• WL100/31: Notebook, 9 April 1969

Lutosławski on Conducting (and Boulez)


If I accept a proposal to conduct my own works, this is not out of conceit.  On the contrary, it is out of modesty.  I do not have enough confidence that the most prominent conductors will ever take on the works of my last period (after Musique fun.) or, even if they do, I do not imagine that they will have enough time, inclination and independence from their habits to conduct them well.  Of course the exception here is Janek Krenz.  But he rarely has the opportunity to conduct my pcs now.  The surprise, however, contrary to what I wrote at the beginning, is that serious conductors have interested themselves so quickly in my Symphony 2 (Skrowaczewski, Bour).  So perhaps there really is no need for me to conduct?  I am tempted, however, to experience it for myself and prove to others that, e.g., Symphony 2 can and should be conducted as the notation stipulates, and not, e.g., as Boulez did in some bits. 

Jeśli przyjmuję propozycje dyrygowania własnymi utworami, to nie przez zarozumiałość.  Przeciwnie, przez skromność.  Nie mam dość wiary w to, że najwybitniejsi dyrygenci zabiorą się kiedykolwiek do utworów mego ostatniego okresu (po Muzyce żał.), albo jeśli nawet się zabiorą, to nie wyobrażam sobie, że będą mieć dość czasu, chęci i – niezależności od swych przyzwyczajeń – aby je dyrygować dobrze.  Naturalnie wyjątkiem tutaj jest Janek Krenz.  Ale on rzadko ma okazję dyrygowania moich utw. teraz.  Niespodzianką jest natomiast to, że wbrew temu, co napisałem na początku, poważni dyrygenci zainteresowali się tak szybko moją II Symfonią (Skrowaczewski, Bour).  Może więc rzeczywiście nie ma potrzeby, abym sam dyrygował?  Korci mnie jednak, aby samemu doświadzyć i innym udowodnić, że np. II Symfonią można i należy tak dyrygować, jak przewiduje jej zapis, a nie np. tak, jak to zrobił w niektórych fragmentach Boulez.

Witold Lutosławski, 9 April 1969 [my translation]

Screen Shot 2013-04-08 at 21.44.44When he wrote this, Lutosławski had been conducting his own music on the international stage for almost six years. He had shared the podium with Slavko Zlatić for the premiere of Trois poèmes d’Henri Michaux (Zagreb, 9 May 1963) and with Jan Krenz for the work’s first recording (1964).  He gradually increased his profile as a conductor during the 1960s (it was, after all, a useful way of increasing his hard-currency income).  He conducted the premiere of Paroles tissées with Peter Pears (Aldeburgh Festival, 20 June 1965) as well as of the Second Symphony (Katowice, 9 June 1967), followed by the second and third performances of the Second Symphony at the ‘Warsaw Autumn’ Festival (24 September, 1967) and again in Warsaw (16 February, 1968).

Screen Shot 2013-04-08 at 21.58.24The references to Stanisław Skrowaczewski and Ernest Bour refer to the facts that Bour gave the first performance of the Second Symphony outside Poland (Baden-Baden, summer 1968), followed by Skrowaczewski (Minnesota, 21 February 1969; New York, 3 March 1969).  Lutosławski conducted the seventh performance less than a fortnight before this diary entry (Uppsala, 28 March 1969).  Four more performances followed in 1969 (making a total of seven that year), two in 1970, four in 1971, and one in 1972.  The work seems to have fallen by the wayside for several years, reappearing once in 1978 and again in 1979, once in each of 1981, 1982, 1983 and 1984, and then languishing until single performances in 1989 and 1993.  That amounts to 26 performances during Lutosławski’s lifetime, one for each year since 1967.  It was long regarded as a weaker cousin to Livre pour orchestre (1968), although in recent years their fortunes seem to have been reversed and it is now Livre which is on the sidelines.  But that is a topic for a further discussion.

Screen Shot 2013-04-08 at 22.00.37Lutosławski’s confidence that other conductors would take up the Second Symphony went largely unrealised. Neither Bour nor Skrowaczewski touched it again during his lifetime.  The other conductors were Charles Groves (twice) and Paul Huppert (1969), Andrzej Markowski (1970), Konstantin Iliev (1971) and Matthias Bamert (1993). Jan Krenz’s name is not on the list.  All the other performances (bar one whose details are incomplete) were conducted by Lutosławski (data from Stanisław Będkowski & Stanisław Hrabia, Witold Lutosławski. A Bio-Biography, Westport CT, 2001).  His initial premonition proved correct, as he ended up conducting 15 of the 26 performances.

