feb 19, 20, 21 feb 19, 20, 21
Transcription
feb 19, 20, 21 feb 19, 20, 21
feb 19, 20, 21 Shakespeare Winterfest: The Tempest Sibelius: The Tempest, Incidental Music: Ariel’s Songs Ariels første sang Kom herhid paa gule Sand, Haand i Haand, Allemand; naar I nejet har og kysset, — Havets vilde Larm er dysset, — træder flink med lette Fjed; Aander, synger Koret med. Hør, hør! Vov, vov! Hunden gjøer; Vov, vov! Kykkeliky! Hør, hør, hvor kjæk og kry Hanen galer højt i sky, højt i Sky! Kykkeliky! Ariels anden sang Fem Favne dybt har din Fader sin Bo Koraller af hans Ben er skabt; til Perler blev hans Øjne to; slet Intet af ham er spildt eller tabt; hver Del har Havet forvandlet brat alt til en kostelig, sjælden Skat. Havfruer ham hædre med Klokkeklang; nu klinger den, hør: — Ding, Dang, Ding Dang .— Ariels tredje sang Medens trygt I snorke her, er den vaagne Morder nær, tager Tiden i agt. Hvis I livet frelse vil op af Søvnen! se vel til! vaagn op! vær paa Vagt! Vær paa Vagt. Ariels fjerde sang Før du drage kan dit Vejr, sige “kom” og raabe “her”! let paa Taa skal En og Hver trippe, hoppe, være nær, — Mester, har du saa mig kjær? Ariels femte sang Med Bien drikker jeg af Krus, Konvallens Bæger er mit Hus, mens Uglerne tude, der har jeg mit Ly; jeg sadler op en Flagermus og rider saa lystelig Sommer i By, hvor Blomster i Klynge paa Grenene gro skal jeg leve med Lyst i min luftige Bo. Ariel’s First Song Come unto these yellow sands, And then take hands: Curtsied when you have, and kissed The wild wawes whist, Foot it featly here and there; And, sweet sprites, the burden bear. Hark, hark! Bow-wow! The watch-dogs bark: Bow-wow! Cock-a-doodle doo! Hark, hark! I hear The strain of strutting chanticleer Cry, Cock-a-diddle-doo. Shakespeare Winterfest: The Tempest Lilli Paasikivi, who was engaged as soloist for these concerts, has been forced to withdraw for health reasons. We are pleased to announce that mezzo Heather Johnson has graciously agreed to step in on short notice to sing both of the works on this program. Please note that the Shakespeare texts being read in these performances of Sibelius’ The Tempest were selected by Joe Dowling himself, rather than Osmo Vänskä, as is incorrectly stated of page 43 of Showcase. Heather Johnson, mezzo Minnesota native Heather Johnson, now welcomed for her Minnesota Orchestra debut, is acclaimed for both opera and concert performances throughout North America and in Europe. Recent, upcoming: Her engagements this season include singing in Salome for her Dallas Opera debut, the world premiere of Jeremy Howard Beck’s The Long Walk Home with Opera Saratoga and The Rake’s Progress with Boston Lyric Opera. In recent seasons she has appeared with American Ballet Theater, Virginia Opera and Baltimore Concert Opera, and at the Moab, Tanglewood and Napa Valley music festivals. Locally she sang Rosina in The Barber of Seville with Mill City Summer Opera. Ariel’s Second Song Full fathom five thy father lies; Of his bones are coral made; Those are pearls that were his eyes: Nothing of him that doth fade, But doth suffer a sea-change Into something rich and strange. Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell: Ding-dong. Hark! now I hear them—ding-dong, bell. Additional highlights: She has sung with the Metropolitan Opera, Boston Lyric Opera, Sarasota Opera and New York City Opera, and she has performed in concert with the Boston Pops Orchestra, Virginia Symphony and New York Choral Society. More: lombardoassociates.org, heatherjohnsonmezzo.com. Ariel’s Third Song While you here do snoring lie, Open-eyed conspiracy His time doth take: If of life you keep a care, Shake off slumber, and beware: Awake! Awake! Ariel’s Fourth Song Before you can say, “Come” and “go”, And breathe twice and cry, “so, so!” Each one, tripping on his toe, Will be here with mop and mow. Do you love me, Master? no? Ariel’s Fifth Song Where the bee sucks, there suck I; In a cowslip’s bell I lie; There I couch when owls do cry. On the bat’s back I do fly After summer merrily: Merrily, merrily shall I live now Under the blossom that hangs on the bough. – Texts excerpted from William Shakespeare’s The Tempest GE-1415-106 Tempest insert, Feb 19-21.indd 1 feb 19, 20, 21 Texts and Translations Berlioz: Les nuits d’été (Summer Nights) Villanelle Villanelle Le printemps est venu, ma belle; c’est le mois des amants béni; et l’oiseau, satinant son aile, dit ses vers au rebord du nid. Oh! viens donc, sur ce banc