Quince Ensemble
Texts and Translations
Cassandra, IL (2018)
original text and music by ELIZA BROWN
I wrote the text and tune for Cassandra, IL after driving through a particular eerily empty rural village en route from Chicago to Peoria. A cluster of silos loomed over the main road. There was a deserted baseball diamond at the base of the silos; it and the surrounding fields were dry and carpeted in dust. When Quince asked what I might want to arrange for a program themed around Dust Bowl-era folk bard Woody Guthrie, this song came to mind. Because here we are, setting the Earth on fire, hastening another, vaster increase of parched fields and displaced people. We can’t say we weren’t warned...
— Eliza Brown
Like a river flows the grain
In the silo’s shadow eighteen men
Run the dusty diamond
Til the sun sinks down again
Like a river running dry
The elevator grits and grinds
The men have left the diamond
Yet the dust is on the rise
Where once it swelled its shore
The farmers’ river runs no more
And where the eighteen lie today
I could not say for sure
Plane Wreck at Los Gatos (2018)
(also known as “Deportee”)
arr. LIZ PEARSE
original text and music by
Woody Guthrie and Martin Hoffman
From 1942-1964, the Mexican Farm Labor Agreement governed the treatment and movement of braceros, workers contracted to work harvesting crops in the United States. This program stipulated a minimum wage and living conditions, which some farmers circumvented by hiring workers without proper documentation. If workers were caught without a valid contract, or when their contracts expired, they were deported – usually via bus, rarely by airplane.
On January 28, 1948, a DC-3 plane transporting 28 Mexican nationals, along with an American pilot, his wife, the co-pilot, and an INS guard, caught fire and crashed in the foothills of the Diablo Range, halfway between LA and San Francisco, CA. Because of insufficient record-keeping, the names of the Mexican victims were not all known, and initial reports listed them as “28 deportees.” Writer Tim Z. Hernandez’ research (documented in his book All They Will Call You, also the subjectof his upcoming documentary) led to the discovery of their identities – and as of 2013, their mass grave finally bears a headstone with each nameprinted upon it.
— Liz Pearse
Miguel Alvarez Negrete
Tomas de Gracia Aviña
Santiago Elizondo Garcia
Rosalio Estrada Padilla
Bernabe Garcia Lopez
Salvador Hernandez Sandoval
Severo Medina Lara
Elias Macias Trujillo
Jose Macias Rodriguez
Luis Medina Lopez
Manuel Merino Calderon
Martin Navarro Razo
Ignacio Navarro Perez
Roman Ochoa Ochoa
Apolonio Placencia Ramirez
Alberto Raygoza Carlos
Guadalupe Rodriguez
Maria Rodriguez Santana
Wenceslao Flores
Juan Ruiz Valenzuela
Jesus Santos Meza
Baldomero Torres Marcas
Ramon Paredes Ramirez
Guadalupe Ramirez Lara
Jose Sanchez Valdivia
Luis Mirande Cuevas
Tomas Marquez Padill
Francisco Duran Llamas
The crops are all in and the peaches are rott'ning,
The oranges piled in their creosote dumps;
They're flying 'em back to the Mexican border
To pay all their money to wade back again
Goodbye to my Juan, goodbye, Rosalita,
Adios mis amigos, Jesus y Maria;
You won't have your names when you ride the big airplane,
All they will call you will be "deportees"
My father's own father, he waded that river,
They took all the money he made in his life;
My brothers and sisters come working the fruit trees,
And they rode the truck till they took down and died.
Some of us are illegal, and some are not wanted,
Our work contract's out and we have to move on;
Six hundred miles to that Mexican border,
They chase us like outlaws, like rustlers, like thieves.
We died in your hills, we died in your deserts,
We died in your valleys and died on your plains.
We died 'neath your trees and we died in your bushes,
Both sides of the river, we died just the same.
The sky plane caught fire over Los Gatos Canyon,
A fireball of lightning, and shook all our hills,
Who are all these friends, all scattered like dry leaves?
The radio says, "They are just deportees"
Is this the best way we can grow our big orchards?
Is this the best way we can grow our good fruit?
