Issuu

PERUSALSCORE

I. The Cotten Weeps

Marc Bamuthi Joseph

in some version of American truth cotton weeps power from the pores of a powder blue sky

cotton is a hurricane swept through and then gone swept in like a black life and then gone like a truth gone with the wind of a dark American night

cotton is a strange fruit, indeed the south remembers when we were free remembers when we trusted the stars when we ventured into the darkness by faith traveled to places we couldn’t see

the feeling before paper promises and weeping cotton fields

the south remembers/ the rivers bleed/ The cotton remembers Whose land and Whose relatives weep

chanted text doctrines sovereign prerogatives whole human beings

Gone with the wind of a dark American night…

Texts

II. The Night Before the Run*

Alora Young

That night i dreamt of day lilies fresh picked battered and then lard fried sweetest morsels of the forest the kind of treat we had to hide in the north they will ignore us as we do all freely imbibe heard they aint got cotton, just snow

PERUSALSCORE

To see the beauty of winter Without the fear of being split forever Making up their money with our pain

Were leaving this place because the angels are coming Find your way home out of a field of cotton

How do you find your way home out of a field of cotton

Learning to read reading the stars

Baptize me before i go

So if i die i might se heaven

This is my hell my home and in the evening im leaving Fleeing the growing season like flocks of grackles Black bodies creep in herds away from here See the little winged creatures rich with darkness I wonder if they fear as we fear.

Momma taught me the drinking gourd Incase we got to split apart I hope that i never leave her I think that it would break my heart Together we’ll see all that snow I hope we get to see that snow

III. They Took My Sister

Lauren Alleyne

Night lacks the shadow of her face. Unwhispering, the air mourns her sleep’s unguarded breath. There is empty where was her— Sister a song turned a cavern of sorrow; Sister a dirt road my feet hunger for.

Before she came, moon-child, I was a complete and solitary thing— the un-sistered system of myself. Sister a world we made each other live in. Sister a slight anchor in history’s unforgiving sea.

Will I know myself without the gravity of her pulling me like a willful sun?

Come the cotton-bright morning, How can you, Sister, my phantom heart, be gone?

IV.

Homegoing for the People of the Sun*

Trapeta B. Mayson

when they would not bury us we held our homegoings and in our leaving we were still luminous we were holy and spirited bones and flesh sweat and sacrifice artfully handled till we resembled ourselves venerated and gilded in Sunday best going to meet our maker with flair reposed and encased in our new home among our watch night folks keeping wake they were a weeping and a mourning through the night then, at daybreak, our own laid us to rest they were a weeping and a mourning through the day and singing and clapping our earthly selves away

PERUSALSCORE

and even when they would not bury us we had our homegoings our people digging with shovels and pickaxes and love deep into the earth’s grooves down past the sod, parting the soil, to tunnel under the dirt of this land to carry us home

we are the people of the sun we go home too and in our home going there are chariots and pomp grandeur and majesty, sending us to glory

V. Cotton in the Arms of Mountains

Nikki Giovanni

A gentle wind

Like a loving granddaughter

Combing

Her grandmother’s hair

Carried her gift

To the beginning

We think its ice

But really its cotton

On the top of mountains

Built on the bones

Of those who came before

A gentle wind

Blew white hair

Off grandmothers

Up and up and up

Settling in the arms

Of grandfathers

Who were lynched

Or whipped

Or shot but always looking

At Grandmothers

To reflect in their eyes

The love

A gentle wind

Carrying the white hair

To the waiting

Arms

We call it glacial

We call it ice

We should call it

Cotton

resting in the arms

Texts (cont.)

VI. When the Ancestors Speak*

Glenis Redmond

When the ancestors speak they hover like fog––They come. They call… When haints haunt, they illuminate how cotton covers, colors, and clings to everything. Lint on body. Hair. History. When the ancestors speak, they show us those who choke and broke. They tell of cotton: how deep the hold, how tall the plant grows, how wide the field. They sing of how cotton creeps up family trees: spilled blood and kinships severed.

When ancestors speak, they come out of the crop, bid us to see white blooms, white hands, and white greed snatching breath and bodies. They come, plain as day––with dreams/signs: wind-sweep, orange butterflies circling. Say, see us fully our picked raw hands our worn-down brogans or calloused bare feet.

PERUSALSCORE

Ancestors in the air lay bare songs and stories. Fill empty pages with a field of us a calligraphy: of brilliant black verse

Texts (conc.)

VII.WhentheAngelsCome*

AfaaM.Weaver

Up in the rafters, the children sleep where we old folk are too weak to climb, the babies next to us, whimpering, our quarters as full as the giant ships with chains sailing in our nightmares.

