Inspired – very loosely – by Yeats’s verses in The Sorrow of LoveNostàlgia of light, Yearning for… simultaneously seems to have arisen magnetised by that aura of mysticism that enveloped both the existence and posterity of the Irish writer. Strings and brass are engaged in descending glissandos that, if we were to isolate them from the work as a whole, could also evoke the most austere symphonic Messiaen. However, Giménez Comas insists that, rather than a reminiscence on any sort of spiritual fancifulness, her expressive work is more closely related to “a luminous idea of sound, orchestrating it, for example, through the use of crotals rubbed with a bow and sorting the results from lesser to greater spectral density”. The subsequent interpretations and understandings of a piece like Nostàlgia of light, Yearning for… are, from then on, more in the hands of attentive listeners than of the composer herself. This is the greatness of any polysemic creation that is open to perspectives. Divided into four parts, not easily discernible in a single hearing, the second section is woven together by means of a series of motifs-dialogues in the distance (by a violin soloist and trumpet). Then part three is a series of ‘small sound forests’ assembled by means of murmurings that create a microtonal melody. In the conclusion, and without overwhelming the austere aesthetic that embellishes the page, the rhythmic addition becomes more pronounced, as does the intensity that foretells the coda, enunciated by means of Brahms-like chords (!), which are reorchestrated, rethought, transmuted. Giménez Comas’s thoughts about a work like this are not restricted to the piece itself. Without the intention (at least not expressed categorically) of engendering a concert series, Nostalgia of light. Yearning for… has its correlate or, at least, finds its creative response in a very recent work to which the Catalan composer has just added a double bar. Once again, the score was stimulated by literature, on this occasion by the script Nostalgia 2175, by Anja Hilling, an «eloquent declaration of love for the past, for lost worlds and sunken happiness», according to the editor’s note. Perhaps upon listening to it, we shall once again be faced with a score that evokes another harsh universe from a stance of serenity, as the piece we recommend herein does so well.