Screen Shot 2013-04-08 at 22.02.04The Boulez story is one of the oddities in Lutosławski’s career.  He had not finished the first movement of the Second Symphony in time for the scheduled premiere (Hamburg, 15 October 1966), in which the Sinfonie Orchester der Norddeutschen Rundfunk was conducted by Pierre Boulez.  The performance therefore consisted only of the second movement.  I’ve never heard a recording of this concert, so I cannot comment on Lutosławski’s little sideswipe at Boulez.  What is certain, however, is that Boulez has not since conducted any of Lutosławski’s music.  By any measure, given that Boulez has recently performed and recorded music by Szymanowski (not someone with whom I would ever have linked him), this is a strange not to say glaring omission.

The images of Lutosławski were taken by Jan Zegalski in Katowice during rehearsals for the premiere of the Second Symphony in Katowice in June 1967.  They come from Witold Lutosławski w Polskim Radiu (I posted on this fascinating web resource in WL100/14 on 21.01.13).  In one shot, Lutosławski is in conversation with Krenz, who had been his conducting mentor since the early 1950s.

Screen Shot 2013-04-08 at 22.03.28

• WL100/30: Notebook, 7 April 1960

Lutosławski on Cage


The bottom of this pot, from which we all draw, is already visible.  The zealous ones (Cage) have already scraped it.  As for me – I’m not particularly hurrying towards that moment, to which our history of music is unavoidably heading, i.e. the absence of all music.

W tym garnku, z którego wszyscy czerpiemy, już widać dno.  Co gorliwsi (Cage) już się do niego doskrobali. Co do mnie – nie śpieszę się tak do tej chwili, do której zmierza nieuchronnie nasza historia muzyki, tj. do braku wszelkiej muzyki.

Witold Lutosławski, 7 April 1960 [my translation]

This reaction to Cage, and what he stood for, was indicative of Lutosławski’s essentially traditional frame of mind, even when he was trying to break free of the past in early 1960.  What is strange about this comment is that only three weeks earlier Cage had had a liberating effect on Lutosławski’s music.  It has been known for a long time that Lutosławski heard a performance of Cage’s Piano Concert (1958) on the radio in 1960.  This chance hearing was a bolt from the blue for Lutosławski’s subsequent development, but commentators have never pinpointed the date.

Unknown-1
The broadcast details are contained in Danuta Gwizdalanka’s commentary on the Lutosławski Guide to Warsaw app (Routes>Warsovian>Saskia [sic] Kępa, Zwycięzców 39>’From (controlled) accident to accident’):

This event took place on 16 March 1960 at 10.10 p.m., when Polish Radio 3 broadcast a programme featuring the music of John Cage as part of the series Music Horizons.

 
Here is but one of a number of Lutosławski’s more positive public responses to Cage’s liberating significance:

[…] I heard on the radio a short fragment of John Cage’s second Piano Concerto [i.e., Concert for Piano and Orchestra].  The use of the element of chance opened for me a way to use a lot of musical ideas, that were kept ‘in stock’ in my imagination without any way to use them.  It was not a direct influence of Cage’s music, but the impulse, which enabled me to use my own possibilities.  So I wrote to him that he was a spark thrown on a barrel of gunpowder inside me. 

(‘Sound Language’, unpublished and undated typescript in English, included in
Zbigniew Skowron, Lutosławski on Music, Lanham MD, 2007, p.99)

 

 

 

 

 

• WL100/29: Notebook, 6 April 1961

Lutosławski and Poor Alternatives


I often see in my finished works only wretched caricatures of what were once their first concepts.

Często widzę w moich zrealizowanych utworach tylko nędzne karykatury tego, czym były w swoim czasie ich pierwsze wyobrażenia.

Witold Lutosławski, 6 April 1961  [my translation]

This single-sentence entry in his notebook reflects Lutosławski’s dissatisfaction at the very moment when he was racing to complete Jeux vénitiens.  He had finished the first movement the previous day (5.04) and would complete the final movement the following day (7.04).  The premiere took place in Venice less than three weeks later (24.04), but he immediately withdrew this version for a major overhaul.  The revised piece was premiered in full on 16 September that year at the Warsaw Autumn festival.  For previous notebook entries and commentaries on Jeux vénitiens, see WL100/18 (12.02.61), WL100/24 (11.03.61) and WL100/27 (19.03.61).