de mousse pour parler de nos beaux amours, et dis-moi de ta voix si douce: “Toujours!” Spring has come, my lovely; this is the month most blessed by lovers; and the bird, preening its wings until they are like satin, recites its lines at the edge of its nest. Oh! Come then onto this mossy bank to speak of our beautiful loves, and tell me in your voice so soft: “Forever!” Loin, bien loin, égarant nos courses, faisant fuir le lapin caché, et le daim au miroir des sources admirant son grand bois penché, puis chez nous, tout heureux, tout aises, en panier enlaçant nos doigts, revenons, rapportant des fraises des bois. Far, so far away, we stray from our path, setting to flight the hiding rabbit and the buck admiring in the mirror of the water its great lowered antlers; then homeward we shall go, content and at ease, entwining our fingers together like baskets; and we shall return home carrying wild strawberries! Quand viendra la saison nouvelle, quand auront disparu les froids, tous les deux nous irons, ma belle, pour cueillir le muguet aux bois; sous nos pieds égrénant les perles, oue l’on voit au matin trembler, Nous irons écouter les merles siffler. When the new season arrives, when the cold is gone, together we will go, my lovely, to gather lilies of the valley in the woods; strewing beneath our feet the pearls we see trembling each morning, we shall go to listen to the blackbirds singing. 2/17/15 9:42 AM feb 19, 20, 21 Le spectre de la rose Soulêve ta paupière close qu’effleure un songe virginal; Je suis le spectre d’une rose que tu portais hier au bal. Tu me pris encore emperlée des pleurs d’argent de l’arrosoir, et, parmi la fête étoilée, tu me promenas tout le soir. Shakespeare Winterfest: The Tempest The Ghost of the Rose Open your closed eyelid which is gently brushed by a virginal dream! I am the ghost of the rose that you wore last night at the ball. You took me when I was still sprinkled with pearls of silvery tears from the watering-can, and, among the sparkling festivities, you carried me the entire night. Ô toi qui de ma mort fus cause, sans que tu puisses le chasser, toutes les nuits mon spectre rose a ton chevet viendra danser. Mais ne crains rien, je ne réclame ni messe ni De Profundis; ce léger parfum est mon äme, et j’arrive du du paradis. O you, who caused my death: without the power to chase it away, you will be visited every night by my ghost, which will dance at your bedside. But fear nothing; I demand neither mass nor De Profundis; this mild perfume is my soul, and I’ve come from Paradise. Mon destin fut digne d’envie, et pour avoir un sort si beau, plus d’un aurait donné sa vie, car sur ton sein j’ai mon tombeau, et sur l’albâtre où je repose un poëte avec un baiser écrivit: “Ci-gît une rose que tous les rois vonlt jalouser.” My destiny is worthy of envy; and to have a fate so fine, more than one would give his life for on your breast I have my tomb, and on the alabaster where I rest, a poet with a kiss wrote: “Here lies a rose, of which all kings may be jealous.” Sur les lagunes On the Lagoons Ma belle amie est morte: je pleurerai toujours; sous la tombe elle emporte mon âme et mes amours. Dans le ciel, sans m’attendre, elle s’en retourna; l’ange qui l’emmena ne voulut pas me prendre. Que mon sort es amer! Ah! sans amour, s’en aller sur la mer! My beautiful love is dead, I shall weep always; into the tomb, she has taken my soul and my love. Without waiting for me, she has returned to heaven. The angel which took her there did not want to take me. How bitter is my fate! Ah! without love, to go to sea! La blanche créature Eest couchée au cercueil. comme dans la nature tout me paraît en deuil! La colombe oubliée pleure et songe à l’absent; mon âme pleure et sent qu’elle est dépareillée. Que mon sort est amer! Ah! sans amour, s’en aller sur la mer! The white creature is lying in the coffin; how all in Nature seems bereaved to me! The forgotten dove weeps and dreams of the one who is absent; my soul cries and feels that it has been abandoned. How bitter is my fate! Ah! without love, to go to sea! Sur moi la nuit immense s’étend comme un linceul; je chante ma romance que le ciel entend seul. Ah! comme elle était belle, Et comme je l’aimais! Je n’aimerai jamais une femme autant qu’elle. Que mon sort est amer! Ah! sans amour, s’en aller sur la mer! Above me the immense night spreads itself like a shroud; I sing my romanza that heaven alone hears. Ah! how beautiful she was, and