Liederabend LVII: Exilers - Composers and Poets Set Adrift
From Benjamin Britten’s New York song cycles, to the poems of Luis Cernuda and Marina Tsvetaeva, to the many Austrian and German composers who fled their homelands in the twentieth century, this concert celebrates the resilience of the creative spirit in the face of dislocation and upheaval. We honor the many ways artists have channelled the violence of their immediate circumstances into works of profound beauty and transformation.
ABOUT SONG LAB:
This Liederabend performance is connected to NEC's Song Lab, a new model of training for singers and pianists based around the performance and study of art song. This fall, Song Lab focuses on French poetry and song, including the history and culture surrounding it. All of the Liederabend offerings this fall will contain some French song repertoire, performed as an extension of this area of study.
This performance is open to in-person audiences, and can also be viewed below via livestream.
VIEW LIVESTREAM FROM Williams HALL:
LOST IN NEW YORK: Benjamin Britten
from Les illuminations, op. 18
I. Fanfare
II. Villes
IV. Royauté
IX. DépartTexts
Fanfare
J’ai seul la clef de cette parade sauvage.
Villes
Ce sont des villes! C’est un peuple pour qui se
sont montés ces Alleghanys et ces Libans de
rêve![Ce sont des villes!] Des chalets de cristal
et debois se meuvent sur des rails et des poulies
invisibles. Les vieux cratères ceints de colosses
etde palmiers de cuivre rugissent
mélodieusementdans les feux. [––]
[Ce sont des villes!] Des cortèges de Mabs en
robesrousses, opalines, montent des ravines.
Là-haut, lespieds dans la cascade et les ronces,
les cerfs tettentDiane. Les Bacchantes des
banlieues sanglotent et lalune brûle et hurle.
Vénus entre dans les cavernes des forgerons et
des ermites. [Ce sont des ––]
Desgroupes de beffrois chantent les idées des
peuples.Des châteaux bâtis en os sort la musique
inconnue.
[––]
[Ce sont des villes! Ce sont des villes!]
[––]
Le paradis des orages s’effondre. Les sauvages
dansent sans cesse la fête de la nuit. [Ce sont desvilles!]
[––]
Quels bons bras, quelle belle heure me rendront
cetterégion d’où viennent mes sommeils et mes
moindresmouvements?
Royauté
Un beau matin, chez un peuple fort doux, un
hommeet une femme superbes criaient sur la
place publique:"Mes amis, je veux qu’elle soit
reine!" "Je veux êtrereine!" Elle riait et
tremblait. Il parlait aux amis derévélation,
d’épreuve terminée. Ils se pâmaient l’un
contre l’autre.
En effet ils furent rois toute une matinée où les
tentures carminées se relevèrent sur les
maisons, ettout l’après-midi, où ils s’avancèrent
du côté desjardins de palmes.
Départ
Assez vu. La vision s’est rencontrée à tous les
airs.Assez eu. Rumeurs des Villes, le soir, et au
soleil, ettoujours. Assez connu. Les arrêts de la
vie.––
O Rumeurs et Visions! Départ dans l’affection
etle bruit neufs!
Arthur Rimbaud (1854–1891)Fanfare
I alone have the key to this savage parade.
Cities
These are cities! This is a people for who arose
theseAlleghenies and Lebanons from dreams! [These arecities!] Chalets of crystal and wood move on invisiblerails and pulleys. Old craters encircled by colossusesand copper palm-trees, roar melodiously in the fires.[––]
[These are cities!] Processions of Mabs in russet,opaline gowns climb the ravines.
Farther up, with theirfeet in the waterfall and the brambles, stags suckle Diana.The Bacchantes of the suburbs sob, and the moonburns and howls. Venus enters into the caverns ofblacksmiths and hermits. [These are ––]
Groups ofbelfries sing the ideas of the people. Unknown musicpours forth from castles built of bone.
[––]
[These are cities! These are cities!]
[––]
The paradise of storms collapses. Savages
ceaselessly dance out the festival of the night. [These arecities!]
[––]
What lovely arms, what beautiful hour will give me backthat region from where my sleep and my slightestmovements come?
Royalty
One beautiful morning, in the land of a very
gentlepeople, a superb man and woman cried
out in the publicsquare, "Friends, I want her to
be queen!" "I want to bequeen!" She laughed
and trembled. He spoke to hisfriends of revelation, of hard trials finished. They
swooned, one against the other.
