"THE LOWLY DUST IS BRIGHT LIKE GOLD"

Paal-Helge Haugen's text must be read for what it is, i.e. an oriatorio text. A starting-point for such a reading may be found in the opening and closing chorales, wich mirror each other in such a way that the first and last lines of the whole work have the same metrical form but contrasting content. "Look, the light dwindles, darkness seeps" turns into "The lowly dust is bright like gold." The former refers to sunset and the latter to sunrise, for the work deals, as the title tells us, with one night.

We can see this in relation to the traditional descent topos, familiar from Job, The Divine Comedy, and above all from the Passion Story. Such a narrative outline entails a clear distinction between upper and lower spheres, and both the positive upper world and the negative or empty lower world have their proper associations and images. A progression starts, moves down to the lowest level, and returns with some form of booty or reward - words, liberated captives, or new insight.

In "One Night on Earth" our descent continues to the turning point between the sixth and seventh hours. The recitative that represents the lowest levels declares: "Words no longer exist." From there we ascend, from Isaiah's assurance that "the dimness shall not be lasting" to the promise of "Peace, peace to him that is far off and to him that is near." In the course of the descent we also pass through the archetypal images associated with upper and lower strata. In the upper we find remnants of sunlight, and at last a new sunrise. We find too remnants of a community, and the memory of a country and a home which have been destroyed by war. As we ascend, community is once more a possibility that can be realised and war gives way to extensive assurances of peace. Even more important are images of gardens and fruitful fields, of flying seeds, of a blossoming almond tree, all suggestive of paradise. The invocation of peace over streets and work depict the city as a place of potential harmony.

In contrast, the lower region is one of parody, of emptiness mocking fullness, of contorted images of the upper region. Fellowship has become murder and war, houses ruins, fields ash; instead of fertility we have the slaughter of children; sight and hearing are now blindness and deafness. There may be few terms in this oratorio from the vocabulary of dogmatic theology but the imagery encompasses the entire biblical sequence leading from Eden through the Fall to a new earth.

The non-existence of words at the lowest point of the journey leads us to the major theme of the whole work - language. It is in this respect we see most clearly the relationship between strict traditional form and the modern poet. Words and speech are referred to in both chorales. In the opening number we hear of "sounds from every tongue," coming with the night's darkness. But words fail and "our thoughts are like a straying bird." In the closing number as we look back, we hear: "There was one night in life / where we found words and saw our guilt."

The participants in this drama are also distinguished from each other by means of the types of language they use. The chorus has been given the most monumental texts, i.e. the chorales and the quotations from Isaiah, rich in imagery and endowed with great authority. The quartet, then, occupy a middle position, their language being more moderate than that of the biblical quotations yet not so hesitant as that of the single voice. It is the quartet that invokes peace. The role of the single voice, on the other hand, is to move towards the linguistic zero-point, which is also the turning point, where he confirms that words no longer exist and then enumerates the traditional inferno images of ruins, ash and desolation. It sounds like an echo from the pioneers of Modernism.

This concern with language is introduced as early as in the first recitative: "I have a broken voice / Thoughts that lose their way." The single voice is "searching for words," groping for words "while my soul creeps in clay." He speaks with his mouth "choked."

The individual voice proceeds towards wordlessness and silence. Then after the turning-point, the "I" of the recitative becomes a "we." The turning-point comes after the stillness of the deepest darkness, in which the "I" turns towards others, i.e. "children of our children." (We may recall how in the St Matthew Passion Bach marks Christ's death by means of a pause.)

In the Isaiah texts there are both parallel and contrasting lines of development. We can follow a parallel progression from twilight through pitch darkness to new light. When the single voice gropes for words we then hear Isaiah's authoritative formulation: "Thou shalt speak out of the ground and thy speech shall be low out of the dust." When the single voice lacks word and image, it is Isaiah's text which gives word to the realities he is unable to describe: "They are slaying children in the valleys under the clifts of the rocks." And here we find the contrast. Isaiah is in possession of words, while the modern poet lacks words. The deeper the poet sinks into verbal impotence, the brighter and clearer shines the biblical text. Haugen has emphasised this distinction by quoting from the oldest nynorsk version of the Bible. (In the English translation the quotations have been taken from the A.V.)

Part of the intention is ironic: the Old Testament text gives us more telling descriptions of the realities of our own day than we ourselves can. The montage of quotations allows for both ecological catastrophes ("the land shall be utterly emptied") and modern warfare (the valleys are full of [war-] chariots"). On the other hand we find minimal use of modern technological vocabulary.

