official web site since 1997 of the composer, author, poet and visual artist

 Joseph Johannes (Joop) Visser:

ECCE HOMO; 6 Songs on Poems by

First World War Poets

for Alto and Church Organ

sketches as played on carillon and celesta

Original recordings of the

Première Performance by:

MIRJAM BOERS & LOUIS LEVELT

recording JAAP WAJER
15th of April 2012
in the Lutheran Church, Edam
the organ is built by Gideon Thomas Baetz from Utrecht

 

CHARLES HAMILTON SORLEY:
All the hills and vales along

 

JOSEPH RUDYARD KIPLING:


A Son

 

JOSEPH RUDYARD KIPLING
Unknown Female Corpse

 

CHARLES HAMILTON SORLEY:
When you see Millions

 

WILFRED EDWARD S. OWEN:
Futility

 

PHILIP EDWARD THOMAS:
In Memoriam (Easter 1915)

 

RETURN TO

1st page of the '6 Songs'

 

The composer, Joseph J. Visser

Joseph J. Visser, the composer

from: 'Epitaphs of the War 1914-1918'

 

 

 

A Son

My son was killed while laughing at some jest,
I would I knew
What it was, and it might serve me in time when jests are few.

 

Joseph Rudyard Kipling; 1865-1936.


The Nobel Prize in Literature 1907 was awarded to Rudyard Kipling "in consideration of the power of observation, originality of imagination, virility of ideas and remarkable talent for narration which characterize the creations of this world-famous author".

 

Jonathan Brown, 29 August 2006; in an article in
The Independent; 13 April 2015:
"For Rudyard Kipling, the most famous author of the age, the carnage at Loos on the Western Front in September 1915 plunged him into inner darkness. His only son, John, for whom he had written his best-loved poem, If, had been killed in the action just six weeks after his 18th birthday."

 

 

 

 

If—
BY RUDYARD KIPLING
(‘Brother Square-Toes’—Rewards and Fairies)

 

If

you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

Source: A Choice of Kipling's Verse (1943)