The Crossing @ Christmas 2017

Motherhood, from the perspective of home, looking out across the landscapes and timespans over which our children must travel. A musical meditation on the connective threads that forever hold us close to home.

Part 1
Der Herr ist mein getreuer Hirt (I, 1989) Toivo Tulev

Our flags are wafting in hope and grief (2014) Gabriel Jackson

At the manger Mary sings (1991) Graham Lack

The Open Road (2012) Gavin Bryars

Returning (2015) Michael Gilbertson

Part 2
Lullay, lullay little child (1990) † Jonathan Varcoe

Lost Forever (2000) Joby Talbot

She took his hands (2017) Nicholas Cline

Young Jesus Sweit (1993) Robert Convery

Part 3
Born (world premiere) Gilbertson
commissioned for The Crossing by Steven Hyder and Donald Nally
in memory of Margaret Martindale Nally

Madonna and Child (1982) Edwin Fissinger

Der Herr ist mein getreuer Hirt (II, 2003) Tulev

TEXTS

The Crossing’s concerts are recorded by Paul Vazquez of Digital Mission Audio Services @ digitalmissiononline.com

Der Herr ist mein getreuer Hirt (version 1)

Toivo Tulev (b. 1958)

The Lord is my faithful shepherd,
to whom I entrust myself totally,
He leads me, His lamb, to pasture
in a lovely green meadow,
He leads me to fresh water,
to refresh my soul powerfully
through the blessed word of grace.

—paraphrase of Psalm 23, from Becker Psalter (1602)

Der Herr ist mein getreuer Hirt,
dem ich mich ganz vertraue,
Zur Weid er mich, sein Schäflein, führt,
Auf schöner grünen Aue,
Zum frischen Wasser leit' er mich,
Mein Seel zu laben kräftiglich
Durchs sel’ge Wort der Gnaden.

I have known the best of time and space, and was never measured and never will be measured.
I tramp a perpetual journey.
...
Shoulder your duds dear son, and I will mine, and let us hasten forth,
Wonderful cities and free nations we shall fetch as we go

"Song of Myself" from Leaves of Grass, Walt Whitman (1819-1892). Excerpted by the conductor.

Our flags are wafting in hope and grief

Gabriel Jackson (b. 1962)

Our flags are wafting in hope and grief,
through turmoil we are silent and stern.
A moment has come – a moment so brief,
perhaps a point of no return.

We live with regret, we live with doubt,
our roots are tangled and ancient.
The timidest heart that never spoke out
now breaks into song, impatient.

Whatever we had, whatever we lost,
whether valued or taken for granted,
a voicing of freedom at whatever cost
cannot now be recanted.
—Doris Kareva (b. 1958), trans. Miriam McIlfatrick-Ksenofontov (b. 1961)

At the manger Mary sings
Graham Lack (b. 1954)

O shut your bright eyes that mine must endanger
With their watchfulness; protected by its shade
Escape from my care: what can you discover
From my tender look but how to be afraid?
Love can but confirm the more it would deny.
Close your bright eye.
—W.H. Auden (1907-1973)

The Open Road
Gavin Bryars (b. 1943)
arr. John Grecia

AFOOT and light-hearted, I take to the open road,
Healthy, free, the world before me.
The long brown path before me, leading wherever I choose.

Henceforth I ask not good-fortune—I myself am good fortune;
Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing,
Strong and content, I travel the open road.

The earth—that is sufficient;
I do not want the constellations any nearer;
I know they are very well where they are;
I know they suffice for those who belong to them.

I give you my love, more precious than money;
I give you myself, before preaching or law;
Will you give me yourself? Will you come travel with me?
Shall we stick by each other as long as we live?

— “Song of the Open Road",” from Leaves of Grass, Walt Whitman (1819-1892). Excerpted by the composer.

Yet a word ancient mother,
You need crouch there no longer on the cold ground with forehead between your knees,
...
For know you the one you mourn is not in that grave,
...
[He] is not dead, he is risen again young and strong in another country.

"Old Ireland", from Leaves of Grass, Walt Whitman (1819-1892). Excerpted by the conductor.

Returning

Michael Gilbertson (b. 1987)

—Kai Hoffman-Krull (b. 1985)

Lullay, lullay little child

Jonathan Varcoe (b. 1970)

Lullay, lullay, little child, mine own dear food,
How shalt thou suffering be nailed on the rood.
So blessed be the time?

Lullay, lullay little child, mine own dear smart, (smart = cause of grief)
How shalt thou suffering the sharp spear to thy heart?
So blessed be the time!

Lullay, lullay little child, I sing all for thy sake,
Many on is the sharp show to Thy body is shape
So blessed be the time!

Lullay, lullay little child, fair happis thee befall,
How shalt thou suffering to drink ezyl and gall? (ezyl = vinegar)
So blessed be the time!

