Music in the Margins

Lost in the margins
of my own story
and among the symbols
from your divine eye,
what shall become of me?

Seemingly between worlds,
by halves and sevens,
guided by feathers and stones,
sands from time’s shores
and infinite music,
this is where I breathe.

The music calls me,
beckoning me to hear,
then to follow the traces
of your flowing presence,
the song of my soul.

© 2012 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

This Business of Poetry, Part 6: Trial and Error, Blank Pages and Failures

So, now, we get on to the writing.

To the writing.

Writing.

And there is all this yawning space on the blank page or screen.

Waiting for you to write.

To write.

Write.

And that, in a nutshell, is all there is to it! (She says, with a false breeziness.)

Writing.

To write.

What that means is that you have to take what has been on your mind, in your mind, over your heart and between your ears, and the silent music that is there must form words that become a music that can be transcribed from your mind to the silence of the page or the screen—for what we are talking about is silent music that moves mysteriously into different silent venues before taking flight as sound. What you may be doing is a kind of translation from the music of your mind into the speech that you have been trained to use and understand.

Easy?

HA!

Here is an example of an idea I had that has never quite made it to completion. This past November, I got an idea. The idea was the title (this happens from time to time), and the development was supposed clarify my idea artfully. HA!

--* White Out *--

That was the idea. I was clear about what I was trying to achieve. The problem was, all I had was the title. The rest of the words were not finding a pathway onto the page.

I had, I suppose, a certain expectation that now that I had the idea and the clarity, the words would pour out. But they didn’t.

[I will digress for a moment to talk about the revelatory experience that can be an aspect of writing. This is an aspect that cannot be taken for granted. It is an aspect that cannot be overlooked. If you believe in something we will call, for the sake of discussion, “Divine Creation” and that life is somehow an integral weaving of communicative energies, then it can only seem natural that, if nothing else, your writing is a “note to self” of a sort.

I have done some work that I felt sure I had conceived and crafted, only to read it later be astonished at what bounced off the page at me. What I am saying is that the messages that bounce off the page can frequently be other than what you thought you were meticulously crafted. Be prepared for this. Be prepared to be amazed.

On the other hand, be prepared for this to be an unusual circumstance.]

So, the words weren’t pouring out, and I thought, gee, I guess I should make the words happen. So, I began…

“White Out” – Draft Notes

white flakes, snow moon

purify widening circles

like waves, rings

cause the negative cast

to surrender shadow to void

wideness of truth

“White Out” – Draft 1

If light is as easy as breath,
and liquid as the sea of stars
shining over the south seas,
then I can believe light wills
its journey to  fill the darkness

to white out and thus

cause each negative cast

surrender its shadowy mantle
for the wider array of truth.

If light is as easy as breath,

wrapped in the mantle of light

we shall be blind  to differences,

keener to our similar roles,

being, as we would, all of us,

points of light, pointing to one light

Light reaches out from a sea of stars…

…

    …

        …

 UGH!

No, this was not flowing. It was not feeling good. When you feel like what you are doing isn’t working, it is best to move on and come back to it.

(sigh)

So, I came back to it several days later. This time, I was armed with an epigraph that I thought might be helpful in channeling the proper words onto the page.

“White Out” – Draft 2 Notes

Epigraph: John 1:51

And he said to him, “Very truly, I tell you, you will see heaven opened and the angels of God ascending and descending…”

“White Out” – Draft 2

One star,

one light;

one night

gives flight

to possibility.

Sparks fly,

moons sigh,
singing tales

of probable fails.

Positives shout:
white out
instances
of differences
to abiligility.  [yes, this is a neologism…]

Star lighting,
fly sighing,
shout outing
among any snowy shores…

…

    …

        …

(sigh)

No. It was just not happening, so I abandoned that draft.

I came back later.

“White Out” – Draft 3 Notes

What if an angel came in answer to a prayer? – refigure the piece as a question.

