the old woman & the blackbird
2026 - Soprano, Flute, Violin & Percussion
c. 18'
Written for IPSA Collective for the 2025-26 University of Glasgow McEwen Commission.
Movements
I - mist through the trees
II - a voice is heard
III - an old woman appears
IV - she tends to her garden
V - frost
VI - a herald appears
VII - hush now this instant
VIII - a change is felt
IX - more birds appear
X - a storm
XI - dawn arrives
XII - the end and the beginning
Program Note
This is an ode to Winter, the cold, and change.
An ode to the vitality of a frozen pond,
to cycles and balance,
worrying because November feels too warm,
resting because its cold and dark,
cracking a frozen puddle,
wondering did it used to feel colder?
taking a shortcut through the wood to walk across frozen mud,
reading stories,
watching the tree outside the window change slowly,
leaving the window open,
listening to what the birds have to say.
The Old Woman & the Blackbird
I am the one in grey,
The veiled one
The old one.
My breath brings clouds of mist,
The tread of my stick brings the frost,
I stamp out any hopeful greenery
That strikes out too eagerly.
My garden sleeps deeply,
I tend it with vigilance,
Though my bones do ache
And my fingers are numb,
I sow my seeds and chase
The warmth away.
The frost must stay
A little longer.
The ground is cracked,
The snow is draped heavy
On the hills.
Storms raise with the
Beat of my blanket,
My whistle spins the wind.
The night draws in fast yet again.
I am older than time, so they say.
Who’s that?!
I heard you on the breeze,
Screaming and yelling
Enough to raise the dead!
Who’s that?!
I heard you through the trees,
Hush now this instant
Or you’ll waken everybody up!
Pesky Blackbird,
You’re toiling far too soon!
How can you build a nest
When there’s nothing yet to eat?
Noisy Blackbird,
Howling at the dawn,
The tree in which you build your nest
Shivers and groans.
There’s a rustle on the breeze,
A breath breaks the stillness,
A sigh heaves beneath the icy ground.
I pluck at a bud
And stamp on a shoot,
Huff icy wind through the trees,
I toil all day, my stick becomes worn
As I beat the warmth from the soil.
The blackbird is joined by another,
Then a magpie, then a tit!
A wood pigeon hoots softly
And a swallow answers it!
Enraged I stamp and howl and scream,
Not yet, not yet, not yet!
Billow storms from my cloak,
And spit ice and rain
The cold is not over
Not yet, not yet, not yet!
The night draws in slowly,
I fall to the ground clutching
My aching old bones.
Sleep comes deeply,
It carries me through the night,
I wake with the sun on my head.
Blades of grass hold me atip their fingers,
Tree buds spread like stars,
Bristle in wait for the warmth of the sun.
I cast my stick beneath the holly bush
And hobble off through the trees
Trailing dust and hair.
As I reach the shore,
The sun is tall as the sky,
the blackbird bids me farewell
The water soothes my frayed skin,
I feel my bones crack, soften
And renew.
Fergus Hall
Performances/Recordings
IPSA Collective - 29th of May 2026, Premiered by Stephanie Lamprea, Darren Gallacher, Richard Craig & Feargus Heatherington as part of the University of Glasgow McEwen Concert.