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Timothy C. Takach
Timothy C. Takach Publications
We Made a Grave For Him
A moving setting of a World War I poem. A repeated musical strophe is followed by a gentle wordless chorus.
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And Her Smoke Rose Up Forever
TTBB a cappella
This gentle lullaby is a moving, intimate ode to those lost in battle. Takach gives us music that is to be sung quietly, with one sharp, loud depiction of war. Although written as part of a two-song set, this piece easily stands on it’s own in concert. “We Made a Grave For Him” is a welcome addition to the male chorus canon of works about war.
Composer’s Notes
In 2007 I wrote a piece called “And Her Smoke Rose Up Forever” for Dr. William Skoog, who was then at Bowling Green State University in Ohio. The piece was a setting of Walt Whitman, combined with a portion of the Book of Revelation, sung in Latin. The piece is a big investment – close to 7’ long, TTTBB, many things happening at once in some parts. For a while, I wanted to set a Francis Ledwidge poem as a prequel to this piece – something short, homophonic, simple, that would set up the somewhat more complex content of “And Her Smoke…”
In early 2013, I was talking with Bill about his new group at Rhodes College called BealeCanto. They were planning a concert featuring works on texts by Whitman, and not only was he planning to perform “And Her Smoke Rose Up Forever,” but he was also wondering if I would be able to write something new for the group. I told him about this idea, sent him the text, and we were off.
These two pieces are meant to go together, but they can certainly be performed individually. If done together, try to perform them without applause after “We Made a Grave For Him,” with only a few moments in between.
– Timothy C. Takach
Text
Then in the lull of midnight, gentle arms
Lifted him slowly down the slopes of death,
Lest he should hear again the mad alarms
Of battle, dying moans, and painful breath.
And where the earth was soft for flowers we made
A grave for him that he might better rest.
So, Spring shall come and leave it sweet arrayed,
And there the lark shall turn her dewy nest.
– Francis Edward Ledwidge (1887-1917), Royal Inniskilling Fusiliers
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