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Music by Douglas Lilburn, Words by Denis Glover | Baritone and Piano

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Douglas Lilburn<br />

<strong>Sings</strong> <strong>Harry</strong>


Douglas Lilburn<br />

<strong>Sings</strong> <strong>Harry</strong><br />

for baritone and piano<br />

Holiday Piece<br />

The Magpies


Douglas Lilburn Centenary Edition<br />

Volume 5 (PEL25)<br />

<strong>Sings</strong> <strong>Harry</strong> (1953/1954) © Alexander Turnbull Library Endowment Trust<br />

and the Estate of Denis Glover<br />

Holiday Piece (1946/1950) © Alexander Turnbull Library Endowment Trust<br />

and the Estate of Denis Glover<br />

The Magpies (1954) © Alexander Turnbull Library Endowment Trust and<br />

the Estate of Denis Glover<br />

The copyrights of Douglas Lilburn’s music are owned by the Alexander<br />

Turnbull Library Endowment Trust. Royalties from Douglas Lilburn’s music<br />

are paid to the Lilburn Trust for the fostering and preservation of New<br />

Zealand music.<br />

The copyrights of Denis Glover are owned by the Estate of Denis Glover<br />

and are reproduced in this volume by permssion.<br />

The copyrights of the front matter essays are owned by the authors as<br />

named.<br />

First edition © 2016 Promethean Editions Limited<br />

Publisher: Ross Hendy<br />

Series Editor: Robert Hoskins<br />

Music Editors: Ben Woods & Brad Jenkins<br />

Associate Editor: Rod Biss<br />

Cover Image: Leo Bensemann, Canterbury Spring, Oil on hardboard.<br />

Collection of Christchurch Art Gallery Te Puna o Waiwhetu; purchased<br />

1961. Reproduced by permission of the estate of the artist.<br />

Photograph: Douglas Lilburn Collection, Alexander Turnbull Library,<br />

PAColl-2547-01<br />

ISBN 978-1-877564-44-4 (print)<br />

ISBN 978-1-77660-545-3 (ebook)<br />

ISMN 979-0-67452-237-3<br />

Promethean Editions Limited<br />

PO Box 10-143<br />

Wellington<br />

NEW ZEALAND<br />

http://www.promethean-editions.com<br />

No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form or by<br />

any means without permission in writing from the Publisher.<br />

rhlm


Douglas Lilburn<br />

<strong>Sings</strong> <strong>Harry</strong><br />

for baritone and piano<br />

Holiday Piece<br />

The Magpies<br />

FOREWORD<br />

Douglas Lilburn biography .................................................... iv<br />

Lilburn sings <strong>Harry</strong> ......................................................................... v<br />

Publisher’s note ................................................................................ xi<br />

Glover sings <strong>Harry</strong>....................................................................... xiii<br />

Poems .........................................................................................................xix<br />

MUSIC<br />

SINGS HARRY (1953/1954) .......................................................... 1<br />

HOLIDAY PIECE (1946/1950) ................................................. 12<br />

THE MAGPIES (1954) .................................................................... 17<br />

Recording ..................................................................................................22<br />

PEL25 – iii


FOREWORD<br />

Douglas Lilburn occupies a pre-eminent position in New Zealand music, with a legacy extending well<br />

beyond his compositional output. As a composer, teacher and mentor he presided in innumerable<br />

ways over the artistic growth of New Zealand from 1940 onwards. From the early works redolent of<br />

the influence of Sibelius and Vaughan Williams, to the electro-acoustic pieces of his later years, his<br />

works have been instrumental in establishing a genuinely vernacular voice in New Zealand classical<br />

music.<br />

This edition is a special volume published in celebration of the centenary of Lilburn’s birth in 2015.<br />

This ‘centenary’ collection draws on the expertise of Dr Robert Hoskins, an Associate Professor<br />

at the New Zealand School of Music, and Rod Biss, who as Production Director of Faber Music<br />

and then Price Milburn, was instrumental in publishing Lilburn’s music in the 1970s. The editors,<br />

previous collaborators on the Douglas Lilburn Complete Piano Edition, have carefully considered<br />

and clarified Lilburn’s manuscripts and early publications in preparing these volumes as both<br />

scholarly and practical editions for performance, and presented with the exacting and elegant house<br />

style of Promethean Editions.<br />

Biography<br />

Douglas Lilburn (1915–2001) grew up on ‘Drysdale’, a hill-country farm bordering the mountainous<br />

region at the centre of New Zealand’s North Island. He often described his boyhood home as<br />

‘paradise’ and his first major orchestral work, Drysdale Overture (1937), written while a student<br />

under the aegis of Ralph Vaughan Williams at the Royal College of Music in London, conjures up<br />

the hills, bush and stream as primal sites of imaginative wonder. In this same period Lilburn wrote<br />

his Festival Overture and the Piano Sonata (1939), together with works that expressed national pride:<br />

a cantata entitled Prodigal Country (1939), and the Aotearoa Overture (1940), which has become a<br />

New Zealand classic. Although these works were written in his student years, their content, style and<br />

general confidence reveal Lilburn as an achieved artist.<br />

Returning to Christchurch, Lilburn banded together with an innovative group of painters, poets and<br />

publishers who were to prove influential. Settings of Allen Curnow and Denis Glover, for instance,<br />

resulted in two iconic works: Landfall in Unknown Seas (1942), a voyage of spiritual discovery for<br />

narrator and string orchestra, and the song cycle <strong>Sings</strong> <strong>Harry</strong> (1953/1954), the musings of a middleaged<br />

bachelor who, returning to the mountains where he grew up, begins to reassess and evaluate<br />

the course his life has taken. Two more works, an orchestral tone poem A Song of Islands (1946) and<br />

the Chaconne (1946) for piano, find their parallel in the regional paintings of Rita Angus.<br />

In 1947 Lilburn joined the staff at Victoria University College in Wellington and completed<br />

several works that received high critical acclaim, including two symphonies, two piano sonatas,<br />

and the Alistair Campbell song cycle Elegy (1951) – a vision of the titanic indifference of nature.<br />

Lilburn composed the Symphony No.3 (1961), along with Sonatina No.2 (1962) and Nine Short<br />

Pieces for Piano (1965–66), in response to a stimulating period of sabbatical leave. Masterpieces of<br />

concentrated form, these works explore the boundaries of his instrumental writing. From this point<br />

until his retirement, Lilburn chose to take on the new territory of electroacoustic composition.<br />

Lilburn’s final years were spent quietly at home in Thorndon, Wellington, tending to his garden and,<br />

until the onset of arthritis, playing his beloved August Förster piano. He received the Order of New<br />

Zealand in 1988.<br />

PEL25 – iv


Lilburn sings <strong>Harry</strong><br />

The homespun simplicity of these songs, the gentle precision of the word setting that is neither<br />

overstated or understated, the freely treated modality he gives to <strong>Harry</strong>’s voice, makes it too easy to<br />

overlook their importance. They have a sense of being found rather than composed, the timelessness<br />

of folksongs. If there are influences, they are American as much as British, Copland and the singing<br />

style of Burl Ives as much as Vaughan Williams and Scottish crofters; along with the ambient songs<br />

of Schubert’s lone figures. 1<br />

Douglas Lilburn (1915-2001) is a composer whose music comes from the force of his contemplation<br />

and reflection of the New Zealand landscape. As he wrote in A Search for Tradition (1946): ‘I feel<br />

that a musician in this country must develop his awareness of the place he lives in, not attempting<br />

a mere imitation of nature in sound, but seeking its inner values, the manifestations of beauty and<br />

purpose it shows us from time to time, and perhaps using it as something against which he can test<br />

the validity of his own work.’<br />

Lilburn was indebted to his boyhood on Drysdale Station in the central North Island (a world of<br />

silence and of hard work which he once described as a ‘Traherne-like paradise’) for his love of<br />

nature. 2 At Drysdale he fished for eels in the river and floated on log canoes, collected eggs and<br />

berries and listened to his sister play Grieg on the piano, heard Scottish folksongs on his mother’s lap,<br />

a neighbour’s bagpipes and a shepherd singing on a high ridge. Lilburn’s music shows many universal<br />

as well as individual responses to mountains and coastlines, stockmen and drovers, and the rhythm<br />

of nature’s cycles. For him the process of composing was an effort of memory and meditation to<br />

recombine with that semi-conscious, half-innocent state of childhood. ‘Basically, I want to do nothing<br />

that is not finally rooted in my own total experience’ he once wrote, and again: ‘Drysdale childhood,<br />

Taihape farm, Canterbury Port Hills, Paekakariki coast, Titahi Bay, Otago may provide backcloth,<br />

subsoil, nurture for roots of intuition, indefinable analogue of musical experience.’ 3<br />

Lilburn aligned himself most closely with other New Zealand artists, including the poet Denis Glover<br />

