young artist platform audition recitals artist... · blommans öde se’n har jag ej frågat...

YOUNG ARTIST PLATFORM AUDITION RECITALS

11.30am - 6.45pm

Adjudication 7pm - 7.15pm

Sunday 19 January 2020 Jacqueline du Pré Music Building

OXFORD LIEDER YOUNG ARTIST PLATFORMOxford Lieder is commited to finding and nurturing outstanding new talent, and to this end the Young Artist Platform was introduced in 2011. This year, Oxford Lieder is looking for two outstanding singer-pianist duos to be exemplary ambassadors for song. Each winning duo will be offered the following:

• A recital at the 2020 Oxford Lieder Festival • Recitals at UK music clubs, venues & festivals • A masterclass with an eminent Oxford Lieder Festival artist • The opportunity for involvement in Oxford Lieder's learning and participation work

YOUNG ARTIST PLATFORM WINNERS

2019 Lotte Betts-Dean mezzo-soprano & Joseph Havlat piano Ema Nikolovska mezzo-soprano & Gary Beecher piano

2018 Harriet Burns soprano & Michael Pandya piano Jessica Dandy contralto & Dylan Perez piano

2017

Peter Harris tenor & Hamish Brown piano Michael Mofidian bass-baritone & Keval Shah piano

2016 Suzanne Fischer soprano & Panaretos Kyriatzidis piano

Lorena Paz soprano & Johan Barnoin piano

2015 Nicholas Mogg baritone & Jâms Coleman piano

Josep-Ramon Olivé baritone & Ben-San Lau piano

2013 Rosalind Coad soprano & Gregory Drott piano

Kangmin Justin Kim counter-tenor & Sachika Taniyama piano Alessandro Fisher tenor & Ricardo Gosalbo piano

2012 Lucy Hall soprano & Gavin Roberts piano

Alison Rose soprano & Matthew Fletcher pianoRozanna Madylus mezzo-soprano & Finnegan Downie Dear piano

2011

Sonia Grané soprano & Edwige Herchenroder pianoVictor Sicard baritone & Anna Cardona piano

OXFORD LIEDER YOUNG ARTIST PLATFORM AUDITION SCHEDULE

11.30-12.15 - Christine Buras soprano & Thomas Ang piano12.30-13.15 - Joël Terrin baritone & Cole Knutson piano Lunch 13.15-14.30 (75 mins) Lunch is available in the foyer for those who have pre-booked. If you haven't booked it might not be too late - speak to Becca at the box office.

14.30-15.15 - Hayley Swanton soprano & Rachel Fright piano15.30-16.15 - Liam Bonthrone tenor & Marina Staneva piano

Coffee break16.15-17.00 (45 mins) Tea and Coffee is available in the foyer. If you are able to make a donation towards the cost that would be appreciated.

17.00-17.45 - Siân Dicker soprano & Krystal Tunnicliffe piano18.00-18.45 - Lauren Young mezzo-soprano & José Javier Ucendo piano

Adjudication19.00-19.15

Oxford Lieder is extremely grateful to the following Trusts and Foundations

for their invaluable support of the Young Artist Platform as part of Oxford Lieder's Young Performers Programme.

The Derrill Allatt Foundation, The Batchworth Trust,

The John S Cohen Foundation, Mr & Mrs J.A. Pye's Charitable Settlement, Jean Meikle Music Trust, The Adrian Swire Charitable Trust, Trufflehunter,

The Kirby Laing Foundation.

4

11.30 - CHRISTINE BURAS & THOMAS ANGSoprano Christine Buras is a versatile artist, equally happy on the operatic and concert stages, whose repertoire ranges from early music to contemporary performance art. She received her BA in Music History and Theory from the University of Chicago, and subsequently undertook her vocal training at the Indiana University Jacobs School of Music and the Royal Academy of Music in London. She currently studies with Pamela Kuhn. Operatic roles include both Susanna and Contessa Almaviva (Mozart Le Nozze di Figaro / Kennet Opera, Fortismere Festival Orchestra), Cupid (Purcell King Arthur / Dartington International Festival), Suor Dolcina and La Prima Sorella Cercatrice (Puccini Suor Angelica / Royal Academy Opera), Helene (Chabrier Une Education Manquee / Pop-Up Opera), Lucy (Menotti The Telephone / Salon Opera), Theodora (Handel Theodora / Benslow Opera), and

Belinda (Purcell Dido and Aeneas / Indiana University). In concert she has performed as soloist in works including the Bach St. John Passion, St. Matthew Passion, and B minor mass; Handel Messiah and Samson; Mozart Exsultate jubilate, Requiem, and C minor mass; Haydn Creation; Brahms Ein deutsches Requiem; Mendelssohn Elijah; and the Verdi Requiem. She is a founding member of the award-winning Ensemble x.y, a contemporary mixed chamber ensemble, as well as x.y song, a group of singers and pianist who together endeavour to commission and perform contemporary Art Song.

Thomas Ang studied at the Royal Academy of Music with Hamish Milne and Diana Ketler, and at the Guildhall School with Andrew West and Eugene Asti. He has won prizes for his performances of Beethoven, Frederick Delius, Arthur Bliss, and the contemporary piano repertoire, and has been praised for his thoughtful and critical programming and excellent technique. He has also earned recognition as a specialist in the music of Nikolai Kapustin, having played and conducted premieres of his compositions in the UK, US, Singapore, and Australia. In other chamber groups he maintains a strong interest in unusual repertoire of the late Romantic, as well as mid-20th-century British music. His performances have also taken him through Korea, Japan, Hong Kong, and Taiwan.

Thomas has worked with conductors such as Susanna Mälkki, Clement Power, and Sian Edwards as well as composers Oliver Knussen, John Adams and Nikolai Kapustin in playing their music. He has also played in classes by Pierre-Laurent Aimard, Steven Osborne, and Bengt Forsberg among others.

Off the concert stage, Thomas works as a repetiteur and ballet pianist. He sometimes accompanies and improvises for silent film, appearing at various festivals and events. Thomas also plays the violin, and writes poetry and piano transcriptions of songs and symphonies.

‘The rest is silence’ (Shakespeare)Please turn the page quietly 5

Henri Duparc (1848-1933)

L’invitation au voyage Charles Baudelaire (1821 - 1867)

Chanson triste Jean Lahor (1840 - 1909)

Claude Debussy (1862-1918)

Apparition Stéphane Mallarmé (1842 - 1898)

***** Richard Strauss (1864-1949)

Heimliche Aufforderung John Henry Mackay (1864 - 1933)

Die Nacht Hermann von Gilm (1812 - 1864)

Lob des Leidens

Befreit

*****

Adolf Friedrich von Schack (1815-1894)

Richard Dehmel (1863 - 1920)

Jesse Jones (b. 1978)

Margaret Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844 - 1889)

*****Jean Sibelius (1865-1957)

Im Feld ein Mädchen singt

Vitsippan

Blommans öde

Se’n har jag ej frågat

Marssnön

Var det en dröm

Margarete Susman (1872 – 1966) Frans Mikael Franzén (1772 - 1847) Johan Ludvig Runeberg (1804 - 1877)

Johan Ludvig Runeberg Josef Julius Wecksell (1838 - 1907) Josef Julius Wecksell

PROGRAMME

TEXTS & TRANSLATIONS

L'INVITATION AU VOYAGE INVITATION TO JOURNEY

Duparc / Baudelaire English Translation © Richard Stokes

Mon enfant, ma sœur,Songe à la douceurD’aller là-bas vivre ensemble!Aimer à loisir,Aimer et mourirAu pays qui te ressemble!Les soleils mouillésDe ces ciels brouillésPour mon esprit ont les charmesSi mystérieuxDe tes traîtres yeux,Brillant à travers leurs larmes.

Là, tout n’est qu’ordre et beauté,Luxe, calme et volupté!

Vois sur ces canauxDormir ces vaisseauxDont l’humeur est vagabonde;C’est pour assouvirTon moindre désirQu’ils viennent du bout du monde.-Les soleils couchantsRevêtent les champs,Les canaux, la ville entière,D’hyacinthe et d’or;Le monde s’endortDans une chaude lumière.

Là, tout n’est qu’ordre et beauté,Luxe, calme et volupté!

My child, my sister,Think how sweetTo journey there and live together!To love as we please,To love and dieIn the land that is like you!The watery sunsOf those hazy skiesHold for my spiritThe same mysterious charmsAs your treacherous eyesShining through their tears.

There - nothing but order and beauty dwell,Abundance, calm, and sensuous delight.

See on those canalsThose vessels sleeping,Vessels with a restless soul;To satisfyYour slightest desireThey come from the ends of the earth.The setting sunsClothe the fields,Canals and all the townWith hyacinth and gold;The world falls asleepIn a warm light.

There - nothing but order and beauty dwell,Abundance, calm, and sensuous delight.

CHANSON TRISTE SONG OF SADNESS

Duparc / Lahor English Translation © Richard Stokes

Dans ton cœur dort un clair de lune,Un doux clair de lune d’été,Et pour fuir la vie importune,Je me noierai dans ta clarté.

J’oublierai les douleurs passées,Mon amour, quand tu bercerasMon triste cœur et mes penséesDans le calme aimant de tes bras.

Moonlight slumbers in your heart,A gentle summer moonlight,And to escape the cares of lifeI shall drown myself in your light.

I shall forget past sorrows,My sweet, when you cradleMy sad heart and my thoughtsIn the loving calm of your arms.

6

Tu prendras ma tête malade,Oh! quelquefois sur tes genoux,Et lui diras une balladeQui semblera parler de nous;

Et dans tes yeux pleins de tristesses,Dans tes yeux alors je boiraiTant de baisers et de tendressesQue peut-être je guérirai.

You will rest my poor head,Ah! sometimes on your lap,And recite to it a balladThat will seem to speak of us;

And from your eyes full of sorrow,From your eyes I shall then drinkSo many kisses and so much loveThat perhaps I shall be healed.

APPARITION APPARITION

Debussy / Mallarmé English Translation © Richard Stokes

La lune s’attristait. Des séraphins en pleursRêvant, l’archet aux doigts, dans le calme des fleursVaporeuses, tiraient de mourantes violesDe blancs sanglots glissant sur l’azur des corolles.—C’était le jour béni de ton premier baiser.Ma songerie aimant à me martyriserS’enivrait savamment du parfum de tristesseQue même sans regret et sans déboire laisseLa cueillaison d’un Rêve au cœur qui l’a cueilli.J’errais donc, l’œil rivé sur le pavé vieilli,Quand avec du soleil aux cheveux, dans la rueEt dans le soir, tu m’es en riant apparueEt j’ai cru voir la fée au chapeau de clartéQui jadis sur mes beaux sommeils d’enfant gâtéPassait, laissant toujours de ses mains mal ferméesNeiger de blancs bouquets d’étoiles parfumées.

The moon grew sad. Weeping seraphim,dreaming, bows in hand, in the calm of hazyflowers, drew from dying violswhite sobs that glided over the corollas’ blue.—It was the blessed day of your first kiss.My dreaming, glad to torment me,grew skilfully drunk on the perfumed sadnessthat—without regret or bitter after-taste—the harvest of a Dream leaves in the reaper’s heart.And so I wandered, my eyes fixed on the old paving stones,when with sun-flecked hair, in the streetand in the evening, you appeared laughing before meand I thought I glimpsed the fairy with her cap of lightwho long ago crossed my lovely spoilt child’s slumbers,always allowing from her half-closed handswhite bouquets of scented flowers to snow.

*****

‘Silence is more musical than any song’ (Christina Rossetti)

Please turn the page quietly 7

HEIMLICHE AUFFORDERUNG SECRET INVITATION

Strauss / Mackay English Translation © Richard Stokes

Auf, hebe die funkelnde Schaleempor zum Mund,Und trinke beim Freudenmahledein Herz gesund.

Und wenn du sie hebst, so winkemir heimlich zu,Dann lächle ich, und dann trinkeich still wie du ...

Und still gleich mir betrachteum uns das HeerDer trunknen Schwätzer—verachtesie nicht zu sehr.

Nein, hebe die blinkende Schale,gefüllt mit Wein,Und laß beim lärmenden Mahlesie glücklich sein.

Doch hast du das Mahl genossen,den Durst gestillt,Dann verlasse der lauten Genossenfestfreudiges Bild,

Und wandle hinaus in den Gartenzum Rosenstrauch,—Dort will ich dich dann erwartennach altem Brauch,

Und will an die Brust dir sinkeneh’ du’s gehofft,Und deine Küsse trinken,wie ehmals oft,

Und flechten in deine Haareder Rose Pracht—O komm, du wunderbare,ersehnte Nacht!

Come, raise to your lipsthe sparkling goblet,And drink at this joyful feastyour heart to health.

And when you raise it, giveme a secret sign,Then I shall smile, and drinkas quietly as you ... And quietly like me, lookaround at the hordesOf drunken gossips—do notdespise them too much. No, raise the glittering goblet,filled with wine,And let them be happyat the noisy feast. But once you have savoured the meal,quenched your thirst,Leave the loud companyof happy revellers, And come out into the gardento the rose-bush,—There I shall wait for youas I’ve always done. And I shall sink on your breast,before you could hope,And drink your kisses,as often before, And twine in your hairthe glorious rose—Ah! come, O wondrous,longed-for night!

DIE NACHT NIGHT

Strauss / Gilm English Translation © Richard Stokes

Aus dem Walde tritt die Nacht,Aus den Bäumen schleicht sie leise,Schaut sich um in weitem Kreise,Nun gib Acht! Alle Lichter dieser Welt,Alle Blumen, alle FarbenLöscht sie aus und stiehlt die GarbenWeg vom Feld.

Night steps from the woods,Slips softly from the trees,Gazes about her in a wide arc,Now beware!

All the lights of this world,All the flowers, all the coloursShe extinguishes and steals the sheavesFrom the field.

Alles nimmt sie, was nur hold,Nimmt das Silber weg des StromsNimmt vom Kupferdach des DomsWeg das Gold.

Ausgeplündert steht der Strauch:Rücke näher, Seel’ an Seele,O die Nacht, mir bangt, sie stehleDich mir auch.

She takes all that is fair,Takes the silver from the stream,Takes from the cathedral’s copper roofThe gold.

The bush stands plundered:Draw closer, soul to soul,Ah the night, I fear, will stealYou too from me.

LOB DES LEIDENS IN PRAISE OF SORROW

Strauss / von Schack English Translation © Richard Stokes

O, schmäht des Lebens Leiden nicht!Seht ihr die Blätter, wenn sie sterben,Sich in des Herbstes goldenem LichtNicht reicher, als im Frühling färben?Was gleicht der Blüte des VergehensIm Hauche des Oktoberwehens?

Krystallner als die klarste FlutErglänzt des Auges Tränenquelle,Tief dunkler flammt die Abendglut,Als hoch am Tag die Sonnenhelle,Und keiner kußt so heissen Kuß,Als wer für ewig scheiden muß.

O do not revile life’s sorrows!Do you not see dying leaves,In autumn’s golden light,Turn a richer hue than in spring?What can compare with blooms that dieIn the sighing October breezes?

More crystalline than the clearest streamIs the glint of tear-welling eyes.Evening glows deeper and darkerThan the noonday sun overhead,And no one kisses so ardentlyAs those who must part for ever.

BEFREIT RELEASED

Strauss / Dehmel English Translation © Richard Stokes

Du wirst nicht weinen. Leise, leisewirst du lächeln und wie zur Reisegeb’ ich dir Blick und Kuß zurück.Unsre lieben vier Wände, du hast sie bereitet,ich habe sie dir zur Welt geweitet;O Glück!

Dann wirst du heiß meine Hände fassenund wirst mir deine Seele lassen,läßt unsern Kindern mich zurück.Du schenktest mir dein ganzes Leben,ich will es ihnen wieder geben;O Glück!

Es wird sehr bald sein, wir wissen’s beide,wir haben einander befreit vom Leide,so gab’ ich dich der Welt zurück!Dann wirst du mir nur noch im Traum erscheinen und mich segnen und mit mir weinen; O Glück!

You will not weep. Gently, gentlyyou will smile; and as before a journeyI shall return your gaze and kiss.You have cared for the room we love!I have widened these four walls for you into a world –O happiness!

Then ardently you will seize my handsand you will leave me your soul,leave me to care for our children.You gave your whole life to me,I shall give it back to them –O happiness!

