My Mind Was a Mirror

by Terry Champlin

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My Mind was a Mirror
for voice, 2 guitars and violin with percussion
poems by Edgar Lee Masters ( from Spoon River Anthology )

for voice, 3 guitars, violin and percussion

To Match the Voice and the Face
for voice, violin and 3 guitars with percussion
poems by Carolyn Dewald and Tony Wright

Love Song and Variations
for violin and guitar with percussion

The Harp of David
for guitar qurtet

A Prayer on going into my House
for voice and guitar with organ and bass
poem by W. B. Yeats


released January 31, 2012

Helen Avakian, voice and guitar
Sabina Torosjan, violin
Jeff Haynes, percussion
Terry Champlin, guitar
Dan Lewis, guitar
Vilian Ivantchev, guitar
Chris Funke, guitar
Victor Main, guitar
Scott Petito, additional guitar, additional percussion, organ and bass

album art by Kenan Rubenstein.



all rights reserved


Terry Champlin Pleasant Valley, New York

Originally educated as a theoretical physicist at MIT, Terry switched to music at the age of 21. His music has been performed around the world by such artists as Evangelos and Liza, David Starobin, and The Woodstock Chamber Orchestra. He has performed at Carnegie Hall and Avery Fischer Hall.

Terry is on the faculties of Vassar College and the Mannes College of Music.
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Track Name: Lullaby
for Helen

Time runs in place, too fast to see or know
like the moon reflecting off the tide
It lives in a sacred space, where the echoes go
and the horsemen of the sunset ride
There is a pattern to the leaves, to the birds that fly;
an arrow running through the stars, not seen by you or I
The wind whistles, or does it cry?
Lullaby, lullaby.

The roads diverge like you and I, like friends when time is spent
leaving in between a ghost filled world.
Across the gulf we can still hear a call both clear and distant
it is there our best songs and poems are heard.
It is there, across this distance our greatest songs are sung;
it’s from the echoes of these valleys that our truest visions come.
The wind whistles, or does it cry?
Lullaby, lullaby.

The years trudge on, the sages say, or the sun would stop and fade away
the stars would get confused and die;
Lullaby, lullaby.

The day we first held something near was the day that we could lose it,
like the moment that we live in or the touch that we feel.
The moment waits for all of us if we have the strength to choose it,
or the courage to make it real.
Anything worth having has the power to break your heart;
it’s taking hold of it anyway that sets us all apart.
The wind whistles, or does it cry?
Lullaby, lullaby.
Track Name: Train Song
Speaking French
by Carolyn Dewald

On a train once
when I was eighteen
and it was an even race between
my hair and my hemline
I met an older woman
with a lived-in face and
a cigarillo.

We watched the sun set
over Arles.
Staring at my knees
she said:
no cherry tree
in insolent bloom
can understand
the hot dry summer to come
or the fruit that the birds will peck once
and then leave hanging.

and I may have misunderstood
or made some of it up
out of desire
for a story
to match the voice and the face
Track Name: Answering Emma
by Carolyn Dewald

Driving back last week
leaving you
four states and two large deserts away
I did not start to cry
until I came to the sign
dividing east from west.

Water now for you runs east;
you are very far away,
doing things that I have never done
with people I will never meet.

But something like the pull of the moon
on the spring tide binds us.
My arms know how your shoulders feel,
how the long bones move in their sockets,
how you throw your head
back when you laugh,
the drawl with which you speak French,
how your fingers fold around mine.

If the ground beneath could speak
to the young birch
lovely in its white bark
and new spring leaves,
what on earth would it say?