Amarcord Songs and Translations for 2012 Musica Viva Program

Amarcord
Wolfram Lattke
Martin Lattke
Frank Ozimek
Daniel Knauft
Holger Krause
tenor
tenor
baritone
bass
bass
Program 1 (Brisbane, Melbourne 7pm, Newcastle, Sydney 7pm)
Approximate duration (including interval but not encore): 97 min
Tales of Love and Murder
Baldisserra DONATO (c 1530-1603)
Chi la Gagliarda
Il primo libro di canzon villanesche alla napolitana a quarto voci, Venedig 1551
Chi la Gagliarda, chi la Gagliarda, donne, vo’imparare,
Venite a noi, che siamo maestri fini, maestri fini, maerstri fini.
Che disera e di matina mai manchiamo, mai manchiamo di sonare:
Tan tan tan tarira, tan tan tan tarira, tirarira,
Tan tan tan tarira, tirarira.
Provenceun poco, provenceun poco, cance vuoi chiamare
Apassa dieci volte che salimo, che salimo, che salimo,
Tan tan, etc.
Se la Gagliarda, se la Gagliarda, donne, voimparare
soot el maestroel te bisognona, te bisogna, te bisogna stare,
Tan tan, etc.
Who the galliard, lady wishes to learn,
Come to us who are fine teachers,
For at night and in the morning
We never fail to play:
Tan tan tarira, rirarira.
Try and see, you will want to callus
After we have been up ten times,
For at night …
Who the galliard, lady, wishes to learn
Has to be under the master,
For at night …
Translation by Christopher Abbey
Juan del ENCINA (1468-1529/30)
Cucú, cucú, cucucú
Cancionero musical de Palacio (c 1505-1520)
¡Cucú, cucú, cucucú!
Guarda no lo seas tu.
Compadre, debes saber
Que la más Buena mugger
Rabia siempre por joder.
Harta bien la tuya tú.
¡Cucú, cucú …
Compadre, has de guarder
Para nunca encornundar;
Si tu mugger sale a mear,
Sal junto con ella tú.
¡Cucú, cucú …
Cuckoo, cukoo, cu-cuckoo!
Watch out it isn’t you.
You ought to know, mate,
That even the best of women
Is raring for a lay.
Be sure yours is well satisfied.
Cuckoo, cuckoo …
You must watch out, mate,
That you are never cuckolded;
If your wife goes out for a piss,
Make sure you go with her.
Cuckoo, cuckoo, cu-cuckoo!
Watch out it isn’t you.
Cuckoo, cuckoo …
Translation by Christopher Abbey
Fatal la parte
Cancionero musical de Palacio (c 1505-1520)
Fatal la parte,
Tutt’ ogni cal,
Qu’es morta la moglie de miçer Cotal.
Porque l’hatrobato
Con un españolo
En su casa solo,
Luego l’ha mazzato.
Lui se l’ha escapato
Por forza y por arte.
Fatal la parte …
“Guarda si te piglio,
Don españoleto,
Sopar del mi letto
Te faro un martillo
Tal que en estrebillo
Piangeràn le carte.”
Fatal la parte …
Fatal news!
Come all and hear!
Cotal’s wife is dead.
He found her
With a Spaniard
Alone in his house
And so he killed her.
The Spaniard escaped
By means of his sword and his cunning.
Fatal news …
“Watch out if I catch you,
Mr Spaniard;
On my bed
I’ll give you such a “weapon”
As will become the refrain of a dirge
Sung again and again.”
Fatal news …
Translation by Christopher Abbey
Josquin DES PREZ (c 1440/55-1521)
Scaramella va alla guerra
Scaramella va alla querra colla lancia et la rotella,
la zombero boro borombetta, la boro borombo.
Scaramella fa la gala cholla scharpa et la stivala,
la zombero boro borombetta, la zombero boro borombo.
Scaramella is going off to war
With lance and buckler
La zombero boro borombetta,
La boro borombo
Scaramella is out on a spree
With boot and shoe
La zombero boro borombetta,
La boro borombo
Choral Wiki – no translator attributed
Heinrich SCHÜTZ (1585-1672)
Così morir debb’io, SWV5
Text by Giovanni Battista Guarini (1538-1612)
Così morir debb'io,
nè sarà chi m'ascolti o me diffenda,
così da tutti abandonata
e priva d'ogni speranza,
accompagnata solo
da un'estrema infelice
e funesta pietà,
che non m'aita.
TRANSLATION REQUIRED
Orlando di LASSO (c 1532-1594)
Matona mia cara
Matona mia cara, mi follere canzon
cantar sotto finestra, Lanze bon compagnon.
Don don don diridiridon don don don
Ti prego m'ascoltare che mi cantar de bon
e mi ti foller bene come greco e capon.
Don don don diridiridon don don don
Com'andar alle cazze, cazzar con le falcon,
mi ti portar beccazze, grasse come rognon
Don don don diridiridon don don don
Se mi non saper dire tante belle rason
Petrarca mi non saper, ne fonte d'Helicon.
Don don don diridiridon don don don
Se ti mi foller bene mi non esser poltron;
mi ficcar tutta notte, urtar come monton
Don don don diridiridon don don don
My lovely Lady, I want a song to sing
Under your window: this lancer is jolly fellow!
Don don don, diri diri, don don don don.
Please listen to me, because I'm singing well
And I'm as fond of you as a Greek is of a capon!
Don don don, diri diri, don don don don.
When I go hunting, I hunt with the falcon,
And I'll bring you a woodcock, as fat as a kidney
Don don don, diri diri, don don don don.
I cannot tell you many elegant things,
I know nothing of Petrarch, nor the Fountain of Helicon
Don don don, diri diri, don don don don.
If you'll love me I won't be lazy
I will fuck all night long, I will thrust like a ram
Don don don, diri diri, don don don don.
Choral Wiki – no translator attributed
Une puce j’ay dedans l’oreille
Text by Jean-Antoine de Baïf (1532-1589)
Une puce j'ay dedans l'oreill' helas !
