Qual più diversa e nova cosa (Adrian Willaert)

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Editor: Gerhard Weydt (submitted 2024-06-30).   Score information: A4, 5 pages, 175 kB   Copyright: CPDL
Edition notes: Transposed down a fifth for STTB because of the chiavette used.
Editor: Gerhard Weydt (submitted 2024-06-30).   Score information: A4, 5 pages, 177 kB   Copyright: CPDL
Edition notes: Original pitch

General Information

Title: Qual più diversa e nova cosa
Composer: Adrian Willaert
Lyricist: Francesco Petrarca
Number of voices: 4vv   Voicing: SSAT
Genre: SecularMadrigal

Language: Italian
Instruments: A cappella

First published: 1542 in Madrigali a quatro voce libro primo (Girolamo Scotto), no. 32
    2nd published: 1549 in Il vero terzo libro di madrigali de diversi autori a note negre (Gardano, Venice), no. 22
    3rd published: 1563 in Madrigali a quattro voci (Adrian Willaert), no. 25
    4th published: 1569 in Corona libro primo (Venice: Zorzi), no. 4
Description: 

External websites:

Original text and translations

Italian.png Italian text

Qual piú diversa et nuova
cosa fu mai in qual che stranio clima,
quella, se ben si stima,
piú mi rasembra: a tal son gionto, Amore.
Là onde il dí vien fuore,
vola un augel che sol, senza consorte
di volontaria morte
rinasce, et tutto a viver si rinova.
Così sol si ritrova
il mio voler, et così in su la cima
de’ suoi alti pensier al sol si volve,
et così si risolve,
et così torna al suo stato di prima:
arde, e more, et riprende i nervi suoi,
et vive poi con la phenice a prova.

German.png German translation

Whatever varied and strange thing
may exist in whatever foreign land,
I truly think it most
resembles me: to such I’m come, Love.
There where the day is born,
flies a bird, alone without a mate,
that rises from self-willed
death, and is reborn to life.
So is my desire
found alone, and so it turns to the heights
of noble thought, towards the sun,
and so it is destroyed,
and so returns to its first state:
it burns, and dies, and regains its strength,
able to live again as the phoenix does.

Translation by Anthony S. Kline ©
English.png English translation

Je seltsamer gestaltet
Ein Wesen fremden Zonen wohnet inne,
In um so vollerm Sinne
Gleicht’s mir. So weit ach! hab’ ich mich verloren! -
Dort an des Morgens Toren
Ein Vogel fleugt, der, ferne von Genossen,
Aus Tode, frei beschlossen,
Zum Leben neu erstanden, sich entfaltet.
So einsam hier auch waltet
Mein Wille, so auch schwingt er von der Zinne
Erhabener Gedanken sich zur Sonnen,
Wird dann, in Staub zerronnen,
Wie jener, was er war im Anbeginne;
Brennt, wie der Phönix, stirbt, regt sein Gefieder
Und lebt nun wieder, ganz wie er, und schaltet.

Translation by Karl Förster