“White Out” – Draft 3

Moonlight frames her
as she scans the field.
Her visibility perturbs her not

[and then I remember a similar line in a Wilfred Owen poem,
            which disturbs me, but I keep going…]

--shameless self-promotion
is neither desired nor needed needed nor desired;
she is well-known,
if little understood—

outstanding in her field…

…

   …

      …

I now realize that I am writing about an owl. I ended up writing two poems called Night and Day from that material.

[So here is where I mention, casually, that everything you put down could actually end up being used and part of a completed poem someday, with patience and perseverance. So don’t tear the sheets of paper up and ball them up. Nothing need go to waste.]

I set “White Out” aside for a number of weeks.

In the meanwhile, my notebook records meeting minutes, grocery lists, calendar items and drafts of other poems that are now complete.

I return to my “White Out” – Draft 3 Notes,  thinking I can begin again.

(What if an angel came in answer to a prayer? – refigure the piece as a question.)

“White Out” – Draft 4

Complete white out
is what we need.

Answer our prayer,
if you dare,

Dear Angel,
do this deed;
prove wrong
the naysayer,
and all who clutch at doubt.

I feel you heed
by warmth of music,
and then you fall—
a daystar into the sea.

Your ribbon of flame
freezes the waters to ice,
reflection which blinds
as surely as viewing the sun
or sighting burning bush.

In white out,
deprived…

…

   …

       …

no. No. NO!  That’s not it.

(sigh)

Have I finished “White Out”? No. I have hopes.

Meanwhile, I have written a number of essays and other poems, have premiered a new piece of music, as wells as published some short interviews and a chapbook.  And I keep observing and reading and thinking.

You do what you do and the branches of the tree eventually bear fruit. Some of the fruit is easier to bring forth, but that is only normal.

Keep on writing!

----

Next time: Flow, Wherein the words flow onto the page

All Our Musical Offerings

Last evening’s Sanford Dole Ensemble concert of “All New – All Local” music was a wonderful experience, on many levels. Obviously, it was the culmination of a few weeks of intense individual music-learning, punctuated by a few rehearsals, not to mention life—the coming together of all the vital ingredients and the fruition of them as a live musical offering.

I cannot completely speak for composer Michael Kaulkin, but I do know that he was very pleased with the first outing of his piece, “Waiting…”

For myself, I can say that it was a much more emotional experience than I imagined it would be. The poetry that was set in “Waiting…” had been given birth long ago. Now, in the hands of someone else, the texts have taken on a new, and perhaps, more fascinating life beyond the page—a life, in fact, that I could never have imagined for them. They now occupy a sonic landscape that is to some extent beyond even the composer’s control. Being one of many performers in this premier was a very precious and beautiful experience for me.

Before the presentation of the piece, both Michael and I were asked to say a little something about how it came to be. I cannot remember everything I said—I confess to feeling extremely awkward when asked to speak extemporaneously—but here are the few things I do remember saying:

This was a collaboration done almost entirely by email—an interesting and unexpected (for me) way to collaborate. Michael had certain ideas for mood and color that I tried to match with material culled from my poetic diary. The pieces he selected were from a time period spanning twelve to thirteen years, and there were a lot of words to set! The challenge was to find a piece that had driving momentum. My work, being as it is a diary, frequently contains snapshots of static moments or moments whose time I attempt to stretch beyond a moment. Michael did find the piece that had the driving momentum he wanted, and around that, he framed the other texts.

Michael and I agreed that “meaning” would not be part of any “collaborative discussion.” As I said to the assemblage of audience and performers last night, “Yes, this piece may mean something specific to me, it may mean something specific to Michael, and to each of us on the stage—but once we put it together as a package and offer it to you, it’s yours!” What it might mean to us doesn’t matter, at that point; all that matters is what it means to you.

The enthusiastic audience response to Michael’s piece was thrilling behold.

