The Earth Cried Out to the Sky

mezzo-soprano and chamber orchestra
2022/5

Duration 11’
Instrumentation mezzo-soprano, orchestra: 2(II=picc).2(II=Ca).2(II=bcl).2(II=Contra) – 2.2.0.0 – strings (8.6.4.4.2)
First Performance 27 January 2026, 8pm, Bâtiment des Forces Motrices, Place des Volontaires 2, 1204 Genève, Switzerland; Christina Daletska mezzo-soprano, Geneva Chamber orchestra, Holly Choe conducting more info
Commissioned (arr.) by Geneva Chamber orchestra

On February 24th, 2022, Russia launched a full-scale invasion of Ukraine, the largest attack by a state against another in Europe since World War II. This violent Russian aggression against a peaceful nation caused global shockwaves, particularly in Europe. At that time, I was in the early stages of composing a song cycle and was drawn to Ukrainian poetry. I discovered a remarkable collection titled “Words for War: New Poems from Ukraine,” which was written since the illegal annexation of Crimea in 2014. As quoted from the Academic Studies Press, “Directly and indirectly, the poems collected in this volume engage with the events and experiences of war, reflecting on the themes of alienation, loss, dislocation, and disability; as well as justice, heroism, courage, resilience, generosity, and forgiveness. … The anthology brings together some of the most compelling poetic voices from different regions of Ukraine.”

I selected two poignant, powerful poems to set: “Latifa” by Ostap Slyvynsky and “An Old Mulberry Tree Near Mariupol” by Borys Humenyuk. Notably, Humenyuk has been presumed missing since December 2022, when he disappeared on the battlefield.

Charlotte has a worldwide, exclusive publishing agreement with Birdsong
Request Materials

Latifa
by Ostap Slyvynsky

The kid asks, of course . . . He asks
when we will head back home.
And so one time I told him. I said: our house
was taken up to the sky. I don’t know
what I was thinking. I said:
our house was so good to us, Alim,
that it could not stand on earth anymore
like all other houses.
And it had so much love,
so many layers of love
we applied to the floor, the doors,
the window panes,
and as soon as the old love peeled off,
we would put on a new layer, even more diligently
and generously; ever brighter white and red
was the love we put on. Also, ivory-colored
love, although grandpa said that’s not real love,
just childish games. Because for love
a simple color should be enough.
All of this I say to myself, and to the kid
I say: yes, you could see nothing but
the sky from the windows now.
And angels too.
But there is no one home.
Because angels are not for the living to see.

Translated from the Ukrainian by Anton Tenser and Tatiana Filimonova

An old mulberry tree near Mariupol. . .

By Borys Humenyuk

An old mulberry tree near Mariupol

Has never seen so many boys in her life

Boys picking her fruit, boys dancing in the branches,

And the smallest boy climbing

To the very top.

RPGs, a machine gun, sniper rifles, helmets, bullet-proof vests

All laid carefully down.

The boys laughed, gave each other piggyback rides,

Smeared mulberry juice all over their faces

Sometimes on purpose — to look

like characters from Hollywood movies.

RPGs, a machine gun, sniper rifles, helmets, bullet-proof vests

All laid carefully down.

Beyond the horizon some mortars went to work

Making a funny noise: “one, two, three,” “one”

Like a young lover knocking on a girl’s window.

A flock of ravens rose into the sky with a shriek

But maybe those weren’t ravens, maybe

Those were airborne clumps of earth, tilled by the explosions.

The boys abandoned the old mulberry tree

Left it whirling in a solitary dance

Changed into grown men.
They sped off to assume their positions

Beyond the horizon, where the earth cried out to the sky

And the sky shook.

The old mulberry tree
Is waiting for her boys by the road

But nobody comes to pick her fruit.

It falls to the ground like bloody tears.

The grass that was pressed beneath

The RPGs, a machine gun, sniper rifles, helmets, bullet-proof vests

All straightened out.

And when the moon rises in the sky

The old mulberry tree

Gets on her tiptoes, like a girl

Tries to peek over the horizon

Where are you, boys?



Translated from the Ukrainian by Oksana Maksymchuk and Max Rosochinsky