A comment on vocabulary.  I wonder if previous versions understate the intensity of Lutosławski’s comment.  In Lutosławski on Music (Lanham MD, 2007), Zbigniew Skowron translates ‘nędzne’ as ‘poor’:

I often see in my finished works only poor caricatures of what their first conception was like.

So too does Joanna Holzman in Lutosławski. Homagium, an exhibition catalogue published by Galeria Kordegarda (Warsaw, 1996).  Her version, despite the unnecessary insertion of ‘very’, is nicely succinct:

I very often view my finished works as poor caricatures of the original concept.

I pondered for quite a while on ‘nędzne’, because a range of Polish-English dictionaries gives a range of much stronger translations as well, of which the following is a selection: abject, abysmal, beggarly, lousy, meagre, mean, measly, miserable, paltry, poor, sad, shabby, sordid, sorry, squalid, vile, worthless, wretched.  It seems to me that ‘poor’ is the mildest of these.  It is quite likely that Lutosławski was feeling particularly frustrated and under pressure, sandwiched between the two days when he completed the outer movements of  Jeux vénitiens, just in time for the parts to be copied and sent off for rehearsal (which must have been an interesting event, as it was the first time any performers had encountered Lutosławski’s aleatory procedures and notation).

Of the alternatives to ‘poor’ I sense that ‘lousy’ (although overly colloquial), ‘measly’, ‘miserable’, ‘sad’, ‘sorry’ and ‘wretched’ are equally if not more suitable for his mood at this particularly stressful moment.  Are there any other views out there?

• WL100/28: Jazz Conversations (Lutosphere)

Having heard Agata Zubel, Andrzej Bauer and Cezary Duchnowski in conversation with Lutosławski’s alter ego ‘Derwid’ at the end of the Philharmonia’s Woven Words festival last month (Zubel Zings!), I’ve revisited an earlier set of ‘conversations with Lutosławski’.  These took place in the project Lutosphere, when Bauer teamed up with the pianist Leszek Możdżer and the DJ M.Bunio.S to explore Lutosławski’s concert music.  Among the pieces which they reference are the Intrada and Passacaglia from the Concerto for Orchestra (1954) and the Cello Concerto (1970). As I’ve written before, there’s quite a tradition of Polish jazz musicians reworking the music of major Polish composers (Chopin, Szymanowski), but this is the first time that the composer’s own voice has been included in the process!

There are currently a handful of uploads on YouTube, some with live video footage.  Here are five (two of them are short extracts), dating from 2008-10.

OFF festival, Mysłowice (8.08.2008)

 

Polish Radio (pre 6.11.2008, with partly English-language intro by Możdżer)

 

(pre 17.05.2009)

 

Kraków Philharmonic (31.10.2009)

 

Theatre on the 6th Floor, Warsaw (26.08.2010)

 

• WL100/27: Notebook, 19 March 1961

Lutosławski and Rain

In order to justify classical rhythmic formulae, the argument has been used that this rhythm (i.e. ‘harmonic’, based on pulse) comes from nature: walking, the heartbeat.  Well, it is not correct to say that other rhythms have no counterpart in nature.  In fact, natural phenomena proceed for the most part in an irregular rhythm.  Example: the rhythm of the drops as rain begins to fall (pizz., in b.67 presto (II) from Jeux v.).

Dla uzasadnienia klasycznych formuł rytmicznych posługiwano się argumentem, że rytm ten (tzn. ‘harmoniczny’, oparty na pulsacji) pochodzi z natury: chodzenie, bicie serca.  Otóż nie jest słuszne twierdzenie, że inne rytmy nie mają odpowiedników w naturze.  Na pewno zjawiska natury przebiegają w swej większości w rytmie niepulsacyjnym.  Przykład: rytm kropel, gdy deszcz zaczyna padać (pizz., w t. 67 presto (II) z Jeux v.).

Witold Lutosławski, 19 March 1961  [my translation]

This is a rare example of Lutosławski linking extramusical observations to his music, aside from his several references to the theatre.  The passage in question (in the second movement of Jeux vénitiens, which he was writing at this very time and would complete nine days later) is interesting from a number of points of view.

