Obscure Music Monday: Poldowski's Spleen
Poldowski (May 16, 1879 - Jan. 28, 1932) was the professional pseudonym for Régine Wieniawksi, daughter of Polish violinist and composer Henryk Wieniawski. Born in Ixelles, Brussels, her mother was English and had family associations with various composers and musicians. The early records of her musical study are uncertain; while she claimed to study at the Brussels Conservatory at age 12, records contradict that statement. She did later however, at 14, premiere some of her own compositions.
In 1896 she moved to London with her mother, and published works under the name Irène Wieniawski. Five years later she married Sir Aubrey Edward Henry Dean Paul, 5th Bt., and adopted British nationality and became Lady Dean Paul. She continued to publish works as Irene Wieniawski, however. After the death of her first child, their marriage broke up. She then went to Paris to study with Vincent d'Indy at the Schola Cantorum de Paris, where the tragic death of her son inspired some compositions, namely songs and a violin and piano work.
Not long after this, she adopted the name Poldowski, and in 1911 went back to Brussels, where she gave concerts and had works premiered, and even met Queen Elizabeth of Belgium. She went to the United States in 1919, but in 1922 she returned to London, and befriended many famous musicians and composers (one being George Gershwin) and two years later started a series of recitals entitled La Libre Esthétique, which attracted notable composers and musicians. Ever fashionable, she opened a haute couture boutique in 1925 and created many pieces for the British Royal Family.
When it came to creating musical works, Poldowski was particularly known for her songs. She set texts by Paul Verlaine, William Blake, W.B. Yeats, and Lord Tennyson.
Spleen was published in 1912, and is a text of Paul Verlaine's. This two minute work has a melancholy tenderness about it, and you can hear the musical influence of Debussy slightly. The translation is as follows:
"The roses were all red
And the ivy was all black.
Dear, it only needs one move from you
For all my despairs to reawaken.
The sky was too blue, too tender,
The sea too green and the air too mild.
I fear all the time, ever waiting,
Some terrible flight from you.
Of the holly with its varnished leaf
And of the shiny boxwood I am weary
And of the never-ending countryside,
And of everything, except you. Alas!
Here are some recordings of this work for you to enjoy!
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