American composer Tom Myron was born November 15, 1959 in Troy, NY. His compositions have been commissioned and performed by the Kennedy Center, the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, the Portland Symphony Orchestra, the Eclipse Chamber Orchestra, the Atlantic Classical Orchestra, the Eastern Connecticut Symphony Orchestra, the Topeka Symphony, the Yale Symphony Orchestra, the Civic Orchestra of Chicago, the Bangor Symphony and the Lamont Symphony at Denver University.
He works regularly as an arranger for the New York Pops at Carnegie Hall, writing for singers Rosanne Cash, Kelli O'Hara, Maxi Priest & Phil Stacey, the Young People's Chorus of New York City, the band Le Vent du Nord & others. His film scores include Wilderness & Spirit; A Mountain Called Katahdin and the upcoming Henry David Thoreau; Surveyor of the Soul, both from Films by Huey.
Individual soloists and chamber ensembles that regularly perform Myron's work include violinists Peter Sheppard-Skaerved, Elisabeth Adkins & Kara Eubanks, violist Tsuna Sakamoto, cellist David Darling, the Portland String Quartet, the DaPonte String Quartet and the Potomac String Quartet.
Tom Myron's Violin Concerto No. 2 has been featured twice on Performance Today. Tom Myron lives in Northampton, MA. His works are published by MMB Music Inc.
FREE DOWNLOADS of music by TOM MYRON
Symphony No. 2
Violin Concerto No. 2
Viola Concerto
The Soldier's Return (String Quartet No. 2)
Katahdin (Greatest Mountain)
Contact featuring David Darling
Mille Cherubini in Coro featuring Lee Velta
This Day featuring Andy Voelker
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Saturday, June 25, 2005
Summer Verse
The Blue Hour
(For rb)
Black rabbit in a rosebush,
A slice of night sky
Orbited now by
A dozen buzzing red suns.
Uncurled like Escher lizards etched
On strands of furling space,
Cricket-jeweled blades unbend.
They leave no trace of tear or mend.
A stole of lapin wrapped the mace
That struck the algid sundial's face
Night-blind on the lawn.
Dawn through rust-ringed portals broke
In waves eroding stars to stone
And stones to smoke.
When bending light shifted blue
You missed your mist-enveloped cue.
The Rite of Spring floods night's white noon
Your dull medulla's lunar bassoon
Howls at sundogs cradled high
In morning's reedy lullaby.
Your ears, once sharp as kitten's teeth,
Too late hear the Earth beneath
You turn and split the day from night.
Blood-soaked petals lift in flight
While heat and hounds rush to meet
The shadow falling at your feet.
*
posted by Tom Myron
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