In effect, they were kings for a whole morning as crimsonhangings were raised on the houses,
and all afternoon asthey advanced towards the gardens of palms.
Departure
Enough seen. The vision has been encountered under allskies. Enough had. Sounds of cities, at evening, in thesun, and always. Enough known. The stopping of life.––
Oh Sounds and Visions! Departure into new affectionand noise.
Translations by Julia Bullock, 2020Artists- Jack Keller, tenor
- Su-Jin Choi, piano
LOST IN CALIFORNIA | Alma Mahler, Hans Eisler, Erich Korngold
Alma Mahler | Bei dir ist es traut
Text
Bei dir ist es traut
Bei dir ist es traut:
Zage Uhren schlagen
Wie aus weiten Tagen.
Komm mir ein Liebes sagen -
Aber nur nicht laut.
Ein Tor geht irgendwo
Draussen im Blütentreiben.
Der Abend horcht an den Scheiben.
Lass uns leise bleiben:
Keiner weiss uns so.
Rainer Maria Rilke (1875-1926)I feel warm and close with you
I feel warm and close with you:
Clocks strike hesitantly,
Like they did in distant days.
Say something loving to me -
But not aloud.
A gate opens somewhere
Out in the burgeoning.
Evening listens at the windowpanes.
Let us stay quiet,
No one knows us thus.
Translation © Richard Stokes, author of The Book of Lieder, published by Faber, provided courtesy of Oxford Lieder (www.oxfordlieder.co.uk)Hans Eisler | from Hollywood Liederbuch
Unter den grünen Pfefferbäumen
Die Stadt ist nach den Engeln genannt
Hollywood (Diese Stadt hat mich belehrt)
In den Hügeln wird Gold gefundenText
Unter den grünen Pfefferbäumen
Unter den grünen Pfefferbäumen
Gehn die Musiker auf den Strich,
Zwei und zwei mit den Schreibern.
Bach hat ein Strichquartett im Täschchen,
Dante schwenkt den dürren Hintern.
Die Stadt ist nach den Engeln genannt
Die Stadt ist nach den Engeln genannt
Und man begegnet allenthalben Engeln.
Sie riechen nach Öl und tragen goldene Pessare,
Und mit blauen Ringen um die Augen füttern sie
Allmorgentlich die Schreiber in ihren Schwimmpfühlen.
Hollywood
Diese Stadt hat mich belehrt,
Paradies und Hölle können eine Stadt sein.
Für die Mittellosen
Ist das Paradies die Hölle.
In den Hügeln wird Gold gefunden
In den Hügeln wird Gold gefunden
An der Küste findet man Öl.
Größere Vermögen
Bringen die Träume vom Glück
Die man hier auf Zelluloid schreibt.
Bertolt Brecht (1898-1956)
Beneath the green pepper trees
Beneath the green pepper trees
The musicians are on the prowl,
Two by two with the writers.
Bach has a strumpet quartet in his pocket.
Dante wiggles his withered bottom.
The city is named after the angels
The city is named after the angels,
And one meets angels everywhere.
They smell of oil and wear golden pessaries
And, with blue rings around their eyes,
Feed the writers in their swimming pools every morning.
Hollywood
This city has taught me that
Paradise and hell are the same city.
For the unsuccessful,
Paradise is hell.
In the hills are the gold prospectors
In the hills are the gold prospectors
By the sea you come upon oil.z
Greater fortunes far
Are won from those dreams of happiness
Which are kept on celluloid spools.
Translations adapted from those by John Willett (Hampsong Foundation)Erich Korngold | Glückwunsch
Text
Glückwunsch
Ich wünsche dir Glück.
Ich bring dir die Sonne in meinem Blick.
Ich fühle dein Herz in meiner Brust;
Es wünscht dir mehr als eitel Lust.
Es fühlt und wünscht: die Sonne scheint,
Auch wenn dein Blick zu brechen meint.
Es wünscht dir Blicke so sehnsuchtslos,
Als trügest du die Welt im Schoß.
Es wünscht dir Blicke so voll Begehren,
Als sei die Erde neu zu gebären.
Es wünscht dir Blicke voll der Kraft,
Die aus Winter sich Frühling schafft.
Und täglich leuchte durch dein Haus
Aller Liebe Blumenstrauß!