One may imagine that Haugen thus asserts himself as a modern poet in this text, but that would be to forget two significant points. First, since the Modernist period we have been familiar with the technique (as employed by Eliot) of using an older language to provide a critical focus on contemporary life. Second, it is Haugen himself who has assembled the collage of phrases from Isaiah.

The work as a whole indeed is a dialogue between a very old text (and equally old musical traditions), a traditional though younger oratorio form that allows for dramatic conflict, and an altogether contemporary investigative technique whose main feature is the use of a modernistic metalanguage. The modern voice is the one which, more than any other, has to "grope" for words. That single voice embodies something of the spirit of John the Baptist: its role is to be diminished while that of Isaiah is to be augmented.

How this text relates to the rest of Haugen's work is too large a question to deal with here, but at least a point or two may be made. For a poet who has consistently broken away from established patterns and tried to find new forms, this close adherence to the oratorio form may seem surprising. Yet Haugen has always found his way to other texts against which he can exercise his own voice. From earlier renderings of Eastern poetry he has gone on to appropriate text-sources as various as modern detective fiction, rock lyrics, and pietistic devotional writings. His on-going dialogue with other art forms embraces pictorial art as well as music. What is new in this oratorio is not the use of old texts as such but the authoritative role they are given.

A strong sense of time is basic to Haugen's work. On the one hand everything as it is here and now must be grasped by our sense of perception, and on the other hand as we come close to concrete reality it is consumed and annihilated by time. There is thus more than one way of reading the concluding line. In "the lowly dust shines like gold" we see a confirmation not only that man is dust, but also that man is dependent on the light of the sun and the light of poetry in order to fulfil the implications of another line in the closing number, which tells us that man is "more than clay." At the centre of Haugen's work we find these paradoxes of dust and gold, of clay and more-than-clay.

Jan Inge Sørbø

English adaptation by Robin Fulton

ONE NIGHT ON EARTH

is a full-length oratorio for baritone soloist, soloist quartet (soprano, alto, tenor, bass), choir and orchestra. The author of the libretto, Paal-Helge Haugen, has employed a montage technique, combining his own texts with fragments from the Book of the Prophet Isaiah, which comprises prophecies and visions of the fall and salvation. What is so intriguing and thought-provoking about this juxtaposition is that the texts from Isaiah, which are more than 2,700 years old have not lost any of their immediacy. It may seem paradoxical, but this great span of time holds out hope for the future to the people of today, as it also once did to the Jews.

The oratorio opens with a group of people, weighed down by sorrow and ravaged by war, gathering together as darkness falls. War, bombing raids and killing have taken their toll. A man steps forward and offers to lead the despairing band out of the darkness. As narrator he puts into words what they have all been through. In this way the people try to come to terms with the atrocities they have experienced.

At first it is a journey towards the abyss. But just when the night is at its darkest and hopelessness at its height, there is nonetheless a ray of light. The oratorio ends with an invocation of peace, a prayer and a declaration of faith in tomorrow and a world free of the horrors of war.

The oratorio is structured like an arc, or a U. The text of the work moves from light to darkness and back to light again, which has inspired Habbestad to use the U form on both a macro and a micro-level. The work begins and ends with a chorale which provides a frame for the entire story. Habbestad has also based the chorale on the distinctive U motif employed in the chorale "Aus tiefer Not", a descending and an ascending fifth, followed by an ascending minor second.

The entire chorale is based on this combination of intervals. The second line, which is repeated at the octave, is largely an inversion of the first line, and the overall form of the chorale is ABB'A.

The final chorale is a retrograde version of the opening chorale. This reversal is not executed mechanically, but has been subjected to a certain melodic or aesthetic assessment involving changes to other chord notes.

The two chorales are somewhat reminiscent of Egil Hovland's twelve-tone chorales, which are characterized more by wandering tonality than by any orthodox twelve-tone technique. Habbestad creates his own form of wandering tonality by means of the frequent use of fifths. The modulations are effected by placing the fifths melodically in a mediant relationship to each other.

The musical structure is not only defined by the melodic material, but also by the treatment of harmony and the chord progressions. The work might almost be considered a kind of monumental chaconne. However, it differs from the traditional chaconne form in that Habbestad treats the chords of the chorale like a harmonic row. The frequency with which the different chords reoccur varies. Both the chord progressions and the complexity of the individual harmonies are used to create tension in the work.

