Conscious. Choral Edition (James Crawford): Difference between revisions

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==Original text and translations==
==Original text and translations==
{{NoText}}
{{Text|English|
 
CONSCIOUS - Wilfred Owen
 
His fingers wake, and flutter up the bed.
His eyes come open with a pull of will,
Helped by the yellow mayflowers by his head.
The blind-cord drawls across the window-sill...
What a smooth floor the ward has! What a rug!
Who is that talking somewhere out of sight?
Three flies are creeping round the shiny jug...
'Nurse! Doctor!' - 'Yes, all right, all right.'
 
But sudden evening blurs and fogs the air.
There seems no time to want a drink of water.
Nurse looks so far away. And here and there
Music and roses burst through crimson slaughter.
He can't remember where he saw blue sky...
The trench is narrower. Cold, he's cold; yet hot -
And there's no light to see the voices by...
There is no time to ask...he knows not what.}}


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

Revision as of 19:57, 7 February 2021

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Editor: James Crawford (submitted 2021-02-07).   Score information: A4, 5 pages, 115 kB   Copyright: Personal
Edition notes: This choral arrangement is based upon the original solo song and uses the text of the poem by Wilfred Owen.

General Information

Title: Conscious. Choral Edition.
Composer: James Crawford
Lyricist: Wilfred Owen

Number of voices: 4vv   Voicing: SATB

Genre: SecularArt song

Language: English
Instruments: Piano

First published: 2021

Description: This choral arrangement is based upon the original solo song and uses the text of the poem by Wilfred Owen.

External websites:

Original text and translations

English.png English text


CONSCIOUS - Wilfred Owen

His fingers wake, and flutter up the bed.
His eyes come open with a pull of will,
Helped by the yellow mayflowers by his head.
The blind-cord drawls across the window-sill...
What a smooth floor the ward has! What a rug!
Who is that talking somewhere out of sight?
Three flies are creeping round the shiny jug...
'Nurse! Doctor!' - 'Yes, all right, all right.'

But sudden evening blurs and fogs the air.
There seems no time to want a drink of water.
Nurse looks so far away. And here and there
Music and roses burst through crimson slaughter.
He can't remember where he saw blue sky...
The trench is narrower. Cold, he's cold; yet hot -
And there's no light to see the voices by...
There is no time to ask...he knows not what.