Richard Dehmel (1863-1920)Congratulation
I wish you happiness.
I bring you the sun in my gaze.
I feel your heartbeat in my breast;
It wishes you more than mere pleasure.
It feels and hopes; the sun shines,
Even when your eyes think to close in death.
It wishes your eyes to be as free of yearning,
As if you carried the world in your womb.
It wishes your eyes to be as full of desire,
As if the earth were to be born again.
It wishes your eyes to be full of the strength
That fashions spring from winter.
And may your home be daily lit
By the gleaming bouquet of love!
Translation © Richard Stokes, author of The Book of Lieder, published by Faber, provided courtesy of Oxford Lieder (www.oxfordlieder.co.uk)Artists- Caroline Nielson, mezzo-soprano
- Jamie Lorusso, piano
LOST IN CALIFORNIA | Darius Milhaud
from Chansons de Ronsard, op. 223
À une fontaine
À Cupidon
Dieu vous gard'Text
À une fontaine
Écoute moi, fontaine vive,
En qui j'ai rebu si souvent,
Couché tout plat dessus ta rive,
Oisif à la fraîcheur du vent,
Quand l'été ménager moissonne
Le sein de Cérès dévêtu,
Et l'aire par compas résonne
Gémissant sous le blé battu.
Ainsi toujours puisses-tu être
En religion à tous ceux
Quite boiront ou fairont paître
Tes verts rivages à leurs bœufs.
Ainsi toujours la lune claire
Voie à minuit au fond d'un val
Les Nymphes près de ton repaire
À mille bonds mener le bal!
À Cupidon
Le jour pousse la nuit
Et la nuit sombre
Pousse le jour luit
D’une obscure ombre.
L’Automne suit l’Été
Et l’âpre rage
Des vents n’a point été
Apres l’orage.
Mais la fièvre d'amours
Qui me tourmente
Demeure en moi toujours
Et ne s'alente.
Ce n'était pas moi, Dieu,
Qu'il fallait poindre;
Ta flèche en d'autre lieu
Se devait joindre.
Poursuis les paresseux
Et les amuse,
Mais non pas moi, ni ceux
Qu'aime la Muse...
Dieu vous gard’
Dieu vous gard', messagers fidèles
Du Printemps, gentes hirondelles,
Huppes, coucous, rossignolets,
Tourtres, et vous oiseaux sauvages
Qui de cent sortes de ramages
Animez les bois verdelets.
Dieu vous gard', belles pâquerettes,
Belles roses, belles fleurettes,
Et vous boutons jadis connus
Du sang d'Ajax et de Narcisse,
Et vous thym, anis et mélisse,
Vous soyez les bien revenus.
Dieu vous gard', troupe diaprée
Des papillons, qui par la prée
Les douces herbes suçotez;
Et vous, nouvel essaim d'abeilles,
Qui les fleurs jaunes et vermeilles
De votre bouche baisotez.
Cent mille fois je resalue
Votre belle et douce venue.
Ô que j'aime cette saison
Et ce doux caquet des rivages,
Au prix des vents et des orages
Qui m'enfermaient en la maison!
Pierre de Ronsard (1524-1585)
To a fountain
Hearken to me, O spring water,
Where I’ve so often slaked my thirst,
Reclining alongside your bank
Idly in the refreshing breeze,
While thrifty summer reaps the harvest
From Ceres’ bared breast,
And the threshing floor resounds,
Groaning beneath the flailed corn.
Thus may you remain forever
A sacred place for all those
Who shall drink from you and lead their oxen
To graze on your green meadows.
And may the moonlight always
Glimpse at midnight down in the valley
The Nymphs around your retreat
Leaping as they lead the dance!
To Cupid
The day expels the night
And sombre night
Expels the day, glimmering
In dim shadow.
Autumn follows Summer,
And the bitter blast
Of the winds blew not at all,
The storm once past.
Yet Love’s feverish ill
That torments me
Inhabits me still
Nor will let be.
It was not I, O God,
At whom you should have aimed;
Your arrow should have sped
To some other mark.
Pursue the idle
And amuse them,
But not myself, nor those
Beloved by the Muse…
God shield you
God shield you, faithful messengers
Of Spring, gentle swallows,
Hoopoes, cuckoos, nightingales,
Turtle-doves, and you wild birds,
Who with your hundred varied words
Gladden the greening woods.