Qui de nuit & de jour me fretille & me mord
Et me faict devenir fou,
Nul remède n'i puis donner,
Je cours, deça, je cours dela,
Ote la moy, retire la moy, je t'en pri,
O toute belle, secours moy.
Quand mes yeux je pence livrer au someil,
Elle vient me piquer, me démange, me poingt
Et me garde de dormir.
Nul remède . . .
D'une vieille charmeresse aidé me suis,
Qui guérit tout le monde & de tout guérissant,
Ne ma sçeu me guerir moy:
Nul remède . . .
Bien je sçay que seule peux guérir ce mal,
Je te pri de me voir de bon oeil, et vouloir
Amolir ta cruauté:
Nul remède . . .
I have a flea in my ear, alas !
Which by night and day irritates and bites me
And makes me become mad,
No remedy can I give
I run here, I run there
Remove it, take it from me, I beg you
O my complete beauty, help me!
When I think to relax my eyes into sleep,
It comes and pricks me, devours me, hits me
And keeps me from sleep.
No remedy...
I was helped by an old sorceress
Who cures everyone and from everything
But she didn't know how to cure me.
No remedy...
Well do I know who, alone, can cure this ill
I beg you to look kindly on me, and choose
To soften your cruelty:
No remedy...
Translation from French to English copyright © 2007 by David Wyatt, wyattd (AT) globalnet (DOT) co
(DOT) uk
Carlo GESUALDO (c 1560-1613)
Io tacerò – Invan dunque
Il Quatro Libro di Madrigali - 1596
Io tacerò, ma nel silenzio mio
La lagrime i sospiri
diranno i miei martiri.
Ma s’avverrà ch’io mora,
Griderà poi per me la morte ancora.
In van dunque, o crudele,
vuoi che'l mio duol e'l tuo rigor si cele,
poi che mia cruda sorte
dà la voce al silenzio ed a la morte.
I will keep quiet, yet in my silence
my tears and sighs
shall tell of my pain.
And if I should die
Death shall cry out for me once again.
Thus in vain, oh cruel one,
yearn you for my pain and your harshness to be hidden
since my cruel fate
gives voice to silence and to death.
Choral Wiki – no translator attributed
ANONYMOUS ITALIAN (c 1500)
Alla cazza
Alla cazza, alla cazza,
Su, su, su, su, su ognun se spazza.
A questa nostra cazza,
Venite volontera,
Con li bracchi e con levrieri,
Chi vuol venir se spazza.
Ch'e le tempo d'andar.
Suona il corno, o capo di cazza,
e spazza, spazza, spazza.
Te qui Balzan, te qui, Lion,
Te qui Fasan, te qui, Falcon,
Te qui Tristan, te qui, Doron,
Te qui Alan, te qui, Carbon.
Chiama li bracchi dal monte, babbion!
Te qui Pezolo, te qui, Spagnolo,
Abbi buon occhio al capriolo.
A te, Bigeto, a te, Pasalingua.
Vide la, vide la, vide la,
A collo, a collo, pigliala,
Che li cani non la strazza.
TRANSLATION REQUIRED
Adrian WILLAERT (c 1490-1562)
Madonna mia fa
Madonna mia famme bon offerta,
Ch'io porto per presente sto galuccio,
Che sempre canta quand'è di,
Alle galine e dice:
chi chirchi chi chirchi,
chi chirchi chi chirchi.
E tanto calca forte la galina,
Che li fa nascer l'ov'ogni matina.
Quisto mio galo sempre sta a la lerta,
Quando il di dorme sotto la coperta,
Che sempre canta, ...
Presto, madonna, se lo voi vedere,
Ca te lo facio mo quisto piacere,
Che sempre canta, ...
TRANSLATION REQUIRED
Pierre CERTON (c 1500-1572)
La la la, je ne l’ose dire
La, la, la, je ne l'ose dire,
La, la, la, je le vous dirai!
Il est un homme en nos villes
Qui de sa femme est jaloux.
Il n'est pas jaloux sans cause,
Mais il est cocu du tout!
Et la, la, la ...
Il n'est pas jaloux sans cause,
mais il est cocu du tout ;
Il l'apprête et s'il la mène
Au marché s'en va à tout !
Et la, la, la ...
Enfin, las de ce supplice,
le pauvre homme se pendit.
Mais sa femme par malice
Chez Lucifer le suivit!
Et la, la, la ...
La morale de cette histoire
C'est qu'avant de se marier
Il faut savoir le jour-même
Que c'est pour l'éternité.
Et la, la, la ...
La, la, la, je ne l'ose dire,
La, la, la, je le vous dirai!
Il est un homme en nos villes
Qui de sa femme est jaloux.
Il n'est pas jaloux sans cause,
Mais il est cocu du tout!
Et la, la, la ...
Il n'est pas jaloux sans cause,
mais il est cocu du tout ;
Il l'apprête et s'il la mène
Au marché s'en va à tout !
Et la, la, la ...
Enfin, las de ce supplice,
le pauvre homme se pendit.
Mais sa femme par malice
Chez Lucifer le suivit!
Et la, la, la ...
La morale de cette histoire
C'est qu'avant de se marier
Il faut savoir le jour-même
Que c'est pour l'éternité.
Et la, la, la ...
La, la, la, shouldn't tell,
Shouldn't tell, shouldn't tell it to you
La la la, I'll tell you anyway
Oh la, la, la, I'll tell you anyway
In our town there is a man, who
Of his wife burns with jealousy
He's not jealous without cause,
She cuckolds him incessantly
And la, la, la, shouldn't tell,
Shouldn't tell, shouldn't tell it to you
La la la, I'll tell you anyway
Oh la, la, la, I'll tell you anyway
He's not jealous without cause,
She cuckolds him incessantly
He takes her over to the market
When she's there she makes most free
And la, la, la, shouldn't tell,
Shouldn't tell, shouldn't tell it to you
La la la, I'll tell you anyway
Oh la, la, la, I'll tell you anyway
La, la, la, I dare note say it,
La, la, la, I’ll tell you.
