I don’t really listen to music with lyrics. Thankfully, my teacher said that I could pick a piece without lyrics as long as I was willing to defend it as poetry. My piece is titled “Nocturne,” Opus 27 No. 2. It is by Frédéric Chopin. This piece is part of Chopin’s nocturnes, some of which are famous (such as Op. 9 no. 2).
Now we get into the meat of the argument. So, how is a piece without words…poetic? Let’s consider aspects of Perrine’s definition of poetry. Perrine’s chief point is that poetry conveys experience. This nocturne does that. Consider the very meaning of the word nocturne: night. Every nocturne is a representation of a night, whether that be calm, windy, stormy, or frightful–usually, it’s calm and melancholy, as it is in this case. But really, a nocturne (and any piece of music) invites the listener to steep their own experiences in the music, enriching and deepening their experience of that experience, if you will. To illustrate this point, please consider this example:
An elderly man, a widower, sits alone on a park bench in a city park at night. A streetlight stands patiently above him, illuminating the bench. He sees the bustling of the city outside the park’s premises: the tall buildings, the scurrying traffic. The night is cool and breezy. Leaves tumble about close to the ground; trees above him sway gently. He is listening to this Chopin nocturne. As the piece begins, he reminisces about the times that he shared with his wife. Perhaps he recalls the feel that he had forgotten of her head cradled in the nook of his shoulder, his head on top of hers, watching old movies together. Or perhaps he remembers the tenderness of her smile on a light stroll through this very park in a golden afternoon.
Instead of words, Chopin uses aria-like melodies–that is, a solo for a soprano voice but for the piano–over a sweeping arpeggiated accompaniment. Without getting into specific music theory, Chopin’s deliberate moments of tension and release of the harmony–for example, the high note at 0:19 in this recording (the same one as above)–create a duality between calm and bitterness, creating melancholy. The piece evokes the experiences of the audience–in this case, the widower’s memories of his wife–aiding the audience in immersing themselves in and deepening their memory of their experiences.
Another specific part of Perrine’s definition of poetry that applies to this piece (and to virtually all instrumental music) is a communication between the speaker and the audience–to put it into musical terms, the performer and the audience. If you ever go to a live concert, whatever the genre, you’ll feel the energy in the space–but allow me to specifically cover classical music. Every performer and even every performance is different. As a music performer myself, there is a certain energy and emotion that a performer must give the music in order to create this poetic, emotional effect. Just as there is a world of difference between having a computer-generated voice and a professional voice actor read a poem, there is a world of difference between a person who plays robotically and a person who plays with emotion and from the heart. You can see that emotion on the performer’s–Maria João Pires’–face, especially in the beginning. This emotional communication, if you will, from the performer to the audience, is specifically what enables that emotional response within the audience. Just as in poetry, it is a communication between the speaker and the audience. That emotional response deepens whatever experience that the piece evokes in the audience: a loved one, better times in the past, hope for the future, the joy and pain of being alive, night, really anything that comes to mind.
The final aspect of Perrine’s definition that I would like to write about here is poetry’s nature of being condensed & concentrated, containing a higher “voltage” per word, as Perrine states. I’d argue that it’s similar for instrumental music. The piece is only 6 minutes long, and there are plenty of other emotion-provoking pieces out there with even shorter runtimes–3 minutes, 1 minute even. In this short runtime, the piece takes the listener on a journey–no, an adventure. It begins with a calm, bittersweet melody and texture. The nocturne is calm, and the night it represents is calm. Elements of tension begin brewing at 0:54; they bubble at 1:00 and boil at 1:07. The night is biting. But at 1:26, the night backs away. The tension releases, but not all the way. It begins to boil again. From then until 2:00, there is a mini-journey: tension rises and relaxes, and the listener doesn’t know where the piece will go. It boils, dissipates; boils, dissipates. Then, at 2:00, there is release. The main theme returns, and the night is calm again. In the span of just two minutes, Chopin and Pires have taken us on a journey of tension and release through this night, and the piece isn’t even halfway over yet. That’s high voltage. Chopin uses this journey to convey an experience of night–a specific kind of night, calm yet bitter–and perhaps deepen an experience that the audience has had themselves, as in the example with the widower.
I think that this piece, Chopin’s Nocturne Opus 27 No. 2, despite containing no words, is musical poetry.