What I like about Cavafy’s poems \u2014 and, specifically, Daniel Mendelsohn’s translations of them, is the sense of enormous distance between objects. I feel like the lines work well right next to each other as well as with enormous space between them. On Daniel’s suggestion, I set a pair of poems which are versions of one another; Voices is a refinement of the previously unpublished Sweet Voices. So the music, too, undergoes a process of refinement, and the third setting is a much faster, much more concise version of the first. The second section, Hours of Melancholy, employs a drone in some of the strings, while others interrupt and object to the voice. I love the self-effacing lines, “Mankind lauds the happy. And poets false extol them.” I set these lines in a sort of sarcastic, folksy way. I also wanted to take advantage of what I like to call Jennifer Zetlan’s athletic expressive power: she works well with quick text as well as slow, which is a special gift.<\/p>\n
\u2013Nico Muhly<\/p>\n
Sweet Voices<\/strong> In dreams the melancholic voices come, Melodious voices sigh; and in the soul Hours of Melancholy<\/strong> In breezes I hear sighing. Mankind lauds the happy. Voices<\/strong> Sometimes in our dreams they speak to us; And with their sound for a moment there return sounds from the first poetry of our life\u2013 \u2014C. P. Cavafy, trans. Daniel Mendelsohn<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" What I like about Cavafy’s poems \u2014 and, specifically, Daniel Mendelsohn’s translations of them, is the sense of enormous distance between objects. I feel like the lines work well right next to each other as well as with enormous space between them. On Daniel’s suggestion, I set a pair of poems which are versions of […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":26,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[4,15,8],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/nicomuhly.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3860"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/nicomuhly.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/nicomuhly.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nicomuhly.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/26"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nicomuhly.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=3860"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/nicomuhly.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3860\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3865,"href":"https:\/\/nicomuhly.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3860\/revisions\/3865"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/nicomuhly.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3860"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nicomuhly.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=3860"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nicomuhly.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=3860"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nThose voices are the sweeter which have fallen
\nforever silent, mournfully
\nresounding only in the heart that sorrows.<\/p>\n
\ntimorous and humble,
\nand bring before our feeble memory
\nthe precious dead, whom the cold cold earth
\nconceals; for whom the mirthful
\ndaybreak never shines, nor springtimes blossom.<\/p>\n
\nour life\u2019s first poetry
\nsounds\u2013like music, in the night, that\u2019s far away.<\/p>\n
\nThe happy sully Nature.
\nThe earth\u2019s a realm of grief.
\nThe dawn weeps tears of unknown woe.
\nThe orphaned evenings, pallid, grieve.
\nAnd the soul that is elect sings mournfully.<\/p>\n
\nIn violets I see blame.
\nI feel the rose\u2019s painful life;
\nthe meadows filled with cryptic woe.
\nAnd in the woodland thick a sobbing sounds.<\/p>\n
\nAnd poets false extol them.
\nBut Nature\u2019s gates are closed to those
\nwho, heartless and indifferent, laugh,
\nlaugh: strangers in a miserable land.<\/p>\n
\nImagined voices, and beloved too,
\nof those who died, or of those who
\nare lost unto us like the dead.<\/p>\n
\nsometimes in its thought the mind will hear them.<\/p>\n
\nlike music, in the night, far off, that fades away.<\/p>\n