Song of Flowers :: musicl interpretation of a fairy tale by H.Ch. Andersen - Jarek Kordaczuk
Jaroslaw Kordaczuk music, music for children, shows for children, children's theater, Andersen's fairy tales, music for the Snow Queen, Gerda and Kai, flowers, music, stories of flowers, flowers, music, fairy tales in music

Song of Flowers Work created on the basis of the fairy tale "The Snow Queen" by Hans Christian Andersen. Music: Jarek Kordaczuk Lyrics (based on H.Ch.Andersen): Jarek Kordaczuk Vocal and vocal effects: Basia Raduszkiewicz About the piece Song of Flowers A composition created on the basis of Gerda's conversation with flowers from The Third Story of The Snow Queen by Hans Christian Andersen. Music: Jarek Kordaczuk Lyrics (based on H.Ch.Andersena): Jarek Kordaczuk Vocal and vocal effects: Basia Raduszkiewicz A piece commissioned by the Children's Art Centre in Poznan as a part of A Room Full of Fairy Tales project. Basia Raduszkiewicz preparing for the concert. Excerpt from a tale Below is the excerpt from a tale which was an inspiration of Song of Flowers. The Snow Queen by Hans Christian Andersen THIRD STORY. Of the Flower-Garden At the Old Woman's Who Understood Witchcraft [...] She now led Gerda into the flower-garden. Oh, what odour and what loveliness was there! Every flower that one could think of, and of every season, stood there in fullest bloom; no picture-book could be gayer or more beautiful. Gerda jumped for joy, and played till the sun set behind the tall cherry-tree; she then had a pretty bed, with a red silken coverlet filled with blue violets. She fell asleep, and had as pleasant dreams as ever a queen on her wedding-day. The next morning she went to play with the flowers in the warm sunshine, and thus passed away a day. Gerda knew every flower; and, numerous as they were, it still seemed to Gerda that one was wanting, though she did not know which. One day while she was looking at the hat of the old woman painted with flowers, the most beautiful of them all seemed to her to be a rose. The old woman had forgotten to take it from her hat when she made the others vanish in the earth. But so it is when one's thoughts are not collected. "What!" said Gerda. "Are there no roses here?" and she ran about amongst the flowerbeds, and looked, and looked, but there was not one to be found. She then sat down and wept; but her hot tears fell just where a rose-bush had sunk; and when her warm tears watered the ground, the tree shot up suddenly as fresh and blooming as when it had been swallowed up. Gerda kissed the roses, thought of her own dear roses at home, and with them of little Kay. "Oh, how long I have stayed!" said the little girl. "I intended to look for Kay! Don't you know where he is?" she asked of the roses. "Do you think he is dead and gone?" "Dead he certainly is not," said the Roses. "We have been in the earth where all the dead are, but Kay was not there." "Many thanks!" said little Gerda; and she went to the other flowers, looked into their cups, and asked, "Don't you know where little Kay is?" But every flower stood in the sunshine, and dreamed its own fairy tale or its own story: and they all told her very many things, but not one knew anything of Kay. Well, what did the Tiger-Lily say? "Hearest thou not the drum? Bum! Bum! Those are the only two tones. Always bum! Bum! Hark to the plaintive song of the old woman, to the call of the priests! The Hindoo woman in her long robe stands upon the funeral pile; the flames rise around her and her dead husband, but the Hindoo woman thinks on the living one in the surrounding circle; on him whose eyes burn hotter than the flames--on him, the fire of whose eyes pierces her heart more than the flames which soon will burn her body to ashes. Can the heart's flame die in the flame of the funeral pile?" "I don't understand that at all," said little Gerda. "That is my story," said the Lily. What did the Convolvulus say? "Projecting over a narrow mountain-path there hangs an old feudal castle. Thick evergreens grow on the dilapidated walls, and around the altar, where a lovely maiden is standing: she bends over the railing and looks out upon the rose. No fresher rose hangs on the branches than she; no appleblossom carried away by the wind is more buoyant! How her silken robe is rustling! "'Is he not yet come?'" "Is it Kay that you mean?" asked little Gerda. "I am speaking about my story--about my dream," answered the Convolvulus. What did the Snowdrops say? "Between the trees a long board is hanging--it is a swing. Two little girls are sitting in it, and swing themselves backwards and forwards; their frocks are as white as snow, and long green silk ribands flutter from their bonnets. Their brother, who is older than they are, stands up in the swing; he twines his arms round the cords to hold himself fast, for in one hand he has a little cup, and in the other a clay-pipe. He is blowing soap-bubbles. The swing moves, and the bubbles float in charming changing colors: the last is still hanging to the end of the pipe, and rocks in the breeze. The swing moves. The little black dog, as light as a soap-bubble, jumps up on his hind legs to try to get into the swing. It moves, the dog falls down, barks, and is angry. They tease him; the bubble bursts! A swing, a bursting bubble--such is my song!" "What you relate may be very pretty, but you tell it in so melancholy a manner, and do not mention Kay." What do the Hyacinths say? "There were once upon a time three sisters, quite transparent, and very beautiful. The robe