She Left
gurdonark
DFF_Sound_System use some great sounds and fx in the songs, which I put to a simple song of loss (though more and less, as it were, than a romantic loss.
I am delighted to have such fun source material with which to work. This piece was entirely created, from melody to fx to curious dissonances, from the Binary Bookends Samples.
“She Left” might be a wordless reply to
Emily Bronte’s poem about taking a perhaps different kind of leave, familiar with all who are creative. This poem is entitled simply “Stanza”:
Often rebuked, yet always back returning
To those first feelings that were born with me,
And leaving busy chase of wealth and learning
For idle dreams of things which cannot be:
Today, I will seek not the shadowy region;
Its unsustaining vastness waxes drear;
And visions rising, legion after legion,
Bring the unreal world too strangely near.
I’ll walk, but not in old heroic traces,
And not in paths of high morality,
And not among the half-distingusihed faces,
The clouded forms of long-past history.
I’ll walk where my own nature would be leading:
It vexes me to choose another guide:
Where the grey flocks in ferny glens are feeding;
Where the wild wind blows on the mountain side.
What have those lonely mountains worth revealing?
More glory and more grief than I can tell:
The earth that wakes one human heart to feeling
Can centre both the worlds of heaven and hell.
I am delighted to have such fun source material with which to work. This piece was entirely created, from melody to fx to curious dissonances, from the Binary Bookends Samples.
“She Left” might be a wordless reply to
Emily Bronte’s poem about taking a perhaps different kind of leave, familiar with all who are creative. This poem is entitled simply “Stanza”:
Often rebuked, yet always back returning
To those first feelings that were born with me,
And leaving busy chase of wealth and learning
For idle dreams of things which cannot be:
Today, I will seek not the shadowy region;
Its unsustaining vastness waxes drear;
And visions rising, legion after legion,
Bring the unreal world too strangely near.
I’ll walk, but not in old heroic traces,
And not in paths of high morality,
And not among the half-distingusihed faces,
The clouded forms of long-past history.
I’ll walk where my own nature would be leading:
It vexes me to choose another guide:
Where the grey flocks in ferny glens are feeding;
Where the wild wind blows on the mountain side.
What have those lonely mountains worth revealing?
More glory and more grief than I can tell:
The earth that wakes one human heart to feeling
Can centre both the worlds of heaven and hell.