Kudos to you, Michael, for creating this beautiful piece of music.

Thank you, Sanford Dole, for introducing me to Michael, and for programming “Waiting…” And thank you to all my colleagues in this lovely adventure: Pamela Sebastian, Ann Moss, Heidi Moss, Helene Zindarsian, Linda Liebschutz, Sally Mouzon, Heidi Waterman, Alan Cochran, Kevin Baum, John Davey-Hatcher, David Meissner, Dale Engle, Paul Thompson, Steven Rogino, Gregory Whitfield, Steven Bailey, Richard Riccardi, Mckenzie Camp, Matt Dodson, Michell Maruyama, Emanuela Nikiforova, Jason Pyszhkowski and Rachel Turner Houk. Thanks to composers Michael Kaulkin, David Conte, Peter Scott Lewis and Sanford Dole for creating new, beautiful and challenging works for us to perform.

And our deepest appreciation goes to you, the concert-goers!

All our musical offerings are for you!

Interview with composer Michael Kaulkin

Sanford Dole Ensemble presents:
"All New - All Local"
Saturday, February 4, 2012 at 8:00pm
San Francisco Conservatory Recital Hall
50 Oak St., San Francisco

I had so much fun talking with composer Michael Kaulkin last week about creative process that I thought I would ask him a few more questions, as we continue to prepare for the premier (on February 4th) of Michael Kaulkin's new choral work entitled "Waiting...".

EE: So, Michael, I have to say that my husband, a singer/songwriter, constantly has music going through his mind—kind of like an onboard radio station playing anything you want (and sometimes things you don’t want, but they get stuck there, anyway). I know other people who have that onboard radio. Do you have that? And does it help or hinder your process when working on a composition?

MK: I never thought about it, but I guess I do have that onboard radio station as well, although it doesn't play anything I want. It's more like Pandora than Spotify, in that sense ;). It just... plays. Sometimes it's related to what I'm working on, but the repertoire is pretty ecclectic and can include anything from Mozart to Ravel to Tom Waits to Hungarian folk songs. If I'm working on something, it actually can help a little. I'm able to work the material in my head and maybe get some new ideas, say, if I'm stuck in traffic or something. The big question is always whether I'll retain it later!

EE: I completely understand that dilemma. I find myself writing cryptic notes to myself on any piece of paper at hand, one hand on the wheel, both eyes on the road. Sometimes it is possible to make out these hen scratches afterward, but not often!

Whenever creative people are interviewed, the question always comes up about “major influences” to the person’s work. Can you name for us your top 3 musical influences (could be other composers or mentors)? And would you briefly comment on what you “got” from that person that you use all the time in your work?

MK: Well, the very top of the list is hands-down Stephen Sondheim. He's who I wanted to be when I grew up (and still do, to an extent). He was the first model I could grab onto when I was a kid, and first figuring out that I wanted to compose. I have made several forays into musical theater, and his influence on me is clear in my music for those piece (for which I've written lyrics as well). More interesting, though, is his influence on my concert work, where it's less obvious but very much there, in my mind at least.

Specifically, with regard to "Waiting...", for starters, there's an over-arching theatricality to my strategy around assembling your poems. This is hard to explain, but I tried to build a drama, with no particular narrative, if that makes any sense. It has a sense of direction that's more based on the rules of playwriting than musical form. There's a protagonist, conflict, denouement, resolution, etc.

But, the musical language itself is also closely related to Sondheim's, even if it's in a way only obvious to me. One concrete example I can give you is, after the introduction (your poem "More things", where the "waiting" refrain occurs for the first time (from your poem "Come again"), the atmosphere comes from my thinking: "suppose this were the opening of a Sondheim musical". I had the score of Pacific Overtures out when I was working on that, and I think that's a clear influence.

