Music by Kamala Sankaram
PERUSALSCORE
Lost Music
From the Heart of Everything
a suffrage aria for Amelia Himes Walker
Music by Kamala Sankaram
Text by Ruth Margraff 2020
I’m Standing here no longer gracious
I’m on my way to jail
My corset rib protruding like a new root in the dirt of politics
White as bone
I can’t oblige your graying progress
Rotten barley winged maidens
Paper mills and cotton
Cornucopia in flame
Yes I’m burning your effigy at the gates of power.
I’m obstructing your booze and Bible traffic quilts torn up like old maps (bootleg chivalry)
The silver bell of my voice ringing out. This is the moment. This is the crusade.
This is the lightning in the Quaker candle stick I grew up waiting for.
I am the caged bird omnipresence spreading solace in the shattered sky
And if I seem irritation and loose… unfit by pregnancy and menses to hold public duty, custody, testimony, property, or inheritance then how did I manage you munitions, mineshafts, elevators, and streetcars while you march off to war? How do I abide by tax and law without a voice?
Why did God himself break bread with me and let me wash his feet with tears and dry them with my hair and why was I the last one at the food of the cross and the first one at the tomb when he arose?
Is it more fuss than fester – if my kitchen days and nursery nights are slamming headlong to your parlor, if I sit and argue with your men? Sick of the worlds that can’t be reached… the love that can’t be made… by error and indifference…?
Instrumentation
Voice
Piano
PERUSALSCORE
Duration: 5'
First printing, March 2024
Copyright ©2020 Kamala Sankaram. All Rights Reserved. Program Note Copyright ©2020 Kamala Sankaram. All Rights Reserved
Published by Just a Theory Press | www.justatheorypress.com
And if your coal and rail fail like a steel trap on my talent for bouncing back and pushing forward safe milk, decent hospitals, and better schools, how can I open the mansion of your soul?
I demand the grand prosperity of eagles to soar above the misery squabble and dead hope carcass!
I dreamed… I was sitting on your throne overlooking the harvest I’d sown and reaped and laid so fertile at your feet.
I knock on your prison walls with blows of faith, I covet the language of the angels and sheet music lullabies,
I know you hear my cry from your scorched unhappiness, mire to mire, my heart belongs to your world, yours to mine, my hand, my mind are of your world, and the next and next… Sunset dust, tea bliss of dawn and birds of paradise.
Can we imagine such a harmony? Gleaning the yoke and bridle? Such quiet nillowing the craven sorrow?
In the sanctuary I’m at rest like desert snow.
We sentinels of silence come like water to this moment, this lightning, this lost music, lost in the heart of everything.
We come like water and like wind, we go.
(rockingababytosleep,layingherinacradle,recitative)
AndifIseemirrationalandloose…unfitbypregnancy andmensestoholdpublicduty,custody,testimony, property,orinheritance
thenhowdidImanageyourmunitions, mineshafts,elevatorsandstreetcarswhileyou marchedofftowar?HowdoIabidebytaxand lawwithoutavoice?
WhydidGodhimselfbreakbreadwithmeand letmewashhisfeetwithtearsanddrythemwith myhairandwhywasIthelastoneatthefootof thecrossandthefirstoneatthetombwhenhe arose?
Isitmorefussthanfester–ifmykitchendaysandnurserynightsareslammingheadlongto yourparlor,ifIsitandarguewithyourmen?Sickoftheworldsthatcan’tbereached…the lovethatcan’tbemade…byerrorandindifference…?
Andifyourcoalandrail falllikeasteeltraponmytalentforbouncingbackandpushing forwardsafemilk,decenthospitalsandbetterschools,howcanIopenthemansionofyour soul?
(hungerstrike,they trytoforcehertoeat, sherefuses)
mine, myhand,mymind areof your world, and the nextand next...
(backtogleaninginbarrenfields throughseasons,nightsandthen anewdaydawning)
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