Leaves of Grass

Jazz pianist and composer Fred Hersch wrote the following note for the 2005 launch of his Leaves of Grass project as a recording and concert tour.

Hersch brings the work to New England Conservatory on April 26.

Composer's Note

The inspiring words of Walt Whitman have been a part of my life for almost 30 years. I first read Whitman in an American Literature course at New England Conservatory in 1976. In particular, the poem "When I Heard At The Close of the Day" had a huge, validating impact on me, a young gay man just coming out.

Some 20 years later I was on tour in Paris and, wandering the city, I was mysteriously seized with the urge to read Whitman. I found an English-language bookshop, bought Leaves of Grass, sat at an outdoor café, and read "Song of Myself" in one sitting. It was a revelation.

The words of Walt Whitman (1819–1892) remain extraordinarily relevant today. They sound so contemporary that it is hard to believe many of the texts I have set to music were written more than 150 years ago.

His masterpiece, the poetry comprised in the collection Leaves of Grass, speaks both to society as a whole and to the individual directly. Is there a direct connection between Whitman and jazz? Certainly, the strange beauty of his idiosyncratic and improvisatory language, his freewheeling verse, his subject matter, and his irreverence link him directly to the American "Beat Poets" of the 1950s: Allen Ginsberg, Lawrence Ferlinghetti, and others.

The complete Leaves of Grass is more than 600 pages—"Song of Myself" alone runs to 60. To distill and create a libretto from this life's work of poems was a lengthy and personal process. After much internal debate, I chose not to include any of the Civil War poems, the New York poems, the Calamus (the so-called gay) poems, nor did I use some of Whitman's other most famous poems ("When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom'd," "O Captain, My Captain").

Rather, I found myself drawn to entire poems, titles of poems, and sections of larger poems that conveyed universal and inclusive sentiments: appreciation of the present moment, wonder at the miracle of nature in all its forms, freedom to be oneself and express that openly, and above all, open-hearted love of all beings. The words I ultimately selected reflect Whitman as philosophically akin to Thoreau, Emerson or the Buddha—profoundly spiritual, but not related to the God of the traditional New England religion of his day. Whitman's unique life was an example: he practiced what he advocated.

In setting out to compose the music, I had no idea where these words would take me. But I followed my instincts and, away from the piano, simply started to sing the poems. Over time, musical themes emerged—and I began to find internal rhythms as I lived with the subtleties of the words. Like Whitman, I tried not to limit myself, and, when the words wanted to take me somewhere—stylistically, melodically, rhythmically, and harmonically—did my best to just get out of the way.

The result is that the music, like Whitman's "Song of Myself," "encompasses worlds and volumes of worlds." It is eclectic, energetic, personal and, I hope, moving. Formally, the closest comparison of this piece to a classical musical form would be a small-scale oratorio: not a song cycle, but an entire piece with a narrative sweep. For those who have not spent time with "Leaves of Grass," I hope this piece will make you curious to do so. For those who know and love these words already, I hope my musical interpretation will allow you to consider them in a different light.

I was very fortunate to develop and document this piece with extraordinary vocal and instrumental musicians who are not only capable of singing, improvising, and playing any kind of music—but who also care about and believe in this project as much as I do. I am eternally grateful to them for helping me celebrate Whitman's words and spirit in music.

2011-12-16