Canzone de Zampognari

Posting that Chieftains song yesterday reminded me that they did a second Christmas album that sounds not a thing like their first. Silent Night: A Christmas in Rome has a more classical, and Italian flavour to it-- though, of course, infused with a solidly Celtic vibe; sort of pan-Celtic, as there is a Breton carol on there, and some of the musical tones sound somewhat Galician to me. (Both of those are Celtic region in Mediterranean countries: France and Spain respectively).

I have decided to highlight a song from that album tonight, the Overture for the whole recording, but it is, properly speaking, merely a traditional Italian carol, set to orchestration. You are getting it for a couple reasons. The first is that it struck me that a carol outside of the Anglo/Germanic tradition might be nice for a chance. The second is that this particular tune is a special favourite of mine.* The words and melody were written by St. Alphonsus Liguori. When sung, the titles is Tu Scendi delle Stelle, but the tune is also strongly associated with Italian pipers, and so it is also known as Canzone de Zampognari-- or the Piper's Carol. This arrangement-- lushly orchestrated as it is-- makes room for the traditional bagpipes, and the Choir of the Basilica of S. Giovanni in Laterano give us the sung version, which run as follows:

1. Tu scendi dalle stelle,

O Re del Cielo,

e vieni in una grotta,

al freddo al gelo.

O Bambino mio Divino

Io ti vedo qui a tremar,

O Dio Beato

Ahi, quanto ti costò

l'avermi amato!

2. A te, che sei del mondo

il Creatore,

mancano panni e fuoco;

O mio Signore!

Caro eletto Pargoletto,

Quanto questa povertà

più mi innamora!

Giacché ti fece amor

povero ancora!

1. From starry skies descending,

Thou comest, glorious King,

A manger low Thy bed,

In winter's icy sting;

O my dearest Child most holy,

Shudd'ring, trembling in the cold!

Great God, Thou lovest me!

What suff'ring Thou didst bear,

That I near Thee might be!

2. Thou art the world's Creator,

God's own and true Word,

Yet here no robe, no fire

For Thee, Divine Lord.

Dearest, fairest, sweetest Infant,

Dire this state of poverty.

The more I care for Thee,

Since Thou, O Love Divine,

Will'st now so poor to be

* Why is this a special favourite you ask? Well, after all it is called Canzone de Zampognari and how can a piper not like a carol associated particularly with the pipes? But there is another reason as well: when I first started playing bagpipes (the Scottish ones, of course) my Auntie Ginia (an Italian great aunt) told me that her great grandfather, back in Italy, had played bagpipes. Indeed the Abruzzi region where the Italian side of the family comes from, has a strong piping tradition, which makes me feel like I am carrying on that tradition, for all I am on Highland pipes, rather than Italian ones. Furthermore, there is an Italian legend of a Christmas piper playing for Our Lady on the night Christ was born, and while this obviously is not the tune that would have been played, it puts me in mind of that legend as well, and makes me rather proud of being a piper. 

I Sing of that Night in Bethlehem.

When I was very much younger than I am now, a very good friend recorded me a fabulous, 120 minute tape of mostly Irish Christmas music. A great number of tunes from the Chieftains Bells of Dublin CD. Tommy Makem's increasingly hard to Christmas CD was on it. Some Medieval and Renaissance carols (I suspect the Boston Camerata?) make an appearance. The Irish Tenors are there. Some one-off tunes whose origins are lost to the mists of time balance out the rest. It was a rich, highly traditional, mostly religious, very warm and classic Christmas mix that was the Christmas tape for a number of years. Years of use took its toll on the poor thing, and advancing technology meant that I could not listen to it any more-- a thing which was a great sorrow not only for me,  but for all my younger sisters, for whom it had also been the Christmas tape.... so after several years of missing not only the music, but that particular mix of the music, I bought a digital converter, and recorded it to my computer. And made CDs for all and sundry. And I have listened to it, and remembered how much I enjoyed it, and how many songs on there have become so much apart of Christmas, that I do not realise that they are not exactly the most common of carols... Such as the old Irish carol, Don Oíche Úd i mBeithil. 

I am quite surprised to see that I have not posted this particular song before, as it has long been one of my favourites on that whole tape of Good Music. There are a good many version of this out there, from a very beautiful version by the Monks of Glenstal Abbey, to popular singer Moya Brennan, but this is the first version I heard, and while sentimentality might have something to do with it, I still think it is the best version of it. The recitation at the beginning is basically a poetic English translation of the song, but I can tell you very little more about it, save that it is traditional, and very popular... and that the guy who does the recitation, Burgess Meredith, is apparently the same guy who plays Rocky's coach in the Rocky movies.This is something I did not know until I went poking around trying to find some sort of a history to go with the song. Why the Chieftains made such an odd choice will probably always remain a mystery, but man, he does recite it well:

Joy! Joy! Joy!

