Even the Grass Must Sing. SATB, small orchestra (1111-2100-timp-pno-str), or SATB, piano, 18′. Text: Jane Flanders (1940-2001). Commissioned by The Choristers, David Spitko, Artistic Director, and premiered by them 26 Apr 2025, Trinity Lutheran Church, Lansdale, Pa.
I’ve been living with the poetry of Jane Flanders since 2016 when I met her son Benjamin in Cincinnati. He’s a baritone in the Vocal Arts Ensemble there, and when Craig Hella Johnson became their music director they commissioned Canticle from me. Ben and I got to know each other, and when he told me about his mother, a published poet who died in 2001, I asked him to send me everything of hers he could. Eventually five books came my way, and I set Blue Lobster for baritone and piano, which Ben premiered not too long after.
Then he wanted to expand that into a small cycle. I had already selected a short list of other poems I’d love to set, so that worked into the five-song Sometimes It Happens So, which finally premiered after a Covid-caused cancellation.
Meanwhile, David Spitko and I had been talking for years about a project, some kind of substantial piece I might compose for them. Dave is the founder and conductor of the Choristers in Bucks County, Pennsylvania, and had the idea for an April 2025 concert, leading to the idea of spring, hope, and new life, and I thought of Jane Flanders, who so often writes about nature. I chose four more poems from my list of what-ifs; these met with enthusiastic approval. By this time the work had become one for choir and orchestra, which was a thrilling opportunity.
I love the small, plain language of Jane Flanders. It is not only specific and efficient, but it overflows with the world’s large generosity. It is optimistic. It’s often funny. It doesn’t whine. It is innocent—it looks at grass bent under the snow and sees life eternal.
1. Ukiyo-e (Pictures of the Floating World)
Three laborers sat by the water,
listening to the water scour grey rocks,
watching a sickle moon mow green cliffs,
talking of mighty warriors.
Three warriors sat by the water,
listening to the water invade grey rocks,
watching a sickle moon pierce green cliffs,
talking of fabulous princes.
Three princes sat by the water,
listening to the water command grey rocks,
watching a sickle moon crown green cliffs,
talking of celebrated poets.
Three poets sat by the water,
listening to the water address grey rocks,
watching a sickle moon sketch green cliffs,
talking of august philosophers.
Three philosophers sat by the water,
listening to the water explain grey rocks,
watching a sickle moon probe green cliffs,
talking of common laborers.
Three by the water. Rocks, moon, cliffs.
So Katsushika Hokusai depicted them,
near Edo, under Tokugawan rule,
during a peace that lasted 250 years.
2. Planting Onions
It is right
that I fall to my knees
on this damp, stony cake,
that I bend my back
and bow my head.
Sun warms my shoulders,
the nape of my neck,
and the air is tangy with rot.
Bulbs rustle like spirits in their sack.
I bury each one
a trowel’s width under.
May they take hold,
rising green in time
to help us weep and live.
3. August Philosophers
“Be generous,” says the loosestrife,
flinging its coarse silks over the grass.
“Move on,” says the stream
through a mouthful of silt.
Across the road a little music school
opens its doors and windows to summer.
And seven children with shiny flutes
Play do, then re, then mi.
4. Even the Grass
Even the dry grass can speak from fields,
from the edge of the road through the woods,
oats, timothy, even the grass of no name,
hanging heavy-headed with seed at the place
where the road curves up towards the familiar,
where timber speaks,
where the wind speaks hysterically,
without subject or need of it
across the small abyss. Their speech
is untranslatable. Even the grass
that lies down under the snow
rises, bent and bleached, with no word for sorrow.
When milkweed spreads its wings
and flies exquisitely off
even the grass must sing
of falling over and over again
towards new lives, no less beautiful.