It will be very soon, we both know it,we have released each other from suffering,so I returned you to the world.Then you’ll appear to me only in dreams,and you will bless me and weep with me –O happiness!

*****

Schumann / Eichendorff English Translation © Richard Stokes

‘‘Aut tace aut loquere meliora silentio' (Salvator Rosa)


MARGARET

Jones / Hopkins

to a young child

Márgarét, áre you gríevingOver Goldengrove unleaving?Leáves like the things of man, youWith your fresh thoughts care for, can you?Ah! ás the heart grows olderIt will come to such sights colderBy and by, nor spare a sighThough worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;And yet you wíll weep and know why.Now no matter, child, the name:Sórrow’s spríngs áre the same.Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressedWhat heart heard of, ghost guessed:It ís the blight man was born for,It is Margaret you mourn for.

From the poem 'Spring and Fall' by Gerard Manley Hopkins © Gerard Manley Hopkins: Poems and Prose(Penguin Classics, 1985) *****

IM FELD EIN MÄDCHEN SINGT IN THE FIELD A MAIDEN SINGS

Sibelius / Susman English Translation © Richard Stokes

Im Feld ein Mädchen singt...Vielleicht ist ihr Liebster gestorben, Vielleicht ist ihr Glück verdorben, Daß ihr Lied so traurig klingt. Das Abendrot verglüht, Die Weiden stehn und schweigen, Und immer noch so eigenTönt fern das traurige Lied.

Der letzte Ton verklingt. Ich möchte zu ihr gehen. Wir müßten uns wohl verstehen,Da sie so traurig singt. Das Abendrot verglüht,Die Weiden stehn und schweigen...

In the field a maiden sings...Perhaps her lover is dead;perhaps her happiness is ended,for her song is a sad one.

The sunset fades,the woods become silent,but ever, from far away,the sorrowing song still sounds.

The last note dies.I would like to go to her.We would console one another,so sadly does she sing.

The sunset fades,the woods become silent...

10

VITSIPPAN THE WOOD ANEMONE

Sibelius / Franzén English Translation © Daniel M. Grimley

Se vitsippan hur täck hon är,men ack! hur förgänglig.Knappt av din hand hon bryts,innan hon dör i din hand.Henne i ömhet lik som i täckhet,akta dig, flicka,att, av förförar'n kysst,du ej må vissna som hon.

See the wood anemone, how pretty she is,But, oh! How fleeting!Plucked by your hand she breaks,Before she dies in your hand.Alike in tenderness and beauty,Take care, girl,That, kissed by the seducer,You do not wither like her.

BLOMMANS ÖDE THE FATE OF THE FLOWER

Sibelius / Runeberg English Translation © Daniel M. Grimley

Barn af vårenRov för höstens vind,Blomma, säg vi dröjer tårenPå din späda kind?"Solen dalar,Stormens röst jag hör."Så den späda blomman talar,Träffas, bräcks och dör.

Child of springPlundered by autumn’s wind,Flower, say why the tear remainsUpon your tender cheek?‘The sun descends,I hear the storm’s voice.’This is what the tender flower says,It is battered, broken, and dies.

SE'N HAR JAG EJ FRÅGAT MERA SINCE THEN I HAVE NOT ASKED

ANYMORESibelius / Runeberg English Translation © Maria Forsström

Hvarför är så flyktig våren,Hvarför dröjer sommarn icke?Så jag tänkte fordom ofta,Frågte, utan svar, af mången.

Se'n den älskade mig svikit,Se'n till köld hans värme blifvit,All hans sommar blifvit vinter,Se'n har jag ej frågat mera,Känt blott djupt uti mitt sinne,Att det sköna är förgängligt,Att det ljufva icke dröjer.

Why is Spring so fleeting,Why does not Summer tarry?Thus of yore I often thought,Asked, without answers, of many.

Since the beloved has failed me,Since to cold his warmth has turned,All his Summer has become Winter,Since then I have not asked anymoreOnly felt, deep in my heart,That Loveliness is fickle,That Sweetness does not linger.

‘Shallow brooks murmur most, deep silent slide away’ (Philip Sidney)



MARSSNÖN MARCH SNOW

Sibelius / Wecksell English Translation © Daniel M. Grimley

Den svala snön därute falleroch täcker marken mer och mer,De lägga sig de hvita stjärnori hvarf på hvarf längs jorden ner.

Håll slutet ån, o vår! ditt öga,sov gott i blid och vänlig snö –dess mäktigare skall du blomma,dess rikare skall sen du dö.

The chill snow falls outsideAnd slowly covers up the ground,It scatters the white starsIn a swirl upon the earth.

Close tight your eyes, o spring!Sleep well amid the gentle snow –the stronger then shall you blossom,and richer shall you slowly die.

VAR DET EN DRÖM? WAS IT A DREAM?

Sibelius / Wecksell English Translation © David McCleery

Var det en dröm, att ljuvt en gångjag var ditt hjärtas vän?Jag minns det som en tystnad sång,då strängen darrar än.Jag minns en törnros av dig skänkt,en blick så blyg och öm;jag minns en avskedstår, som blänkt.Var allt, var allt en dröm?En dröm lik sippans liv så kortuti en vårgrön ängd,vars fägring hastigt vissnar bortför nya blommors mängd.Men mången natt jag hör en röstvid bittra tårars ström:göm djupt dess minne i ditt bröst,det var din bästa dröm!

*****

Was it a dream, that once upon a blissful timeI was your heart’s friend?I remember it like a silent songWhose melody still lingers on.I remember you gave me a roseWith a look so shy and tender,I remember the glistening of a parting tear.Was it all just a dream?A dream like a wildflower's life,So brief in the verdant meadow,Whose beauty quickly withers awayWithin an ocean of new flowersBut on many a night I hear a voiceThrough a stream of bitter tears.Hide this memory deep in your heartFor this was your best dream.

12


The Swiss baritone Joël Terrin studied in Lausanne with Frederic Gindraux before moving to London to work with Prof. Rudolf Piernay at the Guildhall School of Music and Drama on the Artist Diploma course. He sang Melchior in Menotti’s Amahl and the Night Visitors, Urbain in Offenbach’s La Vie Parisienne, Perrückenmacher in Strauss’s Ariadne auf Naxos and Un Spirito in Monteverdi’s L’Orfeo for the Opera de Lausanne. He also created a recital for children for the opera company. He has been working with the London Symphony Orchestra for several projects (Michael Tippett’s Discovery Day, as a soloist for Haydn’s Nelson Messe and as a curator of a recital in the series Futures: the musical voices of our time), as well as working with the Wigmore Hall (Schumann Study Group, Ravel Study Group, a contemporary music recital and a French melodies recital). He is

a part of the Wigmore Hall’s French Song Exchange, which led to his debut in the Salle Cortot in Paris. Joël Terrin is a Samling artist, won the Migros competition in Switzerland and has received support from the Friedl Wald and the Colette Mosetti foundation. He also received the 2nd prize at the Kattenburg competition in Switzerland and the 2nd prize at the Somerset Song Prize in 2019. Further projects include Maximilian in Bernstein’s Candide, the solo part in Weill’s Berliner Requiem and a workshop during the Olympic Games for the Youth for the Opera de Lausanne, a song recital for the BBC on Glanert’s music, a Poulenc recital at Wigmore Hall and a cabaret show, where he will unveil some of his own compositions.

Cole Knutson is a versatile musician with specializations in song, chamber music, and classical saxophone. He has appeared on the CBC and in recital in throughout Canada, the United States, and Europe including the Wien Musikverein and the Theatre an der Wien in Vienna, Austria.

As a classical saxophonist, he has served as principal saxophonist with the International Youth Wind Orchestra, The National Youth Band of Canada, and the Denis Wick Canadian Wind Orchestra. Cole has additionally studied and received masterclasses from artists such as, Helmut Deutsch, Elly Ameling, Robert Holl, András Schiff, Roger Vignoles, Andreas Schmidt, Michael McMahon, and Wolfram Rieger.In 2017, Cole was awarded Second Prize at the National Music Festival of Canada following his Carnegie Hall debut at the age of twenty.

He is a laureate of the 2017 & 2018 Franz Schubert Institute in Baden bei Wien, Austria and is a graduate from the University of Manitoba in Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada. Cole now studies at the Guildhall School for Music & Drama under Julius Drake and Eugene Asti. His artistic endeavours have received continuous support through the Saskatchewan Arts Board, the Art Song Foundation of Canada, and is grateful towards the Guildhall Trust for their support.

12.30 - JOËL TERRIN & COLE KNUTSON

13‘Silence is the sleep that nourishes wisdom'

(Francis Bacon) Please turn the page quietly

Benjamin Britten (1913-1976) Franz Schubert (1797-1828)

Tit for Tat (with Schubert songs incorporated)

1. A song of enchantment / Schubert’s Naturgenuss

2. Autumn / Im Frühling

3. Silver / Der Wanderer an den Mond

4. Vigil / Geistes Gruss

5. Tit for tat / Der Alpenjäger

*****

Walter de la Mare (1873 - 1956)

Friedrich von Matthison (1761 - 1831)

Ernst Schulze (1789 - 1817)

Johann Gabriel Seidl (1804 - 1875)

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749 - 1832)

Johann Mayrhofer (1787 - 1836)

Maurice Ravel (1875-1937) Jules Renard (1864 - 1910)

Histoires Naturelles

*****

Benjamin Britten (1913-1976)

The Foggy Foggy Dew

Anon.

PROGRAMME

14

Benjamin Britten (1913-1976) Franz Schubert (1797-1828)

Tit for Tat (with Schubert songs incorporated)

1. A song of enchantment / Schubert’s Naturgenuss

2. Autumn / Im Frühling

3. Silver / Der Wanderer an den Mond

4. Vigil / Geistes Gruss

5. Tit for tat / Der Alpenjäger

*****

Walter de la Mare (1873 - 1956)

Friedrich von Matthison (1761 - 1831)

Ernst Schulze (1789 - 1817)

Johann Gabriel Seidl (1804 - 1875)

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749 - 1832)

Johann Mayrhofer (1787 - 1836)

Maurice Ravel (1875-1937) Jules Renard (1864 - 1910)

Histoires Naturelles

*****

Benjamin Britten (1913-1976)

The Foggy Foggy Dew

Anon.

TEXTS & TRANSLATIONSTIT FOR TAT Britten / de la Mare A SONG OF ENCHANTMENT

A Song of Enchantment I sang me there,In a green-green wood, by waters fair,Just as the words came up to meI sang it under the wild wood tree.

Widdershins turned I, singing it low,Watching the wild birds come and go;No cloud in the deep dark blue to be seenUnder the thick-thatched branches green.

Twilight came; silence came;The planet of evening’s silver flame;By darkening paths I wandered throughThickets trembling with drops of dew.

But the music is lost and the words are goneOf the song I sang as I sat alone,Ages and ages have fallen on me—On the wood and the pool and the elder tree.

NATURGENUSS DELIGHT IN NATURE

Schubert / von Matthison English Translation © Richard Wigmore

Im Abendschimmer wallt der QuellDurch Wiesenblumen purpurhell;Der Pappelweide wechselnd GrünWeht ruhe lispelnd drüber hin.

Im Lenzhauch webt der Geist des Herrn! Sieh!Auferstehung nah’ und fern,Sieh! Jugendfülle, Schönheitsmeer,Und Wonnetaumel rings umher!

Ich blicke her, ich blicke hin,Und immer höher schwebt mein Sinn.Nur Tand sind Pracht und Gold und Ruhm,Natur, in deinem Heiligtum.

Des Himmels Ahnung den umweht,Der deinen Liebeston versteht,Doch, an dein Mutterherz gedrückt,Wird er zum Himmel selbst entzückt.

In the soft light of evening the brook flowsthrough meadows of bright, purple flowers;the poplar, with its changing shades of green,whispers gently above them. God’s spirit stirs in the spring breeze;behold life’s resurrection, near and far,see, youth’s abundance, a sea of beautyand teeming joys lie all around.

I look about me, close and far away,and my soul soars ever higher.Pomp, gold and fame are but drossin your sanctuary, Nature!

Intimations of heaven envelop himwho understands your music of love;for he, pressed to your maternal breast,will know the delight of heaven itself!

AUTUMN

There’s a wind where the rose was;Cold rain where sweet grass was;And clouds like sheepStream o’er the steepGrey skies where the lark was.

Nought gold where your hair was;Nought warm where your hand was;But phantom, forlorn,Beneath the thorn,Your ghost where your face was.

Sad winds where your voice was;Tears, tears where my heart was;And ever with me,Child, ever with me,Silence where hope was.

IM FRÜHLING IN SPRING

Schubert / Schulze English Translation © Richard Wigmore

Still sitz ich an des Hügels Hang,Der Himmel ist so klar,Das Lüftchen spielt im grünen Tal,Wo ich beim ersten FrühlingsstrahlEinst, ach, so glücklich war.

Wo ich an ihrer Seite gingSo traulich und so nah,Und tief im dunkeln FelsenquellDen schönen Himmel blau und hell,Und sie im Himmel sah.

Sieh, wie der bunte Frühling schonAus Knosp’ und Blüte blickt!Nicht alle Blüten sind mir gleich,Am liebsten pflückt’ ich von dem Zweig,Von welchem sie gepflückt.

Denn alles ist wie damals noch,Die Blumen, das Gefild;Die Sonne scheint nicht minder hell,Nicht minder freundlich schwimmt im QuellDas blaue Himmelsbild.

Es wandeln nur sich Will und Wahn,Es wechseln Lust und Streit,Vorüber flieht der Liebe Glück,Und nur die Liebe bleibt zurück,Die Lieb’ und ach, das Leid!

I sit silently on the hillside.The sky is so clear,the breezes play in the green valleywhere once, in the first rays of spring,I was, oh, so happy.

Where I walked by her side,so tender, so close,and saw deep in the dark rocky streamthe fair sky, blue and bright,and her reflected in that sky.

See how the colourful springalready peeps from bud and blossom.Not all the blossoms are the same to me:I like most of all to pluck them from the branch from which she has plucked.

For all is still as it was then,the flowers, the fields;the sun shines no less brightly,and no less cheerfully,the sky’s blue image bathes in the stream.

Only will and delusion change,and joy alternates with strife;the happiness of love flies past,and only love remains;love and, alas, sorrow.

16

O wär ich doch ein Vöglein nurDort an dem Wiesenhang!Dann blieb’ ich auf den Zweigen hier,Und säng ein süsses Lied von ihr,Den ganzen Sommer lang.

SILVER

Slowly, silently, now the moonWalks the night in her silver shoon.This way, and that, she peers and seesSilver fruit upon silver trees;

One by one the casements catchHer beams beneath the silvery thatch;Couched in his kennel, like a log,With paws of silver sleeps the dog;

A harvest mouse goes scampering by,With silvery claws, and silver eye;And moveless fish in the water gleam,By silver reeds in a silver stream.

Oh, if only I were a bird,there on the sloping meadow!Then I would stay on these branches here,and sing a sweet song about herall summer long.

DER WANDERER AN DEN MOND THE WANDERER'S ADDRESS TO THE MOON

Schubert / Seidl English Translation © Richard Wigmore

Ich auf der Erd’, am Himmel du,Wir wandern beide rüstig zu:Ich ernst und trüb, du mild und rein,Was mag der Unterschied wohl sein? Ich wandre fremd von Land zu Land,So heimatlos, so unbekannt;Bergauf, bergab, Wald ein, Wald aus,Doch bin ich nirgend, ach! zu Haus. Du aber wanderst auf und abAus Ostens Wieg’ in Westens Grab,Wallst Länder ein und Länder aus,Und bist doch, wo du bist, zu Haus. Der Himmel, endlos ausgespannt,Ist dein geliebtes Heimatland:O glücklich, wer, wohin er geht,Doch auf der Heimat Boden steht!

I on earth, you in the sky,both of us travel briskly on;I solemn and gloomy, you gentle and pure, what canbe the difference between us? I wander, a stranger, from land to land,so homeless, so unknown;up and down mountains, in and out of forests, yet,alas, nowhere am I at home. But you wander up and down,from the east’s cradle to the west’s grave, travelfrom country to countryand yet are at home wherever you are. The sky, infinitely extended,is your beloved homeland;O happy he who, wherever he goes,still stands on his native soil!

17

17‘Music is the silence between the notes’

(Claude Debussy) Please turn the page quietly

VIGIL

Dark is the night,The fire burns faint and low,Hours—days—years,Into grey ashes go;I strive to read,But sombre is the glow.Thumbed are the pages,And the print is small;Mocking the windsThat from the darkness call;Feeble the fire that lendsIts light withal.

