A DRAFT, AN AMUSEMENT

                            

O BRIGHT ROUND BELL:   

a libretto for three voices and chorus in two acts

ACT THE FIRST

A desolate place.

FIRST VOICE:

Upon the bright round bell

The buried things that could not sleep

The sun did rise to warm the hills

Upon the bright round bell  

SECOND VOICE

Within the season first

Within the season last

By means of compass points

THIRD VOICE

The north 

The south

The east 

The west

FIRST VOICE

Within the realms of seasons

The world is found and found and found

Round a ground

Sounds abound

CHORUS

Round sounds bound aground

Abound around aground

The sound is deep and good

Good, good friend resound with all

All manner of sound and all manner of ground

And all manner of thing shall be well

Shall be well shall be shall be shall be shall be

And all manner shall be well

                            

THIRD VOICE:

We saw the clouds that caused us harm

We saw them bright and true

We saw the clouds of war that carried us away

And felt their solace too

In heavenly choral spheres within spheres

That turn in skies above us

Maps for heavenly skies

Oh, bright fiery latitudes

Tempests סֶלָה

Tempests סֶלָה

Tempests סֶלָה

FIRST VOICE:

We saw them saw them saw them

The land did meet the sky did meet the shore

Everything upon the land that met the sky

That leapt upon the shore to see

Tumultuous the seas

What a churning, boiling thing the sea is

What a churning, boiling thing

SECOND VOICE:

The wind swept all four points

Hear the music

The wind swept all four points

Hear the solemn voice

Another voice      join in

Angelic instrument     god's own proof

Mad drum      of insolent youth

Deaf composer     wild batons

Upon a sphere enrapt 

THIRD VOICE:

Hear the bells the bells that ring

Hear them as they sing

Bells oh bells of beauty

Bells oh bells of song

CHORUS:

Upon the bright round bell

We buried things in hell

The dog that caused us harm

The claw that rang alarm

The sea that turned the dawn

The harp that felled the beast

The moon that lit the path

The night that held the vault

That in the morning held  

The children’s moon

Above the trembling bell

O ring bright bell

O ring the loud the clear

O ring wise bell

That calls to one and all

FIRST VOICE:

Upon the bright round bell

Of Nature’s measured fell

SECOND VOICE:

We saw armies of the heart 

Legions in formation

Armies of the heart

Prepared for every season

THIRD VOICE:

The garden where we roved

Too far and farther reaches

Raising flowers glowing red

Young gather to be seen

FIRST VOICE:

To be heard 
for spring 
has come

Birds of air

Fish of river

Beast of land

SECOND VOICE:

Do stroll about 
like living garlands

The rain did fall 
and now has gone

The earth prepared 
its bed

THIRD VOICE:   

All belts 
arrows 
and milk 
Doth 
move in 
lambent 
conjunction

With an inner 
mechanism 
of delight

CHORUS:

                             Raising 
                             flowers glowing

                             Raising flowers 
                             glowing red

                             Raising flowers 
                             raising flowers

                             Glowing red so 
                             glowing red

                             In beauty 
                             and obscurity

NARRATOR

It strode toward us
like a ragged beast
from a wind-swart plain. 
They said, you are not well.
Spend time in the country.
The windows must be closed.
One said, drink malt.
Another, not malt, only milk.
Another said eat a half pound
of potato every day for three weeks.
After that you can try vegetables and                                                          apples. Maybe fish. 
Mucous being problematic. 
I went down to the effigy fires. 
I was thinking always of my childhood. 

My parents loved me as they would a stray,  
they did not know 
what to do with a child in their exile.
The village where I was born I don't remember.
I wish I'd never. 
They took me unconscious across the deep.  
The days rocked their blue-green crib
where first light saw our knocked hull meet safe harbor.

END OF THE FIRST ACT

ACT THE SECOND

The same desolate place.

JOHN CLARE:

                             What was that?

                             What was that sound?

                  

CHORUS:

                             Tell us your name

                             Where were you born

                             Why are you here? 

                             Why were you there?

                             Our minds are curious

                             They ask of anything

                             The source of its evil

                             The reason its shame

JOHN CLARE:

People of the chorus, voices joined as one, let me answer by means of a simple ballad composed recently. I call it A Ballad of Ballad of Song of a Ballad of Song of a Ballad of Song of a Ballad a Ballad a Ballad a Ballad a Ballad a Ballad a Ballad a Ballad a Song a Measure a Meter a Rhyme of a Verse and a Verse of a Pome a Ballad a Ballad a Ballad a Ballad a Ballad a Ballad a Ballad a gone!

                  

BALLAD

My name is John Clare                                          I live on the air                                                      I wander this land                                                  with nothing in hand                                                                                               

My name is John Clare                                          I eat when I’m stable                                                  a guest at crude table                                              I drink of the dew in the air                                                                  

For the sky up above                                              and the furious seas                                                do threaten the meek                                              and most of the mild

My name is John Clare                                          Who lives on the air                                              Hallowed my name                                                  John Clare, John Clare                                          

O piteous mad                                                    John Clare, John Clare

 

  

NOTE (For Composers of Choral Works and Contemporary Operas):

This fragment is what remains of my efforts to present a libretto to a composer friend. I somehow managed to lose sight of my original idea, only to find myself at a stopping point without having reached a conclusion. At present, it remains a fragment: that is, incomplete, broken, in need of expansion, deepening, and refinement. Which I would certainly prefer to do, though I have no solid belief that shall ever be managed. My past record of acting on intentions is not good. I give up easily and am too ready to let early difficulties signal it is time to resign. If you are a composer of choral works; if the fragment interests you and you would like to use it as a libretto for an orchestral work, please don’t hesitate to contact me. (I'm most active on Twitter: @JonCone ). It would give me great pleasure to see my name attached to a musical score in much the same way that Gertrude Stein allowed hers to be.

Jon Cone

                             ADDENDUM TO THE ABOVE:

Whatever significance this libretto ('libretto') has exists                        only to the extent that it remains shrouded in beautiful obscurity. 

Like the ingredients of some weird alien food.

Or incomprehensible instructions for distilling light                              from cucumbers.

Jon Cone