FINLANDIA
Jean Sibelius (1865-1957)
Text by Lloyd Stone (1912-1993)
This is my song, O God of all the nations,
a song of peace for lands afar and mine;
this is my home, the country where my heart is;
here are my hopes, my dreams, my holy shrine:
but other hearts in other lands are beating
with hopes and dreams as true and high as mine.
My country’s skies are bluer than the ocean,
and sunlight beams on cloverleaf and pine;
but other lands have sunlight too, and clover,
and skies are everywhere as blue as mine:
This is my song, O God of all the nations,
a song of peace for their land and for mine.
HOPE IS THE THING WITH FEATHERS
Alberto de la Paz (b. 1992)
Text by Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)
“Hope” is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -
And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -
And sore must be the storm -
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm -
I’ve heard it in the chillest land -
And on the strangest Sea -
Yet - never - in Extremity,
It asked a crumb - of me.
MY JOURNEY YOURS
Elise Witt (b. 1953) with the staff of the Refugee Family Services
arr. Michael Holmes
My journey,
Your journey,
My journey, yours.
KURDISH
Gashtimin My journey
Gashtakat Your journey
MANO (LIBERIA)
Lupia My journey
Tapia Your journey
ARABIC
Rechlati hiya My journey
Rechlatak Your journey
AMHARIC (ETHIOPIA)
Yene gozo My journey
Nayanka Your journey
BOSNIAN
Moje puto vanje My journey
Tvoje Your journey
VIETNAMESE
Hang djing gua toi My journey
Hang djing gua angh Your journey
SOMALI
Sodal keyga My journey
Io kaga Your journey
N-400 ERASURE SONGS*
Melissa Dunphy (b. 1980)
- Form N-400 Erasures
Do you
Have
awful
association s
Have you been in
total
terror
Yes/No
If you
EVER claim in writing or any other way
to
have no
country
are you
confined
— Niina Pollari
FIRST NATIONS LAMENT
Melody based on a Zuni lullaby
Text and arr. by Cairril Adaire (1967-2020)
Doo k’e nizin da One who does not think according to kinship.
Ch’ééna Sadness for something that was lost and will never come back.
Manaba War returned with her coming.
Artistic intention of the text from the composer:
Kinship is not just with other humans; it is with the entire world. Ritual is necessary to integrate the ‘ill’ individual back into the collective whole.
In this context, “Ch’ééna” expresses the deep lament of those who were forced to migrate over what had been lost in their move across continents and oceans and never regained.
In the wars and forced migrations across this land, her first peoples were decimated in soul as well as body.
N’AP DEBAT (WE’RE HANGIN’ ON)
Sydney Guillaume (b.1982)
Text by Gabriel T. Guillaume (b. 1939)
Woy! Alon doulè rèd’o!
Alon doulè rèd’o!
Mezanmi, woy!
Twazièm son fenk sonnen
nan Legliz Katedral;
Solèy kouche lontan
dèyè Mòn Lopital…
Lanati dechennen
met tout moun anba kòd.
Gro kolòn, ti poto
tounen pousiè ak sann.
Jezi, Mari, Josèf...
Gras’ a Mizerikòd...
Lanati dechennen
met tout moun anba kòd.
Nou wè, nou pa konprann,
Sa rive sanzantann.
Latè tranble!
Latè tranble pi rèd pase fèy nan savann.
Anmwe! Anmwe! Sekou souple!
Nan pwen bouch pou pale…
Dies irae, dies illa;
Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine.
Ayiti! Ayiti!
Alon doulè rèd’o,
Mare senti’w sere.
Ayiti! Ayiti!
Ou se yon fanm vanyan,
Kenbe la, pa lage...
Legetè toupatou mande:
“Kouman ou ye?”
N’ap debat, n’ap debat,
N’ap debat gras’ a Die.
Mwen se rozo banbou
nan chimen chwal malen;
Ou mèt wè’m plat atè,
Yon lòt moman, m’an lè.
Rete tann zanmi mwen,
M’ap vin pi bèl demen.
Atansyon Legetè!
Pa pran chans Magouyè!
An verite twa fwa,
Ayiti pap peri!
•••
Oh! What an unbearable pain!
Oh, gracious God!
What an unbearable sorrow!