There is a man in the town
Who is jealous of his wife.
He is not jealous without reason.
But he is still a cuckold.
And la, la, la, I dare not,
He gets himself ready,
Goes off to market.
And la, la, la, I dare not.
Naxos 8.553865
Choral Wiki – no translator attributed – verses
missing?
Nicolas GOMBERT (c 1495 - c 1556)
Triste depart
Le cinquiesme livre, Tilman Susato, Antwerpen 1544
Triste départ m'avait mis en douleur,
Mon corps était plus froid qui n'est le marbre.
Transi de deuil et séchant comme un arbre,
Ma face avait perdu toute couleur.
Our sad parting caused me such grief.
My body was older than marble;
Numbed by sorrow and unfeeling as a tree,
My face was drained of all its colour.
Translation by Christopher Abbey
ANONYMOUS
Quand je bois du vin clairet – Tourdion
Bei Pierre Attaignant, Paris 1530
Quand je bois du vin clairet,
Amis, tout tourney,
Aussi désormais
Je bois Anjou ou Arbois.
Chantons et buvons,
À ce flacon faisons la guerre,
Chantons et buvons,
Mes amis, buvons donc.
Buvons bien, buvons mes amis,
Trinquons, buvons, gaiement chantons.
En mangeant d’un gras jambon,
À ce flacon faisons la guerre.
Le bon vin nous a rendus gais,
Chantons, oublions nos peines, chantons.
En mangeant d’un gras jambon,
À ce flacon faisons la guerre.
When I drink a Claret Wine,
Friends, my head turns,
But that is true now also
When I drink Anjou or Arbois.
Let’s sing and drink,
Let’s make war on this bottle
Let’s sing and drink,
My friends, drink up then.
Drink up my friends,
Let’s toast and drink and sing,
While eating a fat ham,
let’s make war on this bottle.
Good wine makes us gay,
let’s sing, forget our troubles, let’s sing.
While eating a fat ham,
let’s make war on this bottle.
Translation by Christopher Abbey
Clément JANEQUIN (1485-1558)
La guerre
Première partie
Escoutez tous gentils gaulois
La victoire du grand Roy des Françoys.
Et orrez, si bien escoutez
Des coups rués de tous costés.
Phifres souflez, Frapez tambours,
Tournez, virez, Faittes vos tours.
Phifres soufflez, battez tousjours.
Avanturiers, bons compagnons,
Ensemble croisez vos bastons,
Bandez soudain, gentils Gascons,
Haquebusiers faittes vos sons,
Nobles, saultez dans les arçons,
Armez, bouclez, frisque et mignons,
La lance au poing, hardis et prompts,
Donnez dedans, grincez les dents
Soyez hardis en joye mis.
Alarme, alarme,
Chascun s'assaisonne
La fleur de lys, Fleur de haut pris,
Y est en personne.
Poulsez faucons et gros canons
Pour faire bresche aux compagnons
Et mettre à mort ces Bourguignons.
Sonnez trompettes et clairons.
Deuxième partie
Fan fan. Frere le le lan fan fan
Boutez selle... A l'estandart
Tost avant, gens d'armes à cheval
Farirarirariron... Tost à l'estandart.
Frere le le lan fan...
Bruyez, tonnez, bruyez bombardes et faucons
Pour entrer sur ces Bourguignons
Teu teu teu pedou pedou...
Rendes-vous Bourguignons
Sortez du lieu, sortez, vuidez.
Ne vous faittes plus canonner,
La place fault abandonner
Tarirarira... la la la... Pon pon pon...
Courage, France, Donnez des horions.
Chippe choppe, torche lorgne
Zin zin patipatac... A mort à mort...
Frappez, batez, ruez, tuez,
Serre, France, tarirarira..., Courage.
Donnez dedans, grincez les dents
Fers esmolus, choquez dessus,
France, courage, ils sont en fuyte,
Ils montrent les talons, courage compagnons,
Donnez des horions, Tuez ces Bourguignons.
Ils sont confus, ils sont perdus,
Prenez courage, après, après, suyvez de près,
Donnez sur le bagaige, ne leur laissez nul gage.
Victoire au grand Roy des Françoys.
TRANSLATION REQUIRED
INTERVAL
Camille SAINT-SAËNS (1835-1921)
Saltarelle, op 74 (c 1885)
Text by Émile Deschamps (1791-1871)
Venez, enfants de la Romagne,
Tous chantant de gais refrains,
Quittez la plaine et la montagne
Pour danser aux tambourins.
Rome, la sainte vous les donne,
Ces plaisirs que la madonne,
De son chêne vous pardonne,
Se voilant quand il le faut.
Le carnaval avec son masque,
Ses paillettes sur la basque,
Ses grelots, son cri fantasque,
Met les sbires en défaut.
Frappons le sol d'un pied sonore!
Dans nos mains frappons encore!
La nuit vient et puis l'aurore,
Rien n'y fait dansons toujours!
Plus d'un baiser s'échappe et vole;
Se plaint-on? la danse folle,
Coupe aux mères la parole,
C'est tout gain pour les amours.
Le bon curé, qui pour nous suivre,
Laisse tout, mais qui sait vivre,
Ne voit rien avec son livre,
De ce qu'il ne doit pas voir.
Mais quoi! Demain les Camadules
Sortiront de leurs cellules;
Puis, carème, jeûne et bulles,
Sur la terre vont pleuvoir.
Come, Romany children,
all singing your gay refrains,
leave the plain and the mountain
to dance to the tambourines.
Come, oh children of Romagne,
All singing this happy refrain.
Leave the mountains and the plain
And dance here to the tambourines!
Holy Rome gives you these pleasures
and the Madonna, high in her oak tree,
forgives you for them,
veiling her face when she has to.
From Holy Rome these pleasures come
With blessing too of the Madonn’
Who turns a blind eye thereupon
Whenever this is necessary.
The masked carnival,
sequined bodices,
bells, fantastic cry,
throws the police off the scent.
The carnival with all its masks
The ladies in their sparkling basques
The bells ring out, uncork the casks
Only the gendarme has failed to show.