of the one was red, that of the second blue, and that of the third white. They danced hand in hand beside the calm lake in the clear moonshine. They were not elfin maidens, but mortal children. A sweet fragrance was smelt, and the maidens vanished in the wood; the fragrance grew stronger--three coffins, and in them three lovely maidens, glided out of the forest and across the lake: the shining glow-worms flew around like little floating lights. Do the dancing maidens sleep, or are they dead? The odour of the flowers says they are corpses; the evening bell tolls for the dead!" "You make me quite sad," said little Gerda. "I cannot help thinking of the dead maidens. Oh! is little Kay really dead? The Roses have been in the earth, and they say no." "Ding, dong!" sounded the Hyacinth bells. "We do not toll for little Kay; we do not know him. That is our way of singing, the only one we have." And Gerda went to the Ranunculuses, that looked forth from among the shining green leaves. "You are a little bright sun!" said Gerda. "Tell me if you know where I can find my playfellow." And the Ranunculus shone brightly, and looked again at Gerda. What song could the Ranunculus sing? It was one that said nothing about Kay either. "In a small court the bright sun was shining in the first days of spring. The beams glided down the white walls of a neighbor's house, and close by the fresh yellow flowers were growing, shining like gold in the warm sun-rays. An old grandmother was sitting in the air; her grand-daughter, the poor and lovely servant just come for a short visit. She knows her grandmother. There was gold, pure virgin gold in that blessed kiss. There, that is my little story," said the Ranunculus. "My poor old grandmother!" sighed Gerda. "Yes, she is longing for me, no doubt: she is sorrowing for me, as she did for little Kay. But I will soon come home, and then I will bring Kay with me. It is of no use asking the flowers; they only know their own old rhymes, and can tell me nothing." And she tucked up her frock, to enable her to run quicker; but the Narcissus gave her a knock on the leg, just as she was going to jump over it. So she stood still, looked at the long yellow flower, and asked, "You perhaps know something?" and she bent down to the Narcissus. And what did it say? "I can see myself--I can see myself I Oh, how odorous I am! Up in the little garret there stands, half-dressed, a little Dancer. She stands now on one leg, now on both; she despises the whole world; yet she lives only in imagination. She pours water out of the teapot over a piece of stuff which she holds in her hand; it is the bodice; cleanliness is a fine thing. The white dress is hanging on the hook; it was washed in the teapot, and dried on the roof. She puts it on, ties a saffron-colored kerchief round her neck, and then the gown looks whiter. I can see myself--I can see myself!" "That's nothing to me," said little Gerda. "That does not concern me." And then off she ran to the further end of the garden. The gate was locked, but she shook the rusted bolt till it was loosened, and the gate opened; and little Gerda ran off barefooted into the wide world. She looked round her thrice, but no one followed her. At last she could run no longer; she sat down on a large stone, and when she looked about her, she saw that the summer had passed; it was late in the autumn, but that one could not remark in the beautiful garden, where there was always sunshine, and where there were flowers the whole year round. "Dear me, how long I have staid!" said Gerda. "Autumn is come. I must not rest any longer." And she got up to go further. [...] en_Pieśń kwiatów en_ Pieśń kwiatów (Jarek Kordaczuk na podst. H.Ch.Andersena) Piękny ogrodzie, wielki ogrodzie nóżki me bose zeszły twe ścieżki. Piękny ogrodzie, pachnące lilie czy wiecie gdzie jest mój mały Kaj? Zamek się wznosi nad górską ścieżką, balkon spowija gęsty bluszcz, spoza balkonu patrzy na drogę świeższa od róży, piękna dziewczyna. Lecz on nie przyjdzie - tylko to wiem. Piękny ogrodzie, kwietny ogrodzie promienie słońca chcą służyć tobie. Piękny ogrodzie, mały pierwiosnku widziały Kaja płateczki twe? Małe dziewczynki i starszy brat, huśtawka zwiewa jedwabne suknie, mydlane bańki strąca piesek mały, na tylne staje łapki. Nie wiem czy pieśń to jest czy sen. Piękny ogrodzie, dumny ogrodzie w ziemię wsiąkają łez moich krople. Piękny ogrodzie, słodkie hiacynty czy o mym Kaju jest wasza pieśń? Nie elfy były to ale dzieci tańczące w lesie gdy pachniał wiatr, trzy małe trumny u brzegu stawu, zapach powietrza jest coraz słodszy. Zasnęły one czy umarły? Piękny ogrodzie, wielki ogrodzie mój czas stracony zostawiam tobie. Piękny ogrodzie kwiateczki twoje nie znają pieśni o Kaju mym. Piękny ogrodzie, smutny ogrodzie muszę już iść. 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Song of Flowers

Work created on the basis of the fairy tale "The Snow Queen" by Hans Christian Andersen.

Music: Jarek Kordaczuk
Lyrics (based on H.Ch.Andersen): Jarek Kordaczuk
Vocal and vocal effects: Basia Raduszkiewicz

Song of Flowers
vocal Basia Raduszkiewicz
music Jarek Kordaczuk
Song of Flowers
A composition created on the basis of Gerda's conversation with flowers from The Third Story of The Snow Queen by Hans Christian Andersen.

Music: Jarek Kordaczuk
Lyrics (based on H.Ch.Andersena): Jarek Kordaczuk
Vocal and vocal effects: Basia Raduszkiewicz

A piece commissioned by the Children's Art Centre in Poznan as a part of A Room Full of Fairy Tales project.

Basia Raduszkiewicz preparing for the concert.