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About the Composer
Martha Hill Duncan
Graphite Publishing
The Dustman
“There’s nothing out of No-man’s land so drowsy since the world began as 'Dustman, dustman, dustman!' “
2 voices, piano
With its haunting melodies and attractive call and response format, “The Dustman” is a real favorite among young singers. A comfortable vocal range, combined with a fair share of imitation and unison singing make it equally effective for choirs or vocal duet.
“The Dustman” was commissioned by Young Choristers Limestone and Director, Jan LeClair of Kingston, Ontario in 2001. The premier performance also featured a young dancer.
Composer’s Notes
My inspiration for Singing in the Northland began in 1998 when my daughter Claire was about twelve years old. Her voice teacher, Dr. Nadia Izbitskaya, lamented the lack of expressive contemporary vocal music for young singers and presented me with the challenge of writing for my own daughter. As a transplanted Texan, living in Canada, I decided to concentrate on Canadian poetry and the first song I wrote was “Quiet,” with poetry by Marjorie Pickthall. The others in the collection followed over the years as my daughter grew up and continued singing. This collection is dedicated to Claire for her patience, humour, insights and moreover, her beautiful and expressive voice.
Text
“Dustman, dustman!”
Through the deserted square he cries,
And babies put their rosy fists
Into their eyes.
There’s nothing out of No-man’s-land
So drowsy since the world began,
As “Dustman, dustman,
Dustman.”
He goes his village round at dusk
From door to door, from day to day;
And when the children hear his step
They stop their play.
“Dustman, dustman!”
Far up the street he is descried,
And soberly the twilight games
Are laid aside.
“Dustman, dustman!”
There, Drowsyhead, the old refrain,
“Dustman, dustman!”
It goes again.
Dustman, dustman
Hurry by and let me sleep.
When most I wish for you to come,
You always creep.
Dustman, dustman,
And when I want to play some more,
You never then are farther off
Than the next door.
“Dustman, dustman!”
He beckles down the echoing curb,
A step that neither hopes nor hates
Ever disturb.
“Dustman, dustman!”
He never varies from one pace,
And the monotony of time
Is in his face.
And some day, with more potent dust,
Brought from his home beyond the deep,
And gently scattered on our eyes,
We, too, shall sleep,–
Hearing the call we know so well
Fade softly out as it began,
“Dustman, dustman,
Dustman!”
– Bliss Carman, (1861-1929)
$3.50 per licensed PDF
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