Junior Recital
Saturday
May 8, 2010, 3:00 pm
Kulas Recital Hall
Concert No. 376
Andrea Pearson, soprano
Dominic Johnson, baritone
4 Songs from Schwanengesang
Ihr Bild
Das Fischermädchen
Die Stadt
Die Taubenpost
Franz Schubert
(1797–1828)
Saemi Inso Jung, piano
Notte
Invito alla danza
Nebbie
Ottorino Respighi
(1979–1936)
Jenna Douglas, piano
I Said to Love
I need not go
At Middle- Field Gate in February
Two Lips
In five-score Summers (Meditation)
For Life I had never cared greatly
I said to Love
Saemi Insoo Jung, piano
Gerald Finzi
(1901–1956)
Zigeunermelodien, Op. 55
Mein Lied ertönt
Ei! Ei, wie mein Triangel
Rings ist der Wald
Als die alte Mutter
Reingestimmt die Saiten!
In dem weiten, breiten, luft'gen Leinenkleide
Darf des Falken Schwinge
Antonín Dvořák
(1841–1904)
Jenna Douglas, piano
Please silence all cell phones and refrain from the use of video cameras
unless prior arrangements have been made with the performers.
The use of flash cameras is prohibited. Thank you.
Translations
Ihr Bild
I stood in dark dreams
And stared at her image,
And the beloved visage
Quietly came to life.
Upon her lips appeared
A smile so wonderful,
And as if from tears of sadness
Her eyes sparkled.
And my tears flowed as well
Down from my cheeks—
And oh, I just can’t believe,
That I have lost you!
Das Fischermädchen
You lovely fisher girl,
Row your boat to shore;
Come to me and sit down,
We’ll cuddle hand in hand.
Lay your head on my breast
And don’t be so afraid;
You trust yourself without care
Daily to the untamed sea.
My heart is like the ocean,
Has storm and ebb and flood,
And many a lovely pearl
Rests in its depths.
Die Stadt
On the distant horizon
Appears like a cloud-image
The town with its spires
Shrouded in the gloom of evening.
A damp breeze ruffles
The green surface of the water;
In a mournful rhythm rows
The boatman in my craft.
The sun rises once again
Glowing above the earth
And shows me that spot
Where I lost my beloved.
Schubert
You trust yourself without care
Die Taubenpost
I have a courier pigeon in my employ,
It’s very devoted and true.
It never stops short of my goal
And never flies too far.
I send it out many thousand times
With messages every day,
Away past many a pretty place,
Right to my dearest’s house.
It peeks through the window secretly there
And watches for her step and glance,
Gives her my greetings playfully
And brings hers back to me.
I don’t need to write notes anymore
I send my tears with it instead,
I’m sure they will never go astray,
It serves me so eagerly.
By night, by day, awake, in dreams,
It’s all the same to it,
If it can only rove and roam,
That is repayment enough.
It never tires, it never flags,
The way is ever new,
It needs no lure, it needs no pay,
The dove is so loyal to me!
And so I keep it close to my heart
Assured of the sweetest reward;
Its name is—longing! Do you know it?
Enduring love’s messenger.
Notte
In the fantastic garden
Perfumed with roses
The caress of shadows descends.
With both thought and pulse
The supreme stillness
Shakes the air like a shiver.
Does the mournful darkness
Tell a story of death
Respighi
To the pale gardenias?
Perhaps, because a shower
Of gentle dew falls
Into the half-closed petals.
For rising miseries
And for lost passions,
For mute dreams and mute anxieties,
For fleeting joys
Shattered by disillusion,
The night weeps her tears.
Invito Alla Danza
My-lady, a gentle arm
I would clasp your waist with pride:
you are the ship of love,
but, my lady, you lack a sail:
I am that sail that will move you
about the blue sea.
You are the agile boat
which the sea with music caresses:
I am the sturdy sail
that leads and encourages the journey;
The ship rises, descends,
the sail furls, spreads.
Would you like the wave (of music) to change itself
into the sound of the gentle gavotte?
Would you like the waltz to release
the bonds of its feverish running?
I make the customary bow,
and invite you, my lady, to the dance.
Nebbie
I suffer. Far, far away
The sleeping fog
Rises from the quiet plain.
Shrilly, cawing, the crows,
Trusting their black wings,
Traverse the moors, grimly.
To the raw bites of air
The sorrowful tree trunks
Offer, praying, their bare branches.
How cold I am! I am alone;
Driven through the gray sky
A groan of the dead soars.
And repeats to me: come;
The valley is dark.
O sad one, o unloved one, come!
I need not go
I need not go
Through sleet and snow
To where I know
She waits for me;
She will tarry me there
Till I find it fair,
And have time to spare
From company.
When I've overgot
The world somewhat,
When things cost not
Such stress and strain,
Is soon enough By cypress sough
To tell my Love
I am come again.
And if someday,
When none cries nay,
I still delay To seek her side,
(Though ample measure
Of fitting leisure
Await my pleasure)
She will not chide.