Since the last several Christmas song posts have not exactly been the cheeriest of songs, I thought it was about time I included something a bit more upbeat.  You are therefore, being treated to an old 16th century carol of German origin. In English it is known as How Great Our Joy, or While by the Sheep-- and occasionally, as The Echo Carol, because of the repeated lines in the refrain. Hymns and Carols of Christmas has a short article about this carol, though it is rather vague as to what the original tune was, and how closely this version sticks to it, and if the echoes were original to the carol, or added in later. This website provides a little more information, and includes the tantalising fact that it was originally a macaronic (i.e. sung in two languages, generally the vernacular and Latin) carol, and the refrain included the lines: Benedicamus Domino". 

This carol is not so well known as it probably should be-- I am rather ashamed that I have not properly listened to it before now. It tends to cycle through on Choirs of Christmas sorts of albums-- lovely things to be sure, but choir singing in recording, tends to be the sort of the thing that is easy to leave on in the background for atmosphere, and, due to the layers of harmony, and the sheer number of singers, its not always so easy to actually catch the lyrics of their songs, unless one is already familiar with them, which has not been the case for me with this particular carol. A fact of which I am now something abashed, as it is beautiful and charming, and the context makes the "Joy! Joy! Joy!" of the refrain far more poignant than it is is when that is merely the one lyric you hear clearly. 

The version I am presenting may not be the best version out there, and it does not (alas) feature the "benedicamus domino" bits, but I appreciate how very seriously they take the echo idea, and I have a soft spot for all male choirs, so this version it is:

Feast of the Holy Innocents

Its an Irish carol that you are getting for today's feast day-- a carol I had never heard of before, and I would be surprised if you had heard if it either: The Angel Said to Joseph Mild is part of a collection of old Irish carols in English, from which we get the well known Wexford Carol (also known as the Enniscorthy Carol). I am very familiar with that carol-- indeed, it is one of my favourite's-- and I was very passingly aware that it was from a larger body of of obscure songs. I was under the impression that the rest of them were more or less lost, and that the Wexford Carol was a relic.

I came across a song or two from an album called The Wexford Carols (note the plural) by Caitriona O'Leary last year, but didn't think too much of it-- I am not particularly fond of the trap set drums being used in these recordings, as I find them anachronistic and intrusive, so while I liked the tunes and the songs themselves well enough, it didn't occur to me to look any farther into them.... However, when I went looking for a carol that was not the Coventry Carol to post for today, The Angel Said to Joseph Mild popped up-- clearly an old song, as nothing within the last hundred years or so would ever use this sort of word order or the phrase "Joseph Mild". This time I was definitely intrigued and when looking for more information on the Wexford Carols collection. Apparently, this album was the product of a good deal of research, recovery and reconstruction of that nearly lost collection if Irish carols. The fact that Caitriona O'Leary was able to resurrect these tunes delights me to no end, as does the fact that they are recorded and out on the wide world now, for people to hear... but I still adhere to my opinion about the drums-- anachronistic and intrusive. And the songs would benefit from a bit more of a sèan nos style of singing, and minimal accompaniment. Still, The Angel Said to Joseph Mild is a fine song for all of that, and one that deserves to have an audience, and therefore, I present it here:

I Drink You the Love of St. John

As is usual for the feast of St. John, I have been unable to unearth any songs proper to his day (even though I know they exist), aside from the Propers of the Mass for St. John, and similar liturgical chants. Which are, of course, all fine and well-- indeed, I am particularly partial to chant-- but however fine and braw those are, they do not exactly strike the ear with the sort of gladness and jollity that carols and hymns do.. So, once again, this post is sans songs in honour of the Beloved Apostle.

There is, however an extremely fabulous old custom, which I would truly love to see brought back into common practice, which I shall highlight here instead-- the blessing of wine on St John's Day. I have never seen this done, nor do I know of any Catholic church within the greater area that does it.

St. John is long associated with wine, because of a legend in which he was offered a cup of poisoned win which he blessed before drinking. The poison rose up out of the wine in the shape of a serpent. The wine blessing on his day makes the wine-- in itself a fine and cheering thing-- into a sacramental (like Holy Water, Scapulars and the Miraculous Medal), which makes it also a holy thing. It is customary, when drinking of this sacramental wine to toast each other with the words, "I drink you the love of St. John." (You should read more here.)

