I do not have the same history with the "Embroidery Aria," but I did perform it two years ago for a benefit in October, which is the season where it belongs.
Peter Grimes (1945), Benjamin Britten’s first full-length opera, takes place in the insular world of the Borough, a small coastal town in Suffolk near the beginning of the nineteenth century. The title character is an outsider among the fishermen: solitary, not much liked, an unpredictable mix of visionary and taciturn, with a brutal temper. It is widely believed that he murdered his first apprentice, although the coroner’s inquest cleared him. Now a second boy has gone missing and local opinion needs very little encouragement to turn ugly. Grimes’ sole ally in the Borough is the widow Ellen Orford, whom he dreams vaguely of marrying, respected and rich, safe. She knitted his new apprentice a jersey. It has been found washed up at the tide-line. Looking at the anchor she embroidered on it, Ellen tries not to admit what this discovery might mean.
Embroidery in childhood was a luxury of idleness. A coil of silken thread giving dreams of a silk and satin life. Now my broidery affords the clue whose meaning we avoid. My hand remembered its old skill— these stitches tell a curious tale. I remember I was brooding on the fantasies of children and dreamt that only by wishing I could bring some silk into their lives. Now my broidery affords the clue whose meaning we avoid.
Its melody is like a needle dipping and sewing through cloth, its halting, half-beat rhythm the thought she cannot force herself away from. The whole opera is filled with the sea, the heave and drag of tides, the dazzle of light off the waves, undertows and murky swirls of storm. It is not an allegory; its antihero is too complicated for that. The sea outlives everything, but we remember and are scarred.
no subject
Peter Grimes (1945), Benjamin Britten’s first full-length opera, takes place in the insular world of the Borough, a small coastal town in Suffolk near the beginning of the nineteenth century. The title character is an outsider among the fishermen: solitary, not much liked, an unpredictable mix of visionary and taciturn, with a brutal temper. It is widely believed that he murdered his first apprentice, although the coroner’s inquest cleared him. Now a second boy has gone missing and local opinion needs very little encouragement to turn ugly. Grimes’ sole ally in the Borough is the widow Ellen Orford, whom he dreams vaguely of marrying, respected and rich, safe. She knitted his new apprentice a jersey. It has been found washed up at the tide-line. Looking at the anchor she embroidered on it, Ellen tries not to admit what this discovery might mean.
Embroidery in childhood was
a luxury of idleness.
A coil of silken thread giving
dreams of a silk and satin life.
Now my broidery affords
the clue whose meaning we avoid.
My hand remembered its old skill—
these stitches tell a curious tale.
I remember I was brooding
on the fantasies of children
and dreamt that only by wishing
I could bring some silk into their lives.
Now my broidery affords
the clue whose meaning we avoid.
Its melody is like a needle dipping and sewing through cloth, its halting, half-beat rhythm the thought she cannot force herself away from. The whole opera is filled with the sea, the heave and drag of tides, the dazzle of light off the waves, undertows and murky swirls of storm. It is not an allegory; its antihero is too complicated for that. The sea outlives everything, but we remember and are scarred.
I hope that gives you some idea.