Five Reflections by Andrew Yoon

"Five Reflections" for mixed choir, piano, and 3 cellos was written between November 2013 and January 2014. Performing here are the members of the Purchase All-College Chorus under the directorship and baton of Kaori Sato with Mina Kim on piano, and Julie Sonne, Elise Linder, and Paul Swensen on cellos. Due to rehearsal constraints the fourth song, "Recurse," was recorded independently of the official All-College Chorus with Jeff Yeung on piano, the previously mentioned cellists, a group of volunteers from the choir, and myself conducting. “Recurse” was recorded and engineered by Kevin Young. The poem to which “Recurse” is set was written by my good friend David An. My deepest gratitude goes out to the countless people who have made this recording possible.

Texts used:

I. “The Truth – is stirless – ” by Emily Dickinson
II. “The Fountain” by Sara Teasdale
III. “Music” by Ralph Waldo Emerson
IV. “Recurse” by David An
V. “The Wound” by Thomas Hardy

I. “The Truth – is stirless – ” by Emily Dickinson

The Truth—is stirless—
Other force—may be presumed to move—
This—then—is best for confidence—
When oldest Cedars swerve—

And Oaks untwist their fists—
And Mountains—feeble—lean—
How excellent a Body, that
Stands without a Bone—

How vigorous a Force
That holds without a Prop—
Truth stays Herself—and every man
That trusts Her—boldly up—

II. “The Fountain” by Sara Teasdale

Fountain, fountain, what do you say
Singing at night alone?
"It is enough to rise and fall
Here in my basin of stone."

But are you content as you seem to be
So near the freedom and rush of the sea?
"I have listened all night to its laboring sound,
It heaves and sags, as the moon runs round;
Ocean and fountain, shadow and tree,
Nothing escapes, nothing is free."

III. “Music” by Ralph Waldo Emerson

Let me go where'er I will,
I hear a sky-born music still:
It sounds from all things old,
It sounds from all things young,
From all that's fair, from all that's foul,
Peals out a cheerful song.

It is not only in the rose,
It is not only in the bird,
Not only where the rainbow glows,
Nor in the song of woman heard,
But in the darkest, meanest things
There alway, alway something sings.

'T is not in the high stars alone,
Nor in the cup of budding flowers,
Nor in the redbreast's mellow tone,
Nor in the bow that smiles in showers,
But in the mud and scum of things
There alway, alway something sings.

IV. “Recurse” by David An

a man sat on the Shores of Reason today,
and saw that the waves were flawed.
his distorted reflection
whispers

“Last night I had a dream.”

the waves surged with violence.
dark cold confusion. the water freezing.

he drifts further,
his form immense, uncontained.
his mind wanders likewise,
slowly and sinuously,
slow, inexorable wheels of thought—
tremendous, tremulous.

as the man sinks into the abyss
he sees a child, struggling to stay afloat
among the rubbles of the wreck.
he does not speak or ask.
the S that slithers in his voice
is the same hiss
in a sickle. sharp. draws blood.
slowly, almost lazily, his writhing arm
extends to drown him.
And as the frigid rawness filled the child’s
fragile lungs
he whispers,

“Last night I had a dream.”

it was the man who had been pulled under—
and it was the man who drowned himself.

V. “The Wound” by Thomas Hardy

I climbed to the crest,
And, fog-festooned,
The sun lay west
Like a crimson wound:

Like that wound of mine
Of which none knew,
For I'd given no sign
That it pierced me through