For one thing, the string pizzicati are almost completely covered by a denser, more active texture in the woodwind, brass, pitched percussion and harp, so hardly of foreground interest.  For another, this is not the first but the third such passage in the movement: the first is led off by the bassoon at b.9 and the second (more briefly) by vibraphone at b.46, both against a background of scurrying muted strings played arco.  In each of these first two cases, the ‘irregular’ rhythms lead to fuller textures in the wind and pitched percussion, and it is the second of these that eventually runs in parallel with the string pizzicati cited by Lutosławski above.

This third and most developed passage extends from b.67 to b.82 and is given to the strings for the first time and marked pizzicato to make the point (the orchestration of these three sections is a good example of how Lutosławski thought of his music’s instrumentation in structural terms).  Bars 67-82 take the form of an increasingly dense rhythmic texture that is interrupted by the playing of cardboard tubes on the strings of the piano at b.83 (see WL100/24: Notebook, 11 March 1961 for details of this passage).  Given the dating of both this diary entry and of his work on the second movement, it looks highly possible that Lutosławski did have the irregular rhythm of a natural phenomenon like raindrops in mind when he composed not only bb.67-82 but also the two earlier passages to which this pizzicato section is the successor.  Incidentally, the movement is not headed Presto in the published score – it simply has the tempo indication of crotchet/quarter-note = 150.

Here’s a recording of the (unrevised) second movement from the premiere of the otherwise revised and completed version of Jeux vénitiens, given at the Warsaw Autumn on 16 September 1961, with the National Philharmonic conducted by Witold Rowicki.  The bassoon entry at b.9 is at 0’05”, while the vibraphone at b.46 is inaudible, as too is most of the string pizzicato starting at b.67 (0’46”).

WL JV:II bb.64-72

WL JV:II bb.73-81

• WL100/26: Notebook, 13 March 1961 (2)

Lutosławski on Electronic Music

It might be said that, in the works which I am now writing, the influences of electronic music are evident. Maybe.  One thing is clear to me, that electr. and concr. music realises, to a certain degree, timbral and rhythmic elements which from early on have imposed themselves on my imagination.

Mozna by mówić, że w utworach, które teraz piszę, widać wpływy muzyki elektronowej.  Być może.  Jedno jest dla mnie pewne, że muzyka elektr. i konkr. realizuje w pewnym stopniu elementy dźwiękowe i rytmiczne, które od dawna narzucają się mej wyobraźni.

Witold Lutosławski, 13 March 1961  [my translation]

Lutosławski, who was in the middle of composing Jeux vénitiens at the time, was not alone among his generation in the early 1960s in sensing parallels between his music and the new sound-worlds of electronic music and music concrète.  In 1960, the year of her Sixth String Quartet and a year before the orchestral Pensieri notturni, Grażyna Bacewicz (1909-69) made a similar observation: “I am struck by electronic music: it invents new sound colours and new rhythms”.

• WL100/25: Notebook, 13 March 1961 (1)

Lutosławski on Feeling in Music

For the thousandth time: music does not express any specific feelings, it only constitutes the formal framework into which, during its performance, each person pours their own emotions, whatever they are. Hence a v. simple explanation for the tears of the Gestapo listening to Mozart.

Po raz tysiączny: muzyka nie wyraża żadnych określonych uczuć, stanowi tylko ramy formalne, w które przy jej odtwarzaniu każdy wlewa swoje własne emocje, takie, na jakie go stać.  Stąd b. proste wytłumaczenie łez gestapowców słuchających Mozarta.

Witold Lutosławski, 13 March 1961  [my translation]

• WL100/23: 9-10 March 1957

Lutosławski Speaks Out (1957)

Lutosławski chose his moment to make statements of a political-artistic nature.  He stayed noticeably silent during the discussions at Łagów on 5-8 August 1949, when politicians, composers and performers tried to determine what constituted socialist realism in music.  On 9 March 1957, however, he opened the 9th General Assembly of the Polish Composers’ Union (9-10 March) with a short speech.  At a pivotal moment in Polish culture, six months after the first ‘Warsaw Autumn’ festival and before any music from the Western avant-garde had been played in Poland, Lutosławski reflected on both the creative trauma of the past seven and a half years and the creative opportunities that lay ahead of Polish composers.