O ghost, draw nearer;Let thy shadowy hairBlot out the pagesThat we cannot share;Be ours the one last leafBy Fate left bare!

Let’s Finis scrawl,And then Life’s book put by;Turn each to eachIn all simplicity:Ere the last flame is goneTo warm us by.

GEISTES-GRUSS GHOST-GREETINGS

Schubert / Goethe English Translation © Richard Wigmore

Hoch auf dem alten Turme stehtDes Helden edler Geist,Der, wie das Schiff vorüber geht,Es wohl zu fahren heisst.

„Sieh, diese Senne war so stark,Dies Herz so fest und wild,Die Knochen voll von Rittermark,Der Becher angefüllt;

„Mein halbes Leben stürmt’ ich fort,Verdehnt’ die Hälft’ in Ruh,Und du, du Menschenschifflein dort,Fahr’ immer, immer zu!“

High on the ancient towerstands the hero’s noble spirit;as the ship passeshe bids it a safe voyage.

‘See, these sinews were so strong,this heart so steadfast and bold,these bones full of knightly valour;my cup was overflowing.

‘Half my life I sallied forth,half I spent in tranquillity;and you, little boat of mankind,sail ever onward!’

18

TIT FOR TAT

Have you been catching of fish, Tom Noddy?Have you snared a weeping hare?Have you whistled ‘No Nunny’ and gunned a poor bunny,Or a blinded bird of the air?Have you trod like a murderer through the green woods,Through the dewy deep dingles and glooms,While every small creature cries shrill to Dame Nature‘He comes—and he comes!’?

Wonder I very much do, Tom Noddy,If ever, when you are a-roam,An ogre from space will stoop a lean faceAnd lug you home:

Lug you home over his fence, Tom Noddy,Of thorn-stocks nine yards high,With your bent knees strung round his old iron gunAnd your head dan-dangling by:

And hang you up stiff on a hook, Tom Noddy,From a stone-cold pantry shelf,Whence your eyes will glare in an empty stare,Till you are cooked yourself!

DER ALPENJÄGER THE ALPINE HUNTSMAN

Schubert / Mayrhofer English Translation © Richard Wigmore

Auf hohem Bergrücken,Wo frischer alles grünt,Ins Land hinab zu blicken,Das nebelleicht zerrinnt –Erfreut den Alpenjäger.Je steiler und je schrägerDie Pfade sich verwinden,Je mehr Gefahr aus Schlünden,So freier schlägt die Brust.

Er ist der fernen Lieben,Die ihm daheim geblieben,Sich seliger bewusst.Und ist er nun am ZieleSo drängt sich in der StilleEin süsses Bild ihm vor;Der Sonne goldne Strahlen,Sie weben und sie malen,Die er im Tal erkor.

High on the mountain ridgewhere everything is greener and fresher,the huntsman delightsin gazing down at the landscapeveiled in mist.The more steeply the pathswind upwards,the more dangerous the precipices,the more freely his heart beats, The more fondly he thinksof his distant belovedwho remains at home.And when he reaches his goala sweet image fills his mindin the stillness;the sun’s golden beamsweave and paint a portrait of herwhom he has chosen in the valley.

Tit for Tat is reproduced by permission of ‘The Literary Trustees of Walter De La Mare and the Society of Authors as their representative’.

HISTOIRES NATURELLES Ravel / Renard English Translations © Richard Stokes

LE PAON THE PEACOCK

Il va sûrement se marier aujourd’hui.Ce devait être pour hier. En habit de gala, il était prêt.Il n’attendait que sa fiancée. Elle n’est pas venue.Elle ne peut tarder.Glorieux, il se promène avec une allure de prince indien et porte sur lui les riches présents d’usage.L’amour avive l’éclat de ses couleurs et son aigrette tremble comme une lyre.La finacée n’arrive pas.Il monte au haut du toit et regarde du côté du soleil.Il jette son cri diabolique:Léon! Léon!C’est ainsi qu’il appelle sa fiancée. Il ne voit rien venir et personne ne répond.Les volailles habituées ne lèvent même point la tête. Elles sont lasses de l’admirer.Il redescend dans la cour, si sûr d’être beau qu’il est incapable de rancune.Son mariage sera pour demain.Et, ne sachant que faire du reste de la journée, il se dirige vers le perron.Il gravit les marches, comme des marches de temple, d’un pas officiel.Il relève sa robe à queue toute lourde des yeux qui n’ont pu se détacher d’elle.Il répète encore une fois la cérémonie.

He will surely get married today.It was to have been yesterday. In full regalia he was ready. It was only his bride he was waiting for. She hasnot come. She cannot be long.Proudly he processes the with air of an Indian prince,bearing about his person the customary lavish gifts.Love burnishes the brilliance of his colours,and his crest quivers like a lyre.His bride does not appear.He ascends to the top of the roof and looks towards the sun. He utters his devilish cry:Léon! Léon!It is thus that he summons his bride. He can see nothing drawing near, and no one replies.The fowls are used to all this and do not even raise their heads.They are tiredof admiring him. He descends once more to the yard, so sure of his beauty that he is incapable of resentment.His marriage will take place tomorrow.And, not knowing what to do for the rest of the day, he heads for the flight of steps.He ascends them, as though they were the steps of a temple, with a formal tread.He lifts his train, heavy with eyes that have been unable to detach themselves.Once more he repeats the ceremony.

Sibelius / Runeberg English Translation © Maria Forsström

20

LE GRILLON THE CRICKET

C’est l’heure où, las d’errer, l’insecte nègre revient de promenade et répare avec soin le désordre de son domaine.D’abord il ratisse ses étroites allées de sable.Il fait du bran de scie qu’il écarte au seuil de sa retraite.Il lime la racine de cette grande herbe propre à le harceler.Il se repose. Puis, il remonte sa minuscule montre.A-t-il fini? Est-elle cassée? Il se repose encore un peu.Il rentre chez lui et ferme sa porte.Longtemps il tourne sa celf dans la serrure délicate.Et il écoute: Point d’alarme dehors.Mais il ne se trouve pas en sûreté.Et comme par une chaînette dont la poulie grince, il descend jusqu’au fond de la terre.On n’entend plus rien.Dans la campagne muette, les peupliers se dressent comme des doigts en l’air et désignent la lune.

It is the hour when, weary of wandering, the black insect returns from his outing and carefully restores order to his estate.First he rakes his narrow sandy paths.He makes sawdust which he scatters on the threshold of his retreat.He files the root of this tall grass likely to annoy him.He rests. Then he winds up his tiny watch.Has he finished? Is it broken? He rests again for a while.He goes inside and shuts the door.For an age he turns his key in the delicate lock.And he listens:Nothing untoward outside.But he does not feel safe.And as if by a tiny chain on a creaking pulley, he lowers himself into the bowels of the earth.Nothing more is heard.In the silent countryside the poplars rise like fingers in the air, pointing to the moon.

LE CYGNE THE SWAN

Il glisse sur le bassin, comme un traîneau blanc, de nuage en nuage.Car il n’a faim que des nuages floconneux qu’il voit naître, bouger, et se perdre dansl’eau.C’est l’un d’eux qu’il désire. Il le vise du bec, et il plonge tout à coup son col vêtu de neige.Puis, tel un bras de femme sort d’une manche, il le retire.Il n’a rien.Il regarde: les nuages effarouchés ont disparu.Il ne reste qu’un instant désabusé, car les nuages tardent peu à revenir, et, là-bas, où meurent les ondulations de l’eau, en voici un qui se reforme.Doucement, sur son léger coussin de plumes, le cygne rame et s’approche …Il s’épuise à pêcher de vains reflets, et peut-être qu’il mourra, victime de cette illusion, avant d’attraper un seul morceau de nuage.Mais qu’est-ce que je dis?Chaque fois qu’il plonge, il fouille du bec la vase nourrissante et ramène en ver.Il engraisse comme une oie.

He glides on the pond like a white sledge, from cloud to cloud.For he is hungry only for the fleecy clouds that he sees forming, moving, dissolving in the water.It is one of these that he wants. He takes aim with his beak and suddenly immerses his snow-clad neck.Then, like a woman’s arm emerging from a sleeve, he draws it back up.He has caught nothing.He looks about: the startled clouds have vanished.Only for a second is he disappointed, for the clouds are not slow to return, and, over there, where the ripples fade, there is one reappearing.Gently, on his soft cushion of down, the swan paddles and approaches …He exhausts himself fishing for empty reflections and perhaps he will die, a victim of that illusion, before catching a single shred of cloud.But what am I saying?Each time he dives, he burrows with his beak in the nourishing mud and brings up a worm.He’s getting as fat as a goose.

LE MARTIN-PÊCHEUR THE KINGFISHER

Ça n’a pas mordu, ce soir, mais je rapporte une rare émotion.Comme je tenais ma perche de ligne tendue, un martin-pêcheur est venu s’y poser.Nous n’avons pas d’oiseau plus éclatant.Il semblait une grosse fleur bleue au bout d’une longue tige.La perche pliait sous le poids. Je ne respirais plus, tout fier d’être pris pour un arbre par un martin-pêcheur.Et je suis sûr qu’il ne s’est pas envolé de peur, mais qu’il a cru qu’il ne faisait que passer d’une branche à une autre.

Not a bite, this evening, but I had a rare experience.As I was holding out my fishing rod, a kingfisher came and perched on it.We have no bird more brilliant.He was like a great blue flower at the tip of a long stem. The rod bent beneath the weight.I held my breath, so proud to be taken for a tree by a kingfisher.And I’m sure he did not fly off from fear, but thought he was simply flitting from one branch to another.

LA PINTADE THE GUINEA-FOWL

C’est la bossue de ma cour. Elle ne rêve que plaies à cause de sa bosse.Les poules ne lui disent rien: brusquement, elle se précipite et les harcèle.Puis elle baisse sa tête, penche le corps, et, de toute la vitesse de ses pattes maigres, elle court frapper, de son bec dur, juste au centre de la roue d’une dinde.Cette poseuse l’agaçait.Ainsi, la tête bleuie, ses barbillons à vif, cocardière, elle rage du matine au soir.Elle se bat sans motif, peut-être parce qu’elle s’imagine toujours qu’on se moque de sa taille, de son crâne chauve et de sa queue basse.Et elle ne cesse de jeter un cri discordant qui perce l’air comme une pointe.Parfois elle quitte la cour et disparaît. Elle laisse aux volailles pacifiques un moment de répit.Mais elle revient plus turbulente et plus criarde. Et, frénétique, elle se vautre par terre.Qu’a-t-elle donc?La sournoise fait une farce.Elle est allée pondre son œuf à la campagne. Je peux le chercher si ça m’amuse.Elle se roule dans la poussière, comme une bossue.

She is the hunchback of my barnyard. She dreams only of wounding, because of her hump.The hens say nothing to her: suddenly, she swoops and harries them.Then she lowers her head, leans forward, and, with all the speed of her skinny legs, runs and strikes with her hard beak at the very centre of a turkey’s tail.This poseuse was provoking her.Thus, with her bluish head and raw wattles, pugnaciously she rages from morn to might.She fights for no reason, perhaps because she always thinks they are making fun of her figure, of her bald head and drooping tail.And she never stops screaming her discordant cry, which pierces the air like a needle.Sometimes she leaves the yard and vanishes. She gives the peace-loving poultry a moment’s respite.But she returns more rowdy and shrill. And in a frenzy she wallows in the earth.Whatever’s wrong with her?The cunning creature is playing a trick.She went to lay her egg in the open country.I can look for it if I like.And she rolls in the dust, like a hunchback.

*****

22

THE FOGGY FOGGY DEW

Britten / Anon.

When I was a bachelor I lived all alone and worked at the weaver’s tradeAnd the only, only thing that I ever did wrong, was to woo a fair young maid.I wooed her in the winter time, and in the summer too …And the only, only thing I did that was wrong was to keep her from the foggy, foggy dew.

One night she came to my bedside when I lay fast asleep,She laid her head upon my bed and she began to weep.She sighed, she cried, she damn’d near died, she said: ‘What shall I do?’So I hauled her into bed and I covered up her head,just to keep her from the foggy, foggy dew.

Oh, I am a bachelor and I live with my son, and we work at the weaver’s trade.And ev’ry single time that I look into his eyes, he reminds me of the fair young maid.He reminds me of the winter time, and of the summer too,And of the many, many times that I held her in my arms,just to keep her from the foggy, foggy dew.

‘Listen to the sound of silence.’ (Paul Simon) Please turn the page quietly 23

14.30 - HAYLEY SWANTON & RACHEL FRIGHTCanadian soprano Hayley Swanton is often recognized for her strong stage presence and poised singing. As a soprano soloist, her concert highlights across Canada and the U.K. include Bach's B Minor Mass and Magnificat, Faure’s Requiem, Handel’s Alexander’s Feast, Dixit Dominus, and Ode for St. Cecilia’s Day, Mozart's Coronation Mass, Solemn Vespers, and Requiem, as well as Vivaldi's Gloria. She is an accomplished recitalist, and in 2017 gave the world premiere of the Henry Kunkelmann autographs of Debussy’s Pierrot, Les roses, and Rondel Chinois with pianist David Jones. Hayley also regularly collaborates with pianist Rachel Fright. They were finalists in the prestigious 2019

Patricia Routledge National English Song Competition and have also been featured performing Debussy’s Apparition on BBC Radio 3’s Music Matters programme entitled Debussy’s Paris.

On the operatic stage, Hayley has performed the roles of Cleopatra from Handel's Giulio Cesare (Toronto, Canada) and Despina from Mozart's Cosi fan tutte (Ottawa, Canada). In 2018, she shadowed the role of Oscar from Verdi’s Un ballo in maschera at Opera North as part of their higher education scheme and is now a member of their extra chorus list.

An enthusiast of sacred and secular choral music, Hayley has held multiple choral conducting, vocal coaching, and choral scholarship positions and is a dedicated teacher of singing. She holds her Master of Music in Performance (Distinction) from the Royal Northern College of Music.

Following her performance as a Leeds Lieder Young Artist 2018, Rachel Fright was awarded the Hester Dickson Duo Prize with duo partner Ted Black (tenor) to study at Oxenfoord International Summer School with Malcolm Martineau. Rachel performs regularly across the UK and has been featured on BBC Radio 3. She is a musician for Live Music Now, deputy tutor at Yorkshire Young Musicians and accompanist to Sheffield Philharmonic Chorus and the Macclesfield Singers. Recent work has included projects with Clonter Opera Theatre and Jackdaws Music Education Trust.

Rachel studied with scholarships to Pembroke College, Oxford and the Royal Northern College of Music, where she was taught by Stephen Savage, David Jones and Julius Drake, with whom she continues private study. From 2017-19, Rachel was a Junior Fellow in Accompaniment at the RNCM. During her studies, she was supported by the Helen Mackaness Award and won several prizes for accompaniment: the Stella Bradshaw Memorial Award, the Frost/Brownson Award for Accompaniment, the Clifton Helliwell Memorial Award, the Brodsky Prize, the Alexander Young Prize and the James Martin Oncken Song prize. In 2015, she attended the Oxford Lieder Festival Mastercourse, where she received tuition from Roger Vignoles and Imogen Cooper.

24

Dominick Argento (1927-2019) Ben Jonson (1572 - 1637)

from Six Elizabethan Songs vi. Hymn

William Denis Browne (1888-1915) Richard Lovelace (1617 - 1657)

To Gratiana Dancing and Singing

*****

Claude Debussy (1862-1918)

Fantoches Clair de lune Pierrot Apparition

*****

Paul Verlaine (1844 - 1896) Paul Verlaine Théodore de Banville (1823 - 1891) Stéphane Mallarmé (1842 - 1898)

Benjamin Britten (1913-1976) On This Island

*****Francis Poulenc (1845-1925) La courte paille

W. H. Auden (1907 - 1973)

Maurice Carême (1899-1977)

PROGRAMME

Fly Me to the Moon A journey to the stars through the music of

Argento, Browne, Britten, Debussy and Poulenc

'Their silence is sufficient praise’ (Terence) Please turn the page quietly 25

HYMN

Argento / Jonson

Queen and huntress, chaste and fair,Now the sun is laid to sleep,Seated in thy silver chair,State in wonted manner keep:Hesperus entreats thy light,Goddess excellently bright.

