The way we respond to the death of someone says a lot about the type of person we are. I remember going to a family-friend’s funeral and instead of everyone being dressed in black and silently crying, I saw women in radiant dresses and men painfully laughing over old stories of the person they lost. I was uncomfortable that in a time of grieving over a friend and mother of young kids, everything seemed so painfully vibrant. Grieving is an inexplicable thing, and is beyond our control at times.
This choral piece is based on the lyrics of 13th century poet Jalāl al-Dīn Muḥammad Rūmī (or Rumi for short). The poem was from the perspective of a lost loved one speaking to a mourner from beyond the grave. The narrator continually reassures their loved one that they should not be paralyzed with grief over their own death, but rather see this conclusion as an opportunity of renewal. I knew that I wanted the piece to start out with a lifeless introduction and then end with a reflective, colorful conclusion. Special thanks to all the people that dedicated their time to this project—Sopranos: Selah Hoerger, Autumn Napoli / Altos: Gysel Ponce, Lauren Biggs / Tenors: Warren Chong, Timothy Peppin / Basses: Samuel Thompson, Jojo Reyes. This is “On the Day of Paradise.”
Lyrics:
When my bier moveth on the day of death,
Think not my heart is in this world.
When thou seest my hearse,
cry not ‘Parted, parted!’
Union and meeting are mine in that hour.
If thou commit me to the grave,
say not ‘Farewell, farewell!’
For the grave is a curtain hiding the communion of Paradise.
Why should setting be injurious to the sun and moon?
What seed went down into the earth but it grew?
Shut thy mouth on this side and open it beyond,
For in placeless air will be thy triumphal song.