Lullay, lullay little child, I sing all beforn,
How shalt thou suffering the sharp garlong of thorn?
So blessed be the time!

Lullay, lullay little child, why weepy thou so sore,
Thou art both in God and man, what wouldest thou be more?
So blessed be the time?

—variation of a 15th-c. English Carol

Lost Forever
Joby Talbot (b. 1971)

If it were only in a crowd I’d lost you:
Among the runners racing for a train
or gangs of gleaners
cutting through the pasture at nightfall,
their wagons filled with corn.

If it were only in a crowd I’d lost you
Among the runners racing for a train.
Or in the swarms of suitors around you,
or in the banks of clouds which bring the rain
which falls in torrents rakes and swells river.

For if I’d lost you so
I might have found you
Instead of knowing this —
You’re lost forever and the actors who will play us are not yet born.

—Roddy Lumsden (b. 1966)

She took his hands
Nicholas Cline (b. 1985)

She took Saulito's hands and said to him very calmly, 'They can't hurt us. God is protecting us. You just have to have faith and I will be fine and with you soon.'

— Emma Lazano on the arrest of Chicago immigrant activist Elvira Arellano, quoted in The Washington Post, August 21, 2007

Now there are no maps and no magicians.
No prophets but the young prophet, the sense of the world.
The gift of our time, the world to be discovered.
All the continents giving off their several lights,
the one sea, and the air. And all things glow.

"Elegy in Joy", from The Elegies, Muriel Rukeyser (1913-1980). Excerpted by the conductor.

Young Jesus Sweit
Robert Convery (b. 1954)

O my deir hert, young Jesus sweit,
Prepare thy creddil in my spreit,
And I sall rock thee in my hert
And never mair from thee depart.

But I sall praise thee evermore
With sangis sweit unto thy gloir;
The knees of my heart sall I bow,
And sing that richt Balulalow!

The knees of my heart sall I bow,
And sing that richt Balulalow!
—James, John and Robert Wedderburn (1548) translating Martin Luther (1483-1546)

Born (world premiere)

Gilbertson

commissioned for The Crossing by Steven Hyder and Donald Nally
in memory of Margaret Martindale Nally (July 14, 1926 - December 31, 2016)

So this is his mother.
This small woman.
The gray-eyed procreator.

The boat in which, years ago,
he sailed to shore.

The boat from which he stepped
into the world,
into un-eternity.

Genetrix of the man
with whom I leap through fire.

So this is she, the only one
who didn’t take him
finished and complete.

She herself pulled him
into the skin I know,
bound him to the bones
that are hidden from me.

She herself raised
the gray eyes
that he raised to me.

So this is she, his Alpha.
Why has he shown her to me.

Born.
So he was born, too.
Born like everyone else.
Like me, who will die.

The son of an actual woman.
A new arrival from the body’s depths.
A voyager to Omega

Subject to
his own absence,
on every front,
at any moment.

He hits his head
against a wall
that won’t give way forever.

His movements
dodge and parry
the universal verdict.

I realized
that his journey was already halfway over.

But he didn’t tell me that,
no.

“This is my mother."
was all he said.
—from No End of Fun, 1967, Wisława Szymborska (1923-2012),
trans. by Stanislaw Baranczak and Clare Cavanagh

Sit a while dear son,
Here are biscuits to eat and here is milk to drink,
But as soon as you sleep and renew yourself in sweet clothes,
I kiss you with a good-by kiss and open the gate for your egress hence.

"Song of Myself", from Leaves of Grass, Walt Whitmas (1819-1892). Excerpted by the conductor.

Madonna and Child
Edwin Fissinger (1920-1990)

Mary smiles towards her curving arm
where Jesus sleeps so safe and warm.
Christe eleison.

Her smile is born of hope and prayer
to feel the Babe so little there.
Christe eleison.

The Holy Star above her gleams
as Mary sings to Him and dreams,
aware that He must go His way
but not how far, nor on what day.
Christe eleison.
– Jeanne DeLamarter Bonnette (1907-1983)

Der Herr ist mein getreuer Hirt (version II)

Tulev

THE CHOIR

The Crossing

Gabrielle Barkidjija
Nathaniel Barnett
Julie Bishop
Karen Blanchard
Abigail Chapman
Malcolm Cooper
Colin Dill
Micah Dingler
Robert Eisentrout
Ryan Fleming
Joanna Gates
Steven Hyder
Michael Jones
Heidi Kurtz
Maren Montalbano
Rebecca Myers
Becky Oehlers
Daniel Schwartz
Rebecca Siler
Daniel Spratlan
Elisa Sutherland
Daniel Taylor
Diane Walters
Jackson Williams

Donald Nally, conductor
John Grecia, accompanist
Rebecca Harris, violin

UncategorizedDecember 13, 2022