God shield you, lovely daisies,
Lovely roses, lovely flowerets,
And you buds that once were named
After the blood of Ajax and Narcissus,
And you thyme, anise, and balm,
All be welcome back again.
God shield you, O spangled flight
Of butterflies, who flit across the meadow
Drinking from the sweet grasses;
And you, new-born swarm of bees
Who nibble at the yellow
And vermilion flowers.
A hundred thousand times your sweet
And beauteous coming I greet again.
Oh how I love this season
And the voices along the river bank,
More than the winds and storms
That confined me to my home!
Translation © Richard Stokes, author of A French Song Companion, (Oxford, 2000) provided courtesy of Oxford Lieder-www.oxfordlieder.co.ukArtists- Ruoxi Peng, soprano
- Su-Jin Choi, piano
LOST IN ENGLAND | Carlos Guastavino
Las nubes
Jardin antiguo
Deseo
Alegría de la SoledadText
Jardin antiguo
Ir de nuevo al jardín cerrado,
Que tras los arcos de la tapia,
Entre magnolios, limoneros
Guarda el encanto de las aguas.
Oír de nuevo en el silencio
Vivo de trinos y de hojas,
El susurro tibio del aire
Donde las almas viejas flotan.
Ver otra vez el cielo hondo
A lo lejos, la torre esbelta
Tal flor de luz sobre las palmas:
Las cosas todas siempre bellas.
Sentir otra vez, como entonces,
La espina aguda del deseo,
Mientras la juventud pasada
Vuelve. Sueño de un dios sin tiempo.
Deseo
Por el campo tranquilo de septiembre,
Del álamo amarillo alguna hoja,
Como una estrella rota,
Girando al suelo viene.
Si así el alma inconsciente,
Señor de las estrellas y las hojas,
Fuese, encendida sombra,
De la vida a la muerte.
Alegria de la Soledad
A solas, a solas,
Camino de la aurora,
Bajo las nubes cantan,
Blancas, solas, las aguas;
Y entre las hojas sueña,
Verde y sola, la tierra.
Rubia, sola también, tu alma
Allá en el pecho ama,
Mientras las rosas abren,
Mientras pasan los ángeles,
Solos en la victoria
Serena de la gloria.
Luis Cernuda Bidón (1902-1963)Old Garden
To go again to the closed garden
That behind the arches of the wall,
Among the magnolias, the lemon trees,
Holds the enchantment of the waters.
To hear again in the silence
Alive with chirping and the leaves,
The warm whisper of the wind
On which old souls are floating.
To see again the deep sky,
Far away, the slender tower
Like a flower of light over the palm trees:
Everything always beautiful.
To feel again, like then,
The sharp thorn of desire,
As past youthfulness
Returns. A dream of a god without time.Translation © Lorena Paz Nieto. Text and translation provided courtesy of Oxford Lieder (www.oxfordlieder.co.uk)
Wish
Through the quiet field in September,
Some of the leaves from the yellow poplar,
Like a broken star,
Comes to the ground spinning.
If like this the unconscious soul,
God of stars and leaves,
Were, flaming shadows,
From life to death.
Joy of Solitude
Alone, alone,
A walk from dawn,
Under the clouds they sing,
White, alone, the waters;
And between the leaves,
Green and alone, the earth dreams.
Blonde, alone too, your soul
Over there on the breast it loves,
While the roses open,
While the angels pass by,
Alone in the victorious
Serene of glory.
Translations by Josaphat Contreras, 2021Artists- Josaphat Contreras, tenor
- Pei-Hsuan Shen, piano
LOST IN PARIS | Vincent Scotto (arr. Jeremy Siskind) | songs made popular by Josephine Baker
Dites-nous, Joséphine/J'ai deux amours
Mon coeur est un oiseau des îlesText
Dites-nous, Joséphine/ J’ai deux amours
Dites-nous, Joséphine
Puisqu’on te revoit
Charmante et divine
Dites-nous, Joséphine
Quel est cet émoi
Qu’en toi je devine?
Quelle joie pour moi de revenir
Et de retrouver mes souvenirs
Dites-nous, Joséphine
Oui, dites-nous pourquoi
Ton cœur s’illumine
Dites-nous, Joséphine
Si comme autrefois
Paris te fascine
Vous le voyez bien par mon retour
La France toujours
Idéal séjour
Aura mon amour
On dit qu'au-delà des mers,
Là-bas sous le ciel clair,
Il existe une cité au séjour enchanté.
