FRANK STEMPER, COMPOSER
Evening, Milking (2005)
for voice and piano
poetry by Herbert Scott [7 min.]
The final song from the song cycle A LOVE IMAGINED (7 mins.)
Opus 52 — A.S.C.A.P. work I.D. 88683922
SCORE
Opus 52 — A.S.C.A.P. work I.D. 88683922
SCORE
NOTES
Evening, Milking (2005) is the final song from the song cycle A Love Imagined. You can read more about the song cycle and the poetry’s author, Herbert Scott, HERE. The piece is one of the simpler songs of the cycle of songs, which are quite virtuosic for both singer and especially pianist. It has been performed on its own several times. It seems to work quite well on its own, and, although it is not a sad song, it would especially apropos when performed in a ‘Celebration of Life’ (funeral) situation. For example, below is a performance of this song at the poet's funeral celebration of life.
Evening, Milking (2005) is the final song from the song cycle A Love Imagined. You can read more about the song cycle and the poetry’s author, Herbert Scott, HERE. The piece is one of the simpler songs of the cycle of songs, which are quite virtuosic for both singer and especially pianist. It has been performed on its own several times. It seems to work quite well on its own, and, although it is not a sad song, it would especially apropos when performed in a ‘Celebration of Life’ (funeral) situation. For example, below is a performance of this song at the poet's funeral celebration of life.
EVENING, MILKING
by
Herbert Scott
Each day redeemed by evening
The stammering sunset.
The moon in its rut of sky.
The mind is white wicker.
Cows, heavy with the business of milk,
nod home from the east pasture.
There is a moan that milk makes.
The clatter of hooves, the lovely cow eyes.
Thrown oats. The rasp of rough tongues.
My grandmother’s small hands.
It is true the earth cries out at dusk.
Its various voices.
by
Herbert Scott
Each day redeemed by evening
The stammering sunset.
The moon in its rut of sky.
The mind is white wicker.
Cows, heavy with the business of milk,
nod home from the east pasture.
There is a moan that milk makes.
The clatter of hooves, the lovely cow eyes.
Thrown oats. The rasp of rough tongues.
My grandmother’s small hands.
It is true the earth cries out at dusk.
Its various voices.