Earth, let not thy envious shadeDare itself to interpose;Cynthia's shining orb was madeHeav'n to clear when day did close;Bless us then with wishèd sight,Goddess excellently bright.

Lay thy bow of pearl apart,And thy crystal shining quiver;Give unto the flying hartSpace to breathe, how short so-ever:Thou that mak'st a day of night,Goddess excellently bright.

TO GRATIANA DANCING AND SINGING

Browne / Lovelace

See! With what constant motionEven, and glorious, as the sun,Gratiana steers that noble frame,Soft as her breast, sweet as her voiceThat gave each winding law and poise,And swifter than the wings of Fame.

Each step trod out a lover’s thoughtAnd the ambitious hopes he brought,Chain’d to her brave feet with such arts;Such sweet command, and gentle awe,As when she ceas’d, we sighing sawThe floor lay pav’d with broken hearts.

So did she move; so did she singLike the harmonious spheres that bringUnto their rounds their music’s aid;Which she performèd such a way,As all th’ enamoured world will say:The Graces danced, and Apollo play’d. *****


26

FANTOCHES FANTOCHES

Debussy / Verlaine English Translation © Richard Stokes

Scaramouche et PulcinellaQu’un mauvais dessein rassemblaGesticulent, noirs sous la lune.

Cependant l’excellent docteurBolonais cueille avec lenteurDes simples parmi l’herbe brune.

Lors sa fille, piquant minois,Sous la charmille, en tapinois,Se glisse, demi-nue, en quête

De son beau pirate espagnol,Dont un amoureux rossignolClame la détresse à tue-tête.

Scaramouche and PulcinellaDrawn together by some evil scheme,Gesticulate, black beneath the moon.

Meanwhile the excellent doctorFrom Bologna is leisurely pickingMedicinal herbs in the brown grass.

Then his daughter, pertly pretty,Beneath the arbour, stealthily,Glides, half-naked, in quest

Of her handsome Spanish pirate,Whose grief a lovelorn nightingaleProclaims as loudly as he can.

CLAIR DE LUNE MOONLIGHT

Debussy / Verlaine English Translation © Richard Stokes

Votre âme est un paysage choisiQue vont charmant masques et bergamasquesJouant du luth et dansant et quasiTristes sous leurs déguisements fantasques.

Tout en chantant sur le mode mineurL’amour vainqueur et la vie opportune,Ils n’ont pas l’air de croire à leur bonheurEt leur chanson se mêle au clair de lune,

Au calme clair de lune triste et beau,Qui fait rêver les oiseaux dans les arbresEt sangloter d’extase les jets d’eau,Les grands jets d’eau sveltes parmi les marbres.

Your soul is a chosen landscapebewitched by masquers and bergamaskers,playing the lute and dancing and almostsad beneath their fanciful disguises. Singing as they go in a minor keyof conquering love and life’s favours,they do not seem to believe in their fortune and their song mingles with the light of the moon, The calm light of the moon, sad and fair,that sets the birds dreaming in the treesand the fountains sobbing in their rapture,tall and svelte amid marble statues.

27‘A man’s silence is wonderful to listen to'

(Thomas Hardy) Please turn the page quietly

PIERROT PIERROT

Debussy / de Banville English Translation © Richard Stokes

Le bon Pierrot, que la foule contemple,Ayant fini les noces d’Arlequin,Suit en songeant le boulevard du Temple.Une fillette au souple casaquinEn vain l’agace de son œil coquin;Et cependant mystérieuse et lisseFaisant de lui sa plus chère délice,La blanche lune aux cornes de taureauJette un regard de son œil en coulisseÀ son ami Jean Gaspard Deburau.

Good old Pierrot, watched by the crowd,Having done with Harlequin’s wedding,Drifts dreamily along the boulevard of the Temple.A girl in a flowing blouseVainly leads him on with her teasing eyes;And meanwhile, mysterious and sleek,Cherishing him above all else,The white moon with horns like a bullOgles her friendJean Gaspard Deburau.

APPARITION APPARITION Debussy / Mallarmé English Translation © Richard Stokes

La lune s’attristait. Des séraphins en pleursRêvant, l’archet aux doigts, dans le calme des fleursVaporeuses, tiraient de mourantes violesDe blancs sanglots glissant sur l’azur des corolles.—C’était le jour béni de ton premier baiser.Ma songerie aimant à me martyriserS’enivrait savamment du parfum de tristesseQue même sans regret et sans déboire laisseLa cueillaison d’un Rêve au cœur qui l’a cueilli.J’errais donc, l’œil rivé sur le pavé vieilli,Quand avec du soleil aux cheveux, dans la rueEt dans le soir, tu m’es en riant apparueEt j’ai cru voir la fée au chapeau de clartéQui jadis sur mes beaux sommeils d’enfant gâtéPassait, laissant toujours de ses mains mal ferméesNeiger de blancs bouquets d’étoiles parfumées.

*****

The moon grew sad. Weeping seraphim,dreaming, bows in hand, in the calm of hazyflowers, drew from dying violswhite sobs that glided over the corollas’ blue.—It was the blessed day of your first kiss.My dreaming, glad to torment me,grew skilfully drunk on the perfumed sadnessthat—without regret or bitter after-taste—the harvest of a Dream leaves in the reaper’s heart.And so I wandered, my eyes fixed on the old paving stones,when with sun-flecked hair, in the streetand in the evening, you appeared laughing before meand I thought I glimpsed the fairy with her cap of lightwho long ago crossed my lovely spoilt child’s slumbers,always allowing from her half-closed handswhite bouquets of scented flowers to snow.

28

LET THE FLORID MUSIC PRAISE SEASCAPE

Let the florid music praise,The flute and the trumpet,Beauty’s conquest of your face:In that land of flesh and bone,Where from citadels on highHer imperial standards fly,Let the hot sunShine on, shine on.

O but the unlov’d have had power,The weeping and striking,Always; time will bring their hour:Their secretive children walkThrough your vigilance of breathTo unpardonable death,And my vows breakBefore his look.

NOW THE LEAVES ARE FALLING FAST

Now the leaves are falling fast,Nurse’s flowers will not last;Nurses to the graves are gone,And the prams go rolling on.

Whisp’ring neighbours, left and right,Pluck us from the real delight;And the active hands must freezeLonely on the separate knees.

Dead in hundreds at the backFollow wooden in our track,Arms raised stiffly to reproveIn false attitudes of love.

Starving through the leafless woodTrolls run scolding for their food;And the nightingale is dumb,And the angel will not come.

Cold, impossible, aheadLifts the mountain’s lovely headWhose white waterfall could blessTravellers in their last distress.

Look, stranger, at this island nowThe leaping light for your delight discovers,Stand stable hereAnd silent be,That through the channels of the earMay wander like a riverThe swaying sound of the sea.

Here at the small field’s ending pauseWhere the chalk wall falls to the foam, and its tall ledgesOppose the pluckAnd knock of the tide,And the shingle scrambles after the sucking surf,and the gull lodgesA moment on its sheer side.Far off like floating seeds the ships

Diverge on urgent voluntary errands;And the full viewIndeed may enterAnd move in memory as now these clouds do,That pass the harbour mirrorAnd all the summer through the water saunter.

ON THIS ISLANDBritten / W. H. Auden

29‘Silence, beautiful voice' (Alfred Lord Tennyson)

Please turn the page quietly

NOCTURNE

Now through night’s caressing gripEarth and all her oceans slip,Capes of China slide awayFrom her fingers into dayAnd the Americas inclineCoasts towards her shadow line.Now the ragged vagrants creepInto crooked holes to sleep:Just and unjust, worst and best,Change their places as they rest:Awkward lovers like in fieldsWhere disdainful beauty yields:While the splendid and the proudNaked stand before the crowdAnd the losing gambler gainsAnd the beggar entertains:May sleep’s healing power extendThrough these hours to our friend.Unpursued by hostile force,Traction engine, bull or horseOr revolting succubus;Calmly till the morning breakLet him lie, then gently wake.

*****

AS IT IS, PLENTY

As it is, plently, As it’s admittedThe children happyAnd the car, the carThat goes so farAnd the wife devoted:To this as it is,To the work and the banksLet his thinning hairAnd his hauteurGive thanks, give thanks.

All that was thoughtAs like as not, is notWhen nothing was enoughBut love, but loveAnd the rough futureOf an intransigent natureAnd the betraying smile,Betraying, but a smile:That that is not, is not;Forget, forget.

Let him not cease to praiseThen his spacious days;Yes, and the successLet him bless, let him bless:Let him see in thisThe profits largerAnd the sins venal,Lest he see as it isThe loss as majorAnd final, final.

30

LE SOMMEIL SLEEP

Le sommeil est en voyage,Mon Dieu! où est-il parti?J’ai beau bercer mon petit,Il pleure dans son lit-cage,Il pleure depuis midi.

Où le sommeil a-t-il misSon sable et ses rêves sages?J’ai beau bercer mon petit,Il se tourne tout en nage,Il sanglote dans son lit.

Ah! reviens, reviens, sommeil,Sur ton beau cheval de course!Dans le ciel noir, la Grande OurseA enterré le soleilEt rallumé ses abeilles.

Si l’enfant ne dort pas bien,Il ne dira pas bonjour,Il ne dira rien demainÀ ses doigts, au lait, au painQui l’accueillent dans le jour.

Sleep has gone on his travels.Good gracious! Where to?In vain I’ve rocked my little man, He’s crying in his folding cot,He’s been crying since midday.

Where’s the sandman putHis sand and gentle dreams?In vain I’ve rocked my little man,Drenched in sweat he kicks and turns,He’s sobbing in his bed.

Ah! Sleep, come back, come back,Astride your handsome race-horse!The Great Bear in the black skyHas buried the sunAnd lit again his bees.

If the child doesn’t sleep soundly,He’ll never say ‘good day’,And have nothing to say tomorrowTo his fingers, his milk and breadThat greet him in the morning.

QUELLE AVENTURE WHAT GOINGS-ON!

Une puce, dans sa voiture,Tirait un petit éléphantEn regardant les devanturesOù scintillaient les diamants.

– Mon Dieu! mon Dieu! quelle aventure!Qui va me croire, s’il m’entend?

L’éléphanteau, d’un air absent,Suçait un pot de confiture.Mais la puce n’en avait cure,Elle tirait en souriant.

– Mon Dieu! mon Dieu! que cela dureEt je vais me croire dément!

Soudain, le long d’une clôture,La puce fondit dans le ventEt je vis le jeune éléphantSe sauver en fendant les murs. – Mon Dieu! mon Dieu! la chose est sûre.Mais comment le dire à maman?

A flea, aboard its carriage,Was drawing an elephant calf along,Gazing at shop windowsWhere diamonds sparkled.

‘My goodness, my goodness, what goings-on! Who’ll ever believe me, if I tell?

The elephant calf, distractedly,Was licking a pot of jam,But the flea took no noticeAnd smiling drew him along.

‘My goodness, my goodness! if this goes on, I think I’ll go insane!’

Suddenly, as they passed a fence,The flea was blown away by the wind,And I saw the elephant calf make off,Crashing away through walls.

‘My goodness! My goodness! It’s perfectly true, But how shall I tell Mummy?’

LA COURTE PAILLE - THE SHORT STRAWPoulenc / Carême English Translations © Richard Stokes

LA REINE DE CŒUR THE QUEEN OF HEARTS

Mollement accoudéeÀ ses vitres de lune,La reine vous salueD’une fleur d’amandier.

C’est la Reine de Cœur,Elle peut, s’il lui plaît,Vous mener en secretVers d’étranges demeures.

Où il n’est plus de portes,De salles ni de toursEt où les jeunes mortesViennent parler d’amour.

La reine vous salue,Hâtez-vous de la suivreDans son château de givreAux doux vitraux de lune.

Leaning lightly on her elbowsAt her window-panes of moon,The queen waves to youWith an almond bloom.

She’s the Queen of HeartsAnd can, if she desires,Lead you secretly To strange places,

Where there are no more doorsOr rooms or towers,And where girls who have diedCome to speak of love.

The queen waves to you, Make haste and followInto her hoar-frosted castleWith its lovely lead windows of moon.

BA, BE, BI, BO, BU BA, BE, BI, BO, BU

Ba, be, bi, bo, bu, bé!Le chat a mis ses bottes,Il va de porte en porteJouer, danser, chanter.

Pou, chou, genou, hibou.‘Tu dois apprendre à lire, A compter, à écrire’,Lui crie-t-on de partout.

Mais rikketikketau,Le chat de s’esclaffer,En rentrant au château:Il est le Chat botté!

Ba, be, bi, bo, bu, boo!The cat’s put on his boots,He goes from door to door,Playing, dancing, singing.

Pou, chou, genou, hibou.‘You must learn to read,To count, to write’,They scream at him from every side.

But rikketikketau,The cat explodes with laughter,Returning to the castle:His name is Puss-in Boots!

LES ANGES MUSICIENS Sur les fils de la pluie Les anges du jeudiJouent longtemps de la harpe.

Et sous leurs doigts, MozartTinte délicieux,En gouttes de joie bleue.

Car c’est toujours MozartQue reprennent sans finLes anges musiciens,

Qui, au long du jeudi,Font chanter sur la harpeLa douceur de la pluie.

THE ANGEL MUSICIANS On threads of rain The Thursday angelsPlay their harps for hours on end.

And beneath their fingers, MozartTinkles deliciouslyIn drops of blue joy.

For it’s always MozartThat’s perpetually playedBy the angel musicians;

All Thursday longThey sing on their harpsThe sweetness of the rain.

LA CARAFON THE BABY CARAFE

‘Pourquoi, se plaignait la carafe,N’aurais-je pas un carafon?Au zoo, madame la GirafeN’a-t-elle pas un girafon?’Un sorcier qui passait par là,À cheval sur un phonographe,Enregistra la belle voixDe soprano de la carafeEt la fit entendre à Merlin.

‘Fort bien, dit celui-ci, fort bien!’Il frappa trois fois dans les mainsEt la dame de la maisonSe demande encore pourquoiElle trouva, ce matin-là,Un joli petit carafonBlotti tout contre la carafeAinsi qu’au zoo, le girafonPose son cou fragile et longSur le flanc clair de la girafe.

LUNE D’AVRIL Lune,Belle lune, lune d’Avril,Faites-moi voir en mon dormantLe pêcher au cœur de safran,Le poisson qui rit du grésil,L’oiseau qui, lointain comme un cor,Doucement rêveille les mortsEt surtout, surtout le paysOù il fait joie, où il fait clair,Où soleilleux de primevères,On a brisé tous les fusils.Belle lune, lune d’Avril,Lune.

‘Why?’ complained the carafe,‘Can’t I have a baby carafe?At the zoo, hasn’t Mrs GiraffeGot a baby giraffe?’A wizard who was passing byRiding on a phonographRecorded the lovely soprano voiceOf the carafe,And played it for Merlin to hear.

‘Most fine’, said he, ‘most fine!’Thrice he clapped his hands,And the lady of the houseStill wonders why She found that very morningA pretty baby carafeSnuggling close to the carafe,Just as at the zoo the baby giraffeLays his long and fragile neckAgainst the pale flank of the giraffe.

APRIL MOON Moon,Beautiful moon, April moon,Let me see in my sleepThe peach tree with the saffron heart,The fish who laughs at the sleet,The bird that, distant as a hunting horn,Gently wakens the dead,And above all, above all, the landWhere there is joy, where there is light,Where sunlit with primroses All the guns have been destroyed.Beautiful moon, April moon,Moon.

*****

'Alles still!' (Fontane) Please turn the page quietly 33

15.30 - LIAM BONTHRONE & MARINA STANEVA

Scottish tenor Liam Bonthrone is a Postgraduate student at the Guildhall School of Music & Drama, under the tutelage of Robert Dean and Adrian Thompson. He recently won the GSMD English Song Prize. Liam made his operatic debut as Don Ramiro in Rossini’s La Cenerentola with British Youth Opera, and won two major Opera awards for his performances.

On the concert platform, recent solo performances include Handel Samson, Bach Christmas Oratorio, and Phillips Love Songs for Mary Joyce. Last year he appeared in the ensemble for Bernstein’s Candide, with the LSO. He has performed as a soloist at the Wigmore Hall, Barbican

Centre and Milton Court Concert Hall, in concerts and recitals led by artists such as the Prince Consort, and Graham Johnson OBE. He featured in BBC Radio 3’s Total Immersion, and he frequently performs in collaboration with Alisdair Hogarth for Classic FM.