(1912-80) and the painter Rita Angus (1908-70), whose work is more intuitive than intellectual and<br />

whose images are firmly rooted in their native soil; artists who trust and celebrate their senses and<br />

link their experiences, quite specifically, to the natural world they love. Furthermore, Lilburn’s songs<br />

were invariably settings of New Zealand poets, some of which evoke a reflective nostalgia for the<br />

countryside but focus on the adult’s longing for innocence rather than its recovery (fine examples<br />

include Ruth Dallas’s ‘Clear Sky’ and Basil Dowling’s ‘Summer Afternoon’ for voice and piano);<br />

others guide us through the inner landscapes of poems such as Ursula Bethell’s ‘Warning of Winter’<br />

(for baritone and viola) and the almost unremittingly bleak settings for baritone and piano, of Alistair<br />

Te Ariki Campbell’s Elegy, where Lilburn renders the anguished human cry in the poet’s voice amid<br />

the natural world’s desolate expanses. 4<br />

1 Rod Biss recalls when he was a student of Lilburn’s in 1952, that the composer told his class he had been bowled over by<br />

the unpretentious simplicity of Burl Ives singing in the Wellington Town Hall, ‘a light voice that sounded untrained – he<br />

would just walk on, sit down and sing his folksy songs with a simple strummed accompaniment from his guitar’ (Biss to<br />

Hoskins, 12 October 2015).<br />

2 Lilburn to Hoskins, 22 July 1989.<br />

3 ‘Lilburn, Otago Notes, Book 1 (unpaginated), 3 and 13 May 1971 (MS-Papers-7623-036); the 13 May entry is quoted in<br />

Philip Norman, Douglas Lilburn: His Life and Music (2006), p.266.<br />

4 New Zealand poets Lilburn set to music include James K. Baxter, Ursula Bethell, Charles Brasch, Alistair Te Ariki<br />

Campbell, D’Arcy Cresswell, Allen Curnow, Ruth Dallas, Basil Dowling, Denis Glover, Robin Hyde, and R. A. K. Mason.<br />

PEL25 – v


<strong>Sings</strong> <strong>Harry</strong> for baritone and piano (1953/1954), 5 Lilburn’s setting of six poems from Denis Glover’s<br />

sequence (1951), 6 captures the essence of what he most valued, and today one could speak of the<br />

cycle having acquired national standing. 7 In these songs, Lilburn, relishing the dry enchantment<br />

of <strong>Harry</strong>’s voice, invites us to perceive connections between the rural world of the farm and the<br />

archetypal man alone. 8 Through <strong>Harry</strong>, he is able to explore the fundamental facts of existence in<br />

order to recognize the eternal truth and substance underlying that existence, as distinct from all its<br />

mundane distractions.<br />

The single most important factor about <strong>Sings</strong> <strong>Harry</strong> is the determination by the poet and the<br />

composer to use the ordinary language of ordinary people, and to transmute plain New Zealand<br />

speech into shining song-poems. Both knew the language of farmers (who can’t be fooled by rhetoric),<br />

but whereas Glover worked occasionally on high-country stations in his late teens, Lilburn, having<br />

grown up on a sheep station (and later working as a shepherd on his sister’s farm, singing lustily as<br />

he rode the hills), 9 could actually ‘remember’ the scenes that <strong>Harry</strong> sings of, and this informed his<br />

composition of the songs. The authentic vernacular of <strong>Harry</strong>’s voice is what hooks Lilburn, inspiring<br />

him to create spare and direct tunes with accompaniments that are startling in their ability to<br />

bring the physical world of paddocks and shorelines into focus, reminding us of the beauty of the<br />

familiar world. So there is the voice, and the created landscape, and the constantly shifting skein of<br />

metaphors, and the wonderfulness everywhere you look, and from whatever angle you look.<br />

Glover was initially enthusiastic about Lilburn’s settings (‘I’m very delighted and flattered that you<br />

have managed to bend <strong>Harry</strong> into musical form and make the old bastard sing in the chromatic<br />

scale’) 10 but was later resistant. 11 Baritone Roger Wilson recalls Glover leaving Otago’s Marama Hall<br />

just as he was about to start singing the cycle and seeing the poet through the glass doors ‘stalking<br />

up and down chain-smoking as I stood on the stage’. 12 William Broughton has argued that we are<br />

entitled to see <strong>Harry</strong> as a ‘dream-Glover’ or ‘the image in which Glover both identified and idealised<br />

5 Also arranged by Lilburn for tenor and guitar (1954) and tenor and piano (1954); his arrangement of ‘The Flowers of<br />

the Sea’ (1962) for guitar was published in Seventeen Pieces for Guitar (1962). The baritone Lilburn initially had in mind<br />

was Donald Munro who, with Frederick Page at the piano, premiered <strong>Sings</strong> <strong>Harry</strong> in a broadcast performance from<br />

2YC Wellington on 2 November 1953 (the composer’s birthday), but Munro did not sing it subsequently. For the tangled<br />

performance history of <strong>Sings</strong> <strong>Harry</strong>, see Norman, Douglas Lilburn, pp.182-185.<br />

6 Caxton Press published the thirteen poems that comprise this sequence under the title <strong>Sings</strong> <strong>Harry</strong> and Other Poems<br />

(1951). Lilburn told the New Zealand Listener, 30 October 1953, he chose the poems ‘not necessarily because I think<br />

they’re the best in the series, but because they seemed to me the most singable – often a word that’s useful to a poet can<br />

make a composer stumble’.<br />

7 Commercial recordings include Terence Finnigan (tenor) and Frederick Page (piano); Robert Oliver (tenor) and Milton<br />

Parker (guitar); Roger Wilson (baritone) and Gillian Bibby (piano).<br />

8 Interestingly, Peter Russell’s article ‘Man Alone: Douglas Lilburn’s “<strong>Sings</strong> <strong>Harry</strong>” in Context’ in Music in New Zealand<br />

21 (Winter 1993), pp.28–33, compares <strong>Harry</strong> and protagonists in song cycles by Schubert, Mahler and Vaughan Williams.<br />

In Glover’s <strong>Sings</strong> <strong>Harry</strong>, most of the primary images locating the poems speak of a farm world, though others draw on the<br />

mountain and coastal seascape. Lilburn does not set the two poems ‘Lake, Mountain, Tree’ and ‘Mountain Clearing’ where<br />

the wilderness serves as both setting and subject or the two poems ‘Thistledown’ and ‘The Park’ with hints of urban scenes;<br />

also excluded are ‘Songs’ (II), ‘Themes’ and ‘On the Headland’.<br />

9 Lilburn to William Norrie Rogers, 6 July 1985, quoted in Norman, Douglas Lilburn, p.95. Unlike Glover, who worked<br />

on the land as an employee, Lilburn comes from a world of sons and fathers contemplating their inheritances, the prospect<br />

of which <strong>Harry</strong> at least sometimes alludes to (thanks to my colleague Dr. William Broughton for pointing this out to me).<br />

Surviving fragments of Rita Angus’s first portrait of Lilburn (which she destroyed and replaced with the image of him<br />

against a coastal background) show him possibly at Drysdale gazing like a farmer assessing his stock.<br />

10 Glover to Lilburn, 9 April 1953, quoted in Norman, Douglas Lilburn, p.183.<br />

11 Think also of Goethe resisting Schubert, Housman resisting Vaughan Williams, and Yeats declaring that settings should<br />

not ‘repeat a line, or put more than one note to one syllable’ (1923).<br />

12 Wilson to Hoskins, 27 April 2015. The performance was at a conference to honour Charles Brasch, 1977.<br />

PEL25 – vi


himself’. 13 In this crucial sense, Glover (a war veteran arguably keeping his equilibrium by revisiting<br />

a familiar landscape) may have found that the intentionally wry voice of the poet was softened in<br />

the rapturous tone of the music. ‘I’ve always thought that <strong>Harry</strong>’s story and thoughts were not just<br />

satisfying and complete in themselves’ says poet Kevin Ireland, ‘All that wonderful outdoors imagery,<br />

which Lilburn responds to so stunningly is mirrored in a magical inner vision; something else is<br />

going on in the poem and Lilburn picks up on it.’ 14 For Wilson, who has performed <strong>Sings</strong> <strong>Harry</strong><br />

over a lifetime, the songs must be ‘put out there as they are, without exaggeration’. 15 For Lilburn,<br />

this meant ‘lontano, floating, nostalgic memory: insight of retrospection rather than immediate<br />

passion of feeling (though this must be felt within the retrospect). Anyway, this is how I designed my<br />

songs. Cool, please.’ 16 Frederick Page considered <strong>Sings</strong> <strong>Harry</strong> to be one of Lilburn’s best works and<br />

the penultimate song as ‘uncanny’ in its elevated consciousness. ‘One cannot now read the poems<br />

without overhearing the music’ he says, wondering if the sound might be identified as ‘specific’ to<br />

New Zealand. 17 Perhaps Page is suggesting that there was no New Zealand tone before Lilburn and<br />

that New Zealanders might embrace the distinctive voice of <strong>Sings</strong> <strong>Harry</strong> as their own.<br />

These songs… [Songs (I)] 18<br />

The first thing you notice about the music is the simple pentatonic minor tune with one note for<br />

each syllable. And the second is the sound of <strong>Harry</strong>’s guitar strumming in the chords of the piano<br />

accompaniment. The third is the self-deprecating tone in the falling melodic shapes and the abrasive<br />

word rhythms such as ‘smother’ and ‘bother’, followed by a rise to depict the towering rimu and kauri<br />