Let us stamp our feet
and clap our hands!
Night comes, and then the dawn.
There is nothing to do but keep dancing!
Stamp your feet upon the ground
And loud upon the table pound.
The dawn will soon be coming round
When the night is through, so now let’s dance!
More than one kiss escapes and flies off.
Do we complain? The wild dance
makes mothers speechless.
So much the better for love.
More than a kiss escapes away
The dancing is a mad display
The mothers don’t know what to say
So love affairs are undisturbed.
The good parish priest, who leaves everything to
follow us,
but who knows how to live,
doesn't see anything with his book
that he is not supposed to see.
But what! Tomorrow the Camaldolese
will leave their cells;
and Lent, fasting and bulls
will rain onto the earth.
The priest abandons all with ease
To follow us: he lives to please
Himself – and so he nothing sees
That he is not supposed to see.
But soon the monks with keen intent
Will call upon us to repent
And fasting, papal bulls and Lent
Will rain down on the town.
Translations by Chris Abbey, Irene Konyndyk
Translation from French to English copyright ©
2004 by Faith J. Cormier [email protected]
Franz SCHUBERT (1797-1828)
Der Geistertanz, D494 (c 1816)
Text by Friedrich von Matthisson (1761-1831)
Die bretterne Kammer
Der Toten erbebt,
Wenn zwölfmal den Hammer
Die Mitternacht hebt.
Rasch tanzen um Gräber
Und morsches Gebein
Wir luftigen Schweber
Den sausenden Reih'n.
Was winseln die Hunde
Beim schlafenden Herrn?
Sie wittern die Runde
Der Geister von fern.
Die Raben entflattern
Der wüsten Abtei,
Und flieh'n an den Gattern
Des Kirchhofs vorbei.
Wir gaukeln und scherzen
Hinab und empor
Gleich irrenden Kerzen
Im dunstigen Moor.
O Herz, dessen Zauber
Zur Marter uns ward,
Du ruhst nun in tauber
Verdumpfung erstarrt;
Tief bargst du im düstern
Gemach unser Weh;
Wir Glücklichen flüstern
Dir fröhlich: Ade!
The wooden chamber
Of the dead quakes,
When the hammer strikes twelve times
At midnight.
Quickly we dance around graves
And mouldering bones
We the airy hovering creatures;
A sprightly dance.
Why are the dogs whining
Next to their sleeping master?
They sense from afar
The spirits dancing around.
Ravens fly out
Of the deserted abbey,
And escape past the gates
Of the churchyard.
We quiver and joke
Up and down
Like flickering candles
In a foggy swamp.
O heart, whose enchantment
Became our torment,
You rest now in deaf,
Immobile insensitivity.
You hid our pain
In the deep, dark chamber;
We, the happy ones,
Joyously whisper to you: Farewell!
Translation from German to English copyright © by Nassim Bedjis
Felix MENDELSSOHN (1809-1847)
Zigeunerlied, MWVG5
Text by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749-1832)
Im Nebelgeriesel, im tiefen Schnee,
Im wilden Wald, in der Winternacht,
Ich hörte der Wölfe Hungergeheul,
Ich hörte der Eulen Geschrei,
Wille wau wau wau!
Wille wo wo wo!
Wito hu!
Ich schoß einmal eine Katz' am Zaun,
Der Anne, der Hex' ihre schwarze Katz';
Da kamen des Nachts sieben Wehrwölf' zu mir,
Es waren sieben Weiber vom Dorf.
Wille wau wau wau!
Wille wo wo wo!
Wito hu!
Ich kannte sie all', ich kannte sie wohl
Die Anne, die Ursel, die Käth',
Die Liese, die Barbe, die Ev', die Beth';
Sie heulten im Kreise mich an.
Wille wau wau wau!
Wille wo wo wo!
Wito hu!
Da nannt' ich sie alle beim Namen laut:
Was willst du Anne? was willst du Beth?
Sie rüttelten sich, sie schüttelten sich
Und liefen heulend davon.
Wille wau wau wau!
Wille wo wo wo!
Wito hu!
In the misty drizzle, in the deep snow,
In the wild woods on a winter’s night, wau!
I heard the hungry howl of wolves,
I heard the screech of owls: Wille wau!
Wille wau wau wau! Wille wow o wo! Wito hu!
I shot a cat once by the fence –
Anna the witch’s black cat;
Wau!
There came by night seven werewolves to me,
There were seven women from the village.
Wille wau wau wau! Wille wow o wo! Wito hu!
I knew them all, I knew them well:
Anna, Barby, Ursula, Kathy, Wau wau!
Lisa, Barby, Eva, Beth;
Forming a circle, they howled at me.
Wille wau wau wau! Wille wow o wo! Wito hu!
Then I loudly named them all:
What do you want, Anna?
What do you want, Beth?
They shook themselves, they gave a shake
And ran howling away.
Wille wau wau wau! Wille wo wow o! Wito hu!
Wow o wo wito Hu!
Translation from German to English copyright © by Emily Ezust [email protected]
Heinrich August MARSCHNER (1795-1861)
Liebeserklärung eines Schneidergesellen from Sechs Gesänge, op 52 (c 1830)
Text by Karl Herloßsohn
O süßes Mädchen, sei doch nur lein Klotz!
Gestatte, dass ich bugle deinen Trotz.
Lass mich in dein Gemüth
Ein großes Knopfloch weben,
Lass mich an deiner Set’
Als schlanke Elle schweben,
Ach meine Liebe ist unendlich
Wie ein Bandurm.
Für dich, für dich ließ ich mich schmeißen,
Scmeißen selbst in den
Allertiefsten, tiefsten Schuldthurm.
Blickt mich dein Auge an,
Sing’ ich wie eine Lerche,
Wo nicht: so schreit es auf
Wie Schweine in der Pferche!
Du meiner Sehnsuch Schnaps,
Du labend Herzensbier,
Der Schneiderinnung du, o allerschönste Zier:
Hört’ ich dein Zünglein nur
Ein einzig’s Wörtlein Läuten,
Das Liebe spricht,
Das Liebe Spricht,
Ich ließ’ mich also gleich abhäuten!
