"A Cloud in Trousers," Part Four
Musical Interlude, and Conclusion, Part 4, of Mayakovski's poem, "A Cloud In Trousers," for Orchestra, Chorus, and Solo Baritone. In Russian.
Composer for large-scale performance work, ballet and opera. Have written music for classical theatrical productions of Shakespeare, ("The Tempest," "The Twelft
Loren Lieberman is a native of Denver, Colorado, now living on the West Coast in California, where he is best known for his work as an actor in Classical and Shakespearean Theatre.
He has a degree from Sonoma State University in Theatre Arts, and has been an Honor's Music Composition Student at the College of Marin, Santa Rosa Junior College, and at Sonoma State University. He has won an award for composition from the Redwood Empire Music Association. He has recently completed an opera in Russian, based on the novel by Alexander Solzhenitsyn, "Cancer Ward", (and of the same name), and is currently working on his fourth opera, based on the Classical Tragedy by Sophocles, "Oedipus the King," with a libretto in Ancient Greek.
His interest in languages has shaped much of his artistic temperment, and he is self taught in Russian and Sanskrit, and has hopes to begin his next opera, Shakespeare's, "Romeo and Juliet," in Hindi.
Story behind the song
The composer continues to enjoy examining the literature and art of the early part of the last century, as a means to understanding the catastrophe and cataclysmic events called the "20th Century." Mayakovski isn't merely godless, or atheistic -- he openly mocks God, and pulls his beard. For me, my study of Mayakovski has helped to create the view, that, in the 20th Century, man wasn't trying to deny God -- rather, he and his systems of government, were occupied with creating man as God. "A Cloud In Trousers," is poetry possessed by demons. I mean that in a literal sense.
Poem by Vladimir Mayakovsky. Musical Interlude and Conclusion, (part four, of four parts). Composition for solo Baritone, orchestra and chorus, in Russian.
piccolo, two flutes, two oboes, two clarinets, bass clarinet, 2 bassoons, contra bassoon, 4 horns, 3 trumpets, two trombones, bass trombone, tuba, timpani, snare drum, bass drum, triangle, tambourine, chorus (SATB), solo baritone, violins 1 and 2, viola, cello, contra bass
My blogs at Myspace will have the poem posted in Russian.
Lyrics
This is Andrey Kneller's translation of Part 4, of Mayakovski's, "A Cloud In Trousers."
4.
Maria! Maria!
Let me in, Maria!
Dona€™t leave me out on the street!
You cana€™t?
My cheeks cave in,
But you wait ruthlessly.
Soon, sampled by everyone,
Stale and pallid,
Ia€™ll come out
And mumble toothlessly
That today Ia€™m
a€œRemarkably candid.a€
Maria,
You see--
My shoulders are drooping again.
In the streets, the men
Prick the fat in their four-story craws.
They show their eyes,
Worn out in the forty years of despair, and restless-
They snicker because
In my teeth,
Again,
I hold the hardened crust of last nighta€™s caresses.
The rain wept over the sidewalks, --
That puddle-imprisoned fraudster.
The corpse of the street, clobbered by cobbles, soaked in its cries.
But the gray lashes--
Yes! --
The eyelashes of icicles became frosted
With tears from the eyes--
Yes! --
From the drainpipesa€™ overcast eyes.
Every pedestrian was licked by the raina€™s snout:
Athletes glistened in the carriages on the street.
People burst
Overstuffed,
And their fat oozed out.
Like a muddy river, it streamed on the ground,
Together with juices from
A cud of old meat.
Maria!
How can I fit a tender word into bulging ears?
A bird
Sings for alms
With a hungry voice
Rather well,
But I am a man,
Maria,
Coughed up by the ailing night into Presnyaa€™s filthy palms.
Maria, do you want me?
Maria, take me in, please.
With shivering fingers Ia€™ll squeeze the iron throat of the bell!
Maria!
The pastures of streets turn wild and loud!
Theya€™re squeezing my neck and Ia€™m almost collapsing.
Open!
Ia€™m hurt!
Look - my eyes are pricked out
By the common womanly hatpins!
Youa€™ve opened the door.
My child!
Oh, dona€™t be alarmed!
You see these women,
Hanging on my neck like mountains, --
Through life, I drag with me
A million of massive, enormous, pure loves
And a million millions of filthy, disgusting lovelets.
Dona€™t be afraid
If betraying the vow
Of honesty,
Seeing a thousand pretty faces, Ia€™ll throw myself at them, --
a€œThose, who love Mayakovsky!a€-
Please, understand that that is the dynasty
Of the queens, who have mounted the heart of a madman.
Maria, closer!
Whether naked and shameless,
Or shivering in dismay,
Yield the wonder of your lips, so gentle:
My heart and I have never lived until May,
But in my past,
A hundreds of Aprils assembled.
Maria!
A poet sings praises to Tiana all day,
But I--
Ia€™m made of flesh,
Ia€™m a man, --
I ask for your body,
Like the Christians pray:
a€œGive us this day
Our daily bread.a€
Maria, give it to me!
Maria!
I fear to forget your name
As a poet fears to forget under pressure
A word
He conceived in a restless night,
Equal to God in effect.
Your body
I shall continue to love and treasure
As a soldier
Amputated by war,
Alone
And unwanted,
Cherishes his remaining leg.
Maria, --
You wona€™t have me?
You wona€™t!
Ha!
Then gloomy and dismal,
Once more,
I shall carry
My tear-stained heart
Forward,
Like a dog,
Limping,
Carries the paw
That the speeding train had ran over.
With the blood from the heart I cheer the road that I roam,
Flowers cling to my jacket, making it dusty,
The sun will dance a thousand times round the earth,
Like Salome
Danced around the head of the Baptist.
And when my years, at their very end,
Will finish their dance and wrinkle,
A million bloodstains will spread
The path to my Fathera€™s kingdom.
Ia€™ll climb out
Filthy (sleeping in gullies all night),
And into his ears, Ia€™ll whisper
While I stand
At his side:
a€œMister God, listen!
Isna€™t it tedious
To dip your generous eyes into clouds
Every day, every evening?
Leta€™s, instead,
Start a festive merry-go-round
On the tree of knowledge of good and evil!
Omnipresent, youa€™ll be all around us!
From the wine, all the fun wil