This year, Liam will undertake training as a Samling Young Artist, and as an Alvarez Young Artist at Garsington Opera, performing the role of Delmonte, in Verdi’s Un giorno di Regno.Liam is grateful for the generous support of a Dewar Arts Award, Help Musicians UK, The Caird Trust, and The Robertson Trust.

Bulgarian pianist Marina Staneva is a 2019 Sam Hutchings Piano Prize Recipient, a Britten-Pears Young Artist 2018 and a full scholarship recipient at the Brancaleoni Festival, Italy in 2018.Marina made her Wigmore Hall debut in October 2019 together with Toby White, cello. She has performed at the Barbican Hall, Milton Court, Linbury Foyer at ROH and The Inner Temple in London, Liverpool Philharmonic, Queen’s Theatre in Barnstaple and the Britten Studio in Snape Maltings. She regularly records for Classic FM and took part in the “The First Global Granados Marathon” broadcast live from Milton Court Concert Hall. She is a guest artist on Jennifer Johnston and Alisdair Hogarth’s new CD “A Love Letter To Liverpool” released by Rubicon Classics.

Marina has performed for the Mendelssohn Foundation and the Schubert Society of Britain and has participated in the festivals King’s Lynn, The Holland International Music Sessions, London Contemporary Festival, Dopo il rumore, ppIANISSIMO, Varna Summer. Future engagements include recitals at St Martin-in-the-Fields, Lichfield Festival and Lake District Music Festival amongst others around the UK.

She completed her Masters and Advanced Diploma Degrees with Distinction followed by the Junior Fellowship at the Guildhall School of Music and Drama where she studied with Philip Jenkins and Pamela Lidiard supported by the Guildhall Trust. Currently, Marina is studying privately with Steinway Artist Alisdair Hogarth.

PROGRAMME

Ludwig van Beethoven (1770-1827) Alois Jeitteles (1794 - 1858)

An die ferne Geliebte, Op. 98

***** Ernest Chausson (1855-1899)

Cantique a l’epouse

Dans la forêt du charme et de l’enchantement

Amour d’antan

*****

Albert Jounet (1863 - 1926) Jean Moréas (1856 - 1910)

Maurice Bouchor (1855 - 1929)

Graham Ross (b.1985) Laura Mucha from Three Mucha Songs i. Fool’s Love

*****

Nadia Boulanger (1887-1979) O schwöre nicht Heinrich Heine (1797 - 1856)

Was will die einsame Träne? Heinrich Heine

Ach, die Augen sind es wieder Heinrich Heine

J’ai frappé Jean-François Bourguignon

Chanson: ‘les lilas sont en folie’ Georges Delaquys (1880 - 1970)

*****

Eric Coates (1886-1957) Royden Barrie (1890–1948) I Heard You Singing

'We need silence to be able to touch souls' (Mother Teresa)


AUF DEM HÜGEL SITZ ICH SPÄHEND I SIT ON THE HILL, GAZING

Auf dem Hügel sitz ich spähendIn das blaue Nebelland,Nach den fernen Triften sehend,Wo ich dich, Geliebte, fand.Weit bin ich von dir geschieden,Trennend liegen Berg und TalZwischen uns und unserm Frieden,Unserm Glück und unsrer Qual.Ach, den Blick kannst du nicht sehen,Der zu dir so glühend eilt,Und die Seufzer, sie verwehenIn dem Raume, der uns teilt.Will denn nichts mehr zu dir dringen,Nichts der Liebe Bote sein?Singen will ich, Lieder singen,Die dir klagen meine Pein!Denn vor Liebesklang entweichetJeder Raum und jede Zeit,Und ein liebend Herz erreichetWas ein liebend Herz geweiht!

I sit on the hill, gazingInto the misty blue countryside,Towards the distant meadowsWhere, my love, I first found you.Now I’m far away from you,Mountain and valley interveneBetween us and our peace,Our happiness and our pain.Ah, you cannot see the fiery gazeThat wings its way towards you,And my sighs are lostIn the space that comes between us.Will nothing ever reach you again?Will nothing be love’s messenger?I shall sing, sing songsThat speak to you of my distress!For sounds of singing put to flightAll space and all time;And a loving heart is reachedBy what a loving heart has hallowed!

WO DIE BERGE SO BLAU WHERE THE BLUE MOUNTAINS

Wo die Berge so blauAus dem nebligen GrauSchauen herein,Wo die Sonne verglüht,Wo die Wolke umzieht,Möchte ich sein!Dort im ruhigen TalSchweigen Schmerzen und Qual.Wo im GesteinStill die Primel dort sinnt,Weht so leise der Wind,Möchte ich sein!Hin zum sinnigen WaldDrängt mich Liebesgewalt,Innere Pein.Ach, mich zög’s nicht von hier,Könnt ich, Traute, bei dirEwiglich sein!

Where the blue mountainsFrom the misty greyLook out towards me,Where the sun’s glow fades,Where the clouds scud by –There would I be!There, in the peaceful valley,Pain and torment cease.Where among the rocksThe primrose meditates in silence,And the wind blows so softly –There would I be!I am driven to the musing woodBy the power of love,Inner pain.Ah, nothing could tempt me from here,If I were able, my love,To be with you eternally!

AN DIE FERNE GELIEBTE - TO THE DISTANT BELOVEDBeethoven / Jeitteles English Translations © Richard Stokes


36

LEICHTE SEGLER IN DEN HÖHEN LIGHT CLOUDS SAILING ON HIGH

Leichte Segler in den Höhen,Und du, Bächlein klein und schmal,Könnt mein Liebchen ihr erspähen,Grüßt sie mir viel tausendmal.Seht ihr, Wolken, sie dann gehenSinnend in dem stillen Tal,Laßt mein Bild vor ihr entstehenIn dem luft’gen Himmelssaal.Wird sie an den Büschen stehen,Die nun herbstlich falb und kahl.Klagt ihr, wie mir ist geschehen,Klagt ihr, Vöglein, meine Qual.Stille Weste, bringt im WehenHin zu meiner HerzenswahlMeine Seufzer, die vergehenWie der Sonne letzter Strahl.Flüstr’ ihr zu mein Liebesflehen,Laß sie, Bächlein klein und schmal,Treu in deinen Wogen sehenMeine Tränen ohne Zahl!

DIESE WOLKEN IN DEN HÖHEN

Diese Wolken in den Höhen,Dieser Vöglein muntrer Zug,Werden dich, o Huldin, sehen.Nehmt mich mit im leichten Flug!Diese Weste werden spielenScherzend dir um Wang’ und Brust,In den seidnen Locken wühlen. –Teilt ich mit euch diese Lust!Hin zu dir von jenen HügelnEmsig dieses Bächlein eilt.Wird ihr Bild sich in dir spiegeln,Fließ zurück dann unverweilt!

Light clouds sailing on high,And you, narrow little brook,If you catch sight of my love,Greet her a thousand times.If, clouds, you see her walkingThoughtful in the silent valley,Let my image loom before herIn the airy vaults of heaven.If she be standing by the bushesAutumn has turned fallow and bare,Pour out to her my fate,Pour out, you birds, my torment.Soft west winds, waft my sighsTo her my heart has chosen –Sighs that fade awayLike the sun’s last ray.Whisper to her my entreaties,Let her, narrow little brook,Truly see in your ripplesMy never-ending tears!

THESE CLOUDS ON HIGH

These clouds on high,This cheerful flight of birdsWill see you, O gracious one.Take me lightly winging too!These west winds will playfullyBlow about your cheeks and breast,Will ruffle your silken tresses. –Would I might share that joy!This brooklet hastens eagerlyTo you from those hills.If she’s reflected in you,Flows directly back to me!

'Silence is true wisdom's best reply' (Euripides)Please turn the page quietly 37

ES KEHRET DER MAIEN, ES BLÜHET DIE AU

MAY RETURNS, THE MEADOW BLOOMS

Es kehret der Maien,Es blühet die Au,Die Lüfte, sie wehenSo milde, so lau,Geschwätzig die Bäche nun rinnen.Die Schwalbe, die kehretZum wirtlichen Dach,Sie baut sich so emsigIhr bräutlich Gemach,Die Liebe soll wohnen da drinnen.Sie bringt sich geschäftigVon kreuz und von QuerManch weicheres StückZu dem Brautbett hieher,Manch wärmendes Stück für die Kleinen.Nun wohnen die GattenBeisammen so treu,Was Winter geschieden,Verband nun der Mai,Was liebet, das weiß er zu einen.Es kehret der Maien,Es blühet die Au.Die Lüfte, sie wehenSo milde, so lau;Nur ich kann nicht ziehen von hinnen.Wenn alles, was liebet,Der Frühling vereint,Nur unserer LiebeKein Frühling erscheint,Und Tränen sind all ihr Gewinnen.

NIMM SIE HIN DENN, DIESE LIEDER

Nimm sie hin denn, diese Lieder,Die ich dir, Geliebte, sang,Singe sie dann abends wiederZu der Laute süßem Klang!Wenn das Dämmrungsrot dann ziehetNach dem stillen blauen See,Und sein letzter Strahl verglühetHinter jener Bergeshöh;Und du singst, was ich gesungen,Was mir aus der vollen BrustOhne Kunstgepräng erklungen,Nur der Sehnsucht sich bewußt:Dann vor diesen Liedern weichetWas geschieden uns so weit,Und ein liebend Herz erreichetWas ein liebend Herz geweiht!

*****

May returns,The meadow blooms.The breezes blowSo gentle, so mild,The babbling brooks flow again,The swallow returnsTo its rooftop home,And eagerly buildsHer bridal chamber,Where love shall dwell.She busily bringsFrom every directionMany soft scrapsFor the bridal bed,Many warm scraps for her young.Now the pair livesFaithfully together,What winter parted,May has joined,For May can unite all who love.May returns,The meadow blooms.The breezes blowSo gentle, so mild;I alone cannot move on.When spring unitesAll lovers,Our love aloneKnows no spring,And tears are its only gain.

ACCEPT, THEN, THESE SONGS

Accept, then, these songsI sang for you, beloved;Sing them again at eveningTo the lute’s sweet sound!As the red light of evening drawsTowards the calm blue lake,And its last rays fadeBehind those mountain heights;And you sing what I sangFrom a full heartWith no display of art,Aware only of longing:Then, at these songs,The distance that parted us shall recede,And a loving heart be reachedBy what a loving heart has hallowed!

38

CANTIQUE A L’ÉPOUSE SONG IN PRAISE OF A WIFE

Chausson / Jounet English Translation © Richard Stokes

Épouse au front lumineux,Voici que le soir descendEt qu'il jette dans tes yeuxDes rayons couleur de sang.

Le crépuscule féeriqueT'environne d'un feu rose,Viens me chanter un cantiqueBeau comme une sombre rose.

Ou plutôt ne chante pas,Viens te coucher sur mon cœur,Laisse-moi baiser tes brasPales comme l'aube en fleur.La nuit de tes yeux m'attire.Nuit frémissante, mystique,Douce comme ton sourireHeureux et mélancolique.Et soudain la profondeurDu passé religieux,Le mystère et la grandeurDe notre amour sérieuxS'ouvre au fond de nos penséesComme une vallée immenseOù des forêts délaisséesRêvent dans un grand silence…

Wife with the luminous brow,Evening now descendsAnd casts into your eyesBlood-red rays of light.

The magical duskSurrounds you in a pink glow,Come sing to me a songBeautiful as a dark rose.

Or rather do not sing,Come lie on my heart,Let me kiss your armsPale as the blossoming dawn.The night of your eyes entices me,Thrilling, mystical night.Sweet as your happyAnd melancholy smile.And suddenly the depthOf the devout past,The mystery and grandeurOf our true loveUnfolds at the heart of our thoughts,Like an immense valleyWhere deserted forestsDream in a great silence.

'Silence is a sounding thing, to one who listens hungrily' (Gwendolyn Bennett)


DANS LA FORÊT DU CHARME ET DE L'ENCHANTEMENT

IN THE FOREST OF CHARM AND ENCHANTMENT

Chausson / Moréas English Translation © Richard Stokes

Sous vos sombres chevelures, petites fées.Vous chantâtes sur mon chemin bien doucement,Sous vos sombres chevelures, petites fées,Dans la forêt du charme et de I'enchantement.

Dans la forêt du charme et des merveilleux rites.Gnomes compatissants, pendant que je dormais,De votre main. honnêtes gnomes vous m'offrîtes,Un sceptre d'or, hélas! pendant que je dormais.

J'ai su depuis ce temps que c'est mirage et leurre.Les sceptres d'or et les chansons dans la forêt.Pourtant comme un enfant crédule, je les pleureEt je voudrais dormir encore clans la forêt.

Qu'importe si je sais que c'est mirage et leurre.

Beneath your dark tresses, little fairies,You sang most sweetly in my path,Beneath your dark tresses, little fairies,In the forest of charm and enchantment. In the forest of charm and magical rites,While I slept, O tender gnomes,From your hands, good gnomes, you offered meA golden sceptre, alas, while I slept. I have since known them to be mirage and delusion,Those golden sceptres and songs in the forest;But like a credulous child I weep for themAnd should like still to sleep in the forest. Though I kno them to be mirage and delusion!

AMOUR D'ANTAN LOVE OF YESTERYEARChausson / Bouchor Translation © Roland Smithers, courtesy of

Hyperion Records Ltd, London

Mon amour d'antan, vous souvenez-vous?Nos cœurs ont fleuri tout comme deux rosesAu vent printanier des baisers si doux.Vous souvenez-vous de ces vieilles choses?Voyez-vous toujours en vos songes d'orLes horizons bleus, la mer soleilleuseQui, baisant vos pieds, lentement s'endort?En vos rêves d'or peut-être oublieuse?Au rayon pali des avrils passésSentez-vous s'ouvrir la fleur de vos rêves,Bouquet d'odorants et de frais penser?Beaux avrils passes là-bas, sur les grèves!

*****

My love of yesteryear, do you remember? Our hearts blossomed just like two rosesIn the spring breeze of such sweet kisses. Do you remember these things of the past?Do you still see in your golden dreamsThe blue horizons, the sunlit seaWhich, kissing your feet, slowly falls asleep? Perhaps forgetful in your golden dream?In the pale rays of past AprilsDo you feel the flower of your dreams unfold,A bouquet of fresh and fragrant thoughts?Beautiful Aprils now past, down there by the shore!

40

FOOL'S LOVERoss / Mucha

The love of a foolis a fool of a love.I’m as full as a sieveor an unwanted glove –

a slave to my will,which is all well and good,but my will is a wellwhich is misunderstood.

I ask, what is love?Well, I thought we’d make do,but for some, love means war,and by some, I mean you.

I ask, what is love?And I answer – not this.I open my eyesand I face the abyss:

what a fool I have been,living under your rule…So I’ll fall out of love,as I’m nobody’s fool.

*****

O SCHWÖRE NICHT UND KÜSSE NUR OH, SWEAR NO MORE AND KISS ME NOW

Boulanger / Heine English Translation © Hal Draper

O schwöre nicht und küsse nur,Ich glaube keinem Weiberschwur!Dein Wort ist süß, doch süßer istDer Kuß, den ich dir abgeküßt!Den hab ich, und dran glaub ich auch,Das Wort ist eitel Dunst und Hauch.

O schwöre, Liebchen, immerfort,Ich glaube dir aufs bloße Wort!An deinen Busen sink ich hin,Und glaube, daß ich selig bin;Ich glaube, Liebchen, ewiglich,Und noch viel länger, liebst du mich.

Oh, swear no more and kiss me now;I don’t believe a woman’s vow!Your words are sweet, but sweeter stillYour kiss, when I have kissed my fill!I’ve faith in this alone, my fair,For words are only breath and air.

Oh, swear forever, love, my own –I believe you on your word alone.I sink in rapture on your breast,Believing indeed that I am blest;Love, I believe you’ll love me trueEternally and longer too.

'Silence is deep as Eternity; speech is shallow as Time' (Thomas Carlyle)


WAS WILL DIE EINSAME TRÄNE? WHY THIS SOLITARY TEAR?

Boulanger / Heine English Translation © Richard Stokes

Was will die einsame Träne?Sie trübt mir ja den Blick.Sie blieb aus alten ZeitenIn meinem Auge zurück.

Sie hatte viel leuchtende Schwestern,Die alle zerflossen sind,Mit meinen Qualen und FreudenZerflossen in Nacht und Wind.