To fall like dry leaves to rot on my topsoil
And be called by no name except "deportees"?
the smallest gap (2019)
original text and music by CARRIE HENNEMAN SHAW
The Black Sunday dust storm of 1935 was one of the worst so-called ‘black blizzards’ of the Dust Bowl. Winds from spring blizzards coming over the Rockies blew into first Oklahoma and lifted dirt from fields, loose from drought and poor farming practices, and created impenetrable black clouds of dust that rolled all the way across Texas. Many who lived through these storms (including my grandmother Shirley, who grew up in Waynoka, Oklahoma) recalled how the dust could find its way into any small hole in the house - the hole in the wall for a stove pipe, under the door, through a crack in a window – and by the next morning, there was so much dirt in the house, you had to use a shovel to clean it up. Every scrap of fabric or paper was used to plug up the holes while they waited out the storm. Rural southwesterners faced the question to stay or go; to stay and fight against forces of nature and agricultural failure that created a monster inescapable in its size and the way that it could find its way into your home, your safest place, and threaten the young, the elderly, the sick, the hungry; or to go, become one of the ‘Okie’ migrants flooding California at that time and face resentment and discrimination from native Californians, to be treated, in turn, like an invasive storm that had flooded the gaps in their communities.
— Carrie Henneman Shaw
Dust Bowl (2021)
music by EVAN WILLIAMS
original text by LANGSTON HUGHES
Dust Bowl sets Langston Hughes’ poem of the same name. The work was written for Quince Ensemble for their project This a Changin’ World, a series of commissions inspired by the Dust Bowl migration of the 1930’s and the music of Woody Guthrie.
The land wants me to come back
To a handful of dust in autumn,
To a raindrop
In the palm of my hand
In spring.
The land wants me to come back
To a broken song in October,
To a snowbird on the wing.
The land wants me to come back.
Copyright by The Estate of Langston Hughes, by permission of Harold Ober Associates Incorporated.
Destierros (2021)
music by RICARDO ZOHN-MULDOON
original text by LAURA ZOHN
Destierros (“Banishments”) was composed for the Quince Ensemble, thanks to a commission from the Fromm Music Foundation. It is scored for four treble voices and written in the spirit of a madrigal. Destierros was premiered at the Teatro Degollado of Guadalajara, under the auspices of the Festival Cultural de Mayo, on May 13, 2023. It was performed by the Quince Ensemble, and staged by the theatre/puppet company La Coperacha, under the direction of Antonio Camacho. The Quince Ensemble also presented the U.S. premiere of Destierros, in concert version, on November 6, 2023, in Hatch Recital Hall, at the Eastman School of Music, in Rochester, New York.
Destierros sets a collection of poetic texts by my sister Laura Zohn, a well-known multi-disciplinary artist who resides in Guadalajara. The texts are organized as four “images” that explore different facets of uprootment: being torn asunder from community, family affection, social convention, and mental sanity. The texts in the collection present a constellation of imaginary introspections, inspired on the lives of four remarkable women in our family, all born in the early 20th century. Their lives were marked by painful traumas, foremost among which were madness, illegitimacy, exile, and sterility. The texts pay homage to the courage, resilience, and grace of these four women, as they navigated their struggles to find meaning in their lives, and that of their families.
— Ricardo Zohn-Muldoon
[Primera imagen / First image]
1. Las palabras vienen primero, las ideas
después
The words come first, then the ideas
El agua vertida en la tierra,
Water pouring over earth,
el hielo que se derrite,
melting ice,)
la fruta marchita de tanto sol,
(fruit wilted from so much sun,
los pétalos sueltan la flor.
petals that let go off the flower.
Pesa el tiempo: nada vuelve.
Time weighs, heavy: nothing returns.
2. Vienen las ideas tras las palabras
The ideas come after the words
El reflejo del agua en mis ojos de nube,
The reflection of water in my cloud-like eyes,
el canto de todos los pájaros,
the singing of all birds,
el atardecer sin voz,
the voiceless dusk,
caen las gotas al ritmo del cielo
the drops falling to the rhythm of the sky
atravesando el espejo del charco.
traversing the mirroring puddle.
Y los grillos pulsan el paso del tiempo.
And the crickets pulsate the passage of time.
3. Las ideas vienen primero, las palabras después
The ideas come first, then the words
Gris, verde, azul, café,
Grey, green, blue, brown,
yerba, piedra, polvo, espinas,
grass, stone, dust, thorns,
alas negras, plumas blancas,
black wings, white feathers,
y el río siempre suena,
and the river, ever sounding,
y el viento danza,
and the dancing wind,
y la paz merodea.
and peace, prowling.
El reloj desparrama sus horas.
The clock spills its hours.
4. Vienen las palabras sin las ideas
The words come without the ideas
Al centro del escenario, el búho,
Center stage, the owl,
con la luna temprana,
lit by the early moon,
anunciando la noche
announcing the night
hacia el abismo.
towards the abyss.