To create the illusion of "one night on earth", Habbestad has divided the oratorio into eight parts, corresponding with the eight hours of night. The journey from light to the darkest point takes four "hours". Towards the end of the fourth hour, the plot reaches a turning point. "What then can we do?...Is this a night without end?" sings the quartet to the melody of the opening chorale. They embark on their way back to the light. Part Two of the oratorio, which begins with movement 28, "We are like straw," is shaped like an inversion of the first part. Habbestad abandons the opening chorale as musical material and gradually begins to employ thematic and harmonic material from the chorale which is to conclude the work. Harmonic elements from both chorales are present in the first movements of Part Two. Habbestad describes his approach as a kind of double exposure of the chorales (the original version and its inversion). The result is a polytonality which is used deliberately to underscore the human despair expressed in the text. The dramatic turning point of the work comes at the end of movement 35, "There are no longer any words." The war- ravaged band of people have come to terms with the atrocities they have experienced and shared with one another. Slowly the dawn unfolds and Haugen's text takes on a more hopeful note, underscored by the clearer, more open harmonies. As the day grows lighter, the choral parts become brighter and are placed in a higher register.

One of the survivors of war has taken it upon himself to act as a spokesman for the others. His words are uttered as recitatives. The treatment of melody, which consistently follows the U form of the chorale, spans a large range. The powerful gestures and dynamic movements of the melody and the choice of a baritone soloist to sing the recitatives are reminiscent of the Baroque passions with their monumental Christ figures. Similar features are to be found in the powerful prophet roles in the oratorios of the Romantic era.

This also brings to mind Alban Berg's opera Wozzeck. There are certain similarities between Wozzeck and Haugen's oratorio libretto as far as form is concerned. Both works make use of many short scenes which capture the essence of a moment and which do not necessarily have any direct connection with one another. It is our task as listeners to make the connection. Despite an inner cohesion, the oratorio is somewhat rhapsodical as a narrative drama, and like Berg, Habbestad has sought to create greater unity and cohesion by means of a taut musical form. The story is recounted in the recitatives, creating unity in the work, which comprises 57 separate movements.

The soloist quartet represents the group that is closest to the narrator (the baritone soloist) and comments on the story as it unfolds. They express themselves in terse words and sentences, which can only find musical expression in the motet form. Therefore the quartet parts are largely homophonic and characterized by repetitions of the text and the various motifs. This calls up associations of the madrigal technique and the choral passions of the late 1500s. Habbestad's treatment of harmony in fact reveals something of the same unresolved, agonizing quality to be found in Don Carlo Gesualdo's innovative madrigals.

As mentioned earlier, Paal-Helge Haugen has incorporated fragments from Isaiah into his text. Habbestad has transferred this technique to the music by combining techniques and musical material from the past and the present. He has taken the melodic material from the songs sung in the synagogues by Yemenite Jews. Thanks to a certain degree of cultural isolation, they have managed to preserve their song traditions without any appreciable outside influence for nearly 2,000 years.

To give the fragments from Isaiah the authentic archaic quality and place them in the right cultural context, Habbestad has embellished the oriental rhythms and melodic turns with the sound of drums and sheep bells. The Yemenite Jewish material, which is sung by the choir, is taken from the music used in the midnight vigil and the celebration of the new moon. To preserve the archaic quality of the style, Habbestad has the choral parts move in parallel fourths and fifths with occasional melodic deviations, giving the impression of a "primitive" heterophony in the best sense of the word. For this reason the instruments do not have independent roles, but are used to colour the choral parts. The musical result is reminiscent of the ars nova style of the 1300s, with its oriental flavour and complicated rhythmical structures. With their contrasting musical language, the movements in which the fragments from Isaiah appear serve as comments from a distant past on a present which literally experiences that history repeats itself.

Although Habbestad's shift of musical style may seem surprising, on closer thought it is clear that here too his intention has been to use the music to clarify the meaning of the words. The choice of style is in close keeping with the various linguistic levels in the text.

Haugen's libretto gives rise to many other associations as well. Although no explicit reference is made, the work can be regarded in a Biblical context, suggesting the arch formed by Paradise - the Fall - Christ's role as God's representative on Earth - the Resurrection - a new heaven and a new world. This association is reinforced towards the end of the work which, with the introduction of a Kyrie litany, takes on an almost liturgical character. Closer attention to the details of the text and the deeper meaning of the words reveals that Habbestad has used the music to give greater prominence to underlying ideas. The music is truly employed in the service of the text, and each time the oratorio is played, new details in a richly symbolic musical world will emerge. This applies especially to the way in which the orchestra underscores and accentuates the textual content.

After the final chorale has faded away - it has 57 notes, corresponding to the 57 movements of the oratorio itself - the people take leave of one another and go out into the new day. There is no grand finale; it all ends as it began. Was it real, or was it only a dream? All of us are richer for the experience as we ourselves turn to face a new day.
Harald Herresthal