Celtic wrote: ↑<span title="Fri Feb 17, 2023 10:56 pm">1 year ago</span>
...Then in the second half Galina Ustvolskaya's Symphony No. 1. Featuring two treble soloists from the Trinity Boys Choir. Well, it was fantastic, both soloists did fantastically well, but the lead treble who did most of the singing I think was Oliver and he was brilliant.
One thing I didn't mention was that the singing in Galina Ustvolskaya's Symphony No. 1 was in Russian, but there were surtitles with a translation, and wow, the words were bleak. Decided to look up the lyrics today...
This is sung so sweetly by two boy trebles, and then you read the translation.
► Show Spoiler
Ciccio
Ciccio lives in the basement, by the garbage dump,
He sleeps on a rusty, broken bed.
A table and a stool —
There’s no more furniture in the basement.
Up there, outside the cellar window,
A lot of people pass by during the day.
He climbs on the sacks,
To count the shoes outside the window.
There are gardens and glades on earth.
Thousands of splashing fountains spray.
Down the walls of the dark basement there’s always
Slow trickling water.
Carousel
The whites are having fun at the fair —
People are riding the carousel,
Round, shiny, like the sun.
Children on each golden ray,
Flying around, never getting tired.
You would spin on a ray too,
But they won’t let you: you’re black.
You say, “I was born here in this country
In this country called the States.
I grew up in the sunshine with the other boys
Give me a place in America too!”
Saturday night
In a white envelope, a week’s pay.
Dad touched it and said, “It’s not enough.”
Mum said: “We owe everyone.
Rice, macaroni prices have gone up again.”
Dad thought: “Well, then work harder!…”
Sadness and concern in his voice.
Mum said with great sadness:
“You won’t be able to go to the movies tomorrow, I’m afraid.”
Dad added: “This week,
It looks like there won’t be a carousel for you either.”
It’s sad, but understandable
The weekly pay in the white envelope is to blame for everything.
Boy from Módena
— You were happy yesterday, boy from Módena,
But today you don’t go out to play in the yard.
— Yesterday is not today. Today I saw,
How they shot our fathers, at point-blank range, and killed them.
What was yesterday is gone for me.
I’ve learned a lot since yesterday.
“We take junk!”
— Hey, old man, “we take junk!”
What are you carrying in your sack?
— I’m carrying a shoe with no heel,
A sleeve without a jacket,
A bow without a violin and a collar,
A noseless teapot and coffee pot
And a cast-iron pot without a bottom.
I’m carrying a minister without a briefcase.
He’s been ruling for a week
And called the country to war…
He’s at the very bottom of my bag!
The waiting room
This is a large train station.
The building has a waiting room.
If you can’t find shelter anywhere,
Pretend you’re waiting for a train.
Sitting on a bench between two knots
Sleep to the tune of steam train whistles.
I’m asleep, sir, don’t wake me up!
But it’s not the train I’m waiting for, it’s the day.
I’m carried not by wheels, but by legs.
During the day, I walk and walk along the road.
I wait for work, I seek sustenance,
But I return to the waiting room…
The rumble of the locomotive, long and resounding,
Reminds me of a factory whistle.
Oh, conductor, don’t disturb me
From seeing work even in my dreams!
When the factory chimneys die
Chimneys, chimneys,
No longer smoke rises above you.
Chimneys, chimneys.
The whistle of the workers no longer calls,
The lifeless factory stands.
As if someone had closed the gates
And stopped the heart within.
Wake up, whistle! Day and night
Whistle, call the working people!
Let them, amid the dead calm,
Awaken the heart of the city!
Epilogue. Sun.
Sun!
Sun!
Sun!
Sun!
The sun has not yet set behind the house,
But for you the light has already gone out.
This is the beginning of a cruel illness.
It’s not evening, but eternal darkness.
Sun!
Sun!
Sun!
Sun!
Sun!