Escapa el tiempo, el reloj cesa.
Time escapes, the clock stops.
La espuma barre la superficie,
The foam sweeps the surface,
envuelve de blanco el agua,
enveloping the water in whiteness,
pasea mi vista de aquí para allá,
carrying my gaze from here to there,
allá donde nada nubla el día.
there, where nothing ever clouds the day.
Miré atrás, nomás para agarrar vuelo.
I looked back, only to take flight.
[Segunda imagen / Second Image]
1. Pierdo el tiempo que sueño
Ausencia
Absence
Viajé sin equipaje,
I traveled without luggage,
el mar a mis espaldas,
the ocean behind me,
crucé los dedos vacíos
crossing my empty fingers,
castañeteando los dientes
chattering my teeth,
y abrí los ojos para no soñar.
and I opened my eyes, to avoid dreaming.
Encerrada en un patio sin jardín,
Trapped in a gardenless patio,
donde ir o venir da igual.
where coming or going is all the same.
Ignoro si habrá primavera.
I know not whether spring will come.
Los peces en la pila danzan su naranja paz.
In the pond, the fish dance in orangey peace.
La mañana inicia en penumbra,
The morning begins in near darkness,
inhalo la escasa luz que me habita,
I inhale the scant light that inhabits me,
exhalo pasos huecos al atardecer.
and exhale hollow footsteps at dusk.
A la distancia soy un espejismo,
From afar, I am a mirage,
Más brillo tiene una estrella fugaz.
fainter than a shooting star.
Mi razón se hunde en trance.
My mind sinks into trance.
Apenas reconozco mi voz.
I barely recognize my voice.
Hierve mi cabeza en ruinas,
My head is a boiling ruin
trotando hacia nubes fantasma.
trotting toward ghostly clouds.
Vago y divago,
I wander and ramble,
fiel a mis desvaríos.
faithful to my ravings.
Queda el vaho de mi vida
The breath of my life remains
en aquel rincón
in that nook,
donde las sombras agonizan.
where shadows come to die.
Perdida casi en el olvido,
Almost lost in oblivion and uncertainty,
rasgo visiones, poca certeza.
I tear my visions.
Solo sé, si acaso sé,
And all I know, if anything,
que nunca olí las rosas de esta ciudad.
is that I never smelled the roses of this city.
2. Sueño que pierdo el tiempo
I dream that I waste my time
Recelo
Mistrust
Pase lo que pase, no dejo de respirar,
I breathe, no matter what,
y si acaso pasa lo que pasará,
and if what shall happen comes to be,
el tiempo detendrá todas las olas.
time will bring every wave to a standstill.
Encerrada en mi casa amplia,
Enclosed in my spacious house,
refunfuño tragedias a la carta.
I grumble tragedies à la carte.
Colecciono pesares y perfumes
I collect sorrows and perfumes
con dosis de soledad.
with a dose of solitude.
Vuelvo la vista atrás...
I turn my gaze back...
¡tan poquitas las sonrisas!
So few smiles!
A pesar de mi belleza
Pessimism crushes me,
me apachurra el pesimismo.
my beauty notwithstanding.
Cuando la noche cae
By nightfall,
de tanta conjetura,
all my conjecturing
retengo la zozobra.
turns to distress.
Saltan sin voz las palabras.
And the words leap voiceless.
En algún recoveco,
In some inner recess,
guardo amor todavía,
I still harbor love.
pero hoy nada me gusta,
There is nothing I enjoy today,
y a veces me gusta pasear.
but sometimes I like going for a walk.
Tejo recuerdos espesos.
I weave thick memories.
Invento historias.
Invent stories.
A la distancia olfateo
I smell the misery of others
la miseria ajena.
a mile away.
Hay más por decir,
There is more to tell,
pero la vida se desmorona
but life crumbles
en esta ingrata ciudad.
in this thankless city.
3. En el sueño pierdo el tiempo
I waste my time dreaming
Fe
Faith
Acurrucada en la cama,
I snuggle up in bed,
procuro estar bien,
to find solace.
entrelazo mis manos,
I interlace my hands,
solidaria y solitaria.
in loneliness and solidarity.
De pequeños placeres me alimento,
Locked in my books,
encerrada en mis libros,
and in the challenge of crossword puzzles,
y en el reto del crucigrama.
I feed on small pleasures.
Regreso a mi origen,
I return to my beginning,
impulsada por la añoranza.
driven by nostalgia.
Río sin ruido, nadie me ve.
A noiseless river, unseen.
