I think of Lodestar as a sort of fable for adults. Diane Thiel's text for the piece, from her poem Nursery Shellgame, describes life in the language of fairy tales and children's stories: "a trail of crumbs," "a handful of blue marbles," "how you wonder what you are." There's darkness here, too: "years spent / following the tracks of other things / that would chew off limbs / to free themselves, knowing / they would never grow back."

 

The last line of Thiel's poem, though, was what persuaded me that I absolutely had to set this poem to music: "Make sure you take a ship with you. Make sure you do. Even a swimmer as strong as you / needs a ship sometimes—even you."

 

I love the lyricism of the writing here, but more than that, this line offers such a quiet reassurance. Life is no fairy tale, and there is no correct path to follow; maybe we're not even as strong as we think we may be. Knowing this, though, we can still look out for ourselves; whatever our "ship" is, when we remember to rely on it, it will be there for us.

 

Lodestar is published in the G. Schirmer Craig Hella Johnson series; preview or purchase the score here. This piece is also recorded on Choral Arts Initiative's album How to Go On: The Choral Works of Dale Trumbore, featuring soloist Lorraine Joy Welling.

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Lodestar was commissioned by Nova Vocal Ensemble (Jonathan Bautista, director) and Yayra Sanchez, soprano.

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NURSERY SHELLGAME

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Maps and mazes are my weaknesses.

So many blue prints in the sand

over-lapping—I leave

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a trail of crumbs behind me
that are sometimes gobbled up by morning,

sometimes washed away, sometimes stolen.

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It is hard to find the way back

without the lodestone, the lodestar—

how you wonder what you are.

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A handful of blue marbles might do

if we were twelve.
But we are so much more than twelve

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and so much less—

our lives so full
of so much emptiness.

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So many years spent

following the tracks of other things

that would chew off limbs

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to free themselves, knowing

they would never grow back—

not like those many pointed star fish

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arrowed in every direction
or the winter crab—trading one shell

for another, out of necessity.

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Necessity sent me out to sea

somewhat suddenly—she said to me

Make sure you take a ship with you.

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Make sure you do.
Even a swimmer as strong as you

needs a ship sometimes—even you.

 

—Diane Thiel