What not upbraid me
That I delayed me,
Nor ask what stayed me
So long? Ah no!
New cares may claim me,
New loves inflame me,
She will not blame me,
But suffer it so.
At Middle-Field Gate in February
The bars are thick with drops that show
As they gather themselves from the fog
Finzi
Like silver buttons ranged in a row,
And as evenly spaced as if measured, although
They fall at the feeblest jog.
They load the leafless hedge hard by,
And the blades of last year's grass,
While the [fallow ploughland] turned up nigh
In raw rolls, clammy and clogging lie
Too clogging for feet to pass.
How dry it was on a farback day
When straws hung the hedge and around,
When amid the sheaves in amorous play
In curtained bonnets and light array
Bloomed a bevy now underground!
Two Lips
I kissed them in fancy when I came
Away in the morning glow:
I kissed them through the glass of her picture-frame:
She did knot know.
I kissed them in love, in troth, in laughter,
When she knew all; long so!
That I should kiss them in a shroud thereafter
She did not know
In Five score Summers
In five-score summers! All new eyes,
New minds, new modes, new fools, new wise;
New woes to weep, new joys to prize;
With nothing left of me and you
In that live century's vivid view
Beyond a pinch of dust or two;
A century which, if not sublime,
Will show, I doubt not, at its prime,
A scope above this blinkered time.
Yet what to me how far above?
For I would only ask thereof
That thy worm should be my worm, Love!
For Life I had never cared greatly
For Life I [have] never cared greatly,
As worth a man's while;
Peradventures unsought,
Peradventures that finished in nought,
Had kept me from youth and through manhood till lately
Unwon by its style.
In earliest years -- why I know not -I viewed it askance;
Conditions of doubt,
Conditions that leaked slowly out,
May haply have bent me to stand and to show not
Much zest for its dance.
With symphonies soft and sweet colour
It courted me then,
Till evasions seemed wrong,
Till evasions gave in to its song,
And I warmed, until living aloofly loomed duller
Than life among men.
Anew I found nought to set eyes on,
When, lifting its hand,
It uncloaked a star,
Uncloaked it from fog-damps afar,
And showed its beams burning from pole to horizon
As bright as a brand.
And so, the rough highway forgetting,
I pace hill and dale
Regarding the sky,
Regarding the vision on high,
And thus re-illumed have no humour for letting
My pilgrimage fail.
I said to Love
I said to Love,
"It is not now as in old days
When men adored thee and thy ways
All else above;
Named thee the Boy, the Bright, the One
Who spread a heaven beneath the sun,"
I said to Love.
I said to him,
"We now know more of thee than then;
We were but weak in judgment when,
With hearts abrim,
We clamoured thee that thou would'st please
Inflict on us thine agonies,"
I said to him.
I said to Love,
"Thou art not young, thou art not fair,
No elfin darts, no cherub air,
Nor swan, nor dove
Are thine; but features pitiless,
And iron daggers of distress,"
I said to Love.
"Depart then, Love!
Man's race shall perish, threatenest thou,
Without thy kindling coupling-vow?
The age to come the man of now
Know nothing of?
We fear not such a threat from thee;
We are too old in apathy!
Mankind shall cease..
So let it be,"
I said to Love.
Mein Lied ertönt
My song sounds of love
when the old day is dying;
it is sowing its shadows
and reaping a collections of pearls.
My song resonates with longing
while my feet roam distant lands.
My homeland is in the distant wilderness –
my song stirs with nationalism.
My song loudly resounds of love
while unplanned storms hasten.
I'm glad for the freedom that I no longer have
a portion in the dying of a brother.
Ei! Ei, wie mein Triangel
Ah! Why is my three-cornered bell ringing so passionately?
As a gypsy song when death is imminent –
the death of a gypsy brings an end
to song, dance, love and all concerns!
To song, dance, love and all concerns!
Rings ist der Wald
The forest is quiet all around;
Dvořák
only the heart is disturbing the peace.
As if black smoke is flowing,
tears flow down my cheeks and so they dry.
They need not dry –
let other cheeks feel them.
The one who can in sorrow sing
will not die but lives and lives on.
Als die alte Mutter
When my old mother taught me to sing,
Strange that she often had tears in her eyes.
And now I also weep,
when I teach gypsy children to play and sing!
Reingestimmt die Saiten!
The string is taut - young man turn, spin, twirl!
Today reach the heights, tomorrow down again and
after tomorrow, at the holy table of the Nile.
The taut string is stretched - turn young man - turn and twirl!
In dem weiten, breiten, luft'gen Leinenkleide
Wide sleeves and wide trousers have
more freedom than a robe of gold.
The robe of gold constricts the chest
and the song within the body dies.
He who is happy - his song blooms with wishes
that the whole world would lose its taste for gold.
Darf des Falken Schwinge
Given a cage to live in made of pure gold,
the Gypsy would exchange it
for the freedom of a nest of thorns.
Just as a wild horse rushes to the wasteland,
seldom bridled and reined in,
so too the gypsy nature has been given eternal freedom.