Sunday, 17 February 2008
Dusk
Because I can't find the words on the internet anywhere, (yes, wtf) the following is supposedly a poem by John Blight. In 2006, Dan Walker put them to music for 8 voices because the Sydney singers who love music paid him to, and titled it "Dusk". It is a wonderful piece of music, but for some reason I can't find any recordings of it either, which is a great pity.
Before the night,
at the last hour of dusk,
when minutes ("may be" | "are almost") counted in air,
no longer [as] points infinite [and] lost,
but grains of time like the last sand
falling in an hour glass,
I, list'ning by the sea
[I] have heard the snipe,
have heard all piping sea birds calling,
calling across the calm of waters
as a whisper[ed word] heard in a room,
heard [as clear] as softly falling.
Whose is the voice that calls all life at night?
Who calls at night?
The flocks gather, shadows crowd together,
a mingling of men around a light.
A comfort from the ring of faces
walling out the eternal night
when this life ends,
and we hear across the spaces
voices calling.
It is the spirit that calls,
calls each to each,
the annealing bond of sleep.
This is the hour of dusk and peace of mind.
Before the night,
at the last hour of dusk,
when minutes ("may be" | "are almost") counted in air,
no longer [as] points infinite [and] lost,
but grains of time like the last sand
falling in an hour glass,
I, list'ning by the sea
[I] have heard the snipe,
have heard all piping sea birds calling,
calling across the calm of waters
as a whisper[ed word] heard in a room,
heard [as clear] as softly falling.
Whose is the voice that calls all life at night?
Who calls at night?
The flocks gather, shadows crowd together,
a mingling of men around a light.
A comfort from the ring of faces
walling out the eternal night
when this life ends,
and we hear across the spaces
voices calling.
It is the spirit that calls,
calls each to each,
the annealing bond of sleep.
This is the hour of dusk and peace of mind.