The third bell of
the Cathedral just rang.
The sun set long ago
behind Mount Lopital...
Mother Nature derailed,
straining everyone to misery.
Large structures and small rafts
have turned to dust and ashes.
Jesus, Marie, and Joseph...
Grace and Mercy...
Mother Nature derailed,
straining everyone to misery.
We see, but we don’t understand,
It happened so suddenly.
The earth trembled!
The earth shook harder than a desert’s leaf.
Help! Help! Rescue me, I beg you!
I’m at a loss for words…
Day of wrath, day of anger.
Grant them eternal rest, Lord.
Haiti! Haiti!
What an unbearable pain,
Tighten your belt.
Haiti! Haiti!
You are a valiant woman,
Hang in there, don’t give up…
Rubberneckers from everywhere ask:
“How’s it going?”
“We’re hangin’on, we’re hangin’on,
We’re hangin’on by the grace of God.
I am a bent reed
that does not break.
Things may be awful today,
But tomorrow I will shine.
Wait and see, my friend,
Tomorrow I will shine.”
Beware, Rubberneckers!
Don’t even try, schemers!
I swear to you,
Haiti will not perish!
AFKA HOOYO (MOTHER TONGUE)
Timothy C. Takach (b. 1978)
Text by Mohamed Ibrahim Warsame (b. 1943)
Dhalashada afkaygiyo
Dhigashada fartaydaan
Kaga baxay dhibaatoon
Hawlihii ku dhaafee,
Iyadaa dhaqaalaha
Dhidibbada u aastoo
Dheelliga u diidaye,
Dhulka wadajirkiisaana
Iyadaa dhammeysee.
Waa inaan ku dhaataa afkayga,
Waa inaan ku dhistaa afkayga,
Waa inaan ku dhaqdaa afkayga,
Waa inaan ku dhergaa afkayga,
Waa inaan ku dhintaa afkayga.
Shalay dhabannahayskii
Dhoolla-qosol maanta ah
Xalay bow dhexeysee,
Dadka dhooban meesha
Laysku soo dhawaadee,
Dhanka qudha u jeedoow!
Ma hesheen dhambaalkii?
Hadalkii ma dhuuxdeen?
Ma idiin dhadhamaya?
Qofka dhoohanow, arag!
Kii dhegala ow, maqal!
Haddaan dheri dab lagu shidin
Dhuuniga ma kariyoo
Waxba lagama dheefee,
Dheehdoo danteennii
Halka dhaawac kaga yaal
Lafta dhabarka weeyee,
Boogaha ma dhaynaa!
•••
Through the fixing of its spelling
my language is delivered:
my difficulties done with,
I’m freed from every hindrance.
Settling the orthography’s
our economy’s foundation;
it defends against all defects
in the oneness of our nation -
it underwrites and it defines.
I must give to Somali
develop through Somali
create within Somali
I must be rid of poverty
and give myself for my own mother tongue.
Only a single night divides
old yesterday’s despair
from today’s delighted laughter -
you people gathered here
how close you’ve grown together:
you face in one direction.
Do you hear deliverance call?
Have you divined its meaning?
Does it taste good in the mouth?
You who are still unaware, look!
You who are deliberately deaf: listen!
if the pot isn’t placed on the fire
the dish cannot be cooked
so how will it ever satisfy?
Consider this in light of our goal:
where does deep hurt lie
but in our backbone -
time to treat that injury!
N-400 ERASURE SONGS*
Melissa Dunphy (b. 1980)
- N-400 (an erasure)
i.
notice: any immigration
notice: hearing
notice: see
notice: you
ii.
to the immigrant :
homeland is
a process
delayed.
iii.
fingerprints disposable
a number unpermitted
immigrants: are
all of the above
iv.
about the United States:
do not
support
the criminal history
v.
you are what
you have
abandoned
vi.
identify: alien
copy: self
vii.
separate your
open wounds in the
process
viii.
verify:
all has
been destroyed
ix.
naturalization can not capture
your free
can not level
your personal
for political
x.
this application simplified
is persecution of
your own safety
to ensure social security
xi.
reschedule
reschedule
reschedule
reschedule
a time
time
time
again time
time
date and
time
xii.
resubmit
resubmit
resubmit
xiii.
please
xiv.
you will
never
belong
— Laurel Chen
5 WAYS TO KILL A MAN
Bob Chilcott (b. 1955)
Text by Edwin Brock (1927-1997)
There are many cumbersome ways
to kill a man.