When I went to college and became more steeped in the "classical" music world, I moved on somewhat and absorbed a great many other influences. I think Ravel would have to be at the top of the list. His combination of a very beautiful musical language with enormous wit and resourcefulness seems to have never failed, and I'm in awe of that. I feel similarly about Bartók, who was an utter genius. (Of course, my taste is skewed by having lived for three years in Hungary, where the ghost of Bartók is everywhere.)

Finally, you mention mentors. The man who led the choruses and taught musicianship at the University of the Arts in Philadelphia, where I was an undergraduate composition major, Seán Deibler, was a colossal influence on me in many ways—and not just me. In the course of four years, I sang with him in two college choruses and the symphonic chorus he directed, where, incidentally, I had the opportunity to sing many choral masterpieces with the Philadelphia Orchestra. His enthusiasm for choral music rubbed off on many of us, and I have him to thank for my ongoing interest in writing choral music. He was also responsible for my interest in going to Hungary, where I ended up studying for three years at the Franz Liszt Academy in Budapest. He had studied there himself, and was something of a pioneer in the 1970's bringing the then little-known Kodály Method of music education to schools here. So, he was a big influence on my teaching career as well.

EE:I am not at all surprised to hear that Sondheim has provided inspiration. In fact, during our interview last week, I spoke to what I perceived to be a difficulty in setting non-lyrical, sometimes freeform text. I almost mentioned Sondheim as an example of someone who has made a career out of doing just this, and there are others, as well.

God bless Mr. Deibler for passing on a love of choral exploration to new generations of composers!

Ravel and Bartók… mmm… I readily connect the evocative nature of each of these composers’ styles to the work I have heard on your website, as well as my experience in preparing to perform "Waiting…" I feel more of Bartók’s influence throughout the orchestration in this piece. I have to say, the primary melodic motive in "Waiting…" is frequently quite haunting, or perhaps better described as extremely internal. So, this leads me to ask how you get the melodies/motives you use in your work (whether vocal or purely instrumental). On what do you pin your motives? Do you hear the motives with particular instruments in mind?

MK: The answer to that varies so much from piece to piece. In a choral (or any vocal) piece, it comes directly from the text. In musical theater, it can come from characters. In "Waiting...", for example, you'll notice that that word "waiting" is almost always heard as a descending minor third or perfect fourth. This originated with the first section (mentioned above), and it was always there for me to grab onto whenever I needed it. I wonder if you and others ever noticed that motive returning for the word "onward!" at the end of "Spiraling".

Sometimes, an idea that seems to have no particular significance seems to decide for itself that it's going to be a key motive, and I just go with it. I can't think of a specific case of this in "Waiting...",but in my previous piece, for string quartet, some of the most important, dominant material came about this way!

EE: Yes, I did notice the motive with the word “onward”, and that sequence seems rather similar to the sequences on the word “waiting”, earlier in the piece. I also notice it cropping up in the strings, particularly the rich cello line following “onward”.

We’re running out of time again! But I just have to squeeze in one more sort of whimsical question.

I have had, on occasion dreamt that I was speaking poetry. Most of the time, I could not remember, on waking, anything I said. One time, however, I was able to remember the first part of it, and then write a completion to the piece! Another composer I know wrote of having dreamed music that he tried to write down on waking, only to be disappointed at its incoherence. Have you have ever dreamed music? And were you able to remember the dream music long enough to write it down when you woke up? If so, how did that “dream work” come out?

MK: No, definitely not. I've heard of this happening, but not for me. As I said in our last chat, it's all trial and error and a lot of sweat!

EE: A good, honest, solid answer! That type of thing happened for me only the one time.

Well, our time is up. Thanks so much, Michael, for breaking away from your work to speak to these, some of them quirky, questions. And I want you to know that my colleagues and I are really looking forward to the concert on Saturday, where everything will come together. This piece has been delightful to explore. I feel privileged to be part of the Ensemble as we bring your piece forward for its first hearing! See you Saturday evening!

---

Our previous discussion of creative process can be seen at last week's blog entry.