Since, however, it seems dreadful to not post a song at all, I have been moderately inventive, and gone looking for something that could passably be used in lieu of a St. John hymn, song or carol, and I have found this: 

I cannot tell you too much about it. It is an ancient hymn in Syriac, which is the Language spoken by our Lord. It came up in a list of ancient Christmas songs, and I have come across one other reference to it as a Christmas hymn as well, so I am fairly sure it legitimately is associated with Christmastime. There are repeated requests in the comment section for the lyrics to be posted in Syriac and English, and some way down, one poster, Joe, does give this as the translation: "glory to the Word who took a body and became a sacrifice for us, we listened to him, we saw him we touched him and we eat him..". However, since I know almost nothing about this language (save that it has one of those deep throated guttural "kh" sounds, which you can hear, within the first 30 seconds of this song, and which I find intriguing) I cannot vouch for Joe's abilities as a translator. However,since published lyrics in any language appear to be non-existent, that is the best I can do for you. I think it is a very lovely melody. 

On the Feast of Stephen

Merry Christmas! I hope you all having a very merry, blessed and beautiful Christmastide.

For the feast of St. Stephen, I present this rather odd version of Good King Wenceslaus. Mediaeval Baebes are one of those musical groups that on paper look like they should be a good fit for my musical tastes, but I have never been entirely sure what to make of them. When they're good, they're very, very good, and when they're not, they're weird. This version of Good King Wenseslaus  may actually be straying a wee bit more into the weird than I generally prefer, but the unexpected shift of mode, with its dark, minor, and rather Middle Eastern is rather intriguing, and I like the instrumental arrangements that go with it, so I have decided to just go for it, and post a Christmas song that is a bit out of the usual for this blog:

Now's the Time to Spread Good Cheer

First off, these should have been posted yesterday.... and the day before. I had the pictures drawn up, I just didn't get around to blogging. As the poet says, "The best laid plans o mice an men gang aft agley." But better late than never: O Rex Gentium and O Emmanuel, and their respective songs:

It is Christmas Eve now, and late, and I must be departing for Midnight Mass, where my sisters and I shall sing carols, and the Mass itself, and the propers, and afterwards, there shall be a small celebration, which it is rumoured will feature whisky. A Merry Christmas to you all.

O Oriens, Brightest of Stars

As I mentioned during a Christmas post last year, the O Oriens Antiphon gets reinterpreted in Old English, to the well-known "Eala Earendel engla beorhtast" which so stirred Tolkien that it gave birth to his Earendil myth, so of course this illustrations is getting the full Tolkien treatment, with our little Lord playing at being Earendil:

The words "oriens" and "earendel" seem to be related, (I went down the linguistic rabbit hole last year on this) and are a part of a whole legion of ear/eos based words and names which all seem to have a fiery/daystar/ dawning meaning to them. For those who care about such things, Carl F. Hostetter has a very good article dealing with this matter (my rabbit holing seems to have been a reduplication of his research) and he lays it all out far better than I could.

And here is the antiphon being sung-- it amuses me very much that "oriens" in German becomes "morgenstern". I mean, it means morning star but morgenstern has such a German banker quality to it. (And since we are on a slightly linguistic track here.... that "or" element in 'morgenstern" could be  related to "oriens" and "earendel")

God is Good and His Mercy Endureth Forever

I did not post yesterday, and for that I apologise. I am making up for it by posting yesterday and today's antiphons together. 

I am also not going to write anything at all about them, though I shall recommend again that you visit A Clerk of Oxford read all of her delightful research about the O Antiphons and their poetic English adaptions. Instead, I shall tell a story about why I did not post yesterday, and how very indulgent our dear Lord can be towards His idiotic children. 

I must begin with, I must admit that I am not, by nature, a particularly social creature. I do not generally enjoy big get togethers (with rare exceptions for family shindigs and the like... and even with those, I tend to require some down time afterwards), and my dislike of them increases the bigger they are, and the more people in attendance whom I do not know. Yesterday, we were scheduled to have a get together at work-- and while I can usually deal with the regular old staff Christmas party (though, again, I do not enjoy them) I get anxious when the invitations start going out to people I do not know, even if they are technically coworkers (insofar as they are employed by the same county as I am). Yesterday's do was a combination of a farewell luncheon for our Library Director, who is retiring at the end of this month, a Branch Managers'  meeting with at least 6 people who are effectively strangers (for all I have seen them occasionally over my many years of service) and the usual staff party. And I have been dreading it for months. I would have rather been sick, go to therapy, have a root canal, etc, than to attend this thing... in spite of the fact that for a rarity, it was not on an Ember Day in Advent, and that it boasted a very delectable spread (my coworkers being a very foodie group of people). I was actually praying I would catch the virulent cold going around, so that I would not have to put in an appearance, and make small talk with people whose interests are almost guaranteed to be nothing at all like mine. It wasn't a terribly wild hope-- several people at work have already succumbed, and I might be the single remaining healthy person in my family.  

