The day we dug down to build up. Winding down country roads, winter sun spilling in through open windows. A feast for the crew on the back seat. I switched the radio on. My preset stations were playing opera (not in the mood) and nothing memorable. My heart was playing celebration. I went looking for something to match. An unfamiliar station played an unfamiliar song. But it knew me, all right.
Baydzar, a girl with a gift that feels like a curse–songs that take her home, but home isn’t there. “Once more,” she tells her sister, as they sail away. “And then never again.”
But someone hears her. He doesn’t know the pain in the
words, only the beauty in her voice.
“Sing for me sometime?” he asks. “Sing with us tonight?”
“Tell him I sing when I am homesick.”
Later,
“You like the music?” He waits
for a half smile. “Ask if she would like to sing. Something from her homeland.”
“Tell him it’s getting late. I
should go.”
A couple days and a few head-shakes
later,
“Baydzar, do you ever sing? Or
is it that you don’t want to sing for me? And that’s all right.”
She draws bitter water from the
depths of her hurt and draws a line in the sand.
No translator this time, and no holding back. Words fly like arrows. She means well, she speaks right and hits him right where it stings.
He swings truth like a fist. “…And here you talk about all the wicked things they did
to you, all they took from you, but the one thing they didn’t take, what do you
do?—you bury it! Talk to me about walls? God didn’t give you that voice
so you could lecture me!”
Wounds from
a friend.
Deep down, she knows.
Bird of the forest, born in a tree, why won’t you sing in a cage for me? Maybe she doesn’t want to remember flying. Maybe she doesn’t want to remember sky. Maybe she’s in a cage ’cause she’s not singing. Maybe she is too afraid to try.
She picks out the shards of truth from their wounded words. She
lets his words hit deep. And she’ll never forget.
He was wrong about some things, but he was right about her
gift.
“Who will speak?” she asked her sister. “Will you?”
“Some things are best not spoken of.”
“Don’t I know?”
Words can do marvelous and scary things. His words set her
free.
Even a bird with a broken wing can learn to fly.
Little songbird, don’t hide it away. Show your heart to the world. Never stop singing. Don’t you ever stop singing. One of these days you’ll believe when we say, “You’re a songbird, God made you that way.”
-Ben Abraham (Songbird)
Did you know that in 2003 Ben Abraham decided that he never wanted to sing again? Tired of trying to impress people and playing popular music in order to make a name for himself, he laid aside his gift.
Four years went by, and Ben didn’t make music. Then he met a thirteen-year-old girl hospitalized for anorexia. Moved by her story, he responded the only way he knew how. He picked up an instrument and wrote her this song.
Computers don’t know when they’re confused, so sometimes
artificial intelligence gives you utter nonsense and sometimes the brilliant
ravings of a mad genius.
I’ve found Google Translate to be gold mine for poetic
inspiration.
Working on the musical Water Between Us , I got to
play with English translations of Armenian folk songs, fusing human
translations with Google’s attempts. My aim was to craft not an exact
translation, but a poetic interpretation faithful to the original.
Google crunched some numbers and popped out these
gems–“flooded runaway fountains” and “look at my
heartbeats.”
Even without a computer’s brilliant nonsense, translating
idioms creates gorgeous eloquence. “The roads are crying awaiting your return.”
I didn’t end up using this song in the show, but it’s too beautiful not to share.
Here’s a line from “Kanchum Em Ari Ari:”
“The roses are wet with dew, my love…”
Google continues: “Circles are the cries of my heart.”
Humans say, “Those drops of dew are my hearts tears.”
I think Google gets the profound card here.
Grief can lend a certain kind of madness to one’s words.
Like a vain attempt to express something beyond language.
So when a computer makes our language all topsy-turvy, it somehow sounds just right when everything feels all wrong.