Wie Nebel sind auch zerflossenDie blauen Sternelein,Die mir jene Freuden und QualenGelächelt ins Herz hinein.

Ach, meine Liebe selberZerfloß wie eitel Hauch!Du alte, einsame Träne,Zerfließe jetzunder auch!

Why this solitary tear?It troubles my gaze.It has remained in my eyeFrom days long past.

It had many shining sistersWho have all vanished,Vanished with my joys and sorrowsIn night and wind.

Like mist, those tiny blue starsHave also vanishedThat smiled those joys and sorrowsInto my heart.

Ah, my love itselfVanished like a mere breath of air!Old, solitary tear,Vanish now as well!

ACH, DIE AUGEN SIND ES WIEDER YES, THEY ARE THE SELF-SAME EYES

Boulanger / Heine English Translation © Emma Lazarus

Ach, die Augen sind es wieder,Die mich einst so lieblich grüßten,Und es sind die Lippen wieder,Die das Leben mir versüßten.

Auch die Stimme ist es wieder,Die ich einst so gern gehöret!Nur ich selber bin's nicht wieder,Bin verändert heimgekehret.

Von den weißen, schönen ArmenFest und liebevoll umschlossen,Lieg ich jetzt an ihrem Herzen,Dumpfen Sinnes und verdroßen.

Yes, they are the self-same eyesThat still brighten as I greet her,Yes, they are the self-same lipsThat made all my life seem sweeter.

Yes, it is the very voice,At whose slightest tones I faltered.But no more the same am I;I wend homeward strangely altered.

By the fair white arms embracedWith a close and tender passion,Now I lie upon her heart,Dull of brain, in cold vexation.

42

J’AI FRAPPÉ MY HAND HAS STRUCK

Boulanger / Bourguignon Anon.

Ma main a frappé les portes closesEt d’autres mains au loin ont répondu.Mon front a frappé les portes closesEt d’autres fronts au loin ont répondu.Mon cœur a frappé les portes closesMais l’écho de mon cœur seul a répondu.

My hand has struck closed doorsAnd other hands have replied from afar.My brow has struck closed doorsAnd other brows have replied from afar.My heart has struck closed doorsBut only my heart’s echo replied.

CHANSON ‘LES LILAS SONT EN FOLIE’ SONG ‘THE LILACS ARE INFLAMED’

Boulanger / Delaquys Anon.

Les lilas sont en folie,Cache-cacheEt les roses sont jolies,Cachez-vous.

Tirez les rideaux, tirez les rideaux!Et sous les vertes feuillesCachez-vous!

Ah ah! Ah ah! Ah ah!

Lilas et rosiers Ah ah!La belle, Ah ah! Ah ah!La plus belle, c’est toi!Beaux seigneurs et dames belles,Aime, aime,Dans vos atours de dentelles,Aimez-vous.

Tirez les rideaux, tirez les rideaux!Qui voudra de mon âme?

Aimez-vous! Ah ah! Ah ah! Ah ah!Amours et baisers, ah la belleAh ah! Ah la plus belle c’est toi!

*****

The lilacs are inflamed,Hide-and-seek,And the roses are pretty,Hide yourself.

Draw the curtains, draw the curtains!And beneath the green leavesHide yourself!

Ah ah! Ah ah! Ah ah!

Lilacs and rose-bushes Ah ah!The fair one, Ah ah! Ah ah!The fairest one is you!Handsome lords and beautiful ladies,Love, love,In your silken finery,Love.

Draw the curtains, draw the curtains!Who would like my soul?

Love! Ah ah! Ah ah! Ah ah!Love and kisses, ah the fair one,Ah ah! the fairest one is you!

43'To communicate through silence is a link between

the thoughts of man' (Marcel Marceau) Please turn the page quietly

I HEARD YOU SINGING

Coates / Barrie I heard you singing when the dawn was greyAnd silver dew on ev’ry blossom lay;Though the rising sun too soon drank up the dew,I thought I heard you singing all the long day through.I heard you singing in the silent hourWhen evening came with sleep for bird and flow’r;A song like happy murmuring of woodland streams,I thought I heard you singing down the vale of dreams.Beloved, when the last call echoes clear,And I must part from all that is so dear,I shall not fear the valley that before me lies,If I may hear you singing as I close my eyes.

*****

44

I HEARD YOU SINGING

Coates / Barrie I heard you singing when the dawn was greyAnd silver dew on ev’ry blossom lay;Though the rising sun too soon drank up the dew,I thought I heard you singing all the long day through.I heard you singing in the silent hourWhen evening came with sleep for bird and flow’r;A song like happy murmuring of woodland streams,I thought I heard you singing down the vale of dreams.Beloved, when the last call echoes clear,And I must part from all that is so dear,I shall not fear the valley that before me lies,If I may hear you singing as I close my eyes.

*****

17.00 - SIÂN DICKER & KRYSTAL TUNNICLIFFEWiltshire born soprano Siân Dicker is a scholarship student on the opera course at the Guildhall School of Music & Drama. Recent operatic roles have included: Amaranta/Diana (La fedeltà premiata, Haydn) and Venus (Venus and Adonis) for Guildhall Opera, and Erste Dame (Die Zauberflöte) for Hurn Court Opera. Siân is currently looking forward to premiering the role of Observer 1 in Guildhall Opera's 'The Angel Esmeralda' in February 2020, commissioned by Scottish Opera with music by Lliam Paterson and libretto by Pamela Carter. She is delighted to be joining Garsington Opera chorus as an Alvarez Young Artist for their 2020 summer season, covering the role of The Foreign Princess in Rusalka.

Siân has recently sung in Masterclasses with Dame Ann Murray, Dame Felicity Lott, Susan Bullock CBE and William Bolcom. She was delighted to win the 2017 International Voice of the Future competition at the Llangollen International Musical Eisteddfod and was recently awarded second prize at the 2019 Patricia Routledge English National Song competition.

Siân's studies are generously supported by The D'Oyly Carte Charitable Trust and The Girdlers' Company Charitable Trust. She is delighted to be a Help Musicians UK Sybil Tutton Award holder and a musician for Live Music Now.

Australian pianist Krystal Tunnicliffe works at the Guildhall School of Music and Drama, is a Britten-Pears Young Artist and a Wigmore Hall Chamber Tots Artist 2017-18. Recently, she was the repetiteur/orchestral pianist for NI Opera/Lyric Theatre Belfast’s Sweeney Todd, and she will return in February for their production of Kiss Me Kate.

Krystal completed Bachelor and Masters degrees (with distinction) from the Melbourne Conservatorium of Music and the Guildhall School respectively, before undertaking a Junior Fellowship at the Guildhall School. She is also a graduate of the Franz-Schubert-Institut in Baden bei Wien. In 2019, she won the prize for the best accompanist in the heats at Melbourne National Liederfest, and with Harriet Burns she was a finalist at the Maureen Lehane Awards.

Krystal’s past performances have included Wigmore Hall, Queen Elizabeth Hall, St-Martin-in-the-Fields, LSO St Luke’s, and Notre Dame de Paris. She has been the concerto soloist for Gershwin’s Rhapsody In Blue and Rachmaninoff's Second Piano Concerto, and in January 2018 she performed Bernstein’s Arias and Barcarolles as a part of the BBC Total Immersion Day, later broadcast on BBC Radio 3. She has worked for Glyndebourne Education Department, Arts Educational Schools, Guildford School of Acting, and Opera Scholars Australia.

'Silence is the mother of truth' (Benjamin Disraeli)Please turn the page quietly

45

PROGRAMME

Felix Mendelssohn (1809 - 1847) Hexenlied Op. 8

Ludwig Heinrich Hölty (1748 - 1776)

Johannes Brahms (1833 – 1897)

Komm bald

Hugo Wolf (1860 – 1903) Bei einer Trauung

Klaus Groth (1819 - 1899) Eduard Mörike (1804 - 1875)

Sergei Prokofiev (1891 - 1953) Gadkiy utyonok, 'The Ugly Duckling' Hans Christian Andersen (1805 - 1875)

Libby Larsen (b.1950) From The Birth Project

ii. Pregnant Cheryl Strayed v. Five Days Heidi Pitlor

***** Rhian Samuel (b.1944) Cerddi Hynafol (Ancient Songs) Anon.

*****Liza Lehmann (1862 – 1918)

There are Fairies at the Bottom of our Garden Rose Fyleman (1877–1957

46

Felix Mendelssohn (1809 - 1847) Hexenlied Op. 8

Ludwig Heinrich Hölty (1748 - 1776)

Johannes Brahms (1833 – 1897)

Komm bald

Hugo Wolf (1860 – 1903) Bei einer Trauung

Klaus Groth (1819 - 1899) Eduard Mörike (1804 - 1875)

Sergei Prokofiev (1891 - 1953) Gadkiy utyonok, 'The Ugly Duckling' Hans Christian Andersen (1805 - 1875)

Libby Larsen (b.1950) From The Birth Project

ii. Pregnant Cheryl Strayed v. Five Days Heidi Pitlor

***** Rhian Samuel (b.1944) Cerddi Hynafol (Ancient Songs) Anon.

*****Liza Lehmann (1862 – 1918)

There are Fairies at the Bottom of our Garden Rose Fyleman (1877–1957

HEXENLIED WITCHES' SONG

Mendelssohn / Hölty English Translation © Richard Stokes

De Schwalbe fliegt,Der Früling siegt,Und spendet uns Blumen zum Kranze!Bald huschen wirLies’ aus der Tür,Und fliegen zum prächtigen Tanze!

Ein schwarzer Bock,Ein Besenstock,Die Ofengabel, der Wocken,Reißt uns geschwind,Wie Blitz und Wind,Durch sausende Lüfte zum Brocken!

Um BeelzebubTanzt unser Trupp,Und küßt ihm die kralligen Hände!Ein GeisterschwarmFaßt uns beim Arm,Und schwinget im Tanzen die Brände!

Und BeelzebubVerheißt dem TruppDer Tanzenden Gaben auf Gaben:Sie sollen schönIn Seide gehnUnd Töpfe voll Goldes sich graben!

Ein Feuerdrach’Umflieget das DachUnd bringet uns Butter und Eier:Die Nachbarn dann sehnDie Funken wehn,Und schlagen ein Kreuz vor dem Feuer.

Die Schwalbe fliegtDer Frühling siegt,Die Blumen erblühen zum Kranze.Bald huschen wirLeis’ aus der Tur,Juchheisa! zum prächtigen Tanze!

Swallows are flying,Spring’s triumphant,Dispensing flowers for wreaths!Soon we’ll flitQuietly outside,And fly to the splendid dance!

A black goat,A broomstick,The furnace rake, the distaffWhisk us on our way,Like lightning and wind,Through whistling gales to the Brocken!

Our coven dancesRound BeelzebubAnd kisses his claw-like hands!A ghostly throngSeizes our arms,Waving firebrands as they dance!

And BeelzebubPledges the throngOf dancers gift after gift:They shall be dressedIn beautiful silkAnd dig themselves pots full of gold!

A fiery dragonFlies round the roofAnd brings us butter and eggs:The neighbours catch sightOf the flying sparks,And cross themselves for fear of the fire.

Swallows are flying,Spring’s triumphant,Flowers are blooming for wreaths.Soon we’ll flitQuietly outside –Tally-ho to the splendid dance!


Silence moves faster when it's going backward (Jean Cocteau)


KOMM BALD! COME SOON!

Brahms / Groth English Translation © Richard Stokes

Warum denn wartenvon Tag zu Tag?Es blüht im Garten,Was blühen mag.

Wer kommt und zählt es,Was blüht so schön?An Augen fehlt es,Es anzusehn.

Die meinen wandernVom Strauch zum Baum -Mir scheint, auch andernWär's wie ein Traum.

Und von den Lieben,Die mir getreuUnd mir geblieben,Wär'st du dabei.

Why then waitFrom day to day?Everything in the garden bloomsThat wishes to bloom.

Who will come and countAll that lovely blossoming?Where are the eyesTo look at it all?

My own eyes wanderFrom bush to tree -I think other tooWould find it like a dream.

And among the dear friendsStill true to meAnd still alive -I wish that you were one of them.

BEI EINER TRAUUNG AT A WEDDING

Wolf / Mörike English Translation © Richard Stokes

Vor lauter hochadligen ZeugenKopuliert man ihrer zwei;Die Orgel hängt voll Geigen,Der Himmel nicht, mein Treu!

Seht doch, sie weint ja greulich,Er macht ein Gesicht abscheulich!Denn leider freilich, freilich,Keine Lieb ist nicht dabei.

Before exclusively highborn witnesses,Two exclusive people are being wed;The organ pours forth joyful music,But there’ll be no joy in heaven, I vow!

Just look, she’s crying her eyes out,He’s making a dreadful face!For I’m very very sorry to say,That love is wholly absent.

48

GADKIY UTYONOK THE UGLY DUCKLING

Prokofiev / AndersenTranslation from the original Danish © Nina Alexeyevna Krivosheina, née Meshcherskaya

English Translation © Marilyn Bulli

Kak chorošo bylo v derevne!Solnce veselo sijalo, rož' zolotilas',Dušistoe seno ležalo v stogach.V zelenom ugolke, sredi lopuchov,Utka sidela na jajcach.Ej bylo skučno, ona utomilas' ot dolgogo sidenija.

Nakonec, zatreščali skorlupki odna za drugoj. Utjata vylezli na svet.Kak velik božij mir! Kak velik božij mir! Poslednij utënok byl očen' nekrasiv,Bez per'ev, na dlinnych nogach. Už ne indjušonok li?! -Ispugalas' sosedka-utka.Pošël utinyj vyvodok na ptičij dvor. Deržites', deti, prjamo, lapki vroz'. Poklonites' nizko toj staroj utke,Ona ispanskoj porody.Vidite u nej na lape krasnuju tesemku? Ėto vysšij znak otličija dlja utki! Utjata nizko klanjalis' ispanskoj utkeI skoro osvoilis' so vsem naseleniem Ptič'ego dvora. Plocho prišlos'Tol'ko bednomu nekrasivomu utënku. Nad nim vse smejalis', gnali ego otovsjudu, Želali, čtoby koška s"ela skoree ego.Kury klevali ego, utki ščipali,Ljudi tolkali nogoj, a indejskij petuch, Naduvšis', kak korabl' na parusach, Naskočil na nesčastnogo utënka!

Utënok sobral vse svoi sily i pereletel čerez zabor. Ptički, sidevšie v kustach, vsporchnuli s ispugu. Utënok podumal: Ėto ottogo, čto ja takoj gadkij... On zakryl glaza, no vse že prodolžal bežat',Poka ne dostig bolota. Tam dikie utki Nakinulis' na nego: Ty čto za ptica?! Utënok povoračivalsja na vse storony. Ty užasno gadok! Utënok klanjalsja kak tol'ko mog niže.Ne vzdumaj ženit'sja na kom-nibud' iz nas! Mog li podumat' ob ėtom utënok!

It was beautiful in the country!The golden wheat rolled in waves. The grass was green,the hay was put to the millstone, the sun shone.In the shade of the reeds, alone at the bottom of the garden,a duck sat on her nest.She was sad and very tired of sitting. All of a sudden the eggshells gaily burst one by one. All the little ones saw the day."What a grand world!"Of all the brood, one alone was ugly,without feathers, his feet too long. "What a horror, a true turkey!"cried all the gossiping ducks.All the little ones reached the farmyard. "Children, hold your feet well apart.Say hello to the old duck.She is Spanish!Do you see that red scarf around her foot?It is a distinction very rare among the ducks."

The little ones bowed before her.Soon they knew all the customs of the farmyard. Sad and all alonelived the featherless ugly duckling.

His fate was terrible. He knew nothing but hatred. Everyone wished him to be eaten by the cat. He was pecked at by the rooster and by the guinea-fowl. They found him much too ugly. The turkey, turning red, clucking and inflating himself like a sail, attacked the little weak and trembling one.

Then the duckling, by flapping his wings, got over the wall of the yard and flew away.Birds quickly flew away when he approached.The poor little one thought, "It's because I am ugly that they fly away when I arrive."He closed his eyes and painfully made his way to a deep pond.There, to his surprise, he saw wild ducks."What is this monster??"The poor little duck hung his head, all a-tremble. "You are very grotesque!!"The poor one made deep bows."Don't you dream of marrying one of us!!"Oh, he was far from dreaming of marriage.

Please turn the page quietly

Tak načalis' ego stranstvovanija.Čego tol'ko ne vyterpel on za ėtu strašnuju osen'!

