MUSIC OF QUINCE (for Flute, Clarinet, Violin and Piano) by Dan Locklair

MUSIC OF QUINCE (A Tone Poem for Flute, Clarinet, Violin and Piano) was composed in 1981 in Binghamton, New York. Its creation was inspired by the Wallace Stevens poem, “Peter Quince at the Clavier” (which is reproduced below). First appearing in 1915 in “Others : A Magazine of the New Verse,” the poem is in four parts. MUSIC OF QUINCE, however, is played as a single movement. Varied sections occur throughout this one-movement fantasy (or, as I have chosen to call it, tone poem). The World Premiere of MUSIC OF QUINCE was given on 14 August 1984 by the Pittsburgh New Music Ensemble (David Stock, Music Director) at the Ives Center for American Music in New Milford, Connecticut.
This performance of MUSIC OF QUINCE (A Tone Poem for Flute, Clarinet, Violin and Piano) is by the Mallarmé Chamber Players (Anna Ludwig Wilson, flute; Kelly Burke, clarinet; Hsiao-Mei Ku, violin; Thomas Warburton, piano) from the recording, DAN LOCKLAIR: CHAMBER MUSIC on the Albany label (TROY 701-2) .(www.albanyreco...)
MUSIC OF QUINCE is published by Subito Music. (www.subitomusi...)
PETER QUINCE AT THE CLAVIER
by Wallace Stevens (1879-1955)
I
Just as my fingers on these keys
Make music, so the self-same sounds
On my spirit make a music, too.
Music is feeling, then, not sound;
And thus it is that what I feel,
Here in this room, desiring you,
Thinking of your blue-shadowed silk,
Is music. It is like the strain
Waked in the elders by Susanna;
Of a green evening, clear and warm,
She bathed in her still garden, while
The red-eyed elders, watching, felt
The basses of their beings throb
In witching chords, and their thin blood
Pulse pizzicati of Hosanna.
II
In the green water, clear and warm,
Susanna lay.
She searched
The torch of springs,
And found
Concealed, imaginings.
She sighed,
For so much melody.
Upon the bank, she stood
In the cool
Of spent emotions.
She felt, among the leaves,
The dew
Of old devotions.
She walked upon the grass,
Still quavering.
The winds were like her maids,
On timid feet,
Fetching her woven scarves,
Yet wavering.
A breath upon her hand
Muted the night.
She turned-
A cymbal crashed,
And roaring horns.
III
Soon, with a noise like tambourines,
Came her attendant Byzantines.
They wondered why Susanna cried
Against the elders by her side;
And as they whispered, the refrain
Was like a willow swept by rain.
Anon, their lamps' uplifted flame
Revealed Susanna and her shame.
And then, the simpering Byzantines
Fled, with a noise like tambourines.
IV
Beauty is momentary in the mind-
The fitful tracing of a portal;
But in the flesh it is immortal.
The body dies; the body's beauty lives.
So evenings die, in their green going,
A wave, interminably flowing.
So gardens die, their meek breath scenting
The cowl of winter, done repenting.
So maidens die, to the auroral
Celebration of a maiden's choral.
Susanna's music touched the bawdy strings
Of those white elders; but, escaping,
Left only Death's ironic scraping.
Now, in its immortality, it plays
On the clear viol of her memory,
And makes a constant sacrament of praise.

[@DHa-4u]

Dan Locklair's music is always soulful, whether it's choral, organ, or any genre. His musicianship is impeccable.