Our Assembly, for the first time in a very long while, is taking place in an atmosphere of true creative freedom.  No one here will persecute anyone for so-called formalism, no one will prevent anyone from expressing his aesthetic opinions, regardless of what individual composers represent.

Zjazd nasz po raz pierwszy od dłuższego już czasu odbywa się w atmosferze prawdziwej wolności twórczej. Nikt tu nikogo nie będzie prześladował z tzw. formalizm, nikt nikomu nie przeszkodzi wypowiedzieć swych poglądów estetycznych niezależnie od tego, co reprezentują poszczególni kompozytorzy.

When today, from the perspective of eight [sic] and a half years, I look back on the notorious conference in Łagów in 1949, when the frontal attack on Polish musical creativity began, I go cold just remembering that dreadful experience.   In fact, it is hard [to find] a more absurd argument than this – that one should erase the output of recent decades and return to the musical language of the nineteenth century.  But they still tried to make us believe this argument.  What is more, they frequently tried to promote works that were imitative and bland, simultaneously closing off the route to the concert platform for works that were original and creative.  We all know that this was the work of people to whom the very idea of beauty is totally foreign, people for whom music is of no interest unless there is some tale or legend attached.

Gdy dziś, z perspektywy ośmiu i pół lat, patrze na sławetny Zjazd w Łagowie w 1949 roku, kiedy to zapoczątkowano frontalny atak na polską twórczość muzyczną – zimno mi się robi na wspomnienie tego okropnego przeżycia.  W istocie trudno o bardziej absurdalną tezę niż ta, że należy przekreślić dorobek ostatnich kilkudziesięciu lat i powrócić do języka muzycznego XIX stulecia.  A jednak starano się tę tezę nam wmówić.  Mało tego – starano się nieraz lansować utwory epigońskie i jałowe, zamykając jednocześnie drogę do estrady dziełom oryginalnym i twórczym.  Wszyscy wiemy, że działo się to za sprawa ludzi, którym obce jest najzupełniej samo pojęcie piękna – ludzi, których nic nie obchodzi muzyka, jeśli nie można do niej doczepić jakiejś historyjki, jakiejś legendy.

The period of which I speak may not have lasted long, because it actually passed a couple of years ago, but it was nevertheless long enough to have visited tremendous damage on our music.  The psyche of a creative artist is an extremely delicate and precise instrument.  So the attack on that instrument and the attempt to subdue it caused not a few of us moments of severe depression.  Being completely cut off from what was happening in the arts in the West likewise played no small role in that dismal experiment to which we were subjected.

Okres, o którym mówię, trwał może niedługo, bo faktycznie minął już parę lat temu, dość jednak długo na to, aby wyrządzić naszej muzyce olbrzymie szkody.  Psychika artysty twórczego jest instrumentem niezmiernie delikatnym i precyzyjnym.  Toteż zamach na ten instrument i próba zawładnięcia nim przyprawiły niejednego z nas o momenty ciężkiej depresji.  Całkowite odcięcie od tego, co działo się w sztuce na Zachodzie, odegrało również niemała rolę w tym ponurym eksperymencie, jakiemu nas poddano.

Have we shaken ourselves free of this state of dejection?  Do we have enough enthusiasm for new, creative explorations?  Certainly yes.  But even so our situation is far from easy.  Before each of us stands the problem of finding our place in the tumult represented by the arts of our time.  This problem is sharply drawn particularly for those of us who, after a gap of some years, have established contact with Western European music.  Not all of us have a clear view on what is happening in this music, where it is going.  I believe, however, that it is only a question of time, that not only will we reach a clear view on the situation but also that we will play a positive and not insignificant role in it.  This optimistic feeling allows me above all to cherish the fact that today we are breathing an atmosphere of true creative freedom.  And that is the first and indispensable requirement for the development of every art.