O gib doch meiner Brust
Den allerschönsten Stoss,
O sei mein Winterpelz,
Am Fenster sei mein Moos!
A declaration of love by a tailor’s apprentice
(an entertainment based on set words and closing rhymes)
O sweet girl give up your airs of resistance!
Let me iron away your defiance.
Let me sew a buttonhole large
In your feelings,
Let me stand at your side
As a slender tailor’s rule,
My love too is endless
As a tapeworm.
For you, for you, I had myself sent,
Had myself sent,
To the very deepest, deepest gaol tower.
Should your eye fall on me,
I sing like a lark,
Should it not: Loud squeals break out
Like pigs in a pen!
You, my schnaps of yearning,
My quenching beloved beer,
You, of the tailor’s guild, loveliest ornament:
If I heard your tongue
Speak but a single word of love
But uttered once,
But uttered once,
I would have myself flayed at once!
O give my chest
The most beautiful thrust of all,
O be my winter coat,
The moss upon my window!
Translation by Matthew Harris, Emily Ezust, Lynn Thompson, Joseph Massaad, Lawrence Snyder,
Charles Timothy Brooks
Francis POULENC (1899-1963)
Chanson à boire from Chansons gaillardes (1922)
Anonymous 17th century text
Vive notre Hȏtesse
Qui, sans cesse,
Le verre à la main
Nous met en train
Vive notre Hȏtesse
Qui, sans cesse,
Bannit loin d’ici,
Le noir souci.
De mille traits elle assasionne
Les mets exquis qu’elle nous donne,
Avec elle on est sans façon
Rien n’est si bon – la, la, la.
Ses beaux yeux pleins de feux
Sont de puissantes armes,
Tout mortel sous les cieux
En éprouve les charmes.
Sur les charmes les puissants
Elle remporte la victoire,
Qu’elle receive notre encens
Et que tout parle de sa gloire
- La, la, la.
J’ai trop bu
Mais ne boirai plus, ah!
Vive notre Hȏtesse
Qui, sans cesse,
Le verre à la main
Nous met en train
Vive notre Hȏtesse
Qui, sans cesse,
Bannit loin d’ici,
Le noir souci oua ah.
Three cheers for our hostess
Who continuously,
With glass in hand,
Keeps us going.
Three cheers for our hostess
Who continuously
Banishes
Our darkest sorrows.
She seasons in a thousand different ways
The exquisite dishes that she brings.
We cast off our inhibitions with her.
Nothing else is as good – la, la, la.
Her beautiful eyes full of fire
Are powerful weapons
Whose charm is perceived
By every mortal under the sun.
With her powerful charms
She wins every time.
May she accept our gushing praise
And everyone speak of her glory
- La, la la.
I’ve drunk too much
But now I shall drink no more!
Three cheers for our hostess
Who continuously,
With glass in hand,
Keeps us going.
Three cheers for our hostess
Who continuously
Banishes
Our darkest sorrows – ooh ah.
Translations by Chris Abbey & Irene Konyndyk
Marcus LUDWIG (born 1960)
Sechs Triviallieder von 1916
Mordgeschichte
Feldpost
Ich liebte einst ein Mädchen
Rieke näht auf die Maschine
TEXT & TRANSLATION REQUIRED
GERMAN FOLKSONG
Ein Jäger längs dem Weiher ging
TEXT & TRANSLATION REQUIRED
James BARR (1779–1860) / Christina MACPHERSON (1864-1936)
Waltzing Matilda
Text by Banjo Patterson (1864-1941)
(arranged by Naomi Crellan)
Once a jolly swagman camped by a billabong,
Under the shade of a Coolibah tree,
And he sang as he watched and waited till his billy boil,
You'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me.
Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda,
You'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me,
And he sang as he watched and waited till his billy boil
You'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me.
Down came a jumbuck to drink at that billabong
Up jumped the swagman and grabbed him with glee,
And he sang as he shoved that jumbuck in his tucker bag
You'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me.
Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda,
You'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me,
And he sang as he shoved that jumbuck in his tucker bag
You'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me.
Up rode the squatter mounted on his thorough-bred
Down came the troopers One Two Three
Whose that jolly jumbuck you've got in your tucker bag
You'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me.
Waltzing Matilda Waltzing Matilda
You'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me
Whose that jolly jumbuck you've got in your tucker-bag
You'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me.
Up jumped the swagman sprang in to the billabong
You'll never catch me alive said he,
And his ghost may be heard as you pass by that billabong
You'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me.
Waltzing Matilda Waltzing Matilda
You'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me
And his ghost may be heard as you pass by that billabong
You'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me.
TRADITIONAL UPPLAND
Smedsvisa
En gång i min ungdom älskade jag, en flicka med ljuva och rena behag. Hon lova' mej tro i lust och i
nöd, allt intill sin blekaste död. Hej hopp fadderiddlade raddladerej. Hej hopp fadderiddlade
raddladerej. Hon lova' mej tro i lust och i nöd, allt intill sin blekaste död.
TRANSLATION REQUIRED
TRADITIONAL US
Dry Bones
Arr. Livingston Gearhart
Dese ole bones o' mine
shall rise together in the morning.
Dem bones dem bones dem dry bones
shall rise together in the morning.
From the toe bone to the foot bone
From the foot bone to the ankle bone
From the ankle bone to the leg bone
From the leg bone to the knee bone
From the knee bone to the thigh bone
From the thigh bone to the hip bone
From the hip bone to the back bone
From the back bone to the finger bone
From the finger bone to the hand bone
From the hand bone to the arm bone
From the arm bone to the shoulder bone
From the shoulder bone to the neck bone
From the neck bone to the head bone,
Dem bones dem bones dem dry bones
shall rise together in the morning.
Program 2 (Adelaide, Canberra, Melbourne 8pm, Perth, Sydney 2pm)
Approximate duration (including interval but not encore): 100 min
The Singing Club – Four Centuries of Song
Hans Leo HASSLER (1564-1612)
Tanzen und Springen
Text by Anonymous
Tanzen und springen,
Singen und klingen, fa la la...
