José Luis Greco
SONGS LOST AND FOUND
on five poems by Emily
Dickinson
and additional texts by Pierre
Élie Mamou
for mezzo-soprano and orchestra
FULL SCORE
© 2010 José Luis Greco
© 2026 Unión Musical Ediciones, S.L. (Wise Music Group)
Edición Autorizada para todos los países a: / AllRightReservedworldwideto:
UNIÓN MUSICAL EDICIONES, S.L.
C/ Marqués de la Ensenada, 4 - 3º, 28004 Madrid (Spain)
Tel:+34 91 308 4040 www.wisemusicclassical.com unionmusicalediciones@wisemusic.com
NOTA: Esta partitura es correcta a día de hoy, pero puede estar sujeta a modificación. Para su ejecución en directo, por favor consultar con el editor.
NOTICE:Thisscoreiscorrectatthetime,butmaybesubjecttorevision;ifyouareplanningaperformance,pleasecheck withthepublisher.
Prohibida la reproducción total o parcial de esta obra, o su tratamiento informático, o transmisión de ninguna forma o por cualquier medio, ya sea electrónico, mecánico, por fotocopia, por registro o por otros métodos, sin el permiso previo y por escrito del titular del copyright.
Allrightsreserved.Thispublicationmaynotbereproduced,soredinaretrievalsystem,ortransmitted,inanyformorbyany means,electronic,mechanical,photocopying,recordingorotherwise,withoutthepriorpermissionofthecopyrightowners.
Instrumentación: Instrumentation:
Flauta (Alto + Flautín)
Oboe (Corno Inglés)
Clarinetes en Sib (Clarinete Bajo)
Flute (Alto + Piccolo)
Oboe (English Horn)
Clarinets in Bb (Bass Clarinet) Fagot Bassoon
Trompas en Fa Horns in F
Trompetas en Do Trumpets in C
2 Percusión 2 Percussion
Piano (en el centro de la orquesta, cerca de la mezzosoprano, sin tapa)
Piano (in center of orchestra, near mezzo-soprano, lid off)
Mezzo Soprano Mezzo Soprano Cuerda Strings
Duración: aprox. 19
Duration: c. 19 minutes
N.B. All instruments sound as written except for the usual octave transpositions.
Poems by Emily Dickinson
"Heaven" has different Signs to me
Sometimes, I think that Noon Is but a symbol of the Place
And when again, at Dawn,
A mighty look runs round the World
And settles in the Hills—
An Awe if it should be like that Upon the Ignorance steals
The Orchard, when the Sun is on—
The Triumph of the Birds
When they together Victory make Some Carnivals of Clouds
The Rapture of a finished Day Returning to the West
All these remind us of the place That Men call "paradise"
Itself be fairer we suppose But how Ourself, shall be Adorned, for a Superior Grace
Not yet, our eyes can see
"Nature" is what we see
The Hill the Afternoon
Squirrel Eclipse the Bumble bee
Nay Nature is Heaven
Nature is what we hear
The Bobolink the Sea
Thunder the Cricket
Nay Nature is Harmony
Nature is what we know
Yet have no art to say So impotent Our Wisdom is
To her Simplicity.
"Why do I love" You, Sir?
Because—
The Wind does not require the Grass To answer Wherefore when He pass She cannot keep Her place.
Because He knows and Do not You—
And We know not— Enough for Us
The Wisdom it be so—
The Lightning—never asked an Eye Wherefore it shut—when He was by— Because He knows it cannot speak And reasons not contained Of Talk
There be preferred by Daintier Folk
The Sunrise Sire compelleth Me
Because He's Sunrise and I see Therefore Then I love Thee
"Hope" is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul And sings the tune without the words And never stops at all
And sweetest in the Gale is heard And sore must be the storm That could abash the little Bird That kept so many warm
I've heard it in the chillest land And on the strangest Sea
Yet, never, in Extremity, It asked a crumb—of Me.
Come slowly - Eden!
Lips unused to Thee - Bashful - sip they Jessamines - as the fainting BeeReaching late his flower, Round her chamber hums - Counts his nectarsEnters - and is lost in Balms.
Open me delicately
white cloud
white her party gown the color of clouds her life
- an immutable cloud –the color of clouds her only naked life as many clouds as lives and only one is hers
delight in losing her sandals in the water of the river and returning home barefoot delight in her first steps out of childhood delight in kissing lips, drinking and giving drink
at night, Emily descends to the parlor, opens the piano and lets her shawl or her white dress fall upon the strings, childhood games, toy-pianos, sounds of yesterdays smiles in the shadows
Emily writes like falling in love: patiently impatient secretly sumptuous delight of love on the edge of her lips
Pierre Élie Mamou