(supported by harmonic motion to the dominant) when <strong>Harry</strong> proclaims that the sands of time will<br />

obliterate his verse and that some better poet will replace him. But the fourth thing you might notice<br />

is that Lilburn has encoded the song with references to celebrate his own Scottish roots, not least in<br />

the Scotch snap rhythms. Furthermore, the ‘<strong>Sings</strong> <strong>Harry</strong>’ motif that is integral to the whole cycle –<br />

the scale step of a tone followed by the interval of a minor third is one we can recognize (in various<br />

guises) throughout Lilburn, from Drysdale Overture (1937), Lilburn’s orchestral tribute to the farm<br />

of his youth, to Symphony No. 3 (1961), which is sometimes described as the ‘<strong>Sings</strong> <strong>Harry</strong>’ symphony<br />

(though this irritated Lilburn). 19 Another rural aspect is the reflexive shape of the song, which feels<br />

directly related to the traditional movements of physical farm work, scything and shearing.<br />

The substantiality of <strong>Harry</strong> comes so much into focus through the musical setting that we can hear<br />

the movement of his fingers on the fret board and the dry tone of his voice, while the concentrated<br />

expression invites the narrative of his life story to present itself and the final ascending gesture of the<br />

accompaniment hints at his longing for something out of reach.<br />

13 William Broughton, ‘Poetic subjectivity and Denis Glover’s <strong>Sings</strong> <strong>Harry</strong>’, a paper delivered at a School of English and<br />

Media Studies seminar, Massey University, July 2001.<br />

14 Ireland to Hoskins, 9 May 2014.<br />

15 Wilson to Hoskins, 27 April 2015.<br />

16 Lilburn, Otago Notes, Book 5 (unpaginated), 14 October 1973, quoted in Norman, Douglas Lilburn, p.185. Lilburn<br />

commented to the New Zealand Listener, 30 October 1953: ‘Glover’s poems attract me for their clarity and directness,<br />

their wit and nostalgia. I’ve tried to get something of these qualities in the music, using a rather ballad-like style with a hint<br />

of <strong>Harry</strong>’s guitar in the accompaniment.’<br />

17 A quotation from Frederick Page’s ‘Elusive Lilburn’ in the New Zealand Listener, 12 April 1980, p.69.<br />

18 Glover’s title, not used by Lilburn, is in square brackets.<br />

19 The motif is fleetingly audible in Lilburn’s electro-acoustic piece <strong>Sings</strong> <strong>Harry</strong> (1963), a realization of the last lines of<br />

Glover’s sequence (read aloud by Lilburn) ‘Sing all things sweet or harsh upon / These islands in the Pacific sun’.<br />

PEL25 – vii


When I am old… [Songs (III)] 20<br />

In this minor mode song, middle-aged <strong>Harry</strong> wonders if he will retain the sensuous vitality of his<br />

youth or retreat into stale nostalgia. The music creates an audible paradox of movement and stasis,<br />

of warm surge and mesmerizing inertia that contributes to the tension of his passing thoughts. The<br />

vocal line for the opening stanza pulses forward to pitch up to a melodic climax as he eyes the cycling<br />

girls with their skirts fluttering in the breeze. The accompaniment hums with the exquisite tension<br />

of keeping things in suspension, as well as the bicycle wheels in motion.<br />

And then, for the closing couplet, all this energy dissolves, so that time seems to stand still. The<br />

voice maintains a rooted B, which besides the poetic association with the singer’s lonely state, hovers<br />

over the accompaniment’s vacillation between minor/major sonorities. The whole passage seems to<br />

inhibit vigorous action. The accompaniment click-clacks under the sedentary vocal line like a film<br />

reel rotating on its spool, as if to disclose the gestural mechanism of decrepitude.<br />

At the last moment Lilburn launches <strong>Harry</strong> back into the present with an octave leap that springs<br />

him out of his torpor to a tonic cadence but the piano part fizzling out implies the draining away of<br />

his existence.<br />

Once the Days<br />

Perhaps one can imagine <strong>Harry</strong> pensively gazing at his reflection in the clear, still water of a southern<br />

lake, staring into the profound depth and becoming aware that the tumult of our daily lives is finally<br />

put into perspective by the realisation that all human experience is finally put into context against the<br />

power and beauty of the natural world.<br />

Lilburn, by employing imitative counterpoint in the manner of a Bach three-part invention, reveals<br />

that <strong>Harry</strong>’s experience is philosophic in its retrieval of the stance of wisdom out of the experience of<br />

wonder. Furthermore, bare intervals with the slightest hint of dissonance jutting beneath the vocal<br />

line at the end of phrases tell us that the setting is salutary, not just picturesque, in its evocation of<br />

the landscape. The textures convey a unique sense of duration, giving <strong>Harry</strong> time to reflect on the<br />

past in a breathtaking panorama that continues indefinitely. Even as the vocal line fixes on the tonic<br />

to end the song, the accompaniment rises again to create an open cadence that gives the impression<br />

that it is not finished. This circularity, the effect of having no beginning and no end, is a subtle but<br />

ingenious analogue for drawing an indelible line between nature’s ever-renewable cycles and our own<br />

finite existences.<br />

The landscape is defined by the music not only in terms of its particular geological character – the<br />

alpine skyline silhouetted in the trajectory of the vocal line and mirrored in the piano textures – but<br />

also in terms of <strong>Harry</strong>’s presence as he willingly absents his own consciousness to assimilate nature<br />

as internal feeling. We are left with the strange impression that what informs the whole song – space<br />

– is part of the skin of <strong>Harry</strong>’s life.<br />

The Casual Man<br />

The tempo of this song speeds up, creating the image of <strong>Harry</strong> astride his horse cantering over the<br />

plains; the thud of hooves and the looping of reins are depicted in the accompaniment. Haloed in<br />

dust under a fierce blue sky in a limitless space flushed with yellow gorse, <strong>Harry</strong> sings triumphantly<br />

that he has abandoned the mainstream for the less-trodden route. On the long gallop over this flat<br />

scene, there seems to be not a single way in which life can be improved. The horse’s tireless and<br />

20 See note 18.<br />

PEL25 – viii


untiring gait and the wellbeing <strong>Harry</strong> radiates mean that the horse and rider harmonize with each<br />

other’s mood, as (Lilburn knows) horse and rider often do.<br />

If we understand that <strong>Harry</strong> is declaring in major mode that he will not be tamed or broken by<br />

society, then he is also recognising the oppressiveness of ‘what a clock shows’. The corrosion of time<br />

is manifest in an interruptive start/stop movement and bitonal sonorities moving over a tonic and<br />

mediant axis that is slightly out of phase, as if occluding tonal progression.<br />

The Flowers of the Sea<br />

In this song, <strong>Harry</strong>’s experiences are inextricably linked to the flow of the sea, which suffuses Lilburn’s<br />

setting. The drift of the piano sound is unmistakable from the beginning, with gentle cresting in the<br />

right hand over the tidal pull in slow-moving parallel chords below. The vocal line equally traces<br />

wave-like motion, an expression almost of a welling-up of something out of silence.<br />

<strong>Harry</strong>, held within a pulsation of sea-swell, remembers, in deft psychological shifts, lost strength<br />

and lost passion. His unfolding vocal line rises to a triplet figuration for the imagery of the gushing<br />

avalanche, and then falls back repressively, tracing the downward slope of the hill. A subsequent<br />

surge depicts his wild adolescence, counterpoised with the image of the neglected girl who trailed<br />

after him. Beneath the ‘flowers of the sea’ vocal phrase, Lilburn moves the tidal chords in the<br />

accompaniment even more flat-wards, giving the feel of greater penetration as <strong>Harry</strong>, transformed by<br />

memory, finally makes sense of his life. Loss, for <strong>Harry</strong>, releases him to his fullest expression of selfacceptance:<br />

‘But now I pluck the flowers of the sea’, words that somehow rebound off something (his<br />

creative imagination?) or someone (his stone-faced soul?), lifting the burden of his knowledge and<br />

experience to a new, refreshing plane. The axial E flat major chord that specifically supports the word<br />

‘sea’ is the most expressive and hence memorable. In that single chord Lilburn limns the profound<br />

depth of <strong>Harry</strong>’s intuitive experience. In a mood of rapt exultation, <strong>Harry</strong>, gazing at the pencil line of<br />

the horizon, sings repeated notes over continual harmonic fluctuation that is barely resolved at the<br />

end of the song. Like the sea anemone, he must not fight the current but balance himself against it.<br />

Nor does the narrator’s refrain enter to disturb his tranquillity.<br />

I Remember<br />

The scent of home pervades this major mode song, bringing summer days back on the farm sharply<br />

into focus. The opening two bars of the piano introduction simulate the winding river and when the<br />

neutral pitch slides sharp-wards, the move colours a sequence of breathtaking images: a fiery sunset,<br />

sweet-smelling ploughed fields, a swiftly-moving hare, and deer vigilantly snuffling the air. This<br />

stimulates our sensory perception, so that we see, hear, and smell with a more precise clarity.<br />

