On singing Faure

Three things a choir reunion weekend is almost guaranteed to provide: deja vu, sore throats, and music of a quality which makes not being able to talk for a day after entirely worthwhile. It is very difficult to find the words to express the feeling of knowing you're singing right at the top of your game, that you've awed your audience with every piece, or even the shiver down the spine when you hit that beautiful harmony with the sopranos in Rossini's Kyrie dead on. This poem doesn't even try. :)

Christ have mercy. Kyrie.
A little faster this time, and live in hope
That the sopranos don’t go sharp again,
That the altos actually find their note.
Pie Jesu. If only Fauré knew
how difficult it is to sing that D forte,
But he’s requiem-ing peacefully and hasn’t a clue.
Bar 44. Libera me.