Lauten und Geigen
Soll'n auch nicht schweigen,
Zu musizieren
und jubilieren
Steht mir all mein Sinn. fa la la...
Schöne Jungfrauen
In grünen Auen, fa la la...
Mit ihn'n spazieren
Und konversieren,
Freundlich zu scherzen
Freut mich im Herzen
Für Silber und Gold. fa la la...
Dancing and leaping
singing and ringing, fa-la-la-la, ...
Lutes and violins as well
are not expected to be silent;
playing my instrument
and singing joyfully
is all my wish. Fa-la-la-la, ...
Pretty maidens
on green meads, fa-la-la-la, ...
strolling with them
and conversing with them,
dallying gallantly
delights my heart
more than siver and gold. Fa-la-la-la, ...
Translation from German to English copyright © 2006 by Bertram Kottmann, BKottmann (AT) tonline.de
Orlando di LASSO (c 1532-1594)
Bon jour: et puis, quelles nouvelles?
Text by Clément Marot (1496-1544)
Bon jour, et puis, quelles nouvelles?
N'en sçauroit on de vous avoir?
S'en brief ne m'en faictes sçavoir,
J'en feray de toutes nouvelles.
Puis que vous estes si rebelles,
Bon vespre, bonn nuict, bon soir,
Bon jour!
Mais si vous cueillez des groyselles,
Envoyez m'en; car, pour tout voir,
Je suis gros: mais c'est de vous veoir
Quelcque matin, mes damoyselles;
Bon jour!
To the Damsels that are too Lazy to Write to their Suitors
Good day! And may I add, What's new?
Is there no way of hearing from you?
If you don't inform me soon
I'll make up news of you all.
Since you are so recalcitrant,
I bid you good afternoon, good night,
good day!
But if you're picking berries,
do send me some, because I'm desperate
to see things - and "berry keen" to see
you, my ladies, some morning soon.
Good day!
Translation from French to English copyright © 2001 by Peter Low, Peter.Low (AT) canterbury (DOT)
ac (DOT) nz
Matona mia cara
Text by Anonymous
Matona mia cara, mi follere canzon
cantar sotto finestra, Lanze bon compagnon.
Don don don diridiridon don don don
Ti prego m'ascoltare che mi cantar de bon
e mi ti foller bene come greco e capon.
Don don don diridiridon don don don
Com'andar alle cazze, cazzar con le falcon,
mi ti portar beccazze, grasse come rognon
Don don don diridiridon don don don
Se mi non saper dire tante belle rason
Petrarca mi non saper, ne fonte d'Helicon.
Don don don diridiridon don don don
Se ti mi foller bene mi non esser poltron;
mi ficcar tutta notte, urtar come monton
Don don don diridiridon don don don
My lovely Lady, I want a song to sing
Under your window: this lancer is jolly fellow!
Don don don, diri diri, don don don don.
Please listen to me, because I'm singing well
And I'm as fond of you as a Greek is of a capon!
Don don don, diri diri, don don don don.
When I go hunting, I hunt with the falcon,
And I'll bring you a woodcock, as fat as a kidney
Don don don, diri diri, don don don don.
I cannot tell you many elegant things,
I know nothing of Petrarch, nor the Fountain of Helicon
Don don don, diri diri, don don don don.
If you'll love me I won't be lazy
I will fuck all night long, I will thrust like a ram
Don don don, diri diri, don don don don.
Choral Wiki – no translator attributed
Carlo GESUALDO (c 1560-1613)
Sento che nel partire
Text by Alfonso d’Avalos (1502-1546)
Sento che nel partire
il cor giunge al morire.
Ond’io, misero ognor, ogni momento
grido “morir mi sento”
non sperando di far a voi ritorno.
E così, dico mille volte il giorno
“partir io non vorrei”
se col partir accresco i dolor miei.
In taking leave I feel
my heart is close to death.
As I, always wretched, call out
at every moment “I feel myself dying”
with no hope of returning to you.
And thus I say a thousand times a day
“I would rather not leave”
if by leaving I increase my suffering.
English translations by Susannah Howe ⓟ & © 2010 Naxos Rights International Ltd. 8.570549
Hans Leo HASSLER
Mein gmüth ist mir verwirret
Lustgarten Neuer Teutscher Gesäng / Balletti, Galliarden und Intraden, Nürnberg 1601
Mein Gmüth ist mir verwirret,
das macht ein Jungfrau zart,
bin ganz und gar verirret,
mein Herz das kränckt sich hart,
hab tag und nacht kein Ruh,
führ allzeit grosse klag,
thu stets seufftzen und weinen,
in trauren schier verzag.
Ach daß sie mich thet fragen,
was doch die uersach sei,
warum ich führ solch klagen,
ich wolt irs sagen frei,
daß sie allein die ist,
die mich so sehr verwundt,
köndt ich ir Hertz erweichen,
würd ich bald wider g'sund.
Reichlich ist sie gezieret,
mit schön thugend ohn Ziel,
höflich wie sie gebüret,
ihrs gleichen ist nicht viel,
für andern Jungfraun zart
führt sie allzeit den Preiß,
wann ichs anschau, vermeine,
ich sei im Paradeiß.
Ich kann nicht ganz erzehlen,
Ihr schon und tugend viel,
Fur all'n wollt ich's erwehlen,
wär es nur auch ihr will,
Dass sie ihr Herz und Lieb
geg'n mir wendet allzeit,
So wurd mein Schmerz und klagen,
verkehrt in grosse Freud.
Aber ich muß auffgeben,
und allzeit traurig sein,
solts mir gleich kosten Leben,
das ist mein gröste Pein,
dann ich bin ir zu schlecht,
darumb sie mein nicht acht,
Gott wolts für leid bewahren,
durch sein Göttliche macht.
I’m all mixed up;
This a tender maid has done to me!
I’m totally lost;
My heart is sick and sore.
I get no rest by day or night,
My pain is always so great.