In terms of expressivity, the song is especially eventful. The rhythmic ease of the vocal line cascades<br />

into the sinuous flow of ‘the river running down’, while a pulsing accompaniment keeps things<br />

buoyant as well as accelerating the narrative flow. And then, as if regathering the atmospheric energy<br />

of the opening stanzas, the music moves into a gently charged section, recalling in flattened tonalities<br />

the uncles taking leave of the farm. Now the accompaniment serves to depict the clip-clop of Uncle<br />

Simon’s nag. <strong>Harry</strong>’s father stays to graze cattle, and ringing repeated notes on the tonic that sound<br />

almost physical, heighten his resolve.<br />

To close, Lilburn allows us yet another liminal experience as the motionless boy gazes up to the<br />

gliding hawk and down to the bush-lined river in music that slows gently to embrace that cherished<br />

remnant of childhood when all prospects glowed. The hawk becomes a correlative of <strong>Harry</strong>’s<br />

PEL25 – ix


suspended state and a broadening cadence underscores the musically paused word ‘still’ as a subtle<br />

musical parallel to the timeless moment. To feel such lightness at the conclusion of the cycle, at the<br />

place where accumulated knowledge might have banished innocence, is to hear again why Lilburn’s<br />

music continuously restores, rather than drains – ‘Sing high, sing loud, sing happy, sing clear’ he once<br />

wrote. 21<br />

What truly animates Lilburn’s cycle and makes it so transcendent is his ability to bring the physical<br />

world into our heads in such a way as to make us feel we have lived the scenes in some parallel and<br />

private universe. As if it were an intimation, <strong>Harry</strong> remembers the time when he was a boy, lifting<br />

his gaze to the river in the clean early morning light. Older now, he looks upon that rural experience<br />

with nostalgia and pride, and his mind is filled with some of the wonder he had known as a child. All<br />

his life, Lilburn attributed his creativity to the ‘sounds, richly received and stored in memory, along<br />

with premonitory silences from bush and river at Drysdale, and the vast sounds and distances of the<br />

coasts at Titahi Bay’. 22 Rapture came in boyhood, when he ‘began to sing, from high branches of<br />

trees, and later on the cliffs at Titahi Bay, a wordless song, intuitive, affirming St Augustine’s “joy that<br />

is inexpressible in words”’. 23 In <strong>Sings</strong> <strong>Harry</strong>, composed at the height of his creativity, Lilburn seems<br />

to have sculptured the sounds he intuitively heard in childhood (a mix of Scottish folksong and Grieg,<br />

whistling farm labourers and the murmur of water) into tunes that make us feel that we haven’t<br />

merely heard them but sung them over and over, and their oneness with the accompaniment throws<br />

open the door on a New Zealand not represented previously in music with such sharp personal focus<br />

– so that <strong>Sings</strong> <strong>Harry</strong> is not just a bunch of songs sung by a guy reaching middle age, but in fact a<br />

great and seminal work of art.<br />

The copy-text for this edition is Lilburn’s holograph dated 1954 with reference to the first printed<br />

edition (1966) and an earlier ink holograph dated 1953; the song-text follows the first edition of<br />

Glover’s poems (1951), preserving the fluctuating use of capitals and lower case on the word ‘sings’,<br />

possibly used expressively to suggest the movements of the voice (it should be noted that the 14 poems<br />

about <strong>Harry</strong> were written over a decade, the entire set appearing in the 1951 edition). Evidence<br />

from the holograph manuscripts preserves the painstaking care that went into the composition.<br />

The 1953 version for example, includes pencil markings related to tempo indications and points of<br />

articulation, many incorporated subsequently, including the pause at ‘And a boy lay still’, connecting<br />

the composer’s vision and the child’s. There are also pencil expression marks probably related to the<br />

Munro/Page broadcast performance preparation, for example ‘but con moto’ is added to the extant<br />

tempo indication of the opening song and the direction ‘quick roll on to the note’ is given for the<br />

arpeggios in the piano part (in both the 1953 and 1954 holographs Lilburn writes out the first broken<br />

chord before the bar-line indicating how he expects all the broken chords to be played, but we have<br />

adopted the conventional notation throughout). In song five he indicates ‘harden the tone’ at ‘But<br />

now I pluck the flowers of the sea’ and ‘gently’ for the following ‘sings <strong>Harry</strong>’, to bring out the gravity<br />

for a moment then move back somewhat into the distance. An instruction for the opening right hand<br />

bars of the piano accompaniment for song five reads ‘tenuto on the paused semiquaver rest then<br />

a slight accelerando onto the minim otherwise the rhythm is steady’ and in song six he indicates<br />

‘stronger’ at ‘My father held to the land’ to convey a unique sense of duration. Furthermore, there<br />

are tie extensions in the vocal part on the last note of the first and third songs. The 1953 holograph<br />

21 Lilburn, ‘Autobiographical Notes’, undated entry (MS-Papers-7623-032).<br />

22 ‘Memories of Early Years’ in Robert Hoskins (ed.), Douglas Lilburn: Memories of Early Years and other writings (2014),<br />

p.40. Lilburn’s connection to his home landscape echoes Elgar locating the early source of his own music in a bed of reeds<br />

and Nielsen in the meadows herding geese. Likewise, Beethoven’s riverine voice in the Pastoral Symphony might re-inhabit<br />

the Rhineland of the composer’s childhood.<br />

23 Memories of Early Years, p.38. The quotation is from St Augustine’s Confessions.<br />

PEL25 – x


for the third song has phrasing that exactly matches the unusual grouping of the quaver ligatures;<br />

the phrasing in the 1954 version (adopted in this edition) is more flowing, but the performer should<br />

also be aware of the subtle rhythms implied by Lilburn’s quaver groupings. Very little editorial<br />

clarification is necessary for this present volume since expression marks and dynamics are consistent<br />

between the 1954 holograph and the first edition. A notational change in the holograph to the closing<br />

bars of the vocal line in the last song is marked in pencil – the octave leap occurs half a beat earlier<br />

and the top C, originally a dotted crotchet, is extended over the bar, also ‘<strong>Harry</strong>’ is extended by a<br />

crotchet beat over the bar. Minor corrections and signs lacking in the musical sources but added for<br />

musical reasons are included silently; accidentals apply at specific pitch for that bar only.<br />

Holiday Piece and The Magpies<br />

This volume also includes two previously unpublished settings by Lilburn of Denis Glover’s poetry,<br />

‘Holiday Piece’ for medium voice and piano and ‘The Magpies’ for mixed voices. Both reveal<br />

Lilburn’s precise ear for the sights and sounds of the natural world (he wrote in the 1976 volume of<br />

his Otago Notes, that ‘Holiday Piece’ shaped his fine Allegro for strings composed in 1942). The copytext<br />

for ‘Holiday Piece’ (composed in 1946 and thoroughly revised in 1950) is Lilburn’s ink holograph<br />

of the revised version at the Alexander Turnbull Library under the call-number fMS-Papers-4469-1<br />

(the 1946 pencil holograph, MS-Papers-7623-008, has a cover note by Lilburn that reads: ‘Revised<br />

’50 – this version hardly corresponds’); the song-text for this edition follows the poem’s appearance in<br />

The Wind and the Sand (1945). The copy-text for ‘The Magpies’ (1954), composed at the request of<br />

Don McKenzie for the Otago University Adult Education choir at Hyde, Central Otago, is Lilburn’s<br />

holograph at the Alexander Turnbull Library under the call-number fMS-Papers-4796; the songtext<br />

for this edition follows the poem’s appearance in The Wind and the Sand (1945), which, as in<br />

Lilburn’s setting, omits the fourth (and harshest) stanza (it is the only edition to do so). The choir at<br />

Hyde apparently included three male voices and twelve female voices and Lilburn recalled in a letter<br />

to Lisa Futschek, written on 28 November 1990 (fMS-Papers-4797 and partially reprinted in her<br />

article ‘Lilburn’s Magpies: a manuscript rediscovered in Otago’, Canzona, vol. 34, no. 14, 1991, pp.<br />

56-57): ‘I imagined something very simple, in ballad style, for amateur country choirs. Given this, I<br />

added no dynamic markings, though I’d now imagine the men’s voices [singing the verses] objectively<br />

mezzo [i.e. not overdramatizing the text], and the women’s voices of the magpie chorus gradually<br />

increasing their intensity, though not dramatically.’<br />

Editorial notes<br />

Robert Hoskins, Palmerston North, 2016<br />

The copy-text for this edition is Lilburn’s fair copy ink holograph dated 1954, in the Alexander<br />

Turnbull Library (fMS-2483-071), with reference to the handset first edition originally published by<br />

Otago University Press in 1966, which Lilburn probably proofed, and an earlier ink holograph dated<br />

1953 (MS-Papers-2483-020); the song-text for this edition follows the first edition of Glover’s poems,<br />

<strong>Sings</strong> <strong>Harry</strong> and Other Poems (Christchurch: Caxton Press, 1951).<br />

