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Midnights in Moscow

Nye slýshný f sadu dazhe shorokhi, fsyo zdyes zamerlo do utra. Yesli b znali vý, kak mnye dorogi podmoskovnýe vetshera.

There is nothing to be heard in the garden, everything here has died down till the morning. If you only knew how I love these nights in the suburbs of Moscow.

Ryetshka dvizhetsya i nye dvizhetsya, fsya iz lunovo serebra. Pyesnya slýshitsya i nye slýshitsya v eti tikhiye vetshera.

The little river is flowing without movement, it is all silver, shining in the moonlight. You hear a song from afar, then it's quiet again in these silent nights.

Shtozh tý, milaya, smotrish iskasa, nizko golovu naklanya? Trudno výskazat' i nye výskazat' fsyo shto na sertse u minya.

Why do you, my dear, look at me from the side your head so tightly nestled against mine. It is so hard to say, and so hard not to say all that is on my mind.

67

A rastswyet uzhe fsyo samyetneye. Tak, pazhaluista, bud' dobra: Nye zabud' i tý eti letniye podmoskovnýe vetshera.

It is already dawning more and more. So, please, be so kind: Don't also you forget these summer nights in the suburbs of Moscow.

Words: M. Matusovski Music: W. Solovyov-Sedoi Pronunciation: a as in "bar", e as in "bed", i as in "bid", o as in "bore", u as in "blue" y = as in "yellow" / ý = dull i, as in "bill" s = always voiceless, as in "son" / z = voiced, as in "zone" sh = voiceless, as in "mesh" / zh = voiced, like the s in "measure" kh = mostly rough, like the ch in Scotch "loch", but smooth when "e" or "i" follows a, e, i, o, u, y = the underlined vowel signifies the stressed syllable of a word. Musical notation, transcription and analogous translation: Kai Kracht Comment: This is not a traditional folksong. But the first line of this nice melody for a long time was the signature tune of Radio Moscow, so the song soon became very popular all over the country. © Kai Kracht 2002

http://www.kaikracht.de/balalaika/english/songs/nyes_not.htm

66

Midnights in Moscow

Nye slýshný f sadu dazhe shorokhi, fsyo zdyes zamerlo do utra. Yesli b znali vý, kak mnye dorogi podmoskovnýe vetshera.

There is nothing to be heard in the garden, everything here has died down till the morning. If you only knew how I love these nights in the suburbs of Moscow.

Ryetshka dvizhetsya i nye dvizhetsya, fsya iz lunovo serebra. Pyesnya slýshitsya i nye slýshitsya v eti tikhiye vetshera.

The little river is flowing without movement, it is all silver, shining in the moonlight. You hear a song from afar, then it's quiet again in these silent nights.

Shtozh tý, milaya, smotrish iskasa, nizko golovu naklanya? Trudno výskazat' i nye výskazat' fsyo shto na sertse u minya.

Why do you, my dear, look at me from the side your head so tightly nestled against mine. It is so hard to say, and so hard not to say all that is on my mind.

67

A rastswyet uzhe fsyo samyetneye. Tak, pazhaluista, bud' dobra: Nye zabud' i tý eti letniye podmoskovnýe vetshera.

It is already dawning more and more. So, please, be so kind: Don't also you forget these summer nights in the suburbs of Moscow.

Words: M. Matusovski Music: W. Solovyov-Sedoi Pronunciation: a as in "bar", e as in "bed", i as in "bid", o as in "bore", u as in "blue" y = as in "yellow" / ý = dull i, as in "bill" s = always voiceless, as in "son" / z = voiced, as in "zone" sh = voiceless, as in "mesh" / zh = voiced, like the s in "measure" kh = mostly rough, like the ch in Scotch "loch", but smooth when "e" or "i" follows a, e, i, o, u, y = the underlined vowel signifies the stressed syllable of a word. Musical notation, transcription and analogous translation: Kai Kracht Comment: This is not a traditional folksong. But the first line of this nice melody for a long time was the signature tune of Radio Moscow, so the song soon became very popular all over the country. © Kai Kracht 2002

http://www.kaikracht.de/balalaika/english/songs/nyes_not.htm

68

The following lesson plan comes from www.teachervision.com

Rhythm and Melodic Phrase in "Little Birch Tree" This song is a selection in World's Largest Concert – March 8.

Provided in partnership with MENC

Objectives

• Students will listen to and describe the variations of a theme in a classical selection.

Materials

• Copies of "The Little Birch Tree" Recording of Tchaikovsky's Second Symphony • Audio playback equipment

Procedures

1. Have students sing "The Little Birch Tree." Call attention to the relative simplicity of the rhythm and melodic phrase.

2. Ask students to notice when they sing the song again what kind of mood it seems to convey. Have the students join you in singing the song again while you accompany them on the keyboard. Discuss the mood of the piece with the students.

3. Have the student(s) accompany on flute or recorder while the class sings the song again. Discuss how the addition of the flute affects the mood of the song.

4. Inform the students the Peter Illych Tchaikovsky was a 19th-century Russian composer who sometimes included folk music in his compositions. Explain that he used "The Little Birch Tree" as the theme in his Second Symphony and created variations on the theme.

5. Have students listen to the recording of Tchaikovsky's Second Symphony and raise their hands each time they hear the theme occur.

6. Have students listen again and write a brief description in musical terms on the changes in the theme, including mood, tempo, instrumentation, etc. After listening, discuss the students' answers.

This lesson plan is found in the MENC Publication Strategies for Teaching Middle-Level General Music. This publication is available for purchase at 1-800-828-0229 or online at www.menc.org.

© 2000-2004 Pearson Education, Inc. All Rights Reserved.

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BIRCHES

By Robert Frost When I see birches bend to left and right Across the lines of straighter darker trees, I like to think some boy's been swinging them. But swinging doesn't bend them down to stay. Ice-storms do that. Often you must have seen them Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning After a rain. They click upon themselves As the breeze rises, and turn many-colored As the stir cracks and crazes their enamel. Soon the sun's warmth makes them shed crystal shells Shattering and avalanching on the snow-crust-- Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away You'd think the inner dome of heaven had fallen. They are dragged to the withered bracken by the load, And they seem not to break; though once they are bowed So low for long, they never right themselves: You may see their trunks arching in the woods Years afterwards, trailing their leaves on the ground Like girls on hands and knees that throw their hair Before them over their heads to dry in the sun. But I was going to say when Truth broke in With all her matter-of-fact about the ice-storm (Now am I free to be poetical?) I should prefer to have some boy bend them As he went out and in to fetch the cows-- Some boy too far from town to learn baseball, Whose only play was what he found himself, Summer or winter, and could play alone.

One by one he subdued his father's trees By riding them down over and over again Until he took the stiffness out of them, And not one but hung limp, not one was left For him to conquer. He learned all there was To learn about not launching out too soon And so not carrying the tree away Clear to the ground. He always kept his poise To the top branches, climbing carefully With the same pains you use to fill a cup Up to the brim, and even above the brim. Then he flung outward, feet first, with a swish, Kicking his way down through the air to the ground. So was I once myself a swinger of birches. And so I dream of going back to be. It's when I'm weary of considerations, And life is too much like a pathless wood Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs Broken across it, and one eye is weeping From a twig's having lashed across it open. I'd like to get away from earth awhile And then come back to it and begin over. May no fate willfully misunderstand me And half grant what I wish and snatch me away Not to return. Earth's the right place for love: I don't know where it's likely to go better. I'd like to go by climbing a birch tree, And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more, But dipped its top and set me down again. That would be good both going and coming back. One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.

http://www.geocities.com/john_deere_b/Birches.html