You can make him carry a plank of wood
to the top of a hill and nail him to it.
To do this properly you require
a crowd of people wearing sandals,
a cock that crows, a cloak to dissect,
a sponge, some vinegar
and one man to hammer the nails home.
Or you can take a length of steel,
shaped and chased in a traditional way,
and attempt to pierce
the metal cage he wears.
But for this you need white horses,
English trees, men with bows and arrows,
at least two flags, a prince and a castle
to hold your banquet in.
Dispensing with nobility, you may,
if the wind allows, blow gas at him.
But then you need a mile of mud
sliced through with ditches,
not to mention black boots,
bomb craters, more mud,
a plague of rats, a dozen songs
and some round hats made of steel.
In an age of aeroplanes, you may fly
miles above your victim
and dispose of him by
pressing one small switch.
All you then require is an ocean
to separate you,
two systems of government,
a nation’s scientists,
several factories, a psychopath
and land that no-one needs
for several years.
These are, as I began,
cumbersome ways to kill a man.
Simpler, direct, and much more neat
is to see that he is living somewhere in
the middle of the twentieth century,
and leave him there.
LULLABY (from Paradise)
Shawn Crouch (b. 1977)
Text by Brian Turner (b. 1967)
Akbar stirs the chai,
then carries his sleeping four-year-old,
Habib, to bed under glow-in-the-dark
stars arranged on the ceiling.
Late at night when gunfire
frighten them both,
Habib cries for his father, who tells him
It’s just the drums, a new music,
and the tracery of lights (in the sky)
He retraces on the ceiling, showing the boy
how each bright star travels
from his dark place, to the other.
EL MANISERO (THE PEANUT VENDOR)
Moíses Simons (1885-1945)
arr. Yosvany Estepe Diaz
Caserita no te acuestes ya llegué
El manisero llegó
Si te quieres por el pico divertir
Cómprame un cucuruchito de maní
Que calentito, y rico esta (traigo mani)
Ya no se puede pedir más
Ay, caserita no me dejes ir
Cómprame mi maní
Porque después te vas a arrepentir
Y va a ser muy tarde ya
El manisero ven que ya llegó
Ya está aqui
Cuando la calle, sola esta
Acera de mi corazón
El manisero, entona su pregón
Y si la niña escucha su cantar
Llama desde su balcón
Esta noche no voy a poder dormir
Sin comerme un cucurucho de maní
El manisero, entona su pregón
El manisero se va
Ya se fué
•••
Homemaker don’t lie down, I’m here!
The peanut vendor has arrived.
If you want to have a treat for your mouth
Buy a cone of peanuts!
How warm, and delicious (I bring peanuts)
One can hardly ask for more!
Ah, little homemaker, don’t let me go
Buy my peanuts
Because, later, you will regret it
And it will already be too late...
The peanut vendor has arrived
They are here.
When the street is empty,
On the sidewalk of my heart
The peanut vendor makes his announcement
And, if the girl hears his song,
She calls him from her balcony.
I won’t be able to sleep tonight
Without having eaten a cone of peanuts!
The peanut vendor makes his announcement and then the peanut vendor leaves.
He’s gone!
PÍSEŇ ČECHA (SONG OF A CZECH)
Antonín Dvořák (1841-1904)
Text by František Jaroslav Vacek Kamenický (1806-1869)
Kde můj je kraj, kde má je vlast?
To jméno má největší slast!
Není to blud, není to klam,
zemi českou za vlast že mám.
Není země jako země,
hlas přírody mluví to ke mně,
a srdce mé volá s plesem,
v Čechách že já jen doma jsem.
Zde jsem zrozen a pěstován,
od matky české odchován;
ta pod srdcem mě nosila,
slzami lásky zrosila.
Zde léta jsem prožil mladosti,
Zde rajské jsem zažil blahosti;
Protož volám polem lesem:
V Čechách tu já jen doma jsem.
Zde jsem se učil Boha znát,
co dítě otcem svým ho zvát;
Zde můj vzděláván byl rozum
a zde je můj otcovský dům.
