Music as Meditation: Mourning for Strangers

     In 1936 Paul Hindemith performed his composition TrauerMusik (Music for Mourning) to mark the death of King George V of England. Hindemith was in London to play another concert, but the King's death caused the authorities to cancel the concert planned. Hindemith spent the better part of a work day—from 11:00 AM to 5:00 PM crafting an 8-minute piece for the funeral. The piece ends with a Chorale Hindemith knew from Bach—what is often called Bach's “deathbed chorale.”

     It is safe to say that Paul Hindemith, an up-and-coming composer of the time, never met King George V personally. That remove did not stop him from writing lachrymose funeral music. The composer himself played solo viola in the piece's first performance. He wrote at length about the experience in a letter dated 23 January 1936, saying he "did some pretty hefty mourning." and that in the end the performance was "very moving.” 

     

     In our world full of violence and injustice on one hand and ubiquitous news on the other, I find frequent reasons to feel something like grief for strangers. November's Music as Meditation includes some music that comes from such feelings and some music that embraces the light that is always waiting for us on the other side of grief. Chris Nourse and I will play TrauerMusik and another piece from the repertoire of Paul Hindemith for viola and piano. Amy Berrier joins us to play a Vivaldi concerto for two violas. Amy and Chris will present a duo by Telemann. A piece by J.S. Bach, the final movement of my second piano sonata, and a poem complete the program. The poem arrived almost whole in my mind this morning, after an evening of practice and preparation. I print it here: 

Mourning for Strangers

If

we are all connected,

truly one,

simply imperfectly and temporarily differentiated inalienable motes of spirit and matter.

Then

It is nigh logical

this grief I feel for the world,

for the children forced to perform and conform,

for the grown-ups trapped by wanting,

for those who die a violent death

the news of which violence travels through the rest of us left

in shock-waves through ether.

It is right that in this time

as I watch myself and my fellows spin through days denying our very nature

that I find myself

mourning for strangers.

The End of Summer—The Beginning of the New Year

The Celts reckoned time differently than we do. They began counting the days of the year in the fall, when days are short and the nights long. This timing makes intuitive sense to me. The end of the summer—of the growing season—is the end of one cycle and the beginning of the earth's rest. Inevitably, this time of year induces reflection in me; I retrace steps, think about the possibilities of time to come, and evaluate where I am now. A lot of this reflection happens as I bring in the harvest—either while I'm standing still soaking up the last rays of warm sunshine or as I'm scurrying to and from from garden to root cellar ahead of an impending frost.

This year, when the warmth of the September sun turned to chill October rain, plans for the Music as Meditation program tracked the shift from light to dark in accordance with the season; light and dark music from regions of stillness and motion found its way onto the program at the impetus of some talented musicians who will share their gifts on Sunday. Doris Henney and Nancy Farris have been playing together to prepare a performance of Poulenc's flute sonata. This work is light and dark and still and moving; few musical pieces are lighter—but few are deeper.

The rest of the program continues the contrast of light and dark. Small pieces by Edvard Grieg, Béla Bartók, and J.S. Bach and Ellen Schwindt's improvisations weave through images and ideas for encouraging us to treasure the waning days of warmth left before the snow comes. One part of the program invites listeners to look as well as listen. I will be gathering some tokens of the changing season for our contemplation during one particular improvisation. I've been thinking of this kind of thing as participatory listening and I hope to hear from listeners how this practice plays for them. At the close of our time together, Nancy Farris will send us into the autumn evening with a virtuosic performance of Bach's Toccata and Fugue in d minor—that most famous of gifts J. S. Bach left for us all.

This Music as Meditation takes place at 5 PM at Christ Episcopal Church on the corner of Pine and Main Streets in North Conway. Admission is free. I hope to share this program with many of you.