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FLIGHT by VIRLANA TKACZ The Yara Arts Group, which I head, creates original theatre pieces based on materials from the East. Last July five artists from Yara, Genji Ito (our composer), Watoku Ueno (our designer), Wanda Phipps (poet and my translating partner), Tom Lee (actor and video cameraman), and I were invited to work on a new piece with the three Buryat actors who had worked on our last show Virtual Souls. Our collaboration with the Buryat artists was initially inspired by a Ukrainian poem, Oleh Lysheha's "Swan". This time we wanted to explore the theme of transformation that this beautiful poem suggested. We decided that the piece would also include traditional Buryat folklore and songs. Sayan Zhambalov, one of the Buryat actors, suggested that we do a research expedition into the Aginsk-Buryat Region, the most traditional area, where ancient songs and legends still live in the memory of the local people. The Aginsk Buryat Autonomous Region is as far away from New York as you can imagine, both in physical terms and in terms of the psyche. To get there we first had to sit in airplanes and airports for three days. In Ulan Ude, the capital of Buryatia just east of Lake Baikal in Siberia, we were met by our Buryat colleagues: Sayan Zhambalov, his wife Erzhena Zhambalov and Erdeny Zhaltsanov. Together we got into a van and drove for two more days, first on the Siberian highway, then on the back roads. Finally, we arrived at Aginskoye, the regional center. It was late afternoon when we drove up a steep dirt road at the edge of town. Sayan's mother, sister and brother lived in the last three houses. Sayan's sister Sesigma had the largest house, so most of us stayed with her. There was a birch forest behind the house. It was beautiful, but ghostly; the birches felt like living beings. Here it was obvious why the Buryats say "My mother is the swan and my family tree — the birch." I lay down on the ground and stared at the sky through the birch leaves. The delicate smell of the birches was intoxicating. When I walked back into Sesigma's kitchen, it was packed with grandmas who were all getting dressed in their Buryat costumes. Their robes were made of blue brocade and closed on the right side with four silver buttons. The grandmas also had traditional silver ornaments that hung from both hips, ornate silver circles to which were attached traditional female tools, like a needle case or a manicure set. Several of the women had large ornamental knives hanging from the hip ornament. I was told that although all Buryat women had hip ornaments, only Aginsk-Buryat women wore knives. When I asked if this was an old tradition, I was told, "Oh yes, ever since Balzhan-khatyn." Before I could ask who Balzhan-khatyn was, the grandmas got into a fuss. They were our official welcoming committee and they couldn't decide where they should perform the traditional welcome. Most wanted it to be in "the lap of nature". We agreed this would look great on video. But it was a windy day and our composer Genji, who wanted to get a good audio recording of the event, was pushing for them to sing indoors. The grandmas decided to do their official welcome ceremony at the edge of the birch forest behind the house. They would then return to the house and sing all the songs they knew for Genji to record. And this is what we did. We stayed up late into the evening listening to all their beautiful songs and I forgot Balzhan-khatyn. Balzhan-khatyn came up again a few days later when we were going to see an uliger, a traditional story teller who lived further south. Just a little way out of town, the good road gave way to the bad and everyone in back of the van started dozing. "That's Tsotko Khangil," Sayan suddenly said. "We should stop here." We all got out and Sayan pointed to a hill. "This is the place where Balzhan- khatyn rested." He then explained that Balzhan-khatyn was a Khori-Buryat princess who had married the son of a Manchurian Khan when she was very young. Then she ran away, taking her people with her. The old Khan sent an army after her and they pursued her through the area. And this was the place where she rested. I looked at the hill. The earth formed a natural throne and I could see why people said a princess had rested there. When we got back to the van, I asked Sayan if we had heard any good swan songs. He said we'd heard an interesting song in Tsagan Chelutay. He knew the words to the first line or two, but couldn't quite remember the new melody. Are those swans flying high in the sky? I sing ho-hey Do they gaze from above on our land? I sing ho-hey "Later the words were not the same. They were much more ... political." "You mean about Lenin." "No, something way before that. But I don't know what. Wait, I wrote down the words in your black notebook." I pulled out my Filofax. In the back Sayan had scribbled several pages of lyrics. Erzhena, who was sitting next to me, tried to read the notes but they were illegible. She handed the notebook to Sayan. "Only you can read that scrawl." He slowly deciphered his own handwriting and with Erzhena's prompting, I wrote the words down. Then I asked Sayan what the words meant. Sayan came up with a translation that was a mix of Ukrainian and Russian in which we Видання C оюзу Українок A мерики - перевидано в електронному форматі в 2012 році . A рхів C У A - Ню Йорк , Н . Й . C Ш A.
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