I’m sighing and crying all the time;
I’m almost in despair.
If only she would ask me:
What’s the matter with you?
I would tell her straight
Why I carry around such pain.
That she alone is the one
Who hurts me so;
If I could soften her heart
I’d soon be well again.
Her lovely virtues adorn her
Rich and without end.
Gracious is her bearing;
Before other tender maidens
She always takes the prize.
When I look at her,
I think I am in Paradise.
Translation by Christopher Abbey
Antonio SCANDELLO (1517-1580)
Ein henlein weis
Nawe und lustige Weltliche Deudsche Liedlein, Dresden 1570
Ein henlein weis
Mit gantzem fleis
Sucht seine spies
Bey einem han,
Und hub zu gacksen an:
K aka ney,
Das henlein legt ein ey.
Backen wire in kuchelein,
Mueselein und streubelein,
Und trinken auch den kühlen wein.
K aka ney,
Das henlein legt ein ey.
A little white hen with fluffy feathers
Looks for food, for golden grain.
O, hear her cackle call!
K aka nay,
The hen lays us an egg.
Baker make us little pies and little cakes,
Spicy cakes with frosting sweet.
We’ll eat the cakes and drink the wine.
K aka nay,
The hen lays us an egg.
Translation by Christopher Abbey
ANONYMOUS
Quand je bois du vin clairet – Tourdion
Bei Pierre Attaignant, Paris 1530
Quand je bois du vin clairet,
Amis, tout tourney,
Aussi désormais
Je bois Anjou ou Arbois.
Chantons et buvons,
À ce flacon faisons la guerre,
Chantons et buvons,
Mes amis, buvons donc.
Buvons bien, buvons mes amis,
Trinquons, buvons, gaiement chantons.
En mangeant d’un gras jambon,
À ce flacon faisons la guerre.
Le bon vin nous a rendus gais,
Chantons, oublions nos peines, chantons.
En mangeant d’un gras jambon,
À ce flacon faisons la guerre.
When I drink a Claret Wine,
Friends, my head turns,
But that is true now also
When I drink Anjou or Arbois.
Let’s sing and drink,
Let’s make war on this bottle
Let’s sing and drink,
My friends, drink up then.
Drink up my friends,
Let’s toast and drink and sing,
While eating a fat ham,
let’s make war on this bottle.
Good wine makes us gay,
let’s sing, forget our troubles, let’s sing.
While eating a fat ham,
let’s make war on this bottle.
Translation by Christopher Abbey
European Romantics
Robert SCHUMANN (1810-1856)
Die Minnesänger, op 33 (c 1840)
Text by Heinrich Heine (1797-1856)
Zu dem Wettgesange schreiten
Minnesänger jetzt herbei;
Ei, das gibt ein seltsam Streiten,
Ein gar seltsames Turnei!
Phantasie, die schäumend wilde,
Ist des Minnesängers Pferd,
Und die Kunst dient ihm zum Schilde,
Und das Wort, das ist sein Schwert.
Hübsche Damen schauen munter
Vom beteppichten Balkon,
Doch die rechte ist nicht drunter
Mit der rechten Lorbeerkron'.
Andre Leute, wenn sie springen
In die Schranken, sind gesund;
Doch wir Minnesänger bringen
Dort schon mit die Todeswund'.
Und wem dort am besten dringet
Liederblut aus Herzensgrund,
Der ist Sieger, der erringet
Bestes Lob aus schönstem Mund.
In the lists of songs engaging,
Minnesingers are marching by.
Strange the fight that they are waging,
Strange the tournament where they vie!
Fancy, ever wild and fuming
Is the minnesinger’s steed,
And his art as shield assuming,
The word turns to sword at need.
Beauteous women, with glances pleasant,
From a draped balcony look down.
But the right one is not present
With the proper laurel crown.
Other combatants, when they spring
To the lists, are sound and whole,
But we minnesingers do bring
A deathly wound in our soul.
In the lists of songs engaging,
Minnesingers are marching by.
Strange the fight that they are waging,
Strange the tournament where they vie!
Translation by Matthew Harris, Emily Ezust, Lynn Thompson, Joseph Massaad, Lawrence Snyder,
Charles Timothy Brooks
Heinrich August MARSCHNER (1795-1861)
Liebeserklärung eines Schneidergesellen (c 1830)
Text by Karl Herloßsohn
O süßes Mädchen, sei doch nur lein Klotz!
Gestatte, dass ich bugle deinen Trotz.
Lass mich in dein Gemüth
Ein großes Knopfloch weben,
Lass mich an deiner Set’
Als schlanke Elle schweben,
Ach meine Liebe ist unendlich
Wie ein Bandurm.
Für dich, für dich ließ ich mich schmeißen,
Scmeißen selbst in den
Allertiefsten, tiefsten Schuldthurm.
Blickt mich dein Auge an,
Sing’ ich wie eine Lerche,
Wo nicht: so schreit es auf
Wie Schweine in der Pferche!
Du meiner Sehnsuch Schnaps,
Du labend Herzensbier,
Der Schneiderinnung du, o allerschönste Zier:
Hört’ ich dein Zünglein nur
Ein einzig’s Wörtlein Läuten,
Das Liebe spricht,
Das Liebe Spricht,
Ich ließ’ mich also gleich abhäuten!
O gib doch meiner Brust
Den allerschönsten Stoss,
O sei mein Winterpelz,
Am Fenster sei mein Moos!
A declaration of love by a tailor’s apprentice
(an entertainment based on set words and closing rhymes)
O sweet girl give up your airs of resistance!
Let me iron away your defiance.
Let me sew a buttonhole large
In your feelings,
Let me stand at your side
As a slender tailor’s rule,
My love too is endless
As a tapeworm.
For you, for you, I had myself sent,
Had myself sent,
To the very deepest, deepest gaol tower.
Should your eye fall on me,
I sing like a lark,
Should it not: Loud squeals break out
Like pigs in a pen!