Inogda on časami sidel v kamyšach,Zamiraja ot stracha, droža ot ispuga,A vystrely ochotnichov razdavalis' po vsemu lesu. Strašnaja past' sobaki zijala nad ego golovoj.

Stanovilos' cholodnej. Ozero postepenno zatjagivalos' l'dom.Utënok dolžen byl vse vremja plavat', čtob voda ne zamerzla.Bylo b sliškom grustno rasskazyvat'O tech lišen'jach, kakie vynes on v ėtu zimu!

Odnaždy solnyško prigrelo zemlju svoimi teplymi lučami,Žavoronki zapeli, kusty zacveli - prišla vesna. Veselo vzmachnul utënok kryl'jami.Za zimu oni uspeli vyrasti. Podnjalsja na kryl'jach utënok I priletel v bol'šoj cvetuščij sad. Tam bylo tak chorošo!

Vdrug iz čašči trostnikov pojavilis'Tri prekrasnych lebedja.Neponjatnaja sila privlekala utënka k ėtim carstvennym pticam.Esli on priblizitsja k nim, oni, konečno, ego ub'jut, Potomu čto on takoj gadkij...

No lučše umeret' ot ich udarov,Čem terpet' vse, čto vystradal on v prodolženie ėtoj zimy!Ubejte menja... skazal utënokI opustil golovu, ožidaja smerti.

No čto on uvidel v čistoj vode? Svoe otražen'e! No on byl teper' ne gadkoj seroj pticej,A prekrasnym lebedem.Ne beda v gnezde utinom rodit'sja,Bylo b jajco lebedinoe!

Solnce laskalo ego, siren' sklonjalas' pred nim, Lebedi nežno ego celovali!Mog li on mečtat' o takom sčast'e,Kogda byl gadkim utënkom?

*****

It was the beginning of his sad adventures.During the autumn months he endured nothing but harm and suffering. He spent the days trembling in the reeds, ravaged by anguish,dying of terror,while hunters shot without stopping, close to the gloomy lake.Then an enormous dog hurled himself at the duck, wanting to eat him.

The weather became much colder. Little by little the ice covered the waters of the lake.The duckling had to swim constantly to keep a corner open.And he experienced other sufferings, other miseries, during the terrible icy winter.

The clear sun finally regained its strength; nature was revived.The birds sang and the air was clear. Oh, beautiful springtime!The duck happily beat his wings, which felt bigger and stronger. He flew into spaceand landed in a flowering garden. The park was beautiful!

Suddenly, gliding over the water appearedthree swans, beautiful and graceful.A strong force attracted him against his will to the proud and noble birds.Yet if he approached them certainly he would be killed, because wasn't he truly a monster? Better to be killed by these beautiful swans,than to endure again the misfortunes he suffered through the winter."All right, kill me!" he said quietly,and resignedly lowered his head waiting for death.

In the dazzling clear water, he saw his reflection. What joy!He was no longer a bird without feathers,but a swan, beautiful and proud.It is possible to be born in the nest of a duck as long as the egg is that of a swan!

In the rays of the sun the waters of the lake rocked him,and tenderly the beautiful swans embraced him. Could he ever have had such a beautiful dream when he was a bird without feathers?!

50

PREGNANT

Larsen / Strayed, adapted by Larsen

My husband, was out of town, but he’d be home that ev’ningI’d be picking him up at the airport, but I wouldn’t tell him thereThe news was too momentous, too beautiful to be delivered in an airport, or an automobile.I would lead him into our little red cottage by the pond where I’d open a bottle of non-alcoholic sparkling something and say the word I’d been wanting to say to him for a year.Pregnant, pregnant, pregnant.When I drove to the airport he was there already…“I’M PREGNANT!”I shrieked crazily the minute his eyes met mine.People looks at us in alarm.I’ve always been terrible at keeping secrets.

FIVE DAYS

Larsen / Pitlor, adapted by Larsen

A week of nearly no sleep,A week of fear, fear, horrible cramping pain…Ah – And then one morning, nothing.No pain. No burps or kicks from within, no movement at all…“Strange”, I thought, but at least the pain had gone.“It’s gone,” said the doctor and the midwife took my hand.So for five more days I would carry this baby boy with me.… five days, while heartbreaking, were also a gift.I had the chance to hold him inside me just a little while longer,Just me and him, A five day long goodbye.

*****

Silence is a fence around wisdom (German Proverb)Please turn the page quietly 51

HWIANGERDD DINOGAT LULLABY FOR DINOGAT

Peis Dinogat e vreith, vreith,O grwyn balaot ban wreith.Chwit, chwit, chwidogaeth,Gochanwyn gochenyn wythgweith.Pan elei dy dat ti i helya,Llath ar ei ysgwydd, llory yn ei law,Ef gelwi gŵn gogyhwc:Giff, Gaff, daly, daly, dwc, dwc.Ef lleddi bysc yng corwc,Mal ban lladd llew llywiwg.Pan elei dy dat ti i vynydd,Dyddygei ef penn ywrch,Penn gwythwch, penn hydd,Penn grugyar vreith o Venydd,Penn pysg, o rayadyr Derwennydd.O'r sawl yt gyrhaeddei dy dat ti â'i gicweinO wythwch a llewyn a llwyfein,Nyt anghei oll ni vei oradein.

Thy gown, Dinogat, enwraps thee,From finest fur 'tis made.Twit, wit, terwit, wit,Repeat it eight times.Whenever thy father goes hunting,A bow on his shoulder, cudgel in his hand,He will first call for his hounds:Giff, Gaff, dally, dally, come! come!He'll catch, from his coracleFish and eel and monster.Whenever thy father goes hunting,He'll capture a roebuck,A boar, a stag,A speckled mountain grouse,A fish from Derwent water.And these thy father will fix with his spear:The wild pig, the weasel, the fox,And speed them home on eagle's wings.

GALARNAD HELEDD HELEDD'S LAMENT

Stafell Gynddylan ys tywyll heno,Heb dân, heb wely,Wylaf wers, tawaf wedy.

Stafell Gynddylan ys tywyll heno,Heb dân, heb gannwyll.Namyn Duw, Pwy a'm dyry pwyll?

Stafell Gynddylan ys tywyll heno,Heb dân, heb gerddau,Dygystudd deurudd dagrau.

Alas Cynddylan, thy chamber's darken'd,No firelight, no greeting,Now I'll weep, later be silent.

Alas, Cynddylan, thy chamber’s darken'd,No firelight, no candles,Name of God! Who will give me strength?

Alas, Cynddylan, tthy chamber's darken'd,No firelight, no singing,No tears can ease my grief.

CERDDI HYNAFOL - ANCIENT SONGSSamuel / Anon. English Performance Translations © Rhian Samuel

52

CRYS Y MAB A YOUNG MAN'S SHIRT

Anon. English Translation © Rhian Samuel

Fal yr oeddwn yn golchiDan ben pont Aberteifi,A golchffon aur yn fy llaw,A chrys fy nghariad danaw,Fo ddoeth ata’ ŵr ar farch,Ysgwydd lydan, buan, balch,Ac a ofynnodd im a werthwnGrys y mab mwya' a garwn.

Ac y ddoedais i na werthwnEr canpunt nac er canpwn,Nac er lloned y ddwy fronO fyllt a defed gwynion,Nac er lloned dau goetgeO ychen dan eu hiefe,Nac er lloned LlanddewiO lysiau wedi sengi,Fal dyna'r modd y cadwnGrys y mab mwya' a garwn.

One day as I stood 'neathThe bridge at the river,A golden beater in my hand,My true love's shirt for to wash,There came thither a handsome knight,Broad-shoulder’d, comely, fine,And he ask'd me if I'd sell himThe shirt of my own true lover.

And I replied: 'No thank you!More than money and jewelsAnd the two upper fieldsFull of sheep and of clover,And the two lower fieldsFull of calves and their mothers,And the orchards of LlanddewiFull of fruits at their ripest:Well that's how much I treasureThe shirt of my own true lover.'

*****

Nothing is more useful than silence (Menander of Athens)


THERE ARE FAIRIES AT THE BOTTOM OF OUR GARDEN

Lehmann / Fyleman

There are fairies at the bottom of our garden.It’s not so very, very far away;You pass the gardener’s shedAnd you just keep straight ahead;Oh I do so hope they’ve really come to stay.There’s a little wood with moss in it, and beetles,And a little stream that quietly runs through;You wouldn’t think they’d dareTo come merry-making there …Well, they do!Yes, they do!There are fairies at the bottom of our garden.They often have a dance on summer nights.

The butterflies and beesMake a lovely little breeze,And the rabbits stand about and hold the lights.Did you know that they could sit upon a moonbeamAnd catch a little star to make a fan,And dance away up thereIn the middle of the air?Well, they can!Yes, they can!

Oh, those fairies at the bottom of our garden -You cannot think how beautiful they are;They all stand up and singWhen the Fairy Queen and KingCome lightly floating down upon their car.Now, the King is very proud and very handsome,And the Queen - now can you guess who she might be?She’s a little girl by day,But at night she steals away …Well, it’s ME!Yes … it’s ME!

© Rose Fyleman (1877-1957) © Hyperion Records Ltd, London

*****

54

THERE ARE FAIRIES AT THE BOTTOM OF OUR GARDEN

Lehmann / Fyleman

There are fairies at the bottom of our garden.It’s not so very, very far away;You pass the gardener’s shedAnd you just keep straight ahead;Oh I do so hope they’ve really come to stay.There’s a little wood with moss in it, and beetles,And a little stream that quietly runs through;You wouldn’t think they’d dareTo come merry-making there …Well, they do!Yes, they do!There are fairies at the bottom of our garden.They often have a dance on summer nights.

The butterflies and beesMake a lovely little breeze,And the rabbits stand about and hold the lights.Did you know that they could sit upon a moonbeamAnd catch a little star to make a fan,And dance away up thereIn the middle of the air?Well, they can!Yes, they can!

Oh, those fairies at the bottom of our garden -You cannot think how beautiful they are;They all stand up and singWhen the Fairy Queen and KingCome lightly floating down upon their car.Now, the King is very proud and very handsome,And the Queen - now can you guess who she might be?She’s a little girl by day,But at night she steals away …Well, it’s ME!Yes … it’s ME!

© Rose Fyleman (1877-1957) © Hyperion Records Ltd, London

*****

18.00 - LAUREN YOUNG & JOSÉ JAVIER UCENDO

Stirling-born mezzo Lauren Young is in her final year at the Alexander Gibson Opera School under the tutelage of Linda Ormiston.

Operatic experience includes Baba The Turk (Cover) The Rake’s Progress; Angelina (Cover) La Cenerentola (British Youth Opera); Chorus Un Ballo in Maschera/Romeo et Juliette (Grange Park Opera); Marcellina The Marriage of Figaro (Magnetic Opera); Erste Mägde Elektra; Flosshilde Das Rheingold (Edinburgh Players Opera Group); Zita (Cover) Gianni Schicchi; Sorceress Dido and Aeneas; Jade

Boucher Dead Man Walking; Cherubino Le nozze di Figaro (RCS); Giovanna Seymour Anna Bolena; Romeo I Capuleti e i Montecchi; Kate Julian Owen Wingrave (RCS Opera Scenes).

Upcoming engagements include Lucretia The Rape of Lucretia and Madame de Croissy Dialogues des Carmelites at RCS. Upcoming concert highlights include the Independent Opera Scholar’s Recital at the Wigmore Hall and alto soloist in Handel’s Messiah at the Cadogan Hall in 2020. Lauren is a recipient of an Independent Opera Voice Scholarship and Fellowship. She is also the holder of the John Mather Rising Star Award and WFT Anderson Scholarship. Lauren was the winner of the Elgar-Spedding Memorial Lieder Prize with her duo partner Jose Javier Ucendo, and was awarded runner up in the Ye Cronies Opera Award 2019.

After studying in Castellón with Juan C. Cornelles, Javier graduated in Masters of Music in 2016 from the Estonian Academy of Music (Prof. Ivari Ilja and Ave Sikk) and in 2018 in MMus Accompaniment from the Royal Conservatoire of Scotland (Prof. Fali Pavri and Scott Mitchell). He is currently a student of the Alexander Gibson Opera School of the RCS in the MMus Repetiteur course. He is also the Organist and Musical Director of the Cadder Parish Church and MD of Daïmon, which promotes song and contemporary repertoire.

Recent engagements include: The Telephone (Daïmon), Trouble in Tahiti, Dead Man Walking, Le Nozze di Figaro and The Rape of Lucretia (RCS), the National Youth Choir of Scotland workshops, and the next Scottish Opera YAP Showcase in January 2019.

Javier is a grateful recipient of the RCS Trust and the Sam Hutchings Trust scholarships. He was awarded with the Sam Hutchings Accompaniment Fellowship and the Alex Menzies Memorial Fund Prize for accompanists in 2018. He is also a recipient of the 2019 Roderick Brydon Award and winner of the 2019 Elgar-Spedding Lied duo prize with Lauren Young, and the EMTA Lied duo prize with Heloïse Bernard.

55‘Shallow brooks murmur most, deep silent slide away’

(Philip Sidney) Please turn the page quietly

PROGRAMME

Gustav Holst (1874 – 1934) Vedic Hymns - Set I, Op. 24 - nos. 1, 2, 3

Trad. Sanskrit, trans. Holst

Erich Wolfgang Korngold (1897 – 1957)

Drei Lieder Op. 22

Was du mir bist? Mit dir zu schweigen Welt ist stille eingeschlafen

Claude Debussy (1862-1918) Trois Chansons de Bilitis

Eleonore van der Straaten Karl Kobald (1876 - 1957) Karl Kobald Pierre Louÿs (1870 – 1925)

Manuel de Falla (1876 - 1946) Canciones Españolas - no. 5 'Nana' Anon.

Xavier Montsalvatge (1912 - 2002)

Cinco Canciones Negras - no. 4 'Canción de cuna para dormir a un negrito' Ildefonso Pereda Valdés

(1899 - 1996)

Jake Heggie (b. 1961)

A Lucky Child Terrence McNally (b. 1938) James MacMillan (b.1939)

Scots Song William Soutar (1898 - 1946)

56

Gustav Holst (1874 – 1934) Vedic Hymns - Set I, Op. 24 - nos. 1, 2, 3

Trad. Sanskrit, trans. Holst

Erich Wolfgang Korngold (1897 – 1957)

Drei Lieder Op. 22

Was du mir bist? Mit dir zu schweigen Welt ist stille eingeschlafen

Claude Debussy (1862-1918) Trois Chansons de Bilitis

Eleonore van der Straaten Karl Kobald (1876 - 1957) Karl Kobald Pierre Louÿs (1870 – 1925)

Manuel de Falla (1876 - 1946) Canciones Españolas - no. 5 'Nana' Anon.

Xavier Montsalvatge (1912 - 2002)

Cinco Canciones Negras - no. 4 'Canción de cuna para dormir a un negrito' Ildefonso Pereda Valdés

(1899 - 1996)

Jake Heggie (b. 1961)

A Lucky Child Terrence McNally (b. 1938) James MacMillan (b.1939)

Scots Song William Soutar (1898 - 1946)

TEXTS & TRANSLATIONSVEDIC HYMNS, SET I, OP. 24 - NOS. 1 - 3

Holst / Trad. Trad. Sanskrit, trans. Holst

USHAS (DAWN) MARUTS (STORMCLOUDS)

Behold the Dawn, the fairest of all visions,Day's glory now appears.Arise! For the night hath fled!Arise and greet the Dawn.Welcome her! Unveiled she now appeareth,All things greet her radiant smile.Borne by wingèd horse and carShe steals across the sky.Child of heav'n arrayed in shining garments,Blushing maiden draw thou near:Sovran lady of earth and sky,We hail thee as our queen.Heav'n's breath awakeneth creation,The sky is all aflame,Th'eastern Portals open wide.The Sun draws nigh.Greeting thee, the holy fire ascendeth,Greeting thee, our hymns arise,Greeting thee, the Sun appeareth,Greeting thee, thy worshippersBow down and bless and adore.

Mighty Warriors,Children of Thunder,Glorious Maruts,Heralds of storm!Through the gloomGathering round usYe and your horsesAppear in the sky;Glowing like flamesFrom the holy fireThat springs from the altar,Rising to God.