how I loved her! I will never love another woman as much as I loved her; How bitter is my fate! ah! without love, to go to sea! GE-1415-106 Tempest insert, Feb 19-21.indd 2 Shakespeare Winterfest: The Tempest feb 19, 20, 21 Absence Absence L’île inconnue The Unknown Isle Entre nos coeurs quelle distance! Tant d’espace entre nos baisers! Ô sort amer! ô dure absence! Ô grands désirs inapaisés! Between our hearts such distance! Such space between our kisses! O bitter destiny! O harsh absence! O great, unappeasable desires! D’ici là-bas que de campagnes, que de villes et de hameaux, que de vallons et de montagnes, a lasser le pied des chevaux! Between here and there what lands, what cities and hamlets, what valleys and montains, to exhaust the feet of horses! L’aviron est d’ivoire, le pavillon de moire, le gouvernail d’or fin; j’ai pour lest une orange, pour voile une aile d’ange, pour mousse un séraphin. The oar is made of ivory, the flag is of silk, the helm is of fine gold; I have for ballast an orange, for a sail, the wing of an angel, for a deck boy, a seraph. Dites, la jeune belle! où voulez-vous aller? La voile enfle son aile, la brise va souffler! Say, young beauty, Where do you wish to go? The sail swells, The breeze will blow. Est-ce dans la Baltique, dans la mer Pacifique, dans l’île de Java? Ou bien est-ce en Norwége, cueillir la fleur de neige, ou la fleur d’Angsoka? Is it to the Baltic? To the Pacific Ocean? To the island of Java? Or is it well to Norway, to gather the flower of the snow, or the flower of Angsoka? Dites, la jeune belle, où voulez-vous aller? —Menez-moi, dit la belle, á la rive fidèle où l’on aime toujours. —Cette rive, ma chère, on ne la connaît guère au pays des amours. Say, young beauty, Where do you wish to go? —Lead me, says the beauty, to the faithful shore where one loves always! —This shore, my darling, we hardly know at all in the land of Love. – Poetry by Pierre-Jules Théophile Gautier, 1838; modified slightly by Hector Berlioz – Translation © 2015 by Emily Ezust, [email protected] Reviens, reviens, ma bien-aimée! Comme une fleur loin du soleil, la fleur de ma vie est fermée, loin de ton sourire vermeil. Au cimetière; Clair de lune Connaissez-vous la blanche tombe, où flotte avec un son plaintif l’ombre d’un if? Sur l’if une pâle colombe, triste et seule au soleil couchant, chante son chant: Return, return, my beloved! Like a flower far from the sun, the flower of my life is shut, far from your rosy smile! In the Graveyard; Moonlight Do you know the white tomb where floats with plaintive sound, the shadow of a yew? On the yew a pale dove, sad and alone under the setting sun, sings its song: Un air maladivement tendre, à la fois charmant et fatal, qui vous fait mal, et qu’on voudrait toujours entendre; un air, comme en soupire aux cieux a’ange amoureux. An air sickly tender, at the same time charming and ominous, which makes you feel agony yet which you wish to hear always; an air like a sigh from the heavens of a love-lorn angel. On dirait que l’âme éveillée pleure sous terre à l’unisson de la chanson, et du malheur d’être oubliée se plaint dans un roucoulement bien doucement. One would say that an awakened soul is weeping under the earth in unison with this song, and from the misfortune of being forgotten, moans its sorrow in a cooing quite soft. Sur les ailes de la musique on sent lentement revenir un souvenir; Une ombre, une forme angélique, passe dans un rayon tremblant, en voile blanc. On the wings of the music one feels the slow return of a memory. A shadow, a form angelic, passes in a trembling ray of light, in a white veil. Les belles-de-nuit demi-closes, jettent leur parfum faible et doux autour de vous, et le fantôme aux molles poses murmure en vous tendant les bras: “Tu reviendras?” The beautiful flowers of the night, half-closed, send their perfume, faint and sweet, around you, and the phantom of soft form murmurs, reaching to you her arms: “You will return!” Oh! jamais plus, près de la tombe, je n’irai, quand descend le soir au manteau noir, ecouter la pâle colombe chanter sur la pointe de l’if son chant plaintif! Oh! never again near the tomb shall I go, when night lets fall its black mantle, to hear the pale dove sing on the limb of the yew its plaintive song! Dites, la jeune belle, où voulez-vous aller? La voile ouvre son aile, la brise va souffler! Say, young beauty, where do you wish to go? The sail swells, the breeze will blow. 2/17/15 9:42 AM