#britten 100

[ruhevoll]

O soft embalmer of the still midnight,

Shutting, with careful fingers and benign,

Our gloom‑pleas’d eyes, embower’d from the light,

Enshaded in forgetfulness divine:

O soothest Sleep! if so it please thee, close,

In midst of this thine hymn my willing eyes.

Or wait the “Amen” ere thy poppy throws

Around my bed its lulling charities.

Then save me, or the passèd day will shine

Upon my pillow, breeding many woes,

Save me from curious conscience, that still lords

Its strength for darkness, burrowing like a mole;

Turn the key deftly in the oilèd wards,

And seal the hushèd casket of my Soul.

John Keats (1795–1821)

[ruhevoll]

Benjamin Britten - Night Piece - performed by Alexej Gorlatch

[ruhevoll]

Actual tears.

[ruhevoll]

Britten Cello Suite no. 3

[metromarginalia]

And finally, a piece written for two of Britten's favorite collaborators: his partner Peter Pears and hornist Dennis Brain, both of whom are heard playing here. The work is Serenade for Tenor, Horn, and Strings op. 31, and this is the third movement, "Nocturne."

I don't have much to say about the work aside from mentioning that it's absolutely lovely and a perfect way to end the day of Britten. 

[sigmastolen]

[metromarginalia]

Britten's setting of John Donne's "Batter My Heart." This is a pretty good example of Britten's work for solo tenor and piano, and was originally written for his partner Peter Pears. This setting is a frenetic take on the poetry, in which the listener is literally battered with a slew of notes. 

It's interesting to contrast Britten's choices in setting the poem with those of John Adams, who used the text as the culminating aria of the first act of his opera Doctor Atomic. 

Adams lets us actually spend some time with the emotional turmoil expressed in the poem. It almost seems as if Adams is setting the meaning of the poetry while Britten sets the literal text.

[fyeahianbostridge]

Seven Sonnets of Michelangelo, Sonetto XXXVIII | Benjamin Britten, text by Michelangelo Buonarroti Ian Bostridge, tenor; Antonio Pappano, piano

Sonetto XXXVIII Rendete agli occhi miei, o fonte o fiume, l'onde della non vostra e salda vena. Che più v'innalza, e cresce, e con più lena che non è 'l vostro natural costume. E tu, folt'air, che 'l celeste lume tempri a' tristi occhi, de' sospir miei piena, rendigli al cor mio lasso e rasserena tua scura faccia al mio visivo acume. Renda la terra i passi alle mie piante, ch'ancor l'erba germogli che gli è tolta; e 'l suono Ecco, già sorda a' miei lamenti; gli sguardi agli occhi mie, tue luci santi, ch'io possa altra bellezza un'altra volta amar, po' che di ma non ti contenti.

Sonnet XXXVIII Give back to my eyes, you fountains and rivers, the waves of those strong currents that are not yours, which make you swell and grow with greater power than is your natural way. And thou, heavy air, that dims the heavenly light to my sad eyes, so full of my sighs art thou, give them back to my weary heart and lighten thy dark face to my eye's keen sight. Earth, give me back my footsteps that the grass may sprout again where it was trod; and Echo, yet deaf to my laments, give back thy sound; and you blest pupils give back to my eyes their glances; that I another time may love another beauty, since with me you are not satisfied.