Going North
(2004)
SA chorus and 2 clarinets
Poem by John Keats
Commissioned by Francisco Nuñez for the Young People's Chorus of New York
Duration: circa 7 minutes

First Performance:  April 29, 2006
Ethical Society, 68th Street, New York

Publisher:  Novello & Co Ltd

Composer Note:

It is challenging to find a way to compose that hopefully will be interesting and fun for young people and yet not too difficult . A major concern of course is to find the right text: something that will be appreciated by urban young people. I thought that this "nonsense" poem of John Keats would be highly suitable. It is set for young voices, soprano and alto and accompanied by two clarinets.

     A Song about Myself

                  I
There was a naughty boy,
         A naughty boy was he,
He would not stop at home,
         He could not quiet be -
                  He took
                  In his knapsack
                  A book
                  Full of vowels
                  And a shirt
                  With some towels
                  A slight cap
                  For night cap -
                  A hair brush.
                  Comb ditto,
                  New stockings,
                  For old ones would split O!
                  This knapsack
                  Tight at's back
                  He rivetted close,
         And followed his nose,
                  To the North,
                  To the North,
         And followed his nose
                  To the North.

                  II
There was a naughty boy,
         A naughty boy was he,
For nothing would he do
         But scribble poetry -
                  He took
                  An inkstand
                  In his hand
                  And a pen
                  Big as ten
                  In the other
                  And away
                  In a pother
                  He ran
                  To the mountains
                  And fountains
                  And ghostès
                  And postès
                  And witches
                  And ditches
                  And wrote
                  In his coat
                  When the weather was cool -
                  Fear of gout -
                  And without
                  When the weather was warm.
                  Och, the charm
                  When we choose
         To follow one's nose,
                  To the North,
                  To the North,
         To follow ones nose
                  To the North!

                  III
There was a naughty boy,
         A naughty boy was he,
He kept little fishes
         In washing tubs three
                  In spite
                  Of the might
                  Of the maid,
                  Nor afraid of his granny-good,
                  He often would
                  Hurly burly
                  Get up early
                  And go,
                  By hook or by crook,
                  To the brook
                  And bring home
                  Miller's thumb,
                  Tittle bar
                  Not over fat,
                  Minnows small
                  As the stall of a glove,
                  Not above
                  The size
                  Of a nice
                  Little baby's
                  Little finger -
                  O he made
                  ('Twas his trade)
         Of fish a pretty kettle,
                  A kettle,
                  A kettle,
         Of fish a pretty kettle,
                  A kettle!

                  IV
There was a naughty boy,
         A naughty boy was he,
He ran away to Scotland
         The people for to see -
                  There he found
                  That the ground
                  Was as hard,
                  That a yard
                  Was as long,
                  That a song
                  Was as merry,
                  That a cherry
                  Was as red,
                  That lead
                  Was as weighty,
                  That fourscore
                  Was as eighty,
                  That a door
                  Was as wooden
                  As in England -
         So he stood in his shoes
                  And he wondered,
                  He wondered,
         He stood in his
                  Shoes and he wondered.

                                    John Keats

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