The story behind El pájaro que espero (The Bird I Await)

Words by Laura Morales Balza and music by César Alejandro Carrillo

By Jacinto Salcedo

César Alejandro Carrillo (Photo by Laura Morales Balza)

This year’s spring concert, Our Voices together: Corazones al Unísono, coincides with Cantemos’ 15th anniversary. In addition to presenting only original music that Upper Canada Choristers has commissioned over the past 29 years, they commissioned a new work specifically for Cantemos from the highly acclaimed Venezuelan composer César Alejandro Carrillo. Having performed his work before, Cantemos admire him enormously and feel closely connected to his music.

We had planned to bring César to Toronto to conduct the world premiere of this new piece, but due to the pandemic-related backlog on visa applications, that became impossible. Fortunately, after the initial disappointment, we are still able to introduce César’s wonderful new work to our audience – and beyond.

When we commissioned César, we knew what to expect musically from him, and were comfortable giving him carte blanche when it came to the text. However, he asked Cantemos for some keywords for him to work with, that captured what was important to us. We came up with a wide range of words and concepts, including cultural representation, love, language, communication, compassion, nature, family, memory, and passion. We also talked about UCC’s mission to share music with those unable to come to our concerts, by taking it to retirement homes, long-term care facilities, shelters, hospitals, and schools.

Now that he understood what lay at the heart of Cantemos’ music, César engaged his wife Laura Morales Balza, who is a multi-talented artist, graphic designer, photographer, singer, and poet, to write the lyrics. With our ideas encompassing so many life experiences, they also triggered the intensely emotional lived experience shared by César and Laura – the tragic loss of their son, who passed away at a young age.

El pájaro que espero (The Bird I Await) is a poem about waiting, observing, and appreciating nature, and specifically a bird. It is filled with metaphors of softness, warmth, eternity, and a sense of anticipation and wonder. It feels like a sweet caress, a haven of calm – a place of light from which comes acceptance and hope. At times, the bird also represents Laura’s child.

As a composer, César does not necessarily accommodate every word in a poem; instead, he selects key phrases that to him are essential. Sometimes he repeats them, and sometimes he trims them, in order to make sense of a line of melody or to fit in the arc of the song. The Bird I Await is packed with metaphors that even a Spanish-speaker will find dense, and difficult to fathom.

In the process of learning the song, it became increasingly important that we understood the lyrics, so that we could replicate musically their intended meaning as closely as possible. Simply translating the text wasn’t enough; poetry is often difficult to translate, but more to the point, the lyrics seemed incredibly profound.

As we have a close working relationship with César, he understood our need to understand the poem better, and suggested we contact Laura directly. Within a few days, Laura wrote back to us, as paraphrased below. We were immensely appreciative of her generosity of time, and her willingness to expose her own vulnerability as she explained the poem, phrase by phrase.

And the poet spoke

To begin with, César shared with me your ideas about the text, which gave me an important starting point. Passion and compassion are two very important words in my life.

On one hand, passion comes from intense feelings; it can dominate your will, or the decisions that you make impulsively in moments of difficulty. On a personal level, my passion has helped me both physically and spiritually to keep on going. Whereas compassion helps alleviate others’ pain and suffering, and even one's own.

On the other hand, passion and compassion embody UCC’s mandate to share its music to those who are unable to attend a concert. That was what made me decide to write the poem from the perspective of those for whom UCC sings at its community concerts. Hence the title of the poem.

To bring comfort to others – and to yourself too – you need to appreciate their world and nurture an empathic relationship with their surroundings. I think part of the global crisis we are going through is related to the disappearance of empathy. We have become far less attuned to the natural world and are less observant. Being limited to our most immediate experiences and surroundings, we have lost track of the sky, the world, space, and beyond.

I find it difficult to write from an outside perspective. I write from my own unique experience and feelings, while trying to convey a universal message from the images within me. I confess that some images remain inside me as I am incapable of expressing them adequately in my poetry.

The place from which I started is where I begin to develop the landscape of the poem, constructing it from my own memories, or perhaps a specific memory that I want to focus on.

THE BIRD I AWAIT

It comes from other worlds
from other forests
from a leafy nest
from a tree
—green—
like a paradise
of living and moist leaves

EL PÁJARO QUE ESPERO

Viene de otros mundos
de otros bosques
de un nido frondoso
de un árbol
—verde—
como un paraíso
de hojas vivas y húmedas

This first verse starts as I have just described. Talking about worlds in the plural is important because it acknowledges diversity. It is inclusive, but infers that there are different worlds, no single origin or condition – but above all, it comes from a place that is alive. Recreating the idea of life is very important to me. It helps me in my “backwards orphanhood” (from the loss of my child), and I think it can help whoever you reach out to or embrace with the music that you make.

The important thing about waiting for this bird is that there are no doubts. I know it's hard to explore, but it would be wonderful if you could sing with a feeling that comes from the clearest certainty… from a place of shelter. It is not a question, it is not distressing, it is not a fearful feeling: we know it is coming.