And yet, to my great discouragement, I remained obdurately hale and robust.

.... Until yesterday.....

When I woke up with a slightly scratchy throat, a feeling of great tiredness, and a weariness in my joints, that turned into just a bit of an achiness as I was up an about. 

It was all very mild. I have soldiered through much worse. And so I got myself up and to work, feeling rather sad that the cold I was obviously getting, was going to be behind schedule, and I was going to be even less inclined to be around people, thanks to all that tired. 

I felt worse once I got to work. This is usual for me. By that time I've been up about 2 hours and am starting to lose the morning sluggishness I have even on the best of days. That is when I find out if my general malaise is a fleeting thing, or if I am actually going to have a bad day. In this case, I did not trust my own judgment in the slightest, as I so desperately wanted to not be there. and figured I was psyching myself into feeling worse than I was. I made a deal with God: I wasn't going home unless I got sent home-- and unlikely contingency, as my boss was in her meeting, and everyone else was excited about morning break, and the coffee cake in the back. Besides, I was healthy, just not wanting to be at work.

... Only, one of my coworkers noticed I was dragging..... and then another..... and before I really knew what was happening, I found one of them ladling up a bowl of soup and another putting a rib and mashed potatoes on a plate to take home with me, and though I protested that I felt bad leaving them, and that I was scheduled to work the desk for 4 hours that afternoon, I was gently but firmly shown the door. 

So I went home, feeling only slightly bad about it, because I had made a deal with God, figuring that I was going to be spending the day Offering Things Up, and He sent me home. 

And I slept for 3 hours, which tends to mean I truly am getting sick.

And woke up today feeling fine. 

So that just goes to show-- Our very silly, sentimental God can be ridiculously indulgent of His idiot children, even when they do not deserve it in the slightest.

And now, the O Antiphon from yesterday: O Radix Jesse, and the Antiphon for today: O Clavis Dauvid, along with their appropriate music:

O Adonai

The word "Adonai" is an interesting one. It Hebrew, and means "My Lord", though, if you go to this website, you will see there is more to it than a straightforward translation. I like that it more literally means "My Foundation", tough I find the idea of calling God "sir" or "mister" rather more amusing than I ought. But the same root that gave us Adonai (adon) also gives us Adonis. That juxtaposition  has always produced a "Miles Christus" image in my mind, so you are getting a sketch featuring what is meant to be a Lordly personage, and though it doesn't show up so well, there is a sword upon Him. The Middle English text translates " Dux domus" as "Chieff Duke" which makes me smile somewhat, in its comfortable familiarity. 

O Sapientia

Today, December 17th, marks the beginning of the Great O Antiphons. I have written about these days before Christmas elsewhere on this blog, and shall not repeat myself here. Instead, I am intending to do something slightly different this time around: I am going to make little drawings of them, but the wording on them will be in both Latin, and in Old, or Middle English as well. There was a long tradition of English poetry based off these Antiphons, that I find very beautiful, and also, rather homely-- in the British sense. Also, rather than posting a Gregorian Chant of each antiphon, I will be highlighting the Estonian composer Arvo Pärt's compositions. 

Today's Antiphon runs thusly: O Sapientia, quae ex ore Altissimi prodidisti, attingens a fine usque ad finem, fortiter suaviter disponensque omnia: veni ad docendum nos viam prudentiae. In Modern English it translates: O Wisdom, who came from the mouth of the Most High, reaching from end to end and ordering all things mightily and sweetly: come, and teach us the way of prudence. For some inexplicable reason, the Middle English source I discovered today (On the incomparable Clerk of Oxford blog) translates "viam prudentiae" as "way of flight). And while I am quite aware that Latin 'p' becomes 'f' in English, and that 'l' and 'r' can be somewhat interchangeable (think of how we pronounce "colonel") I can see no way that prudentiae could every become flight. Nor has an admittedly cursory etymological dig about ze internets turned up anything that might even slightly shed light upon this oddity. Still, I liked the imagery-- the flight of God's Wisdom teaching us to fly as He does-- and so, Wisdom, in my doodle, is an odd, winged thing. 