Lilburn has written the voice part with separate quaver stems. In this edition we have grouped the<br />

quavers with ligatures in the normal ‘instrumental’ style. Lilburn does, however, use square brackets<br />

over the notes in the third song, Once the Days, and the sixth song, I Remember, as a way of showing<br />

the subtle rhythmic groupings and cross rhythms. In this edition we have indicated these groupings<br />

with quaver ligatures.<br />

PEL25 – xi


Accidentals apply at the pitch noted and for the one bar only. We have, however, followed Lilburn’s<br />

holograph in adding cautionary naturals in the fourth song, The Casual Man, where A natural directly<br />

follows AÏ.<br />

Lilburn has written out the opening piano chord of the first song, These songs…, as grace notes<br />

showing how he wishes to hear the chord as though strummed on a guitar. From this point on he<br />

writes the chord with an arpeggio wavy line; in this edition we have used the wavy line throughout.<br />

In the first song, These songs…, Lilburn appears to have changed his mind about a figure that<br />

appears in the accompaniment L.H. bars 7, 12, 17 and 21. In the earlier tenor version this figure<br />

is in the R.H. and consists of two demi-semiquavers followed by a quaver and then a semiquaver.<br />

When he made the baritone version he simplified this to a triplet of semiquavers followed by two<br />

semi-quavers. In the later 1954 holograph these semiquavers are written as quavers but we feel sure<br />

that this was a slip of the pen and that semiquavers were intended. This edition has them as such.<br />

As noted in the Introduction Lilburn made later versions of <strong>Sings</strong> <strong>Harry</strong> for tenor and piano, and<br />

tenor and guitar. Some of his tempo markings and minor details differ in these versions, but we have<br />

not felt it was appropriate to list them all in these Editorial Notes.<br />

Publisher’s note<br />

Rod Biss, Auckland, 2016<br />

In the early 1940s Douglas Lilburn established what become lifelong friendships with a number of<br />

artists, writers and poets in Christchurch who, along with Lilburn, were instrumental in establishing<br />

a genuine vernacular for the arts in New Zealand. Notable among this circle were Lilburn’s close<br />

friends and fine artists Rita Angus and Leo Bensemann, both of whom shared an exchange of artistic<br />

influence with Lilburn. We chose to feature Bensemenn’s Rain in the Paradise Garden, Takaka on<br />

the front cover of the Douglas Lilburn Collected Piano Edition and similarly we have chosen to<br />

feature Bensemenn’s Canterbury Spring on the front cover of our ‘centenary collection’.<br />

The Publisher also gratefully acknowledges the assistance from the Alexander Turnbull Library, Rod<br />

Biss, William Broughton, Guy Donaldson, Dr Robert Hoskins, the HRL Morrison Music Trust, the<br />

Lilburn Trust, Massey University and Brian Turner in the publication of this edition. This volume of<br />

the edition has been funded by the New Zealand School of Music.<br />

Promethean Editions, Wellington, 2016<br />

PEL25 – xii


Glover sings <strong>Harry</strong><br />

Right from the start, from when I first read the <strong>Sings</strong> <strong>Harry</strong> sequence, I felt as if I was hearing Glover<br />

singing what he himself felt he needed to sing. In those days – in my case, the mid- to late 1960s – the<br />

likes of <strong>Harry</strong> and his ilk were seen as less becoming, uncomfortably anti-social, people hiding away<br />

in the ‘wilds’ as my paternal grandmother saw it. The <strong>Harry</strong>s were, sometimes – let’s not beat around<br />

the bush – seen as ‘misfits’. And Glover, though certainly not an ordinary bloke, and not exactly a<br />

misfit either, had difficulty fitting in. He needed to sing and say things about what it was like to be,<br />

or feel like an outsider. He was a bit of a rebel, versatile, energetic, non-conformist, unconventional<br />

and, at times, what some term curmudgeonly. Insolent and adventurous and mischievous and, when<br />

in his cups, a bit sentimental, too.<br />

My father, Alf, found me too unconventional, scruffy. He was disturbed by my liking for the<br />

mountains and the back country, the ‘back of beyond’ as he saw it. Me, I preferred to speak of the<br />

‘far blue yonder’. That phrase sang in me, called out to me. Alf felt I was in danger of becoming<br />

like ‘the wild man of Borneo’ and often described me as such in the presence of others. He and<br />

my grandfathers, returned servicemen all, saw humanity as more barbarous than most people were<br />

willing to admit. Well, we’re still at it, aren’t we? They saw the likes of <strong>Harry</strong> as ‘oddballs’. So did my<br />

uncles and cousins. To them those who seemed to prefer the solitary life were turning their backs<br />

on ‘civilized’ society.<br />

To me these so-called oddballs were not so much men alone but blokes who liked to see themselves<br />

as self-reliant, number eight fencing wirers, who felt the ‘wild’ was where a man could truly be free<br />

and at home. Some were jokers who saw nature, the mountains and the valleys with rivers ‘running<br />

down’ as <strong>Harry</strong> found, consoling as well as uplifting. Believe it or not, not all of those who choose to<br />

live in parts deemed ‘remote’ do so out of a wish to hide from ‘civilization’. It’s more that many feel<br />

that aspects of it leave much to be desired, and who could argue with that? Paul Powell wrote of ‘the<br />

honesty of the high hills’ – lots of mountaineers see hills as animate – and <strong>Harry</strong>, in ‘The Casual Man’<br />

aloofly sings, ‘Let the world hurry by, / I’ll not hurry,’. Ironically, today, more people are tending to<br />

flee cities, if they have the means to sell up and escape, but that’s a different story.<br />

Some have felt the line ‘I’ll not hurry,’ was characteristic of Glover’s own attitude to life. Yes, and no.<br />

He had many interests, many talents, was very active physically – running, boxing, climbing, sailing<br />

– without really being too concerned about excelling. Both a dabbler in some areas and one with<br />

considerable skills and expertise in others.<br />

Back then, the valleys and forests and mountains were seen as no place for sissies. And Glover, no<br />

mean sailor, and one who’d climbed more than a few mountains too, confirmed that a man could be<br />

both outdoorsy and cultivated, the kind of person the urban intelligentsia were apt to regard as not<br />

fully formed, graceless, insufficiently worldly. Not good at expressing who they were or what they<br />

stood for; insular, a bit hidebound, awkward… The sorts who, if one spoke of abstract or expressionist<br />

art, say, or ‘experimental’ writing, would gruffly snort or scoff, turn away and say it was time to chuck<br />

a few lamb chops in the pan and have a beer. Actually, I’ve had to suppress such an urge myself,<br />

and still do, when confronted by some of what’s presented as ‘conceptual’. Such, to those I grew up<br />

among, tended to scoff, say ‘they’re having us on’. Not long before my father died he mentioned a<br />

prominent artist’s work and shook his head. I said he’s what’s called ‘pushing the boundaries’. ‘No,’<br />

he said, ‘just another con artist.’<br />

PEL25 – xiii


Glover’s lot – his circle – were forerunners, as I saw them. Throughout the country, across all of the<br />

arts, many felt it was time for us to become more cultivated, sophisticated and independent-minded.<br />

And yet some writers of my generation believed we weren’t moving quickly enough, were too<br />

conservative, and looked to the US, to the Beats, and to Robert Creeley and his ilk. They were seen to<br />

be ‘cool’, and their disciples here presented as ‘Freed’, and ‘open’, as in ‘Open Form’. Implicit in this<br />

was that they were up with the play and unless you joined them, you weren’t. In my case I didn’t see<br />

the point, didn’t deliberately want to hitch myself to any wagon. But the ‘Freeders’ saw themselves,<br />

so some believed, more imaginative, experimental, prone to take risks, determined to break with<br />

tradition, and so on. I found this condescending but not unexpected. (My father, I recall, used to<br />

remind me and others that ‘self-praise was no recommendation’, and that we needed to beware and<br />

‘not get too far up our own fundamentals’.)<br />

All writers have difficulty, at some point, distinguishing between imitation and theft on the way<br />

to finding a voice of one’s own. Me, I thought Curnow and Fairburn and Baxter and Glover and<br />

Campbell and Bethell and Brasch and so on were damned good, part of a literary/poetic tradition<br />

that would linger, not die. I wasn’t one who felt the need – or had the temerity – to dispense with,<br />

or modify greatly, what in large part reflected what I knew of and felt about where I came from, and<br />

replace it with what was issuing from New York or San Francisco. But none of that is to say that I<br />

failed to find work everywhere that appealed to me, and some of what Creeley and others produced<br />