Tinajero

*Note: Tinajero is a rustic water filter made of stone. The water drips into a clay vessel that keeps the water clean and fresh. This is a typical Venezuelan object commonly used in the countryside. In tropical weather, a tinajero is a very comforting source of fresh water.
*(Photo from* *Venezuela Tuya* *Facebook page)*

"Of cotton nights and lightning" means everything. It refers to joy and difficulty; winning and losing. I wanted to try a contrasting metaphor, presenting two elements that we don’t normally come across together. I wanted to convey the idea of fluffy clouds and the intensity of a lightning bolt – which, although it is frightening, can also help us to see.

The star that close to the branch that served as a tinajero is an image I associate with a place of absolute peace and security. It suggests somewhere that will forever be the womb, pure, clean and safe for the newborn…. a life-affirming place where the heartbeat is treasured.

It comes from sky to sky
from root to root
like a sunspot
wandering
that trembles on the surface of the clouds

Viene de cielo en cielo
de raíz en raíz
como una mancha solar
errante
que tiembla en la superficie de las nubes

Again, the plurality. It comes from not one sky but many. Not one root, but many. Like a sunspot... the poem insists once again on the idea of the radiance that reaches all places – it reaches us, to ease our way. The tremor on the surface of the clouds takes us back to contemplating nature. It’s an invitation to look up, knowing that we belong.

reaches it
in the dark
my smoke memory
shadow sick
I can't tell apart its wire traces in the air

Lo alcanza
en la tiniebla
mi memoria de humo
Enferma de sombra
no distingo sus trazos de alambre en el aire

Here I am trying to illustrate the idea of memory…how, if you want something or someone strongly enough, it is possible to get closer to what we think is lost and forgotten. That's why I use the image of "smoke memory" as something both ethereal and vulnerable. However, I begin by saying it reaches it. In other words, it is possible to get closer to what we think is distant or lost forever.

Comes
—invisible to time—
with wings of white scent
and the song of the wood
quivering lamp light
a dark sky
portending rain

Viene
—invisible al tiempo—
con alas de olor blanco
y canto de madera
Inquieta lámpara encendida
cielo
también precipitado

These words are very important to me. The phrase “Invisible to time” implies that it is eternal. I have linked it to natural images, wings of white scent (devoid, pure, illuminated), bird song filling the forest (natural, sweet, timeless), a flickering lamp (alive, vivifying), and stormy clouds (the idea of rain linking sky to earth). Again, I am referring to the dominant force of nature, especially now, as we become increasingly distanced from the natural world.

Your cloak, a shimmering waterfall,
protects the echo of ancient bells

Tu manto de cascada brillante
resguarda el eco de campanas antiguas

The cloak is the plumage of the bird (and a hint of how the poem ends). The bird is always central in my poetry. Its cloak hangs from the back of its head – hence the idea of a waterfall (which also reiterates falling rain), and of light shed on the body. In these two verses, my use of light implies wisdom, and what that means after it has travelled through so many worlds.

Glorious birdsong in the grass

Trino resplandeciente en la hierba

When the bird forages in the grass, its sweet chirping brings joy to our hearts. So, I am trying to evoke an image that fills people with hope.

Singing saved me. Singing made it possible for me to be alive after my son’s death. Singing helps me find relief, even when my body and soul feel incomplete.

you brought all the songs

trajiste todas las canciones

Photo by Laura Morales Balza (@auraldelmoral)

I talk here about what has already arrived. Because of the importance of inclusiveness, saying that they (the bird, my son) brought all the songs is a powerful way to express that after their arrival, nothing more is needed.

to the terrestrial night

a la noche terrestre

From heaven…to our night on earth... to our sadness... to our loneliness... to our “reversed orphanhood” ... to our pain.

I approach your warm voice

Me acerco a tu voz tibia

Saying "I approach" reflects a decision that comes from the heart, reaching out to what we know will provide a calm and peaceful respite. The caring voice, for me, recreates the image of an eternity that offers shelter, comfort, and warmth.

to your plumage of fire

a tu plumaje de fuego

This metaphor signifies the most resplendent brilliance. The brightest fire. Enough light to calm the darkness of the night on Earth or the darkness within us. Light forever. The brightest of birds, for me, for you. For all.

My soul awakes gradually

Mi alma tarda en despertar

A dreamy concept to further develop the metaphor, this shows that it’s still possible for those who have lost hope and the will to go on, to awaken. I hope that you’re able to feel that urge to live and dream once again. Somehow, by writing this poem for you I have discovered renewed hope in life.

There is one thing that I can't explain easily. Although I don’t want to suggest that it’s religious, to me the poem is almost a chant. When I say the words aloud, they become a small prayer – rather like those tiny green shoots pushing their way up through the soil in the most unexpected corners, as new life dawns.

I am deeply moved that this desire to reengage with life lives in music, and I hope it touches many hearts.

The Bird I Await

The story behind El pájaro que espero (The Bird I Await)

And the poet spoke

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