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Timothy C. Takach
Timothy C. Takach Publications
And Her Smoke Rose Up Forever
An anchor piece for top men’s ensembles. A soldier’s experience in war is a catalyst for him to be a messenger of love and peace.
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We Made a Grave For Him
TTTBBB a cappella
This anchor piece is a gem from Timothy C. Takach, mixing texts from Whitman and the Book of Revelations. Moody, dark writing in the lower voices develops into a glorious climax, landing on “love, immortal love.” The piece stands alone, though it is conceived as the second of a 2-song set with “We Made a Grave For Him.”
Composer’s Notes
One can almost see Whitman in this poem, making his way through a battlefield, musing on the lives from both sides, lost in conflict. He decides that as an outcome of war he will become the voice and agent of love, promising to infuse his song with the love, lives, and memories of the lost soldiers. It was a pleasure to mix the texts from the Book of Revelations –adding a spiritual but not necessarily religious depth to the piece. The Latin text should be an accompaniment, and not interfere with the comprehension of the English text alongside it. There are a few breaks and abrupt transitions in the piece, but don’t feel the need to take too much time at these. The piece is long, and will have a better pace if these transitions are minimal (m. 37, 41, 56, 69, etc.).
– Timothy C. Takach
Text
Et mors ultra non erit, neque luctus, neque clamor, neque dolor erit ultra.
(And there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain.)
Ashes of soldiers South or North,
As I muse retrospective murmuring a chant in thought,
The war resumes, again to my sense your shapes,
And again the advance of the armies.
Noiseless as mists and vapors,
From their graves in the trenches ascending,
In wafted clouds, they come,
And silently gather round me.
Faces so pale with wondrous eyes, very dear, gather closer yet,
Draw close, but speak not.
Phantoms of countless lost,
Follow me ever — desert me not while I live.
Et iterum dixerunt: Alleluia.
(And again they said: Alleluia.)
Dearest comrades, all is over and long gone,
But love is not over — and what love, O comrades
Perfume from battlefields rising, up from the foetor arising.
Et fumus ejus ascendit in sæcula sæculorum.
(And her smoke rose up forever and ever.)
Perfume therefore my chant, O love, immortal love,
Give me to bathe the memories of all dead soldiers,
Et mors ultra non erit, neque luctus, neque clamor, neque dolor erit ultra.
(And there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain.)
Give me exhaustless, make me a fountain,
That I exhale love from me wherever I go,
For the ashes of all dead soldiers South or North.
Et iterum dixerunt: Alleluia. Et fumus ejus ascendit in sæcula sæculorum.
(And again they said, Alleluia. And her smoke rose up forever and ever.)
– Walt Whitman – Revelation 19:3, 21:4
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