Czy otrząsnęliśmy się ze stanu przygnębienia?  Czy mamy dość zapału do nowych, twórczych poszukiwań? Na pewno tak.  Ale mimo to sytuacja nasza nie jest bynajmniej łatwa.  Przed każdym z nas staje problem znalezienia swego miejsca w tym zamęcie, jaki przedstawia sobą sztuka naszej epoki.  Szczególnie ostro rysuje się ten problem przed tymi z nas, którzy po kilkuletniej przerwie nawiązali kontakt z muzyką zachodnioeuropejską.  Nie mamy tu wszyscy jasnego poglądu na to, co się w tej muzyce dzieje, ku czemu ona zmierza.  Wierzę jednak, że jest to tylko kwestią czasu, że nie tylko zdobędziemy jasny pogląd na sytuację, ale że odegramy w niej pozytywną i wcale nie najmniejszą rolę.  To optymistyczne uczucie pozwala mi żywić przede wszystkim fakt, że oddychamy dziś atmosferą prawdziwej wolności twórczości.  A to jest pierwszym i nieodzownym warunkiem rozwoju wszelkiej sztuki.

Lutosławski’s opening address was printed in Ruch Muzyczny no.1 (1 May, 1957), pp.2-3.  Ruch Muzyczny resumed publication with this number, having been ‘liquidated’ by the authorities late in 1949 for being too independent.  My translation above appeared in a slightly shorter form in Polish Music since Szymanowski (Cambridge, 2005), p.92. Steven Stucky provided his own translation in Lutosławski and His Music (Oxford, 1981), pp. 63-4, and Zbigniew Skowron reproduced it in Lutosławski on Music (Scarecrow, 2007), 231-2.

• WL100/22: Chain 1, figs 40-41

Twenty five years ago today, I came across a Lutosławski autograph and immediately knew I had to buy it.  I was between my 40th and 41st birthdays at the time, so how could I resist?  A quick phone call and it was secured.  It was being sold by Lisa Cox, who had bought it in November/December 1987 at an auction in London held by Phillips in aid of the Musicians Benevolent Fund.  She was under the impression that Lutosławski had donated the manuscript along with a couple of signed photographs.  I paid the princely sum of £75 plus 50p postage.  (Excuse the skew-whiff angle and the camera flash – I had to photograph it in the dark to avoid reflections!)

IMG_8091 copy

• WL100/21: Funeral and Homily, 16.02.94

It was Ash Wednesday, 1994.  I had not gone specially to Warsaw for Lutosławski’s funeral on 16 February; I had arrived a week earlier on a pre-planned research trip.  But I could not stay away from Powązki Cemetery.  My recollections are slender, my few photographs, for what they are worth, rather remote.  Those were the days before digital photography, my camera had a poor zoom, and it didn’t seem right to photograph those present at close quarters (how customs have changed in less then 20 years).

Funeral

As you would expect, it was a cold day, but not snowbound as on my recent visit to the grave on the centenary of his birth.  Lutosławski had been cremated (there was at that stage only one crematorium in Poland – in Poznań – and the Roman Catholic church had an ambivalent attitude to cremation, to say the least).  I got to the cemetery early, before the mass in the chapel.  I located the grave, which was squeezed in next to that of Witold Rowicki, the conductor who commissioned Lutosławski’s Concerto for Orchestra in 1950.  I was intrigued to see that a full-size grave had been dug, a couple of feet deep, lined with bricks and half covered-over with curved concrete panels.

WL Funeral, 16.02.94:1

WL Funeral, 16.02.94:2

The chapel at the edge of the cemetery, inside the three-metre perimeter wall, was packed and stuffy.  The family wanted the minimum of fuss, with only one oration (translated below).  Stefania Woytowicz, who had been one of the great Polish sopranos and a passionate advocate of new Polish music, gave a less than steady account of the early Lacrimosa.  I decided to move outside.  Eventually, the funeral party emerged past an array of wreaths. Lutosławski’s stepson carried the simple wooden casket (to the left of the wreaths in the photo below).

WL Funeral, 16.02.94:3It was a circuitous route to the graveside.  A soldier carried the Order of the White Eagle, Poland’s highest honour, which had been awarded to Lutosławski shortly before he died.

WL Funeral, 16.02.94:4

I found myself standing the other side of the grave from the family.  Lutosławski’s stepson, Marcin Bogusławski, climbed into the narrow opening to place Lutosławski’s casket on the grave’s floor (not the easiest of tasks). Lutosławski’s widow Danuta looked terribly frail.  She was heard to say: “Happy Rowicka, that she died straight after her husband!” (she must have glanced to her right and seen the inscription on the adjacent grave of Rowicki and his wife, who died within weeks of each other in 1989).  Danuta Lutosławska died less than three months after her husband, on 23 April 1994.

