Last Wednesday, I had the great opportunity to hike to the top of Mount Timpanogos, the second highest peak along the Wasatch front. I’ve always wanted to go, but never found it convenient. I’ve also had some terrible foot problems in recent years and found hiking, one of my favorite activities, to be difficult. A friend of mine is leaving the Provo area and wanted to hike Timp before she left. This was as good a time as any.

I just bought a Camelbak and got myself ready with a bottle of Ibuprofen, and psyched myself for this hike that I knew would be long. The first half of the hike was pretty easy and we found ourselves passing gorgeous waterfalls and even managed to see a pair of moose in the distance. There was plenty of shade and oxygen and we seemed unstoppable.

After climbing about 2,000 feet, we arrived at a sort of shelf. It got quite flat, and open. It was about this time that I was started to feel the heat, and the lack of oxygen. I looked up and saw the peak of Timp and thought to myself, “No way. There’s no way that I go on, and there’s certainly no way that I can reach the peak.”

As we kept going, the landscape became less hospitable; the trees eventually stopped and the grass and wild flowers eventually evaporated. Even though it was relatively flat, it seemed so difficult. It was about this time that we came upon some ice fields. I scooped up some of the snow and placed it on my head to cool me down. It actually helped quite a bit. Just relieving the heat made a huge difference and I felt that I was getting my second wind. My friend on the other hand, started to slow down a bit.This was about the time when I said, “No way.”

This was about the time when I said, "No way."

By the time we got to the “saddle” (the part where you can finally see the other side of the mountain the the valley bellow) we needed to rest and reassess what we were doing. We could see the peak from where we were and understood that it would be another hour before we got there.  After considering the facts and weighing our options we decided that we would take the risk and continuing climbing.  We had already climbed 3,500 feet and felt that we needed to finish the last leg.  After making sure that my friend could go on we set off.

By this time the landscape was inhospitable; No vegetation, just unforgiving rocks.  There wasn’t anymore snow either, just us on the last leg of the climb.  After a while we could see a little metal shack at the top of the mountain.  It was our final destination.  Even with the prize in sight, I needed some motivation and cheer-leading to make it to the top.  So I provided my own.  My mind fell upon a poem by Paul Eluard that I had talked about previously with my friend: “Liberté.”  It’s been set by contemporary French composer Francis Poulenc, and is the last movement of the larger work “Figure Humaine.”  There is a recurring line that says, “J’écris ton nom,” or “I write your name” (the name being “Liberty”).

MOOSEN!

I started to chant this to myself over and over again with every step I took, “J’écris ton nom . . . J’écris ton nom . . . J’écris ton nom,”  This might not make much sense if you don’t understand the poem and the context.  By the time Poulenc was setting it to music France was under Nazi occupation.  One of the worlds greatest superpowers, which had gone through revolution for the sake of “Life, Liberty and Fraternity,” was no longer free.  This poem talks about writing the name “Liberty” on everything in sight, a rock, a tree, a lamp post, even a dog’s paw.  This idea of seeing true liberty reflected in everything around us motivated me a great deal.  Even in bondage we can still be free.

After an hour or so of chanting, we arrived at the pinnacle.  Getting to the top was so exhilarating.  We shouted and cheered probably because we weren’t sure if we were going to make it and because we had to go through quite a bit to get there.  During that brief moment, there have been fewer times in my life when I have felt as free.  It might just been the lack of oxygen, but being up there was immensely liberating.

In order to get the full effect of this whole thing, I’m posting Poulenc’s “Liberté” recorded majestically by Tenebrae along with the text and a translation.

The charm of Walt Whitman’s poems happens to also be it’s challenge.  His trademark free-verse style is very difficult to set to music.  Although you can’t resist the rugged, rustic sentiment of one of his most famous poems, “I Hear America Singing.”

I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear,
Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be blithe and strong,
The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam,
The mason singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work,
The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat, the deckhand
singing on the steamboat deck,
The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter singing as he stands,
The wood-cutter’s song, the ploughboy’s on his way in the morning, or
at noon intermission or at sundown,
The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife at work, or of
the girl sewing or washing,
Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else,
The day what belongs to the day—at night the party of young fellows,
robust, friendly,
Singing with open mouths their strong melodious songs.

-Walt Whitman (1819 – 1892)

The ecstatic buoyancy, free of all inhibitions, is really infectious.  It can’t be understated, however, that this is really difficult to put to music.  As brilliant as it is, I don’t know how people look to Whitman for poetry so often.