Flashing sword blades,Tramping of horses,Shouting of ridersFill the sky!Ye are seenSpreading a mantle,Cov'ring the heavensAnd hiding the sun. Then from above 'midst

VARUNA I (SKY) The lightning's bright gleam,Rejoicing in freedom,

Oh thou great judge, Varuna,Day after day we break thy holy laws.Oh let us not be yielded up to Death to be destroyèd,To be destroyèd in thy wrath.

To gain forgiveness, Varuna,In deepest woe I raise to thee my chant:Behold, it riseth up towards thy holy throne to begfor mercy,As flies the bird unto his nest.

Thou knowest all, Varuna,Thou knowest the pathway of the moon and wind,Thy laws throughout eternity endure, thou mightyruler,And to thy judgement all must come.

He doth appear! My cry is answered!I am delivered from my sin.

Falleth the rain.

Rushing onwardHurling your weapons,Chanting your war songsNearer ye come!We would fainWelcome you fitly,But faint are our voicesAnd feeble our lays.Come then, dwell within us,With your power inspire our hearts,Then shall our songs,Like clouds expanding,Carry your gloryThroughout the world.

57‘The rest is silence’ (Shakespeare) Please turn the page quietly

DREI LIEDER OP. 22

WAS DU MIR BIST? WHAT YOU ARE TO ME?

Korngold / van der Straaten English Translation © Uri Liebrecht

Was du mir bist? Der Ausblick in ein schönes Land,Wo fruchtbelad’ne Bäume ragen,Blumen blühn’ am Quellenrand.

Was du mir bist? Der Stern’ Funkeln,das Gewölk durchbricht,Der ferne Lichtstrahl,der im Dunkeln spricht:O Wand’rer, verzage nicht!

Und war mein Leben auch Entsagen,glänzte mir kein froh Geschick,was dur mir bist? Kannst du noch fragen?Was du mir bist: mein Glaube an das Glück.

What you are to me? The sight of land,A stand of fruit-laden trees,Flowers in bloom at the water’s edge.

What you are to me? The sparkle of starsthat breaks through the cloud,The distant ray of light that through thedarkness says:Traveller, don’t lose heart!

And even if my life was one of resignation,Where no good fortune came my way,What you are to me? Need you ask?What you are to me: my faith in happiness.

MIT DIR ZU SCHWEIGEN SILENCE, WHEN I’M WITH YOU

Korngold / Kobald English Translation © Uri Liebrecht

Mit Dir zu schweigen still im Dunkel, die Seele an der Träume Schoss gelehnt, ist Lauschen ew’gen Melodien,ist Liebe ohne End. Mit Dir zu schweigen in der Dämmerzeitist Schweben nach der Welten grossen Fülle, ist Wachsen weit in die Unendlichkeit, entrückt in ew’ge Stille.

WELT IST STILLE EINGESCHLAFEN WHEN THE WORLD HAS GONE TO SLEEP

Korngold / Kobald English Translation © Uri Liebrecht Welt ist stille eingeschlafen, Ruht im Mondenschein Öffnen sich im Himmelshafen Augen, golden, rein,Gottes Geige singt jetzt leis’ Liebste, denk’ an Dich, Wie im Traumboot geht die Reise, such’ in Sternen Dich.Strahlen sel’ger Lieb erhellen Meines Herzens Raum. Zweisprach halten uns’re Seelen, Küssen sich im Traum.

© Signum records

To sit with you in silence in the dark, Our souls resting in the lap of dreams, Is to hear eternal melodies,Is endless love, it seems. To sit with you at twilight without wordsIs to float towards the fullness of the earth, Is to grow deep into the infinite,Far removed, a tranquil berth.

When the world has gone to sleep, Resting in the moon-lightAnd in heaven’s harbourEyes, pure and golden open, God’s violin sings sweetly And my love, I think of you.

Sailing in a boat of dreams,I seek you in the stars,Beams of blissful love light up The recesses of my heart. Our souls in deep communion kiss, In my dream ... in my dream.

Translation copyright © by Uri Liebrecht (www.uritext.co.uk)

LA FLÛTE DE PAN THE FLUTE OF PAN

Pour le jour des Hyacinthies, il m’a donné une syrinxfaite de roseaux bien taillés, unis avec la blanche cirequi est douce à mes lèvres comme le miel.

Il m’apprend à jouer, assise sur ses genoux; mais jesuis un peu tremblante. Il en joue après moi, sidoucement que je l’entends à peine.

Nous n’avons rien à nous dire, tant nous sommesprès l’un de l’autre; mais nos chansons veulent serépondre, et tour à tour nos bouches s’unissent sur la flûte.

Il est tard; voici le chant des grenouilles vertes quicommence avec la nuit. Ma mère ne croira jamais queje suis restée si longtemps à chercher ma ceinture perdue.

For Hyacinthus day he gave me a syrinx made ofcarefully cut reeds, bonded with white wax which tastessweet to my lips like honey.

He teaches me to play, as I sit on his lap; but I ama little fearful. He plays it after me, so gently that Iscarcely hear him.

We have nothing to say, so close are we one toanother, but our songs try to answer each other, andour mouths join in turn on the flute.

It is late; here is the song of the green frogs thatbegins with the night. My mother will never believeI stayed out so long to look for my lost sash.

Bin verändert heimgekehret.Von den weißen, schönen ArmenFest und liebevoll umschlossen,Lieg ich jetzt an ihrem Herzen,Dumpfen Sinnes und verdroßen.

CHANSONS DE BILITISDebussy / Louÿs English Translation © Richard Stokes

59‘Well-timed silence hath more eloquence than

speech’ (Martin Farquhar Tupper) Please turn the page quietly

LA CHEVELURE THE TRESSES OF HAIR

Il m’a dit: «Cette nuit, j’ai rêvé. J’avais ta chevelureautour de mon cou. J’avais tes cheveux comme uncollier noir autour de ma nuque et sur ma poitrine.

«Je les caressais, et c’étaient les miens; et nousétions liés pour toujours ainsi, par la même chevelurela bouche sur la bouche, ainsi que deux lauriers n’ontsouvent qu’une racine. «Et peu à peu, il m’a semblé, tant nos membresétaient confondus, que je devenais toi-même ou quetu entrais en moi comme mon songe.» Quand il eut achevé, il mit doucement ses mains surmes épaules, et il me regarda d’un regard si tendre,que je baissai les yeux avec un frisson.

He said to me: ‘Last night I dreamed. I had yourtresses around my neck. I had your hair like a blacknecklace all round my nape and over my breast.

‘I caressed it and it was mine; and wewere united thus for ever by the same tresses,mouth on mouth, just as two laurelsoften share one root. ‘And gradually it seemed to me, so intertwinedwere our limbs, that I was becoming you, or you wereentering into me like a dream.’ When he had finished, he gently set his hands onmy shoulders and gazed at me so tenderly that I loweredmy eyes with a shiver.

LE TOMBEAU DES NAIADES THE TOMB OF THE NAIADS

Le long du bois couvert de givre, je marchais; mes cheveuxdevant ma bouche se fleurissaient de petits glaçons, etmes sandales étaient lourdes de neige fangeuse et tassée.

Il me dit: «Que cherches-tu?»—«Je suis la trace du satyre.Ses petits pas fourchus alternent comme des trous dansun manteau blanc.» Il me dit: «Les satyres sont morts.

«Les satyres et les nymphes aussi. Depuis trente ans iln’a pas fait un hiver aussi terrible. La trace que tu vois estcelle d’un bouc. Mais restons ici, où est leur tombeau.»

Et avec le fer de sa houe il cassa la glace de la sourceoù jadis riaient les naïades. Il prenait de grandsmorceaux froids, et les soulevant vers le ciel pâle, il regardait au travers.

Along the frost-bound wood I walked; my hair acrossmy mouth, blossomed with tiny icicles, and mysandals were heavy with muddy, packed snow.

He said to me: ‘What do you seek?’ ‘I follow the satyr’s track.His little cloven hoof-marks alternate like holes ina white cloak.’ He said to me: ‘The satyrs are dead.

‘The satyrs and the nymphs too. For thirty years therehas not been so harsh a winter. The tracks you see are thoseof a goat. But let us stay here, where their tomb is.’

And with the iron head of his hoe he broke the ice ofthe spring, where the naiads used to laugh. He picked up some huge cold fragments, and, raising them to the pale sky, gazed through them.

CANCIÓN DE CUNA PARA DORMIR UN NEGRITO

LULLABY FOR A LITTLE BLACK BOY

Montsalvatge / Valdés English Translation © Richard Stokes

Ninghe, ninghe, ninghe,tan chiquitito,el negritoque no quiere dormir.

Cabeza de coco,grano de café,con lindas motitas,con ojos grandotescomo dos ventanasque miran al mar.

Cierra los ojitos,negrito asustado;el mandinga blancote puede comer.¡Ya no eres esclavo!

Y si duermes mucho,el señor de casapromete comprartraje con botonespara ser un ‘groom’.

Ninghe, ninghe, ninghe,duérmete, negrito,cabeza de coco,grano de café.

Lullay, lullay, lullay,tiny little child,little black boy,who won’t go to sleep.

Head like a coconut,head like a coffee bean,with pretty frecklesand wide eyeslike two windowslooking out to sea.

Close your tiny eyes,frightened little boy,or the white devilwill eat you up.You’re no longer a slave!

And if you sleep soundly,the master of the housepromises to buya suit with buttonsto make you a ‘groom’.

Lullay, lullay, lullay,sleep, little black boy,head like a coconut,head like a coffee bean.

Auch die Stimme ist es wieder, Why is Spring so fleeting,Why does not Summer tarry?Thus of yore I often thought,Asked, without answers, of many.

Since the beloved has failed me,Since to cold his warmth has turned,All his Summer has become Winter,Since then I have not asked anymoreOnly felt, deep in my heart,That Loveliness is fickle,That Sweetness does not linger.

Die ich einst so gern gehöret!Nur ich selber bin's nicht wieder,Bin verändert heimgekehret.Von den weißen, schönen ArmenFest und liebevoll umschlossen,Lieg ich jetzt an ihrem Herzen,Dumpfen Sinnes und verdroßen.

NANA LULLABY

de Falla / Anon.

Duérmete, niño, duerme,duerme, mi alma,duérmete, lucerito,de la mañana.Naninta, nana.duérmete, luceritode la mañana.

English Translation © Jacqueline Cockburn Sleep, little one, sleep,sleep, my darling,sleep, my littlemorning star.Lullay, lullay,sleep, my littlemorning star.

61‘Silence is better than unmeaning words’

(Pythagoras) Please turn the page quietly

A LUCKY CHILD

Heggie / McNally

libretto by Terrence McNally (from 'At the Statue of Venus')

ROSE: At night we dream of love, of loving and being loved like when we were children;if we were lucky, as I was. I knew my parents loved me and I loved them. I felt safe andprotected. I knew that morning would always come. And I knew I was loved. Oh God, Iwas a lucky, lucky child.

Sunday night dinners over at Grandma’s, we’d all be together; playing piano, singingalong, not in tune or too much in measure. Wrestling with cousins, the stories we’d share,the night Randall kissed me. Then, pretending to sleep in the car riding home with myfather and mother; wanting to hear the secrets they’d share. But mostly, just wanting to becarried upstairs in my father’s arms, then he’d kiss me and say: “Good night, my littlepumpkin. Sleep soundly, my little love. Angel from heaven. Star from above.” And I’dsleep.

That love is what I’m seeking, to feel again I am safe and protected, to wake each morningfilled with hope, and to know I am loved. Oh God, I was a lucky, lucky child.

At the Statue of Venus © 2005 by Jake Heggie and Terrence McNally (reprinted by permission of Bent Pen Music, Inc.)

SCOTS SONG

MacMillan / Soutar O luely, luely, cam she inAnd luely she lay doun:I kent her be her caller lipsAnd her breists sae sma’ and roun’.A’ thru the nicht we spak nae wordNor sinder’d bane frae bane:A’ thru the nicht I heard her hertGang soundin’ wi’ my ain.It was about the waukrife hourWhen cocks begin to crawThat she smool’d saftly thru the mirkAfore the day wud daw.Sae luely, luely, cam she inSaie luely was she gaen;And wi’ her a’ my simmer daysLike they had never been.

from William Soutar's poem 'The Tryst'

62

A LUCKY CHILD

Heggie / McNally

libretto by Terrence McNally (from 'At the Statue of Venus')

ROSE: At night we dream of love, of loving and being loved like when we were children;if we were lucky, as I was. I knew my parents loved me and I loved them. I felt safe andprotected. I knew that morning would always come. And I knew I was loved. Oh God, Iwas a lucky, lucky child.

Sunday night dinners over at Grandma’s, we’d all be together; playing piano, singingalong, not in tune or too much in measure. Wrestling with cousins, the stories we’d share,the night Randall kissed me. Then, pretending to sleep in the car riding home with myfather and mother; wanting to hear the secrets they’d share. But mostly, just wanting to becarried upstairs in my father’s arms, then he’d kiss me and say: “Good night, my littlepumpkin. Sleep soundly, my little love. Angel from heaven. Star from above.” And I’dsleep.

That love is what I’m seeking, to feel again I am safe and protected, to wake each morningfilled with hope, and to know I am loved. Oh God, I was a lucky, lucky child.

At the Statue of Venus © 2005 by Jake Heggie and Terrence McNally (reprinted by permission of Bent Pen Music, Inc.)

SCOTS SONG

MacMillan / Soutar O luely, luely, cam she inAnd luely she lay doun:I kent her be her caller lipsAnd her breists sae sma’ and roun’.A’ thru the nicht we spak nae wordNor sinder’d bane frae bane:A’ thru the nicht I heard her hertGang soundin’ wi’ my ain.It was about the waukrife hourWhen cocks begin to crawThat she smool’d saftly thru the mirkAfore the day wud daw.Sae luely, luely, cam she inSaie luely was she gaen;And wi’ her a’ my simmer daysLike they had never been.

from William Soutar's poem 'The Tryst'

FRIDAY 27 MARCH TAKE PART MASTERCLASS WITH JOAN RODGERS Holywell Music Room, 10.30am - 4.30pm

BRING AND SING Holywell Music Room, 6.30pm - 8.30pm

MASTERCLASS WITHMARCUS FARNSWORTH 4pm - 7pm

Joan Rodgers

SATURDAY 28 MARCH POETRY MAKING SONG Holywell Music Room, 11am - 3pm

GRIEG, STRAUSS & BERLIOZ Holywell Music Room, 8pmAilish Tynan soprano; James Baillieu piano

SUNDAY 29 MARCH SCHUMANN, MAHLER & BERG Holywell Music Room, 8pm - Christiana Gansch soprano; Sholto Kynoch piano

MONDAY 30 MARCH DVORÁK, RAVEL AND KORNGOLD Holywell Music Room, 8pm - Dorottya Láng mezzo-soprano; Julius Drake piano

TUESDAY 31 MARCH SCHUBERT, FAURÉ & QUILTER Holywell Music Room, 8pm - Klemens Sander baritone; Sholto Kynoch piano

WEDNESDAY 1 APRIL LIVING SONG Holywell Music Room, 8pmLotte Betts-Dean mezzo-soprano and members of Ensemble x.y: Joseph Havlat piano, Alyson Frazier flute, Cecilia Bignall cello

THURSDAY 2 APRIL SONGS OF TRAVEL Holywell Music Room, 8pm - Benjamin Appl baritone; Simon Lepper piano

FRIDAY 3 APRIL TO THE DISTANT BELOVED Holywell Music Room, 8pm - Robin Tritschler tenor; Graham Johnson piano

SATURDAY 4 APRIL THE SONGMAKERS ALMANAC Holywell Music Room, 11am - 1pm - Graham Johnson speaker

MASTERCOURSE FINALEHolywell Music Room, 7.30pm - 9.30pmMASTERCOURSE DAYS - 29 March - 3 April, 10am - 5pm. The Mastercourse will be led by the renowned Joan Rodgers with guest tutors including Graham Johnson, Simon Lepper, Julius Drake and James Baillieu. Sessions run throughout the day and full details can be found on the website.

Box Office 01865 591276 | oxfordlieder.co.uk

‘The rest is silence’ (Shakespeare)Please turn the page quietly PB64

A BR IEF H ISTORY OF SONG

THE 19TH OXFORD LIEDER FESTIVAL9 – 24 October 2020

oxfordlieder.co.uk

OLF2020_Advert_A5_v6.indd 1 06/10/2019 17:29

young artist platform audition recitals artist... · blommans öde se’n har jag ej frågat...

Documents