Soy jacaranda en flor,
I am a flowering jacaranda tree,
disfruto, aunque descienda,
I enjoy myself, even as I fall down,
porque siempre me acompaña
because my guardian angel
mi ángel de la guarda.
is always with me.
Fiel al otoño,
Faithful to autumn,
desprendida del árbol,
untethered from the tree,
ágil soy toro,
I am agile, a bull,
muda soy piedra.
I am mute as a stone.
En la música soledad
I love that I loved
amo haber amado.
in musical solitude.
Viajo alrededor de mi cuarto
I travel around my room
sin cerrar la ventana.
without closing the window.
Agradezco mi vida
I am grateful for my life
y todos los zaguanes
and for all the doorways
de esta hermosa ciudad.
of this beautiful city.
4. En el tiempo pierdo el sueño
In time I lose my dream
Anhelo
Longing
Mi mundo es cocina, sala, sillón.
My world is kitchen, living room, armchair,
De lunes a domingo, la rutina,
a routine from Monday to Sunday,
salpicada por el piano.
splashed only by the piano.
Encerrada en un sueño pisoteado.
Locked in a trampled dream,
En vano esperé
I waited in vain
el milagro de los ángeles.
for the miracle of the angels.
Mi cuerpo era perfecto.
My body was perfect.
Entrabas en mi piel,
You entered my skin,
ilusionando el nido.
raising hopes of a nest.
Tu amor casi indigno,
Your unworthy love
ató mi verano a tu egoísmo.
tied my summer to your selfishness.
Respiré todo tu humo.
I breathed all your smoke.
Sin hijos que abrazar,
Without children of my own to hug,
me llené de cariño ajeno,
I filled my heart every Wednesday afternoon
los miércoles por la tarde.
with other people’s children.
Renuncié a sentirme entera.
I renounced to feeling whole.
La juventud pasó volando,
Youth flew by,
de tanto beso atorado.
on the back of many empty kisses.
Mucho rezo, mucho llanto.
So much praying, so much crying.
De mis manos hechas nudo,
Only a flicker remains
queda el puro parpadeo.
of my knotted hands.
Hoy no habrá silencio,
There will be no silence today,
sino el furor de una plegaria.
but only the fury of a prayer.
Quise dejar una vida,
I wanted to leave a life here,
pero ya no hacen los sueños como antes
but dreams are no longer what they used to be,
en esta yerma ciudad.
in this barren city.
[Tercera imagen / Second Image]
¿Se me está apagando el corazón?
Is my heart fading?
-
¿Habrá alguna vida que no vaya a terminar?
Is there a life without end?
¿Alguna mañana que no salga el sol?
A morning without dawn? -
¿Cuánto falta para mi muerte, si se lo dejo a la
suerte?
How long until my death, if I leave it to chance? -
¿Envejece el universo junto con nosotras?
Does the universe age alongside us? -
¿Dónde guardo mis recuerdos, para que sepan
que viví?
Where can I store my memories, so that my life will be known? -
¿A quién veré mañana, si me asomo por la
ventana?
Who will I see tomorrow if I look out the window? -
¿Qué hacemos con la muerte del día?
What can we do with the death of the day?
¿Honrarla con la luz de la luna?
Honor it with moonlight?
[Cuarta imagen / Fourth image]
Todas se conocieron aquí y se desconocieron allá.
They knew who they were here, but not there.
Era un campo lleno de flores rojas como la sangre,
It was a field full of blood-red flowers,
algunas amarillas y negras como las abejas,
some yellow and black like bees,
pero no había ningún túnel ni telarañas,
but there was no tunnel, nor cobwebs,
ni abismos ni viento helado:
no abyss, nor freezing wind:
todo era luz, menos yo.
all was lit, except me.
En cuanto morí, me fundí como un foco
As soon as I died, I burnt-out like a lightbulb,
y advertí, a mi alrededor,
and I noticed around me
una vibración polvorienta que se expandió:
an expanding dusty vibration:
era la vida en extinción,
it was life fading,
pero no fue poco a poco,
but rather than bit by bit,
fue súbitamente... ¡Fum! ¡Fundida!
it did so suddenly...Fum! Blown out!
Vino la vida y me entintó:
Life came and inked me:
la saboreé, la sufrí, la gocé y se acabó.
I savored it, suffered it, enjoyed it, and it ended.
Así pasó: de todos los colores a la oscuridad,
Such it was: from all colors into darkness,
y en la ciudad, siguió sonando el tic tac del reloj.
and in the city, the tic tac of the clock remained.