Simon Holt - Ballad of the Black Sorrow (1988) - Music Sales Classical

Simon Holt - Ballad of the Black Sorrow (1988) - Music Sales Classical

Simon Holt - Ballad of the Black Sorrow (1988) - Music Sales Classical

Ballad of the Black Sorrow is a setting of the Lorca poem of the same name and is dedicated to Rosemary Gent, Michael Vyner and Colin Perry in thanks for their support over recent years. Happy Birthday, London Sinfonietta. This piece is by way of a small present. I look forward to the future.

© Simon Holt

Romance of the black pen

The crows of the roosters
digging for the aurora, Soledad Montoya.
Yellow copper, its flesh, smells like horse and shadow.
Smoked Yunques, their breasts,
groan round songs.
"Soledad, who do you ask
without company and at this time?" "Ask for who asks,
tell me, what do you care?
I come to seek what I seek,
my joy and my person. "
" Loneliness of my sorrows, horse of my ruts
finally find the sea and I will swallow the waves. "
" Do not remind me of the sea
the black grief sprouts
the olive lands
under the rustle of leaves. "
" Loneliness, what a pity do you have! What a pitiful pity!

You weep lemon juice and sour waiting and mouth. "" What a great shame! I run into my house like crazy, my two braids on the floor, from the kitchen to the bedroom. What a pity! I'm getting jet-black meat and clothes. Oh, my thread shirts!
Ay, my poppy thighs! "
" Soledad: wash your body with water from the larks,
and leave your heart
in peace, Soledad Montoya. "

Down below sings the river:
sky and leaves flyer.
With pumpkin flowers,
the new light is crowned.
Oh pity the gypsies!
Feather clean and always alone.
Oh hidden runway penalty

remote dawn!

© Federico Garcia Lorca

English Translation by J.L. Gili

Ballad of the Black Sorrow

You weep drops of lemon sour with
Wanting and sour to the mouth.

'How great my sorrow! I pace my house like madwoman, my two
tresses trailing the floor, from the
Kitchen to the bedroom. What a sorrow! My flesh
clothes are turning black like jet. Ah, my linen shifts! Ah, my thighs of red poppy! '' 'Soledad: cleanse your body with water fresh skylarks, and leave
Your heart in peace, Soledad

Down beautiful the river sings: flounce
of sky and leaves. With pumpkin
flowers the new light crowns itself. Oh, sorrow of the gipsies! Pure
Sorrow and always solitary. Oh, sorrow of hidden course and distant

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