Moonlight, a path on the seas

Sleeping in the darkness, we hear ghosts speak our lost tongues, and some crisp thing tears, a sound like we hear cotton make, when we shake the sacks, some itch, like lips making a mouth wet enough to sing.

Low shadows in the voice

Now, here with us. The children scream on the planks of wood, their beds, and the strong ones draw back. Elder Malik lifts up and speaks, “Don’t be afraid,” as we see our faces in their faces, our love.

Awesi, we call her, Great Spirit Awesi to take breath away from the overseers riding white horses through the high cotton, Awesi who will lock the doors, set the cotton to rot, and weep for our dead in the thunderstorms.

Moonlight a path on the seas

Through the opening in the air, the door, three nights later comes another as Awesi holds a handful of earth up to her heart, lifts it out, tosses it up so each grain sparkles, and a man, Great Spirit Abeiku emerges.

Cotton won’t hold us, cotton won’t rise, the bolls will bear blood in the unbound lies, ancestors riding the sunrise, living in sunset, the moon writing in blood, history’s palette, while our eyes, all our eyes, appeal for justice.

VIII.The Struggle Goes On: A Mural Speaks Charlotte Blake Alston

With dignity and hope intact, Back unbent, no looking back She rode the crest of a swelling tide North – where a dream just might be realized

PERUSALSCORE

Moonlight on the seas

She harnessed her…

STRENGTH, worked and sacrificed. She

TRANSCENDED new barriers, paid each new price. Yet

REGAL, resistant, refused to yield

UNDER northern versions of the cotton field. With GRIT, fortitude, a self-Love Supreme - the

GRANDEUR of an African Queen – she

LIVED, loved, labored, claimed her place

ENDURED. NO! Transcended, with Grace!

So lift your head, pick up your stride And walk like you’ve got some ancestor pride You will not bend -You will not yield You’ll water your seeds in Freedom’s field

Of hope, dignity, truth, and the strength to fight on Until true justice-for-all rises up with the dawn.

Program Note

Cotton is a song cycle that was inspired by the photographs of John Dowell. His provocative images served as the subject for eight prominent Black American poets who tell the story of the photos through text - which I then turned to songs. Each song is embedded with an American tune which highlights the “American-ness” of this narrative.

—Damien Geter (2022)

PERUSALSCORE

song cycle for mezzo-soprano, baritone, and piano

Lyrics by Various Music by Damien Geter

I. e Coon Weeps

Text by

Marc Bamuthi Joseph

Timorous = 65

- -Cottonweepspowerfromtheporesofapowderbluesky.

Cottonisastrangefruit,indeed.

placeswecouldn’tsee. efeeling

beforepaperpromises andweepingcottonﬁelds.

Just slightly faster = 70

- -bleed.Chantedtextdoctrines.sovereignprerogatives.

noreusaswedoallfreelyimbibe.

uptheirmoneywithourpain.We’releavingthisplacebecausetheangelsare

cotton?

With reﬂection = 50

Learningtoread,readingthestars.

Seethelittlewingedcreaturesrichwithdarkness.

Iwonderiftheyfearaswefear.

Text by

Lauren Alleyne

III. ey Took My Sister

Sister, asongturnedacavernofsorrow;

- - Sister aworldwemadeeachotherlivein.

-phantomheartbegone?

fade to niente, stopping whenever you would like or need to

Plodding, andante = 55

Whentheywouldnot

Artfullyhandledtillweresembleourselves.

newhome. Amongourwatchnightfolkskeepingwake.

Con moto = 60

Earthlyselvesaway.

-Sendingustoglory.

- - thosewhocamebefore. Agentle

Melancholic = 60

lynched. Orwhipped.

As in the beginning, but slightly slower = 55

thosewhochokeandbroke.

Grave = 60

hold.Howtalltheplantgrowshowwidetheﬁeld.eysingof

howcottoncreepsupfam’lytrees:spilledbloodandkinshipssevered.

-andbodies.

whistle or hum in falseo (adjust octave as needed)

Fillemtypageswithaﬁeldofus.

PERUSALSCORE

Acalligraphy:ofbrilliantBlackverse spillingbetween

whereweoldfolkaretooweaktoclimb.ebabiesnexttouswhimpering.Our

- - - sailinginournightmares. Moonlight,apathontheseas.

Sleepinginthedarkness,wehearghostsspeakourlosttongues,and

somecrispthing.Tears,asoundlikewehearcottonmake.Weshakethesackssome

-itchlikelipsmakingamouthwetenoughtosing.

Slower = 90

Whileoureyes,alloureyes,appealforjustice. Moonlight,

ontheseas.

Grounded = 80

refusedtoyieldundernorthernversionsofacottonﬁeld.With

ancestorpride. Youwillnotbend.

PERUSALSCORE

Geter: Cotton Vocal Score