Silvergrass

13 min.

cello solo-2.2.2.2-2.2.2.0-perc(2)-hp-pft-strings

I’ve been a big fan of the Taiwanese writer, Huang Chunming for more than 30 years. Most of his works focus on the working class and have an intimate, melancholy quality, the so-called “Taiwanese flavor.”

Before I was eight, I lived with my grandmother in Ba-du, a small town outside of the big city of Taipei. As Grandmother ran a small hotel by a railroad station where trains run between Taipei and the rural area, the hotel was busy and often packed with people whose lives were filled with hardship and hard work. In the midst of their difficulties, however, these Huang Chunming-story-like people took comfort in and entertained themselves with the Taiwanese operas. Before I began my Western music training, my ears were filled with these sad Taiwanese opera melodies. Although I was unaware of its influence, as I revisited Mr. Huang’s poetry recently, I reconnected with the Taiwanese opera and the long forgotten faces of people who once lived in the Ba-du hotel. I was feeling nostalgia. It also brought some heartache, as my grandmother passed away almost 20 years ago, and her hotel has not been operating for many years. The once robust Ba-du railroad station has now become desolate, with few people lingering.

Silvergrass uses four of Mr. Huang’s poems: Silvergrass, My Vegetarian and Sutra-Incanting Grandmother, Turtle Island and Guojun Is Not Coming Home to Dinner. Typical of Mr Huang’s passion in depicting working- class and mundane daily activities, all poems share a similar duty devotion: The silvergrass’ dutiful annual sweeping of the sky; the grandmother’s daily chanting and vegetarian observances; a traveler whose emotion is tied to home, who changes the counting sheep chant to words about home; and the parents who keep a seat for their child who will not return. While the first three poems are cheerful, child-like, and bring back warm memories and happiness, the last poem introduces a profound sadness. It conveys Mrs. Huang’s grief at their son’s tragic death at age 30. This poem pulled me back to reality, and I empathized with the parents. I, too, am a mother. Because of the poems’ simple and direct quality, they provided me an immediate inspiration and imagination for composing abstract music. Finally, I loosely adopted the “crying melodies” from the Taiwanese opera, and it is used most apparently in the last movement.

Silvergrass was commissioned by the National Taiwan Symphony Orchestra. In addition, there is an ensemble version written with the generous support from the Taiwanese United Fund. This work is dedicated to Huang Chunming, with admiration.