Traverse: Migrant Stories | Gu Wei, Composer

Emergence

wind ensemble, 9'

(2022)

Emergence is a natural phenomenon where complex structures and behaviours spontaneously arise from a collective of relatively simple elements. A lone ant might be insignificant but an ant colony is capable of building magnificent structures as a larger organism. A cell is only capable of accomplishing its relatively simple task but billions of them working together give rise to the intricate human body. Emergence is present anywhere we observe: from atoms to cells, cells to individual bodies, and individual bodies to societies. This idea is the primary inspiration for this piece, in which relatively simple motifs that occur in repetition work together to form more complex structures. I also took the idea of ‘emergence’ in its literal meaning as the action of emerging from something, represented by the recurring scalar ascents and upward-leaping calls. The piece is written during a time when the world is struggling to emerge from a global pandemic. I hope it provides the strength for us to push on, and serves as a reminder that some of the seemingly insignificant things we do are in fact vital for the very existence of our society.

Emergence was commissioned by the National University of Singapore Wind Symphony (NUSWS).

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Traverse: Migrant Stories

baritone, vc, pno, 25'

(2023)

The sun is a star is a programmatic piece loosely based on the observations of the natural world by the protagonist through a day, from dawn to sunrise, midday to sunset, and dusk to night.

A Miscellaneous Poem on Singapore Island

Hou Wei

An all-year season of cruel summer:

Scorching sun, burning cicada and frogs' cries

Green Woodlands' woods

Jurong Lake's ripples shimmering

Sitting on a Punggol rock is a lone stick, a fishing rod

Drinking in the gardens of Haw Par Villa where all the statues are drunk

Regardless of this island's scenery

My tears still burst their banks, chasing amber waves of home

Distant Love

Mahbub Hasan Dipu

Your words in that evening

still humming (in my head).

Lonely highway,

blurred sun

and your voice.

Hundred years of solitude

grasps the mirage of this city

in a burning afternoon.

You said that

one needs resources to dream,

capability for being loved,

and to earn to be happy.

For all these,

I have embraced this distance,

and began a new journey of migrant life.

My well-wisher,

advice and decision are never same.

Carrying this heart heavy with distant love

turns me into "a depression".

Broken frame of my mother waits for me-

"Would you repair my glasses, son?"

Her voice repeats in hope-

"When would you come?"

Days, months and years pass,

one by one,

but the wait never ends.

Her sweet voice now carries

a bitter tone.

Last few years have seen

demise of many close ones,

but I have never been there

to see their funerals.

Am I Wrong?

Novia Arluma

Am I wrong

If I have a choice

Am I wrong

If I have taste

Look at the colors of the rainbow

Which look beautiful because of their difference

We stand on the same earth

But we don't have to be the same

Like the air that exhales

The water that courses

Neither forcing nor forced

But similarly giving life

With sincerity

But —

Why must you force it

So that I change my mind

So in the end

I must change my choice?

I am sick —

Of you forcing my hand

Where I'm only given a forced selection

Until I choose to leave

Rather than accept the insults

That you hurl
Scarecrow

Rea Maac

In the middle of the crowd

standing alone in silence

because no one notices its presence.

Mouth was kept shut

piercing cries echoing in its mind

trying to be heard

but voice has lost its purpose.

You think it's nothing

only figure to scare away birds

its more than that

if only you'll open your heart.

You can hear the pleading

but you choose not to listen

you can see its suffering

but you were blindfolded

by arrogance.

Staying quiet, forever alone

speaking up may lose a battle

afraid of the outcome.

Pity for the scarecrow

might be thrown after being used

without a single compliment

to its undying effort.

In the affluent crowd

being manipulated by the selfish act

I know because I'm

a scarecrow in a foreign land.

Beginning Of Autumn

Zhang Haitao

Almost imperceptibly, the wind is blowing

Stroking the dandelions on the hill

Not too far away, under the moonlight, the river

Ripples, glitters, snaking into the sea

And the pure round hangs hushed in the sky

Illuminating living, breathing life - all living things.

Longing is a dandelion seed

With a breath of wind, you can fly to your hometown

Longing is a meandering river

Always finding its way towards the sea

Longing is a full moon in the night sky

Illuminating every place where there is a home

And I, this drifting wanderer

Would sprout into a dandelion

Would trickle into a river

Would morph into the moon

And let my longing

Find form in a seed, a droplet, a beam

And fall into the arms of my homeland

And sow, and flow, and shine

My deeping love

Immortal

MD Sharif Uddin

Though the city and its civilisation will be changed,

I'll live forever

In the heart of the buildings

And in the core of technology everywhere –

You'll find me there.

Perhaps the dim neon lights of the city

Will not light the shadow of mine -

Every image kept in my memory

Swinging, walking away, carrying a shoulder bag.

Perhaps the red, yellow and the green lights of the city

Will not remember me, but I'll be

On the pavement of each deserted, winding road.

Though my tears satisfy the thirst of the city,

It will forget me by and by!

But like the waters on the high waves of the river,

I'll survive and I'll be there.

The sweat of my tired body has

Become the moisture of the city,

And in this moisture, I'll survive.

I live forever.

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