Salon friends, our first performance of our recital Paysages Choisis was Friday, and it was simply magical. It was the first time I’d sung so many pieces in one concert (seven art songs, three arias, two duets), and surprisingly, it was the least nervous I’d ever felt. I loved the music so much there was just no room for anything else. That is the best place to be as an artist, truly inside the work.
This week I’d like to talk about time, a notion music makes us all the more aware of, or modifies, stretches, challenges, makes more real. I’ll discuss Richard Hundley’s art song “Come Ready and See Me” (1971) set to a poem by James Purdy.
As a woman in her thirties, time has been on my mind more than ever lately. I consider myself a late bloomer: moving to a foreign country in a major city, learning a foreign language and culture, getting a steady job to settle yourself, all these things take time.
Building confidence and taking myself seriously as an artist has also taken more time than I’d like. I’m now finally prioritizing my writing over pressure from “society,” my day job, or the—likely imaginary—obligation to always take care of others first.
Let’s take a look at Purdy’s poem (1968):
Come ready and see me,
No matter how late
Come before the years run out,
I’m waiting with a candle
No wind will blow out,
But you must haste
By foot or by sky
For no one can wait forever
Under the bluest sky
I can’t wait forever
For the years are running out.
When I first heard Hundley’s setting, I immediately heard it as a love song from a woman to a man. I imagined a woman waiting for her cavalier lover, urging him to notice the passing of time, her desire invincible—to a certain point. She knows that even the most invincible parts of us are vulnerable: we are mortal.
In most of my relationships with men—romantic or otherwise—I’ve felt this exasperation, the urgency one-sided, the other’s rhythm incomprehensible to me. Of course it is unwise to make generalities; there are always exceptions (and great miscommunications). But in my thirty some rotations on this planet, the dynamic has recurred for me personally.
Researching the history of the song, I learned that Richard Hundley dedicated it to a friend of his who died at an early age. While women may be very sensitive to time, men, too, are confronted with mortality. This is how we join together, the path filled with misunderstandings, imperfections—and hopefully, beauty.
Knowing the song was dedicated to a friend opened up a new field of interpretation. Both the song and poem are beautifully simple in that quintessentially American flavor, allotting room for several simultaneous meanings. Outside my initial reading, the speaker of the poem could be a friend calling out to a friend. The speaker could be the work of the artist, calling out to its creator. The speaker could be life itself (in fact, aren’t all those other readings simply versions of this last possibility?).
Perhaps what matters most, what doesn’t change in any of the scenarios, is the underlying message: prioritize what is important before it’s too late.
Like it or not, our days are numbered. That’s why, despite a full-time day job and part-time master’s degree, managing an artists retreat and taking care of basic needs, I committed to the extraordinary opportunity to sing a joint recital with two beloved musicians and friends. I’m slowly but surely understanding that time is running out. I have to stand by what my heart desires, even when I can’t explain it to others, or to myself.
After the performance Friday, one audience member, a dear friend, found the Hundley song “schmaltzy.” Of course I disagreed, as I find it pure and understated.
Should I mention that this friend was a man? We had a good laugh about it.
For those of you who are in Paris, I hope to see you this evening! And for those who aren’t, I’ve made a playlist of all the wonderful music we’ll be performing. I hope you’ll enjoy it—and find as many interpretations and space for reflection, dreaming, and feelings as I have.
Bonne semaine, et à la prochaine !
Rachel
When you connected the poem to a woman waiting for her lover, it might be think of Barbara's chanson "Dis, quand reviendras-tu ?"
To your point of feeling the quantity of time more in your thirties, I confirm that no matter your gender, a lot of us feel it more and more!
Once again I'm very sorry I missed your performances and hope you will perform this beautiful program again soon!
Plus tard, il sera trop tard. Notre vie, c'est maintenant. - Jacques Prévert
Thank you for the playlist! I will listen today.