Vantage Point (2014) – ca. 10'
soprano, clarinet and harp
Premiere performance
Diana Newman, soprano, Andrew Sandwick, clarinet, and Charissa Barger, harp, at Boston Court in Pasadena, CA (May 9, 2014)
Diana Newman, soprano, Andrew Sandwick, clarinet, and Charissa Barger, harp, at Boston Court in Pasadena, CA (May 9, 2014)
Additional performances
Meredith Wohlgemuth, soprano, Phoebe Kuan, clarinet, and Deanna Cirielli, harp; coached by Dawn Upshaw (2022)
Meredith Wohlgemuth, soprano, Phoebe Kuan, clarinet, and Deanna Cirielli, harp; coached by Dawn Upshaw (2022)
PROGRAM NOTE
Lately I have become enamored with the microtonal inflections of Arabic folk music and the possibility of incorporating their encompassing scalar material in the context of western classical music. This idea works in tandem with Corinna Schroeder's poem, "Vantage Point," which tells the story of a woman yearning for her lover from her window during a call for prayer.
POEM by Corinna Schroeder
Each day an iteration of salt-wind
and song and this window frame
through which dawn comes,
flushing the sky. I find my own
cheek creased with sleep. I find
my body tangled in white sheets
and alone. Up here, surrounded
by the dark windows of concrete
high-rises, the unfinished shells
of buildings hoisted higher.
This city wakes full. And where are you? (Wa anta weinak?) [Arabic for “And where are you?”]
I see myself already in the hazy light
of noon at the window’s ledge,
the star-tops of palm trees exploding
below as the holy are summoned
again. I cannot leave this view,
in love with the hope of a horizon.
How many women have waited
for a figure to appear over a distant
lip, the sail of a ship? At noon, the sea
will lap its tongue against ten thousand
feet. At noon, through this window,
the sea will blend white with the sky.
Anything could appear, even you. (Embayen kilshe, hata inta.) [Arabic for “Anything could appear, even you”]
and song and this window frame
through which dawn comes,
flushing the sky. I find my own
cheek creased with sleep. I find
my body tangled in white sheets
and alone. Up here, surrounded
by the dark windows of concrete
high-rises, the unfinished shells
of buildings hoisted higher.
This city wakes full. And where are you? (Wa anta weinak?) [Arabic for “And where are you?”]
I see myself already in the hazy light
of noon at the window’s ledge,
the star-tops of palm trees exploding
below as the holy are summoned
again. I cannot leave this view,
in love with the hope of a horizon.
How many women have waited
for a figure to appear over a distant
lip, the sail of a ship? At noon, the sea
will lap its tongue against ten thousand
feet. At noon, through this window,
the sea will blend white with the sky.
Anything could appear, even you. (Embayen kilshe, hata inta.) [Arabic for “Anything could appear, even you”]