Oxford University Press is proud to publish musical works by some of the most significant composers of the 20th and 21st centuries, with a catalogue that includes a broad range of choral, orchestral and chamber music.
for 6 sopranos, 6 altos, 6 tenors and 6 basses.
A choral celebration of London, written for The BBC Singers, Choral Symphony explores all sides of this city, from the grandiose architecture and the bustling life of Fleet Street, to the darker aspects of today's poorer neighbourhoods. Jackson takes his texts from a wide range of poets, from Oscar Wilde to contemporary street rapper, George the Poet.
London, thou art of
London, thou art of townes A per se. Soveraign of cities, seemliest in sight, Of high renoun, riches and royaltie, Of lordis, barons, and many goodly knyght; Of most delectable lusty ladies bright, Of famous prelatis, in habitis clericall, Of merchauntis full of substaunce and of myght: London, thou art the flour of Cities all. I Anonymous (c.1500) Fleet Street From north and south, from east and west, Here in one shrieking vortex meet These streams of life, made manifest Along the shaking quivering street. Its pulse and heart that throbs and glows As if strife were its repose. I shut my ear to such rude sounds As reach a harsh discordant note, Till, melting into what surrounds, My soul doth with the current float; And from the turmoil and the strife Wakes all the melody of life. The stony buildings blindly stare Unconscious of the crime within, While man returns his fellow’s glare The secrets of his soul to win. And each man passes from his place, None heed. A shadow leaves such trace. A poem about London for online perusal only Empty city, one tower still standing, broken dustbins, scattered wind. Once a pattern, organised streets, traffic lights, nowadays a bed for desert flowers. But wait, a glittering, reflections on walls, a smile, a happening in a future. Somewhere I read about a Festival. Isaac Rosenberg (1890–1918) Anonymous
from Hail, London! Hail, London! Justly queen of cities crowned, For freedom, wealth, extent, and arts renowned; No need of fables to enhance thy praise, No wandering demi‐god thy walls to raise: Let Rome imperial claim an elder date, And boast her kindred to the Dradan state; Thy ancient heroes palms as glorious grace, Thy British founders, and the Saxon race. Anonymous (1739) II Impression du matin for online perusal only The Thames nocturne of blue and gold Changed to a Harmony in grey: A barge with ochre‐coloured hay Dropt from the wharf: and chill and cold The yellow fog came creeping down The bridges, till the housesʹ walls Seemed changed to shadows and St. Paulʹs Loomed like a bubble oʹer the town. Then suddenly arose the clang Of waking life; the streets were stirred With country waggons: and a bird Flew to the glistening roofs and sang. But one pale woman all alone, The daylight kissing her wan hair, Loitered beneath the gas lampsʹ flare, With lips of flame and heart of stone. Oscar Wilde (1854–1900) A London Thoroughfare. 2 A.M. They have watered the street, It shines in the glare of lamps, Cold, white lamps, And lies Like a slow‐moving river, Barred with silver and black. Cabs go down it,