Na něj oko mé rádo patří,
zde sestry mé, moji tu bratři;
Mně touha lásky táhne sem:
U nich tu já jen doma jsem.
•••
Where is my land, where is my country?
That name has the greatest bliss!
It is not that falsehood, it is not that illusion,
that I have the Czech land as my country.
It is not a land like any land,
The voice of nature speaks to me,
and calls my heart with rejoicing—
that I, in the Czech lands am only at home.
Here I was born and raised,
brought up by a Czech mother;
she carried me next to her heart,
she bedewed me with tears of love.
Here I spent the years of my youth,
here I experienced the blessedness of Paradise;
so I call through the field, through the forest:
“I am only at home here in the Czech lands.”
Here I learned to know God,
as a child is invited by its father;
here my education was reason,
and here is my paternal house.
My eye gladly gazes on it,
here are my sisters, here are my brothers;
the desire of love draws me here:
here with it, I am only at home.
MOVIMIENTO (MOVEMENT)
Jorge Drexler (b. 1964)
Apenas nos pusimos en dos pies
Comenzamos a migrar por la sabana
Siguiendo la manada de bisontes
Más allá del horizonte
A nuevas tierras, lejanas
Los niños a la espalda y expectantes
Los ojos en alerta, todo oídos
Olfateando aquel desconcertante
paisaje nuevo, desconocido
Somos una especie en viaje
No tenemos pertenencias
sino equipaje
Vamos con el polen en el viento
Estamos vivos porque estamos en movimiento
Nunca estamos quietos, somos trashumantes
Somos padres, hijos, nietos
y bisnietos de inmigrantes
Es más mío le que sueño
que lo que toco
Yo no soy de aquí
Pero tú tampoco
De ningún lado del todo
De todos lados un poco
We crossed deserts, glaciers, continents
The entire world from one end to the other.
Stubborn, survivors.
Our sight on the wind and the currents,
Our hand firmly on the oar.
We carry our wars, our lullabies...
Our path made of verses,
Of migrations, of hunger.
And that’s how it’s always been,
Since the beginning.
We were the drop of water traveling
on the meteorite
We crossed galaxies, vacuums, millennia...
We were looking for oxygen,
Instead, we found dreams
Apenas nos pusimos en dos pies
Y nos vimos en la
sombra de la hoguera
Escuchamos la voz del desafío
Siempre miramos el río
Pensando en la otra rivera
Somos una especie en viaje
No tenemos pertenencias sino equipaje
Nunca estamos quietos, somos trashumantes
Somos padres, hijos, nietos y bisnietos de inmigrantes
Es más mío lo que sueño que lo que toco
Yo no soy de aquí
Pero tú tampoco
De ningún lado del todo y
De todos lados un poco
•••
As soon as we stand on our feet
We started to migrate towards the savanna
Following the herd of bison
Beyond the horizon
To new, distant lands
The children expectant on our backs
Eyes are alert, all ears
Sniffing that new unknown
baffling landscape
We’re a traveling species
We don’t have belongings
although we have luggage
We travel with the pollen in the wind
We’re alive because we’re moving
We’re never still, we’re nomadic
We’re parents, children, grandchildren
and great-grandchildren of immigrants
What I dream belongs more to me
than what I touch
I’m not from here
But you’re not either
From nowhere at all
From everywhere a little
(Spoken word section)
As soon as we stand on our feet
And we saw ourselves at the
shadow of the bonfire
We heard the voice of defiance
We always look at the river
Thinking about the other stream
We’re a traveling species
We have no belongings but luggage
We are never still, we are nomadic
We are parents, children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren of immigrants
What I dream is more mine than what I touch
I’m not from here
But neither do you
Nowhere at all and
From everywhere a little
N-400 ERASURE SONGS*
Melissa Dunphy (b. 1980)
- Change [y]our Country
you Are Home
this IS where you live now
Home
your space
Your Time
Your History
How many have been
persecuted
occupied
arrested
detained charged
Have Been
Failed
lied to
removed, excluded
deported
but you did not
f al t e r
you
are willing
you
are true
release
re form
prepare
S t a n d Firm
you
are the best of u s
you will b re a the
free
— Melissa Dunphy
