For tenor, clarinet, horn, cello and piano. Duration - 15 minutes.
When I became a father, I found it to be both the most beautiful and stressful thing I had ever experienced. I have been fortunate to be a primary caregiver, changing thousands of diapers, memorizing nighttime books and accompanying countless playground visits. As an avid reader of history, I found myself wondering how fathers in ancient times approached their roles. I had a hunch they would be stern and distant, but would there be surprising stories of tenderness? Of silliness? Stories that would mirror the transformation that has happened in my own heart after the birth of my son?
Thus this song cycle was born. The five songs are a tiny foray into the topic, and cover sources that were most familiar and accessible to me: ancient history in English translation or English-language poetry. The texts range from the near-formulaic ancient Egyptian “Instruction of Ptah-Hotep” to a charming anecdote about the Spartan King Agesilaüs to an excerpt of “Song of Myself” by Walt Whitman. The latter was not a father himself, but the content of the poem brought a welling up in my heart as I thought of my own darling son growing up.
This cycle is a co-commission by Chatter (New Mexico) and CHAI Collaborative Ensemble (Chicago, Illinois)
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I. Ptah-Hotep (from “The Instruction of Phah-Hotep” trans. Gunn 1906)
Here begin the proverbs of fair speech, spoken by the Hereditary Chief, Beloved of the God, the Eldest Son of the King, of his body, the Governor of his City, the Vezier, Ptah-hotep.
He said unto his son:
A splendid thing is the obedience of an obedient son; he cometh in and listeneth obediently. It is good indeed when a son obeyeth his father; and his father that hath spoken hath great joy of it. Such a son shall be mild as a master, and he that heareth him shall obey him that hath spoken. He shall be comely in body and honoured by his father. His memory shall be in the mouths of the living, those upon earth, as long as they exist.
II. Agesilaüs (from Plutarch’s “Parallel Lives,” Loeb 1917)
It is a fact also that Agesilaüs was excessively fond of his children, and a story is told of his joining in their childish play. Once, when they were very small, he bestrode a stick, and was playing horse with them in the house, and when he was spied doing this by one of his friends, he entreated him not to tell any one, until he himself should be a father of children.
III. Richard Cely the Elder (from “The Cely Letters” 15th century, adapted into modern spelling by the composer)
I greet you well desiring for to hear of your recovering for I understand by John Rose ye were sore sick at Bruge wherefore your mother and both your brothers and Will Maryon and I were sorry and heavy for you the last day of October I have received a letter from you the which letter I have will understand and I trust to God ye be recovered and well mended your letter came to me the Sunday before All Hallow’s Day at dinner time at London and Will Eston Mercer and Will Medewynter dined with me at time and the comfort of your letter caused me for to buy of the forsaid Will Mydewynter 60 sacks of Cottys wool the which is in pile at Norwich … I trust in God ye shall be at the packing of the said wool … I write no more at this time but Jesu keep you. Written at London the 6th day of November in haste.
IV. The Toys (Coventry Patmore, 1823-1896)
My little Son, who look'd from thoughtful eyes
And moved and spoke in quiet grown-up wise,
Having my law the seventh time disobey'd,
I struck him, and dismiss'd With hard words and unkiss'd,
His Mother, who was patient, being dead.
Then, fearing lest his grief should hinder sleep,
I visited his bed,
But found him slumbering deep,
With darken'd eyelids, and their lashes yet
From his late sobbing wet.
And I, with moan,
Kissing away his tears, left others of my own;
For, on a table drawn beside his head,
He had put, within his reach,
A box of counters and a red-vein'd stone,
A piece of glass abraded by the beach
And six or seven shells,
A bottle with bluebells
And two French copper coins, ranged there with careful art,
To comfort his sad heart.
So when that night I pray'd
To God, I wept, and said:
Ah, when at last we lie with tranced breath,
Not vexing Thee in death,
And Thou rememberest of what toys
We made our joys,
How weakly understood
Thy great commanded good
Then, fatherly not less
Than I whom Thou hast moulded from the clay,
Thou'lt leave Thy wrath, and say,
"I will be sorry for their childishness."
V. Bold Swimmer (from “Song of Myself” Walt Whitman 1819-1892)
You are also asking me questions and I hear you,
I answer that I cannot answer, you must find out for yourself.
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.
Long enough have you dream'd contemptible dreams,
Now I wash the gum from your eyes,
You must habit yourself to the dazzle of the light and of every moment of your life.
Long have you timidly waded holding a plank by the shore,
Now I will you to be a bold swimmer,
To jump off in the midst of the sea, rise again, nod to me, shout, and laughingly dash with your hair.
Premiere performance in Albuquerque, NM by John Tiranno (tenor), Jeffrey Books (clarinet), Maria Long (horn), Amy Huzjak (cello) and Luke Gullickson (piano).