Aux confins de l'Amérique, ep. 8: Mémoires d'une poésie
Un des poèmes préférés de Leonard Bernstein, un de mes modèles: What Lips My Lips Have Kissed, d' Edna St. Vincent Mc Millay. Quelques musiques que ce texte magnifique m'évoque, face auquel je me sentirais très honteux de faire la moindre présentation.
What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
Under my head till morning; but the rain
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh
Upon the glass and listen for reply,
And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain
For unremembered lads that not again
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.
Thus in the winter stands the lonely tree,
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,
Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:
I cannot say what loves have come and gone,
I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more.
-Leonard Bernstein, "What Lips My Lips Have Kissed" (Songfest):
-Neil Young, Like A Hurricane:
-Ludwig Van Beethoven, "Chant de reconnaissance", Quatuor n°15:
-Alban Berg, Acte 3 scène 4, Wozzeck:
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