Tatjana Kozlova-Johannes: “The cycle of Fountains is based on the poem of the same title by Estonian poet Ilmar Laaban (1921–2000). Altogether, I have created three works with the same text and melody. The first of them, Fountain 1 (2007), is written for the vocal ensemble Neue Vocalsolisten Stuttgart. The second version of the piece is called Water Shards (2008), composed for voice, flute and violin. The third version, Fountain 2 (2011) is composed for voice and three percussionists. In today’s concert, the piece is adapted for voice and two percussionists.”

Liina Sumera “La fontana malata” (2023, premiere)

Clof, clop, cloch,
cloffete,
cloppete,
clocchette,
chchch…

(Aldo Palazzeschi, 1909)

The Sick Fountain

(Aldo Palazzeschi, 1909, tõlge/translation Matilda Colarossi)

Clough, clop, cluck,
cloughing,
clopping,
clucking,
ckckck……
And down,
in the yard,
the poor
sick
fountain;
such anguish!
To hear
him cough.
Coughing,
coughing
a bit
then stop…
again.
Couching.
My poor
fountain,
your malady
to me
is just
heartbreaking.
Silence,
no more
spurting.

Silence,
no more
sound
not a bit
perhaps…
perhaps
he’s dead?
Horror.
Oh! no.
Here he is,
again
coughing.
Clough, clop, cluck,
cloughing,
clopping,
hckhckhck…
TB is
killing him.
Dear god,
that incessant
coucghing
of his
is killing
me,
a touch
is fine,
but no more…
Such whining!
Oh, Habel!
Victoria!
Get going,

get moving,
start closing,
that spring
of his
is killing me!
Get going,
start putting
something
to make
it finish,
perhaps…
perhaps
to perish.

(Holy Mother!)

(Lord!)

No more!
No more.
My poor
fountain,
with
the pain
you feel
you’ll see
you’ll kill
even me.
Clough, clop, cluck,
cloughing,
clopping,
clucking
hckhckhck…

Helena Tulve – Sool [Salt] (2011)

Salt

the sea is too vast
the sea is obscure, cold and harsh
the sea of emptiness

in this sea I am alone
the sea is too responsive, fragile and tender

the sea is immutable
one and only water
the sea of oblivion

the sea is the time gone by
vision
illusion

the sea is infinite
bottomless, shoreless

water is one and immutable
that does not grow nor diminishes
everything changes its form
not the water
water cleans
fills, fills
the water breathes
the water breathes in me
I am the water

the sea
how salty is the sea?
the sea, salt and water

the words and the sea
the words are like the salt like the words
white as the salt

the salt is so old
how many, so many questions
a lot

is there anything I have forgotten?
whose thoughts am I thinking?
why is thinking so important?
do the thoughts influence the reality?
how to purify ones mind?
void, what is the void?

are those my thoughts?
why is solitude so hard?

why is my heart so empty?
what am I afraid of?
what is the salt of the life?

water, flowing

swinging, swinging
waiting, waiting
swinging, swinging on the waves
waiting, waiting in the silence

the salt is so old
we are so many

(Text Helena Tulve, Tarvo Hanno Varres & Maarja Kangro, translated by Helena Tulve)

“House of Veils” (2023, premiere). This piece is based on Anaïs Nin’s book House of Incest. The words used in the piece have been adapted from Anaïs Nin by Hedi Rosma and Ülo Krigul.

Prephase 

the morning I got up…
the morning I got up to begin…
the morning I got to begin
I got to begin
I got to begin this book
this book I coughed
I coughed something
something was coming
coming out of my throat
my throat was strangling me

I Wailing of the Unborn

I broke the thread
moving into the body
cathedrals wavering
feeling their own weight
and my eyes
and my bones move
far beneath the level of storms
I spat out my endless bottoms of peace        

II Moving into

perfumes suspended in darkness
lemons hang like lanterns
as I am drinking her pollen and honey
two shells of an oyster
unglued from its frame
soldered together
her eyes reflect water
white flame of her breath
the brown crust of earth
the soft secret yielding

III Wailing of the Universe
                                                                                       

IV The most tired woman

I am the most tired woman of the world
life requires an effort which I can not make
don´t say anything
be cause I see that you understand me
and I am afraid of your understanding
I have such a fear of finding another like myself
and such a desire to find one
when I sit before my mirror I laugh at myself
I can not tell how these separate pieces can be me
I do not exist                                                                                                                 

V The House

Lies create solitude 

VI The Window

blood spilled out of my ears
painted eyes weep
my feet under the pillows always
burn down the walls of our secret house

VII The Dance

without arms
inside
needles me
swelling skin
curtains away