In Vietnamese, the word Tiếng means both “language” and “sound.” It is the interplay of those two ideas that are at the core of this work. I grew up speaking Vietnamese (inherited from my parents) and English (learned from watching television), and the role of translator was an everyday occurrence for me as a child, from parent-teacher conferences to reading court documents for family members. Moving in between those two disparate worlds, translation would often fail me in conversation, just as much as I failed the languages that were passed down to me. This work navigates that tension of language and translation, and observes both as tools of violence, forms of grief, and points of empathy. This piece places English as a language of violence and Vietnamese as a language of grief. Interconnected by music, literature, and art, Tiếng attempts to reconcile the two languages while searching for what it means to speak a language of empathy.

Each movement of Tiếng is based on one of the six tones of the modern Vietnamese language: ngang, huyền, sắc, hỏi, ngã, and nặng. Every tone is represented by a diacritic that uniquely transforms the pronunciation of words and syllables. From these tones, I derive shape, gesture, and character, which are then used as material for the piece. Lines of poetry that explore violence, grief, and empathy—from poets Li-Young Lee, Nam Le, Ocean Vuong, and Cathy Linh Che—are paired with each of the tones, which inspired the emotional content of the music. Art inspired by the six Vietnamese tones (illustrated by longtime friend and collaborator ‘Apikale Fouch) are projected during each movement.

The poems quoted are:

• “Have You Prayed?” by Li-Young Lee
• “To My Father / To My Future Son” by Ocean Vuong
• “[15. Dire critical]” by Nam Le
• “Go Forget Your Father” by Cathy Linh Che