As I have mentioned recently, I am exceedingly delighted by the effect of drawing in white on a black background. I love how that interplay gives off such a delightful impression of light-- moonlight, starlight, snowlight, the gemlight of pearl and crystal. It isn't a particularly warm combination-- you will notice all the examples I give are of quite cold, clear lights. And yet, that is part of the charm of it: stars are brightest in the cold, clear air of winter, and are their most beautiful. The pale light that snow gives off has no warmth to it, but by it, the darkest time of the year is brightened, and the heart is cheered by the sight. (Not, of course, that I am suggesting my own doodling carries anything of that with it; but drawing in this reverse fashion gives me the same sort of feeling.) Therefore, this year's Antiphons shall be done up in white on black:

The feast day of Our Lady of Guadalupe is one of my favourite lead-up-to-Christmas feasts, for all that it occurs in the middle of Advent, and is therefore a day of fasting and penance. It is a prefect excuse for having some Mexican soul-food, and drinking a little chocolate-- with perhaps a dash of pepper,as the original Mexican drink had pepper in it (it was also serve cold and unsweetened, but lets not get carried away here) and if you add a bit of cinnamon as well, so much the better-- Our Lady's favourite spice being cinnamon... at least, according to a book I read in high school, whose name I have utterly forgotten, but which impressed me deeply with that fact. It also is a very perfect feast day for the time leading up to the Nativity as Our Lady is expecting in that image, a thing which delights me beyond my ability to explain.

Dr. Taylor Marshall has an interesting video explaining the history of Our Lady of Guadalupe. The name predates the apparition (which I knew) and the image that gave us the name goes back to St. Luke (which I did not know).

And here is a rather splendid song in honour of Our Lady of Guadalupe. 

Ps. I do not usually succumb to impulse buying, but I did this evening, when I was really only dashing into the store to get milk. There were bouquets for sale, with a mix of red and white flowers (roses were amongst them) and lovely greenery, and in the center, a little wooden picture of Our Lady herself. So I succumbed:

With apologies for the lousy picture, taken with
my lousy little camera phone, but you get the idea.

Santa Nicholas, Oro Pro Nobis

This is a belated post for the feast of St. Nicholas, and there is not much of substance to it. I have written about this great saint before, and cannot think of anything particularly to add to it, so have settled instead for this little drawing:

I have greatly enjoyed experimenting with white-on-black art like this, as it creates a marvelously illuminated look, and it seemed a particularly good medium for creating a vaguely Christmasy image of good St. Nicholas.

I also came across this hymn, which I quite like-- being enamored of the otherworldly and.... dwarvish?..... quality of Byzantine chant. An Apolytikion is a dismissal hymn that summarises the lesson of the feast. Given the late posting, it seems quite fitting to sign of with an Apolytikion:

Advent, Resolutions and Changes

It has been a long time since I have posted and while part of it is my usually laziness and lack of discipline, this time around it is also (perhaps even primarily) because I have been thinking long and hard about the sort of blog I want this to be going forward. I have not come up with a complete "vision" for it yet, though I do know I want it to focus more on three or four ideas: Literature, with an emphasis on poetry; My own poetry and art; and Catholicism and Tradition (as with the Christmas post). I also know I'd like to have a regular schedule of posts, so that at least several times a month, there is something new and good being posted-- and by this, I do not mean lick-and-a-promise posts, but thought,well-crafted content. 

To this end, you will notice that I have started doing a little bit of a redesign of the blog. I would like, ideally, to have tabbed pages for the my poetry and art, so as to make them easier to find, as well as for the Christmas posts. Meanwhile the header has changed to emphasis the more word-crafty bent I intend this blog to take, and there might be some more tinkering going on over the next few weeks.

The Advent season has, traditionally, been considered the Church's New Year-- the liturgically year has rounded back again to the beginning. It is a penitential season, similar to Lent, though, with the end of being the Birth of a Baby, a considerably more joyful penance. It is also a good time to consider the progress (or lack thereof) one has made over the last year, and to assess what changes should occur in the coming year. The first Sunday of that Season, therefore, seemed the best time to dust off the old writerly intentions, and to start as I want to continue, with a proper blog post, about proper things. To that end, therefore, (having expressed my desire for reformation aloud and in public, so far as I have any public) I am posting a Scots Gaelic song to mark the Day and the Season.

Sorchar Nan Reul means Lightener of the Stars and is from the Carmina Gadelica  If you read the translation you will notice that while the tune is completely different, the words bear a striking resemblance to a traditional Advent carol, Creator of the Starry Height, (Or the Stars of Night depending on your translation) which, in turn, is from an old Latin hymn called Conditor Alme Siderum.(I like that this version has "noels" in the refrain.) In spite of considerable digging about, I have not found anything that says specifically that Sorchar Nan Reul is, indeed, a Gaelic translation of the old Latin, but given the strong similarity between them, I would be highly surprised of that were not the case.