I returned a day or two later to see the grave, now covered in a mound of earth.

WL Funeral, 16.02.94:5

Homily

The homily at Lutosławski’s funeral was given by Father Wiesław Niewęgłowski.  It was reproduced at the end of Tadeusz Kaczyński’s Lutosławski. Życie i muzyka (Warsaw: Sutkowski, 1994), 237-8.  The translation is mine.

We have come here to say farewell to Witold Lutosławski, who is going on a long journey.  Among his incessant travels around the world, this is the last.  The final stop the house where there are many mansions – eternity.  He has left us citizens of the world, while simultaneously being a faithful son of the Polish homeland.  An eminent artist, a great composer, and above all a man of integrity.

He was born during the winter in Warsaw.  And in Warsaw he also died on a winter day.  A graduate of the Warsaw Conservatory.  Before he knew what success was, he experienced deprivation.  During the years of occupation he earned his living playing the piano in a few cafés in the capital city.  During martial law, he took the side of society.

An artist of great talent.  He created his own musical language.  A unique art.  Already during his lifetime he was seen as a classic of the twentieth century.  His works entered the treasure-house of world musical culture.  They are of permanent and universal value.  He was aware of his gift, but also the responsibility for these gifts entrusted to him.  Which is why he once said, “Talent is a good entrusted.  And with this good I need to do something wise and noble.  Talent must be given back to people.  It is the duty of the artist”.  These talents he multiplied and generously gave to the world.  Inspired, but also hard-working, he repeated after Tchaikovsky: “Inspiration does not visit the lazy”.

We know how he avoided publicity.  He was self-effacing.  But the world appreciated him – he was presented with honorary degrees by many renowned universities, many distinguished prizes and decorations.  A great talent, heart and spirit.  Open to people, kindly, independent and steadfast.  Totally elegant and calm, he was a free man.  But his freedom, both as an artist and as a man, created a harmonious whole.  He was a person of clear choices.  Which is why he was seen as an unquestioned authority, not only musically but also morally.

He leaves on the day when at Church people pour ashes on their heads, saying an old truth: remember man, that you are dust and to dust you shall return.  A funeral ceremony on Ash Wednesday in a way doubly proclaims the truth about life.  Europe, as a result of strenuous efforts in the field of philosophy and culture, has sponsored an anthropological reduction of people.  The latest proposed model according to the conception of the West is a man devoid of the spiritual dimension, a man crippled.  Today’s European man is conceived of as an irreligious man.  But is it possible to limit him and his thinking space on the horizon of eternity?  As you know, unbelief is the idea only of white, European man.  Atheism in the cultures of other continents is an unknown phenomenon.  Today’s ceremony has revealed the need for the Absolute.  It shows that, alongside mental activity, the spiritual element, humility and realism are necessary for every climate. 

Remember, man, that you are dust and to dust you shall return – this sentence is not uttered to arouse fear.  Dust does not evoke a symbol but reality.  Man is a transient being.  But he is the only being who the inevitability of his own death knows.  The ritual of the ash and the ritual of the funeral, however, proclaim the truth not about death, but about life.  From the time of Christ, the insignificance of man is filled with the infinite, death brings life – like the chrysalis of a butterfly.  As the ash fertilises the earth and thus becomes a source of new life during the following spring, so  the ash, which is man, sown in the ground with Christ, may have its own spring.

In this liturgy, we ask God for this eternal spring for Witold Lutosławski.  We heard in today’s reading from the Letters of St Paul, that Man does not live for himself, but for Christ.  Man does not live for himself, but for people with whom Jesus identifies himself.  Our recently deceased brother Witold fulfilled this truth in his service as an artist, in his service as a Christian.  May his actions intercede for him with God, and that will be a sign for how we must go.

Przyszliśmy tutaj, aby pożegnać Witolda Lutosławskiego, który udaje się w daleką drogę.  Wśród jego bezustannych podróży po świecie – ta jest ostatnią.  Kóncowym przystankiem dom, w którym mieszkań jest wiele – wieczność.  Odchodzi od nas obywatel świata, a jednocześnie wierny syn polskiej ojczyzny.  Wybitny artysta, wielki kompozytor, a przede wszystkim człowiek prawy.