I liked a lot.<br />

From my vantage point – a southern New Zealander who fished and roamed in the back country,<br />

climbed mountains, played sport enthusiastically and read a lot as well – I saw Glover/<strong>Harry</strong> as<br />

conflicted, at times both at home and at ease here, and sometimes not. Finding one’s way, one’s voice,<br />

one’s place, as <strong>Harry</strong> (a la Glover) was trying to do, is hard. <strong>Harry</strong> found stimulation in the ‘natural’<br />

world and valued the independence he had while being on the outside looking back as well as in. He<br />

was ever reflecting on past and present in order to make sense of and find valid ways of living one’s<br />

life. Living and working in challenging country, in testing circumstances, made a man confront the<br />

essential facts of life. Summing us up, <strong>Harry</strong> reckoned there’s always been ‘fighting and folly’ and it’s<br />

easy ‘To follow... wild thoughts / Away over the hill, / Where there is only the world / And the world’s<br />

ill,’. What’s changed?<br />

I’d never met Glover until I’d moved to Wellington in the late 1960s. He sounded – here comes my<br />

working class Dunedin upbringing – a bit ‘pluty’, affected, as if he’d gone to a private school: well, at<br />

one point, he had. Born in Dunedin in December 1912, he went to primary school there, then moved<br />

north to New Plymouth where, as he wrote in his autobiographical Hot Water Sailor (Wellington,<br />

1962), at New Plymouth High School he ‘learnt nothing except a great deal of bewilderment’. From<br />

there he was shunted north to Auckland Grammar and then, before much longer, he was removed to<br />

Christchurch, to Christ’s College, where, he wrote, ‘the difference was staggering’. Glover deemed<br />

Christchurch ‘the least interesting of our four cities’ although he had some good things to say about<br />

Canterbury University College. Subsequently, many years after he’d left, he wrote that it had ‘lately<br />

inflated itself like the bullfrog in the little pond by designating itself the University of Canterbury’.<br />

Ah, Glover and irreverence were synonymous, often, which was what many liked about him.<br />

A lot of the time Glover felt like a bit of a square peg in a round hole, both at home and out-of-sorts<br />

here, as many New Zealand writers of his, and my generation, were. In those days there was nothing<br />

unusual about that. I saw him and, eventually, myself, as not only wanting to make something of<br />

ourselves but also help renovate and ‘improve’ our place. It was a case of wanting to be seen as having<br />

PEL25 – xiv


an individual ‘identity’, a distinctive voice, contributing in ways that others appreciated, respected,<br />

found interesting. Such a desire is evident still amongst many across all the arts despite the presence<br />

of some who hunger to cultivate those of importance in the UK, say, in part in order to gain entry<br />

into a wider and, by inference, intellectually superior world. That such efforts can look like attentionseeking,<br />

thus a tad demeaning, doesn’t seem to concern us too much. In all areas New Zealanders<br />

are encouraged – or feel impelled – to try to make it onto the world’s stage and show that although<br />

we might be but ‘a small country’, we sure as hell can ‘punch above our weight’.<br />

What did Glover himself know about the back country, the mountains, when he came to write <strong>Sings</strong><br />

<strong>Harry</strong>? is a question one might ask. He was, as I found him, by turns flippant and haughty, irreverent,<br />

too, and also congenial. I remember him calling me ‘dear boy’. I felt he probably underplayed his<br />

abilities in the mountains. He told me he was no great shakes as a climber, but given his size and build<br />

he was almost certainly agile enough and well capable of covering the ground. In Hot Water Sailor,<br />

he records joining the Canterbury Mountaineering Club as a ‘very junior member among men who<br />

were busy exploring the Southern Alps…people like Pascoe and Chester and Hewitt’, and that later<br />

on he realised that they and men like them, and he by association, were ‘rugged [mountaineering]<br />

pioneers’.<br />

Glover wrote that ‘The mystery of the mountains’ he wouldn’t ‘try to explain. I saw it, I know it, I<br />

respect it.’ He and I spoke about that, a little, because I’d also climbed some of the peaks he had, but<br />

never found the time to attempt to repeat what he and Rodney Hewitt achieved which was ‘a winter<br />

traverse of Mt Rolleston.’ Glover thought it may have been ‘a first’, but wasn’t sure. If he hadn’t gone<br />

mountaineering would he have written <strong>Sings</strong> <strong>Harry</strong>, and his sequence of poems on Arawata Bill? I<br />

don’t think so. As he wrote in Hot Water Sailor, ‘The sea and the mountains – these dominate the<br />

New Zealand scene.’ By that I think he meant the consciousness generally across a large section of<br />

New Zealand society, not just artists and writers and musicians. Today? I’m not so sure. The back<br />

country’s still a great draw, but in Glover’s day it wasn’t chocka with multi-sporters, mountain bikers,<br />

skiers, ‘thrill-seekers’, kayakers, hang-gliders, jet-boaters, and so on, including lots of high-fliers and<br />

wealthies from other parts of the world.<br />

Those were days before ‘lifestyle’ blocks, mansions, helicopters and guided anglers, visits from<br />

overseas ‘celebrities’ here to experience ‘clean and green, 100% pure’ New Zealand. Such are not<br />

the sort likely to stop for a pie at Darfield, say, on the way to the Upper Waimakariri as climbers and<br />

trampers once did, often, on their way to the mountains. In those days one still felt intrepid setting<br />

out for the high hills, buoyed by the belief that there’s still a lot to be done, much that few others had<br />

seen. Were we deluded, or is it still the same as we remember it in what seem like far-off days? Days<br />

that ‘were clear / Like mountains in water,’ as <strong>Harry</strong> remembered.<br />

As I read him, Glover stopped short of asserting, as Judith Powell, wife of the mountaineer Paul<br />

Powell did in his book Men Aspiring (Wellington, 1967), that ‘all men are liars, and mountaineers are<br />

great men’: larger than life, noble even. Nor would he have wholeheartedly agreed, I feel, with Paul’s<br />

view that ‘Men come to maturity in the mountains’. Such claims were a bit too fluffy for the likes of<br />

Glover, but he, through <strong>Harry</strong>, mostly accepted that time spent wandering about and exploring the<br />

country was enabling, presented opportunities to ponder and reach a few conclusions about what it<br />

is we’re bound to venerate, or not. Self-sufficiency, yes, but not at the expense of concerns for the<br />

common good. It’s hard for the likes of me, when reading Glover today, not to ask what it is that<br />

down-to-earth Kiwi’s stand for now, or if such exist. Back then a ruthless, amoral determination to<br />

feather one’s own nest was not openly on show.<br />

PEL25 – xv


In Glover’s day individualism, as represented by <strong>Harry</strong> (and Arawata Bill), came through clearly in<br />

the poems. It wasn’t the please look at me, hysterical individualism that’s evident today, permeates<br />

social media and comes across as a need to be noticed, a wish to be seen as a celebrity, if only for a<br />

moment. <strong>Harry</strong>, in ‘Songs (III)’ [‘When I am old’] wonders if, when he’s an oldie, his ‘old eyes [will]<br />

feast / Upon some private movie of the past?’ From today’s perspective you’d have to say No, privacy<br />

of any kind’s less and less likely.<br />

From where I’ve sat, Glover’s prose and poetry has always borne witness to his understanding that<br />

recollections, while not always reliable, are frequently charged with truths inherent, contain the<br />

essence of what’s long-lasting. To my mind Glover would have agreed that, because of the nature of<br />

nostalgia alone – <strong>Harry</strong> is full of that – very few of us can persuasively claim anyone’s memories are<br />

totally reliable. Nonetheless, many surely go close to representing the essence of how it was. In this<br />

regard, late in 2014 I recall a terminally ill Clive James drily referring to his own life’s ‘false steps<br />

and humiliations’. Whereupon I thought <strong>Harry</strong>, for instance, knew about such, wasn’t up to personal<br />

inflation. Take ‘Song I’ [‘These songs…’] where he says, singing ‘to an old guitar’, he’s already no<br />

‘rimu or kauri’, he’s ‘but the cabbage tree’.<br />

Before re-reading <strong>Sings</strong> <strong>Harry</strong> I had a look at W H Oliver’s Poetry in New Zealand (a Post-Primary<br />

School Bulletin published in 1960) in which Oliver writes about some of Glover’s work and that of his<br />

contemporaries. Referring to Allen Curnow’s ‘The Historic Story’, Oliver says that an ‘essential point’<br />

in that poem, and in A R D Fairburn’s ‘Dominion’, is that Curnow’s phrase ‘something / Nobody<br />

counted on’ is Curnow arguing that ‘the land itself is not a mere passive sufferer in the process of<br />

history. It reacts, it imposes its own terms upon the apparent conqueror; the earth reshapes men as<br />

they reshape it.’ It seems to me that throughout Glover’s work, and especially in <strong>Sings</strong> <strong>Harry</strong> (and also<br />

in the ‘Arawata Bill’ poems) something similar can be said of what Glover intimates through the voice<br />

of <strong>Harry</strong>. Take the first two lines of ‘The Flowers of the Sea’: ‘Once my strength was an avalanche /<br />

Now it follows the fold of the hill’. I have no difficulty in thinking that <strong>Harry</strong>, thus Glover too, would<br />

have nodded if presented with what Lawrence Durrell wrote in Spirit of Place: ‘all landscapes ask the<br />

same question in the same whisper. “I am watching you – are you watching yourself in me?”<br />

<strong>Harry</strong>’s an insecure man in many ways. Aren’t we all? Aren’t we but fleeting? In the poem ‘I<br />

