What the Heck Is That?: AUBADE

Mar 12, 2018 · 17 comments
David Connell (Weston CT)
The root of the word has to do with the paling of the sky at dawn - "alba" is white / whitening in the sense of pale clear light. There is a related "crosswordese" term, ALB, a pure-white vestment worn by worship leaders in formal Christian settings.
Lee Orcutt (Minnesota)
Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day: It was the nightingale, and not the lark, That pierc'd the fearful hollow of thine ear
Art Shapiro (Lake Forest, CA)
I knew the word as part of the title of a rather well-known work for oboe & orchestra by Poulenc. I had utterly no idea about the word's meaning..
Dr W (New York NY)
A E Housman -- the great and wonderful British poet -- wrote a collection called "A Shropshire Lad" that included this gem; my question here is -- would this also be considered an aubade? REVEILLE Wake: the silver dusk returning Up the beach of darkness brims, And the ship of sunrise burning Strands upon the eastern rims. Wake: the vaulted shadow shatters, Trampled to the floor it spanned, And the tent of night in tatters Straws the sky-pavilioned land. Up, lad, up, 'tis late for lying: Hear the drums of morning play; Hark, the empty highways crying "Who'll beyond the hills away?" Towns and countries woo together, Forelands beacon, belfries call; Never lad that trod on leather Lived to feast his heart with all. Up, lad: thews that lie and cumber Sunlit pallets never thrive; Morns abed and daylight slumber Were not meant for man alive. Clay lies still, but blood's a rover; Breath's a ware that will not keep. Up, lad: when the journey's over There'll be time enough to sleep.
Peter Jackel (British Columbia)
Sure, Deb, wish me a wonderful start to my day by by gifting me with one more reason to prolong my hours at my laptop. In 2014, I think, I subscribed to the crosswords and slowly worked up to doing all seven in the week. Not satisfied with this, I have been doing about ten to fifteen a week from the archives. A few months ago I started to check out the Wordplay column now and then and have begun to read the comments on occasion as well when something puzzles, or mildly irritates, me about a crossword. And now another new column which led me to click on Donne's poem which led me to click on the poem guide. all very informative, but minutes I could be using to do other things. Truly, thanks. I had two different inflections of "thanks" in my head as I typed the word. :)
Deb Amlen (Wordplay, the Road Tour)
Hi Peter, There are other things to do? :)
Réal Morrissette (Sherbrooke, Qc, Canada)
An Aubade is a morning love song and a serenade is an evening one. Aubade is from the french "aube" which mean dawn.
Dr W (New York NY)
Merci beaucoup!!
suejean (Harrogate, UK)
That was what I thought, but when no one else mentioned it I thought I had it wrong, and when I looked up serenade, it didn't say that. I should have researched further, but glad to see it here.
Dr W (New York NY)
Is this special post a first? Anyway, "aubade" was -- BION -- a gimme. I knew it was a poem but not the connect to dawn. Thanks for the visuals!!
Deb Amlen (Wordplay, the Road Tour)
Hi Dr. W, It's a new series, but we've done three or four of them. They usually go up on the news section after they've been in the queue for a while. Here's last week's piece: https://www.nytimes.com/2018/03/05/crosswords/what-the-heck-is-that-saze...
Dr W (New York NY)
That's great -- thank you!!
Mapgirl61 (Libertyville)
As I just learned by googling "Aubade" at work, it is also the name of a company that makes lingerie. Thanks, Neville and Doug.
Alan J (Durham, NC)
Given the 1678 definition from E. Phillips New World of Words (within the OED entry shown in the article), as "music...playd under any ones Chamber window in the morning," I think of an aubade as being a morning counterpart to a serenade (sung or played at evening). Here is the same YouTube link I posted on the daily posting for Friday's puzzle: Prokofiev, Aubade from the ballet Romeo and Juliet https://youtu.be/EaH9l6PTf2c
NK (NYC)
"Aubade" is the title of arguably Philip Larkin's greatest poem, a frightening contemplation of mortality: "The sure extinction that we travel to And shall be lost in always. Not to be here, Not to be anywhere, And soon; nothing more terrible, nothing more true." https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/48422/aubade-56d229a6e2f07
Deb Amlen (Wordplay, the Road Tour)
So Larkin wasn't a morning person either.
Etaoin Shrdlu (The Forgotten Borough )
Like to the Larkin at break of day arising...