Poem by Joan Wolf Prefontaine, "Why I Pity the Woman Who Never Spills".
A gutsy, sensual blues setting of Joan Wolf Prefontaine's poem in praise of messy women. Opening with waves of "spilling" words - spill, splatter, spot, spree, dribble, drabble, oozle - this piece is a rambunctious journey through a world of vocal inflections and joie de vivre, to be sung with nuance and abandon. Commissioned by Cornell University Women's Chorus.
Commissioned by Cornell University Women's Chorus; Scott Tucker, conductor (Ithaca, NY) Commissioned as part of the "No Whining, No Flowers" Commissioning Project
Text: For she misses the luxury of dribbling marinara sauce on white silk, of merlot falling at uproarious dinner parties onto beige lace tablecloths, picnics where mustard, baked beans, toasted marshmallows and melted chocolate all leave their winsome, gregarious stains on Levis and lips. For she misses the thrill and mess of it all: hands infatuated with bread dough, logic blemished all day with sly innuendoes and double entendres, the child in the lap with the histrionic green lime popsicle kiss, the kettle with its secret military spices longing in its heart of heart to spill the beans, mangos eaten au natural in bathtubs, sweet-talking, profane juices softening the millstones and milestones of the body, the plum's intemperate noddings in a neighbor's nonchalant field, tartness oozing like ink across obeisant fingers, strawberries, caught red-handed in golden-straw beds, falling upwards towards one's mouth - small, fierce advocates of sumptuous rendezvous. I say to her: Spill, Spurt, Squirt, Splash, Splatter, Spot, Spree, Sprinkle, Dribble, Drabble, Oozle, Offend, Transcend, Transude, Transgress, Transpire, Perspire, Percolate, Partake, Propagate, Create! Copyright by Joan Wolf Prefontaine. Reprinted by permission.