Remember’, so much of what <strong>Harry</strong> recalls, even that which was a relatively short time ago - ‘the<br />

river running down’ and ‘antlers in the hall’, and so on and on - feels as if it is, when compared with<br />

the mountains and a whole lot else, ‘long ago’. We all, most of us, pine for the best we remember of<br />

the past so that for as long as we’ve our memories of what seemed idyllic, of that ‘boy [who] lay still<br />

/ By the river running down,’ all is not lost. Our most vivid memories are what sustain us, and haunt<br />

and instruct. That’s what <strong>Harry</strong> is telling us.<br />

When I read the first of the songs, which begins by declaring, ‘These songs will not stand—’, I<br />

thought, you’re pulling my leg. What writer doesn’t hope his words will last, stand; that will linger in<br />

others’ minds, resonate, illuminate, fortify and shore us up? Immediately, however, <strong>Harry</strong> qualifies<br />

what he’d declared in his opening line with, ‘The wind and the sand will smother.’ So the songs are<br />

going to hang around and therefore ‘stand’ after all. Wind often uncovers what its smothered. I read,<br />

‘Not I but another / Will make songs worth the bother:’ as having a touch of false modesty in it. Am<br />

I right to think I hear an echo of Allen Curnow’s concluding couplet to The Skeleton of the Great<br />

Moa…’: ‘Not I, some child, born in a marvellous year, / Will learn the trick of standing upright here.’?<br />

Personally, I see Glover and Curnow as having made assumptions as to what might, or would, happen<br />

to our place: this country. In many respects it seems to me we have failed to learn the tricks needed<br />

PEL25 – xvi


to ensure we didn’t make a botch of it here, and we continue to avert the eyes: if not that, delude<br />

ourselves. Sure, we were standing uncertainly here, as is said about many ‘young’ countries. But not<br />

many of us, up until a few decades ago, spotted the extent of the environmental degradation we’d<br />

inflict upon the place, all in the name of ‘progress and development’, of ‘growth’ as it is defined, alas.<br />

That said, this is a complicated, riddling, story, one that needs a more extensive examination.<br />

In ‘Song III’, <strong>Harry</strong> wonders what he’ll think ‘When I’m old’. No answers: just conjecture, musings,<br />

and the risqué image of ‘Girls on bicycles / Turning into the wind?’ In Christchurch, perhaps, turning<br />

into Hagley Park, skirts flying, flapping in a hot nor’westerly wind?<br />

The poem ‘I Remember’ is full of wonderfully vivid images and pastoral sonorities: a ‘rim of fire on<br />

the hills’; of <strong>Harry</strong> who ‘grew up like a shaggy steer / And as swift as a hare’. We’re told of ‘Uncle<br />

Simon [who] left the farm / After some wild quarrel,’ but, ‘But that was long ago / When... / ... a boy<br />

lay still / By the river running down,’. One sinks under the plaintiveness, the bittersweet of it all. Sad,<br />

yet lovely.<br />

The poem ‘Once the Days’ is an almost perfect lyric, one of the best and most often quoted in our<br />

literature. Its poignancy always affects me: ‘And I was a fool leaving / Good land to moulder,’ <strong>Harry</strong><br />

says, and later tells us he’s gone to ‘follow’ [his] wild thoughts’ to a place ‘Where there is only the<br />

world / And the world’s ill, sings <strong>Harry</strong>.’<br />

We could argue about how one defines what is ‘good land’ (especially today, when more and more<br />

has been converted to nitrate-laden bright green grass), and discuss why it is that there’s so much<br />

ill in the world. But for all that, one ‘gets’ what he’s alluding to which is, in part, how does one deal<br />

with regret? When he says at the beginning, ‘Once the days were clear’, he’s inferring they aren’t any<br />

more, and is in effect asking why it is that foolishness plays havoc with lives. And today, seven decades<br />

and more on, instead of clean rivers ‘running down’ they’re tending brown.<br />

‘The Casual Man’ is a bouncy little song which asks a few rhetorical questions while casting doubts.<br />

Take the conclusion, for instance, where we’re asked, ‘But does the casual man care / How the world<br />

goes?’ Not the deliberately apathetic, that’s for sure.<br />

Then there’s ‘The Flowers of the Sea’ where <strong>Harry</strong> states that ‘Who plucked at me plucked holly,’ but<br />

then, thankfully, one feels, he says, ‘But now I pluck the flowers of the sea’. He concludes the poem<br />

by averring to the truth which is ‘the tide comes’ and it ‘goes / And the wind blows.’ The ill winds,<br />

perhaps; or the winds of time? Who really knows, but it’s clear that they buffet us, one way or another,<br />

and at times it’s not easy to deny that we bring what buffets us upon ourselves.<br />

Throughout the <strong>Sings</strong> <strong>Harry</strong> poems nostalgia’s a tonic when it’s not simply rueful, just as it’s necessary<br />

and instructive to remember – as we are told in ‘Themes’ – to ‘find / [a] man who speaks his mind’.<br />

Why? Because, when ‘Truth’s out of uniform, sings <strong>Harry</strong>, / That’s her offence / Where lunacy parades<br />

as commonsense.’ We all want to enjoy some golden weather and not suddenly witness the end of<br />

it, is how I read parts of the <strong>Sings</strong> <strong>Harry</strong> sequence. To me <strong>Harry</strong> – all of the <strong>Harry</strong>s one knows or<br />

imagines one’s known – more than likely felt that way.<br />

<strong>Harry</strong> remembers his boyhood, the fabled days of a youthful innocence and a time when, one could<br />

infer, we were what many still see as ‘a young country’. Innocence leaves us, departs in a hurry,<br />

when wider realities arrive. I doubt that <strong>Harry</strong> could have foreseen what George Monbiot, writing<br />

about human society today, terms the ‘joyless hedonism’, the extent of the ‘anxiety, dissatisfaction<br />

and loneliness’ that now exists, and the amount of the damage we’ve caused in the years since he left<br />

PEL25 – xvii


us. <strong>Harry</strong> had ongoing issues, as is said nowadays of those disturbed by dilemmas and burdened by<br />

anguish for what’s been lost. How do we progress without destroying the best of the way things used<br />

to be? I think we can say <strong>Harry</strong> was concerned about which way ‘the wind blows’. No one asks, as<br />

<strong>Harry</strong> did in ‘The Casual Man’, ‘Why should a man worry?’ without knowing full well he ought to.<br />

As a person Glover was, by the standards of his day, by standards here, a bit exotic: quixotic too. He<br />

was sometimes seen as outrageous, rude, a tad rakehelly. In <strong>Sings</strong> <strong>Harry</strong> he toned that side down,<br />

emerged more like a rueful vagabond. He knew – himself included – how silly and destructive and,<br />

at times bewildered, most of us are. That many of us have feet of clay.<br />

<strong>Harry</strong> and his songs show him to be a lot like his creator, Denis Glover: tender, laconic, irreverent,<br />

sombre, poignant, phlegmatic, occasionally acerbic. Many-sided, then, and having, as Gordon Ogilvie<br />

put it in Denis Glover: His Life (Auckland, 1999), a ‘frequently tart view of urban society.’<br />

As I see it today, it often seems that we are heading off into the twilight, if not sunset, of not just<br />

our own days, but humankind’s days. And that bewilders and infuriates me. What Glover would be<br />

saying, through <strong>Harry</strong>, I can’t – we can’t – say. But ‘they’ knew that a lot was going awry. Can we<br />

save ourselves from ourselves, and accept that we must see the world around us in which we live,<br />

and depend upon, as a community to which we belong and are but a part, instead of glorifying our<br />

dominance – as we see it – and giving ourselves the right to regard everything else as an inexhaustible<br />

conglomeration of ‘resources’ to be used with impunity? It doesn’t look like it.<br />

