Symphony of Sorrowful Songs

Seven Sorrows CD arrived today. Definitely for the kids. (Note to the band: glad you listened to your parents and included the acoustic versions.)

In contrast, Henryk Gorecki's Symphony No. 3, Op. 36 is music which can aid meditation on the sorrowful mysteries.
http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/B0000013YW/qid=1106618072/sr=8-7/ref=sr_8_xs_ap_i7_xgl15/103-6719680-0340623?v=glance&s=classical&n=507846
For classical music it is very accessible. The first movement is based on a 15th century Lamentation in which the Virgin Mary suffers in union with her Son. The mood is set by the deep sonorous sound of double basses and then each instrument builds the sound. The Lamentation is sung by the soprano Zofia Kilanowicz.

"My son, chosen and loved,

Let your mother share your wounds

And since, my dear son,

I have always kept you in my heart,

and loyally served you,

Speak to your mother,

make her happy,

though my dear hope,

you are leaving me."

The song unwinds with slow fading of those deep basses. The intensity of the strings and the bass plumb the depth of sadness. The second movement is based on a prayer to Mary Queen of Heaven. This prayer was scrawled on the wall of a Gestapo cell by an 18 year old student. The lyric's poignancy is heart-breaking as the student begs Mary not to cry.

Mother, no, do not cry,

Queen of Heaven most chaste

Help me always.

Hail Mary.

The third movement is based on a Polish folk song in which a mother mourns her missing soldier son. She grieves for her son. Slowly she hopes that though his body may not have been properly buried, she can trust him to God. She bids the "song-birds of God" sing for him and "God's little flowers" bloom for him.

Where has he gone,

My dearest son?

Killed by the harsh enemy, perhaps,

In the rebellion.

You bad people,

In the name of the Holy God,

Tell me why you killed

My dear son.

Never more

Will I have his protection,

Even if I weep

My old eyes away,

Or if my bitter tears

Were to make another Oder,

They would not bring back

My son to life.

He lies in the grave

I know not where

Though I ask people

Everywhere

Perhaps the poor boy

Lies in a rough trench

Instead of lying, as he might,

In a warm bed.

Sing for him,

Little song-birds of God,

for his mother

Cannot find him.

And God's little flowers,

May you bloom all around

So that my son

May sleep.