You, my schnaps of yearning,
My quenching beloved beer,
You, of the tailor’s guild, loveliest ornament:
If I heard your tongue
Speak but a single word of love
But uttered once,
But uttered once,
I would have myself flayed at once!
O give my chest
The most beautiful thrust of all,
O be my winter coat,
The moss upon my window!
Translation by Matthew Harris, Emily Ezust, Lynn Thompson, Joseph Massaad, Lawrence Snyder,
Charles Timothy Brooks
Franz SCHUBERT (1797-1828)
Sehnsucht, D656 (c 1819)
Text by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749-1832)
Nur wer die Sehnsucht kennt
Weiß, was ich leide!
Allein und abgetrennt
Von aller Freude,
1
Seh ich [ans] Firmament
2
Nach [jener] Seite.
Ach! der mich liebt und kennt,
Ist in der Weite.
Es schwindelt mir, es brennt
Mein Eingeweide.
Nur wer die Sehnsucht kennt
Weiß, was ich leide!
Only one who knows longing
Only one who knows longing
Knows what I suffer!
Alone and cut off
From all joy,
I look into the firmament
In that direction.
Ach! he who loves and knows me
Is far away.
I am reeling,
My entrails are burning.
Only one who knows longing
Knows what I suffer!
Translation from German to English copyright © by Lawrence Snyder, ldsnyder (AT) dcn (DOT)
davis (DOT) ca (DOT) us
Edward ELGAR (1857-1934)
After many a dusty mile from From the Greek Anthology, op 45 (c 1902)
Translated by Edmund William Gosse (1849-1928)
After many a dusty mile,
Wanderer, linger here awhile;
Stretch your limbs in this long grass;
Through these pines a wind shall pass
That shall cool you with its wing.
Grasshoppers shall shout and sing,
While the shepherd on the hill,
Near a fountain warbling still,
Modulates, when noon is mute,
Summer songs along his flute;
Underneath a spreading tree,
None so easy-limbed as he,
Sheltered from the dog-star's heat.
Rest; and then, on freshened feet,
You shall pass the forest through.
It is Pan that counsels you.
Antonín DVOŘÁK (1841-1904)
Selections from Five choruses for male voices after Lithuanian folksongs, op 27 (c 1878)
III
Liebeslied im Garten (The Love in the Garden)
The Pledge (Přípověď lásky)
Přípověď lásky
Language: Czech
Přijď, má panenko na jaře v máji,
kdy divy kvetou v matčině sádku.
Kolem záhonků zelená routa,
a ve prostředku lilije sněžné.
V máji utrhnu pestrou kytičku,
tu já odešlu k svému miláčku.
Nepodám sama, aniž po družce,
severním větrům dám ji převáti.
Přijď, můj miláčku, na jaře v máji,
kdy divy kvetou v otcově sádku.
Kolem zahrádky zelené štípky,
a ve prostředku samé jabloňky.
Potom utrhnu já dvě jablíčka,
ta dvě odešlu k svému děvčátku.
Sám nepodám je, ani po jiném,
teplými větry dám je převáti.
V
Spatz und Eule (Owl and Sparrow)
The Sparrow's Party (Hostina)
Hostina
Language: Czech
I vařil vrabeček pivičko, vrabec,
na hostinu všecky si ptáčky svolal.
2 min
Vrabec tu na skočnu sovíčku vyzval,
i šlápnul panence sovínce na prst,
Sovíčka jde k soudu, do plůtku vrabec,
dam dali dam, dali dam.
Edvard GRIEG (1843-1907)
Bådn Låt from Album for Mandssang, op 30
TEXT AND TRANSLATION REQUIRED
INTERVAL
Jean CRAS (1878-1935)
Dans la montagne (1925)
Text by Maurice Boucher
I
L’appel de la cloche
Toit d’église avec deux bras maigres,
Seul dans les champs, à mi-sommet,
Tient une cloche sur le ciel.
Chose, frȇle, petite voix
Qui s’egrène dans la lumière :
Un signe d’elle, le long des champs
et des listères,
Sortant des plis de la montagne,
Voici des hommes et des femmes,
Qui remontent par les sentiers,
Un livre lourd entre les doigts,
Et le front chargé de prière.
Church roof with two narrow wings,
Alone in the fields, halfway up the hill,
A bell, small and fragile,
Silhouetted against the sky.
With gentle voice its ring is cast into light.
In response to its summons
The men and women come streaming
Out of the cracks in the mountains
Across the fields,
Along the footpaths,
Each carrying a heavy book in their hands
And with a gaze heavy with prayer.
II
La route
De la crȇte, parmi les branches,
Une blancheur droite s’élève.
Est-ce la route, tout à l’heure ?
Portera-t-elle mon poids, mon âme
Et mon voyage ?
Il me semble pourtant,
Ce n’est qu’entre deux peupliers le ciel.
Between the branches, on the crest,
A white line appears.
Is i tat last the road ?
Will it bear my weight, my soul,
My journey ?
But the nit transpires to be merely the sky
Between two poplars.
III
Un jeune sapin se balance
Un jeune sapin se balance
En bordure du ciel,
Tȇte frȇle qui se penche,
Branches souples qui se creusent.
Telle une fillete heureuse
Qui tient sa jupe et qui danse.
A young fir sways
Against the sky,
Leaning its gentle crown.
Branches supple
Like the limbs of a little girl
Who holds her skirt as she merrily dances.
IV
Soir
Les courbes molles des collines
S’apaisent pour les nuits tranquilles.
Demain mȗrit dans leur corbeille
Tressée à plat au bord du ciel
Avec du silence et du gris.
Et l’ombre est déjà sur nos mains.
The gentle curves of the hills
Come to rest for the tranquil night.
Their basket harbours the morrow
Braided with silence and grey
At the edge of the sky
Whose shadows are already on our hands.
V
Nuit
Un mur de maison clȏt les assoupis.
Amis, oubliez, dormez, votre nuit.
Le jour est de l’autre cȏté de la terre.
Tired villagers safe behind domestic walls.
Friends, forget, sleep the night away.
Day is on the other side of the world.
Translations by Chris Abbey & Irene Konyndyk