Brian Turner, Oturehua, 2014<br />

PEL25 – xviii


Denis Glover – <strong>Sings</strong> <strong>Harry</strong><br />

These songs… [Songs (I)]<br />

These songs will not stand—<br />

The wind and the sand will smother.<br />

Not I but another<br />

Will make songs worth the bother :<br />

The rimu or kauri he,<br />

I’m but the cabbage tree,<br />

<strong>Sings</strong> <strong>Harry</strong> to an old guitar.<br />

When I am old… [Songs (III)]<br />

When I am old<br />

sings <strong>Harry</strong><br />

Will my thoughts grow cold?<br />

Will I find<br />

sings <strong>Harry</strong><br />

For my sunset mind<br />

Girls on bicycles<br />

Turning into the wind?<br />

Or will my old eyes feast<br />

Upon some private movie of the past?<br />

sings <strong>Harry</strong>.<br />

Once the Days<br />

Once the days were clear<br />

Like mountains in water,<br />

The mountains were always there<br />

And the mountain water;<br />

And I was a fool leaving<br />

Good land to moulder,<br />

Leaving the fences sagging<br />

And the old man older<br />

To follow my wild thoughts<br />

Away over the hill,<br />

PEL25 – xix


Where there is only the world<br />

And the world’s ill,<br />

sings <strong>Harry</strong>.<br />

The Casual Man<br />

Come, mint me up the golden gorse,<br />

Mine me the yellow clay<br />

—There’s no money in my purse<br />

For a rainy day,<br />

sings <strong>Harry</strong>.<br />

My father left me his old coat,<br />

Nothing more than that;<br />

And will my head take hurt<br />

In an old hat?<br />

sings <strong>Harry</strong>.<br />

They all concern themselves too much<br />

With what a clock shows.<br />

But does the casual man care<br />

How the world goes?<br />

sings <strong>Harry</strong>.<br />

A little here, a little there—<br />

Why should a man worry?<br />

Let the world hurry by,<br />

I’ll not hurry,<br />

sings <strong>Harry</strong>.<br />

The Flowers of the Sea<br />

Once my strength was an avalanche<br />

Now it follows the fold of the hill<br />

And my love was a flowering branch<br />

Now withered and still.<br />

Once it was all fighting and folly<br />

And a girl who followed me;<br />

Who plucked at me plucked holly.<br />

But now I pluck the flowers of the sea,<br />

sings <strong>Harry</strong>,<br />

PEL25 – xx


For the tide comes<br />

And the tide goes<br />

And the wind blows.<br />

I Remember<br />

I remember paddocks opening green<br />

On mountains tussock-brown,<br />

And the rim of fire on the hills,<br />

And the river running down;<br />

And the smoke of the burning scrub,<br />

And my two uncles tall,<br />

And the smell of earth new-ploughed,<br />

And the antlers in the hall,<br />

<strong>Sings</strong> <strong>Harry</strong>.<br />

Then Uncle Jim was off to the wars<br />

With a carbine at his saddle<br />

And was killed in the Transvaal<br />

—I forget in just what battle.<br />

And Uncle Simon left the farm<br />

After some wild quarrel,<br />

Rolled his blanket and rode off<br />

Whistling on his sorrel.<br />

My father held to the land<br />

Running good cattle there,<br />

And I grew up like a shaggy steer<br />

And as swift as a hare<br />

While the river ran down.<br />

But that was long ago<br />

When the hawk hovered over the hill<br />

And the deer lifted their heads<br />

And a boy lay still<br />

By the river running down.<br />

<strong>Sings</strong> <strong>Harry</strong>.<br />

PEL25 – xxi


Denis Glover – Holiday Piece<br />

Now let my thoughts be like the Arrow wherein was gold,<br />

And purposeful like the Kawarau, but not so cold.<br />

Let them sweep higher than the hawk ill-omened,<br />

Higher than peaks perspective-piled beyond Ben Lomond;<br />

Let them be like at evening an Otago sky<br />

Where detonated clouds in calm confusion lie.<br />

Let them be smooth and sweet as all those morning lakes,<br />

Yet active and leaping, like fish the fisherman takes;<br />

And strong as the dark deep-rooted hills, strong<br />

As twilight hours over Lake Wakatipu are long;<br />

And hardy, like the tenacious mountain tussock,<br />

And spacious, like the Mackenzie plain, not narrow;<br />

And numerous as tourists in Queenstown;<br />

And cheerfully busy, like the gleaning sparrow.<br />

Lastly, that snowfield, visible from Wanaka,<br />

Compound their patience—suns only brighten<br />

And no rains darken, a whiteness nothing could whiten.<br />

PEL25 – xxii


Denis Glover – The Magpies<br />

When Tom and Elizabeth took the farm<br />

The bracken made their bed,<br />

And Quardle oodle ardle wardle doodle<br />

The magpies said.<br />

Tom’s hand was strong to the plough<br />

Elizabeth’s lips were red,<br />

And Quardle oodle ardle wardle doodle<br />

The magpies said.<br />

Year in year out they worked<br />

While the pines grew overhead,<br />

And Quardle oodle ardle wardle doodle<br />

The magpies said.<br />

Elizabeth is dead now (it’s years ago);<br />

Old Tom went light in the head;<br />

And Quardle oodle ardle wardle doodle<br />

The magpies said.<br />

The farm’s still there. Mortgage corporations<br />

Couldn’t give it away.<br />

And Quardle oodle ardle wardle doodle<br />

The magpies say.<br />

Overleaf: The first page of the composer’s manuscript of <strong>Sings</strong> <strong>Harry</strong>.<br />

(Reproduced by permission of the Alexander Turnbull Library, Douglas Gordon Lilburn Papers fMS- Papers-2483-071)<br />

PEL25 – xxiii


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<strong>Sings</strong> <strong>Harry</strong> © Alexander Turnbull Library Endowment Trust and the Estate of Denis Glover<br />

This edition © 2016 Promethean Editions Limited PEL25 – 1<br />

ISMN: 979-0-67452-237-3<br />


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PEL25 – 2


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PEL25 – 3


d<br />

&<br />

&<br />

b<br />

b<br />

b<br />

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PEL25 – 4


29<br />

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PEL25 – 5


d<br />

&<br />

?<br />

V. THE FLOWERS OF THE SEA<br />

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PEL25 – 6


22<br />

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PEL25 – 7


d<br />

VI. I REMEMBER<br />

Unhurried q = c.100<br />

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PEL25 – 8


17<br />

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PEL25 – 9


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PEL25 – 10


56<br />

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PEL25 – 11


d<br />

HOLIDAY PIECE 1946 rev. 1950<br />

Music by Douglas Lilburn, Words by Denis Glover<br />

Baritone<br />

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let my thoughts be like the<br />

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PEL25b<br />

Holiday Piece © Alexander Turnbull Library Endowment Trust and the Estate of Denis Glover<br />

This edition © 2016 Promethean Editions Limited<br />

PEL25 – 12<br />

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PEL25 – 16


THE MAGPIES 1954<br />

Music by Douglas Lilburn, Words by Denis Glover<br />

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PEL25 – 20


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PEL25 – 21


Digital Audio<br />

This volume is accompanied by a new digital recording of <strong>Sings</strong> <strong>Harry</strong>. This performance of <strong>Sings</strong><br />

<strong>Harry</strong> is by Roger Wilson (bar.) and Gillian Bibby (pno). It was recorded by Roy Carr in the Adam<br />

Concert Room at Victoria University of Wellington, New Zealand, on 17 Nov 2014.<br />

These digital audio files can be downloaded from our website at no extra cost. To download the<br />

files please follow the instructions in the Digital File Download coupon in the sleeve opposite. The<br />

coupon will provide a code for one download only.<br />

If the coupon is missing or the coupon code has already been redeemed, please contact the Publisher<br />

at support@promethean-editions.com or submit a technical support case on our website (www.<br />

promethean-editions.com). The audio files are supplied in the WAV audio format for maximum<br />

compatibility with all devices.<br />

Douglas Lilburn<br />

<strong>Sings</strong> <strong>Harry</strong><br />

DIGITAL FILE DOWNLOAD<br />

PEL25DC<br />

The download files contains the following<br />

1. These songs… 1:12<br />

2. When I am old… 0:44<br />

3. Once the Days 1:36<br />

4. The Casual Man 0:57<br />

5. The Flowers of the Sea 2:48<br />

6. I Remember 3:02<br />

Total Duration 10:13<br />

This performance of <strong>Sings</strong> <strong>Harry</strong> is by Roger Wilson<br />

(bar.) and Gillian Bibby (pno). It was recorded by Roy<br />

Carr in the Adam Concert Room at Victoria University<br />

of Wellington, New Zealand, on 17 Nov 2014.<br />

© Alexander Turnbull Library Endowment Trust and the<br />

Estate of Denis Glover / Clearance via AMCOS<br />

PEL25 – 22


Douglas Lilburn<br />

Centenary Edition<br />

<strong>Sings</strong> <strong>Harry</strong> (bar. & pno)<br />

Holiday Piece<br />

The Magpies<br />

<strong>Sings</strong> <strong>Harry</strong> (1953/54)<br />

for baritone and<br />

piano is a setting of<br />

six poems by New<br />

Zealand poet Denis<br />

Glover. With simple<br />

yet precise word<br />

setting, Lilburn<br />

creates spare and<br />

direct tunes with<br />

accompaniments<br />

that vividly evoke the<br />

rural New Zealand landscape and the characters<br />

that inhabit Glover’s poems. Also included are<br />

two previously unpublished settings by Lilburn of<br />

Glover’s poetry, ‘Holiday Piece’ for medium voice<br />

and piano and ‘The Magpies’ for mixed voices.<br />

This volume also features a newly commissioned<br />

essay Glover sings <strong>Harry</strong> by Brian Turner and a new<br />

recording of <strong>Sings</strong> <strong>Harry</strong> by Roger Wilson (bar.)<br />

and Gillian Bibby (pno). The recording may be<br />

downloaded using the enclosed coupon.<br />

The publisher gratefully<br />

acknowledges the support<br />

of Massey University in the<br />

publication of this volume.<br />

ISMN 979-0-67452-237-3<br />

Promethean Editions Limited<br />

PO Box 10-143<br />

Wellington New Zealand<br />

www.promethean-editions.com<br />

DOUGLAS LILBURN <strong>Sings</strong> <strong>Harry</strong> (for baritone and piano) • Holiday Piece • The Magpies PEL25

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