Mountain streams (Peter Bird): Difference between revisions

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==Original text and translations==
==Original text and translations==
{{Text|English|
Rushes and cattails; hum of the mayflies;
warm snow from cottonwoods glowing in sun.
Balance on black logs; seek out the current;
find out the green pools where rainbow trout run.
Watch for the old moose; leave him his kingdom:
slow-moving, silent, and powerful one.


{{Text|English}}
Here is the trail again; follow it upward,
walking in beauty, to find our way home.


Rushes and cattails; hum of the mayflies;<br>
On the moraine, in the forest of lodgepoles,
warm snow from cottonwoods glowing in sun.<br>
circle the lake which the wind lashes bright.
Balance on black logs; seek out the current;<br>
Mountains arising above and around it;
find out the green pools where rainbow trout run.<br>
cataracts sound when the breeze is just right.
Watch for the old moose; leave him his kingdom:<br>
Call of the loon echoes eerily outward,
slow-moving, silent, and powerful one.<br>
seemingly everywhere; never in sight.
<br>
 
Here is the trail again; follow it upward,<br>
Running through rifts in the rock of the mountain,
walking in beauty, to find our way home.<br>
cascading clean over cliffs, sounding clear.
<br>
Rushing of water and wind in the aspen leaves:
On the moraine, in the forest of lodgepoles,<br>
All of the powers of nature are here.
circle the lake which the wind lashes bright.<br>
Footprints and traces of fur in the shady grass;
Mountains arising above and around it;<br>
here is a haunt of the humble mule deer.
cataracts sound when the breeze is just right.<br>
 
Call of the loon echoes eerily outward,<br>
Up where the spruce trees are twisted and low,
seemingly everywhere; never in sight.<br>
in between banks of the blue and white snow,
<br>
meadows of flowers are watered by streams
Running through rifts in the rock of the mountain,<br>
of crystalline water that quietly flow.
cascading clean over cliffs, sounding clear.<br>
Pika and marmot are watching and whistling.
Rushing of water and wind in the aspen leaves:<br>
Clouds swirl around you, above and below.
All of the powers of nature are here.<br>
 
Footprints and traces of fur in the shady grass;<br>
Here is the trail again; follow it upward,
here is a haunt of the humble mule deer.<br>
walking in beauty, to find our way home.
<br>
Peter Bird (2007)}}
Up where the spruce trees are twisted and low,<br>
in between banks of the blue and white snow,<br>
meadows of flowers are watered by streams<br>
of crystalline water that quietly flow.<br>
Pika and marmot are watching and whistling.<br>
Clouds swirl around you, above and below.<br>
<br>
Here is the trail again; follow it upward,<br>
walking in beauty, to find our way home.<br>
Peter Bird (2007)


[[Category:Sheet music]]
[[Category:Sheet music]]
[[Category:Modern music]]
[[Category:Modern music]]

Revision as of 20:56, 3 April 2015

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Editor: Peter Bird (submitted 2007-12-09).   Score information: Letter, 14 pages, 168 kB   Copyright: Personal
Copyright © 2007 by George Peter Bird. This edition may be freely distributed, duplicated, performed, and recorded.

General Information

Title: Mountain streams
Composer: Peter Bird

Number of voices: 3vv   Voicing: TBarB
, sometimes divisi
Genre: SecularPartsong

Language: English
Instruments: Piano

Published: 2007
Description: Four verses describe four beautiful scenes progressively higher up along a mountain stream. Length 6 minutes.

External websites:

Original text and translations

English.png English text

Rushes and cattails; hum of the mayflies;
warm snow from cottonwoods glowing in sun.
Balance on black logs; seek out the current;
find out the green pools where rainbow trout run.
Watch for the old moose; leave him his kingdom:
slow-moving, silent, and powerful one.

Here is the trail again; follow it upward,
walking in beauty, to find our way home.

On the moraine, in the forest of lodgepoles,
circle the lake which the wind lashes bright.
Mountains arising above and around it;
cataracts sound when the breeze is just right.
Call of the loon echoes eerily outward,
seemingly everywhere; never in sight.

Running through rifts in the rock of the mountain,
cascading clean over cliffs, sounding clear.
Rushing of water and wind in the aspen leaves:
All of the powers of nature are here.
Footprints and traces of fur in the shady grass;
here is a haunt of the humble mule deer.

Up where the spruce trees are twisted and low,
in between banks of the blue and white snow,
meadows of flowers are watered by streams
of crystalline water that quietly flow.
Pika and marmot are watching and whistling.
Clouds swirl around you, above and below.

Here is the trail again; follow it upward,
walking in beauty, to find our way home.
Peter Bird (2007)