Urodził się podczas zimy w Warszawie. I w Warszawie też umarł w zimowy dzień.  Absolwent Konserwatorium Warszawskiego.  Zanim dowiedział się czym jest sukces, poznał smak niedostatku.  W latach okupacji zarobkował grą na fortepianie, w kilku kawiarniach stołecznego miasta.  W stanie wojennym opowiedział się po stronie społeczeństwa.

Artysta wielkiego talentu.  Stworzył własny język muzyczny.  Sztukę niepowtarzalną.  Już za życia postrzegano go jako klasyka XX wieku.  Jego dzieła weszły do skarbca światowej kultury muzycznej.  Są wartością stałą i uniwersalną.  Miał świadomość własnego obdarowania, ale i odpowiedzialności za powierzone mu dary. Dlatego kiedyś powiedział: “Talent to dobro powierzone.  I z tym dobrem trzeba coś mądrego i szlachetnego zrobić.  Talent trzeba oddać ludziom.  Jest to obowiązek artysty”.  Owe talenty mnożył i hojnie rozdawał światu. Natchniony, ale i pracowity – powtarzał za Czajkowskim: “natchnienie nie nawiedza leniwych”.

Wiemy, jak unikał rozgłosu.  Był skromny.  Ale świat go docenił – ofiarowano mu doktoraty honoris causa wielu renomowanych uczelni, wiele znakomitych nagród i orderów.  Wielki talentem, sercem i duchem.  Otwarty na ludzi, życzliwy, niezależny i niezawodny.  Pełen elegancji i spokoju, był człowiekiem wolnym.  Ale jego wolność i jako artysty, i jako człowieka, tworzyła harmonijną całość.  Był osobą jasnych wyborów.  Dlatego postrzegano go jako nie kwestionowany autorytet nie tylko muzyczny, ale i moralny.

Odchodzi w dniu, kiedy w Kościele sypie się ludziom na głowę popiół, mówiąc starą prawdę: pamiętaj człowiecze, że prochem jesteś i w proch się obrócisz.  Pogrzebowa ceremonia w Środę Popielcową jakby podwójnie głosi prawdę o życiu.  Europa w wyniku usilnych zabiegów na terenie filozofii i kultury zafundowała ludziom redukcję antropologiczną.  Proponowany najnowszy model według koncepcji Zachodu – to człowiek pozbawiony wymiaru duchowego, człowiek okaleczony.  Dzisiejszy człowiek europejski pomyślany jest jako człowiek niereligijny.  Ale czy można zamknąć go i przestrzeń jego myśli na horyzonty wieczności?  Jak wiecie, niewiara jest pomysłem jedynie człowieka białego, europejskiego.  Ateizm w kulturach innych kontynentów jest zjawiskiem nieznanym.  Dzisiejsza ceremonia odsłania potrzebę Absolutu.  Ukazuje, że obok aktywności umyśłowej potrzebny jest także każdemu klimat i pierwiastek duchowy, pokora, realizm.

Pamiętaj człowiecze, że prochem jesteś i w proch się obrócisz – to zdanie nie jest wypowiadane ku wzbudzaniu lęku.  Proch nie przywołuję symbolu, ale rzeczywistość.  Człowiek jest istotą przemijającą.  Ale jest także jedyną istotą, która o nieuchronności swej śmierci – wie.  Obrzęd popielcowy i obrzęd pogrzebowy głoszą jednak prawdę nie o śmierci, ale o życiu.  Od czasu Chrystusa znikomość człowieka wypełniona jest nieskończonością, śmierć wydaje życie – jak poczwarka motyla.  Jak popiół użyźnia ziemię i tym samym staje się przyczyną nowego życia podczas kolejnej wiosny; tak posiany z Chrystusem w ziemię proch, którym jest człowiek, może mieć swoją wiosnę.

O tę wieczną wiosnę dla Witolda Lutosławskiego prosimy Boga podczas tej liturgii.  Słyszeliśmy w czytanym dzisiaj liście św. Pawla, że Człowiek nie żyje dla siebie, ale dla Chrystusa.  Człowiek nie żyje dla siebie, ale dla ludzi, z nimi utożsamia sź Jezus.  Świętej pamięci nasz brat Witold wypełnił tę prawdę swą służbą artysty, służbą chrześcijanina.  Niech jego czyny orędują za nim u Boga, a dla nas będą znakiem, jak iść mamy.