosom hides the emerald;High as the hills with thunder-clouds are palled;And there was sweetness round me, that the dewHad never wet so sweet on violets blue.To me the mighty scepter was a wand;The roar of nations pealed at my command.To me the dungeon, sword, and scourge were vain,I smote the smiter, and I broke the chain;Or, towering o'er them all, without a plumeI pierced the purple air, the tempest's gloom,Till blazed th'Olympian glories on my eye,Stars, temples, thrones and gods--infinity. Menecrates of Ephesus (330-270 BC)