Et sous les grands arbres noirs,
Chaque soir,
Vers elle s'en va tout mon espoir.
J'ai deux amours:
Mon pays et Paris.
Par eux toujours
Mon cœur est ravi.
Manhattan est belle,
Mais à quoi bon le nier:
Ce qui m'ensorcelle, c'est Paris,
Paris tout entier.
Le voir un jour
C'est mon rêve joli.
J'ai deux amours:
Mon pays et Paris.
Doo doo doo……..
Ce qui m'ensorcelle, c'est Paris,
Paris tout entier.
Le voir un jour
C'est mon rêve joli.
J'ai deux amours:
Mon pays et Paris.
Mon coeur est un oiseau des îles
Mon coeur est un oiseau des îles
Qui ne chante que pour l’amour
Dans tes bras il trouve l’asile
Le nid fragile
Des plus beaux jours
Car tout m’enivre
Quand je t’aperçois
Ma joie de vivre
Chéri, c’est toi
Mon coeur est un oiseau des îles
Qui ne chante que pour l’amour
Tu m’as souri gentiment au réveil
C’est mon soleil
Tu m’as donné de la joie, de l’espoir
Jusqu’au soir
Dee dee dee……..
Car tout m’enivre
Quand je t’aperçois
Ma joie de vivre
Chéri, c’est toi
Ah ah ah……
Mon coeur est un oiseau des îles
Qui ne chante que pour l’amour
Oui, c’est l’amour.
Georges Koger (1894–1975)
Henri Varna (1887–1969)Tell us, Josephine/I have two loves
Tell us, Josephine
Since we see you again
Charming and divine
Tell us, Josephine
What is this excitement
What in you I guess?
What a joy for me to come back
And to find my memories
Tell us, Josephine
Yes, tell us why
Your heart lights up
Tell us, Josephine
If as in the past
Paris fascinates you
You can see it from my return
France always
Ideal stay
Will have my love
They say beyond the seas,
There beneath the pale sky,
There exists a city, an enchanted escape.
And under the big black trees,
Each night,
Towards it go all my hopes.
I have two loves.
My country and Paris.
Always by these two
My heart is delighted.
Manhattan is beautiful,
But what good to deny it:
What bewitches me, is Paris,
It's only Paris.
To see it one day,
That's my dearest wish.
I have two loves,
My country and Paris.
Doo doo doo…..
What bewitches me, is Paris,
It's only Paris.
To see it one day,
That's my dearest wish.
I have two loves,
My country and Paris.
My heart is a bird of the islands
My heart is a bird of the islands
Who sings only for love
In your arms he finds asylum
The fragile nest
Of the most beautiful days
'Cause everything gets me drunk
When I see you
My joy of life
Honey, it's you.
My heart is a bird of the islands
Who sings only for love
You smiled kindly at me when I woke up
It's my sun
You gave me joy, hope
Till evening
Dee dee dee……..
'Cause everything gets me drunk
When I see you
My joy of life
Honey, it's you.
Ah ah ah……..
My heart is a bird of the islands
Who sings only for love
Yes, it's love.
Translations courtesy of songstranslation.com.Artists- Ruoxi Peng, soprano
- Su-Jin Choi, piano
FOUND | Benjamin Britten
from The Holy Sonnets of John Donne, op. 35
Batter my heart
Since she whom I loved
Death, be not proudText
Batter my heart
Batter my heart, three person'd God; for you
As yet but knocke, breathe, shine, and seeke to mend;
That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend
Your force, to breake, blowe, burn and make me new.
I, like an usurpt towne, to another due,
Labour to admit you, but Oh, to no end,
Reason your viceroy in mee, mee should defend
But is captiv'd, and proves weake or untrue.
Yet dearely I love you, and would be loved faine,
But am betroth'd unto your enemie:
Divorce mee, untie, or breake that knot againe,
Take mee to you, imprison mee, for I
Except you enthrall mee, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish mee.
Since she whom I loved
Since she whom I lov'd hath pay'd her last debt
To Nature, and to hers, and my good is dead,
And her Soule early into Heaven ravished,
Wholly on heavenly things my mind is sett.
Here the admyring her my mind did whett
To seeke thee God; so streams do shew their head;
But though I have found thee and thou my thirst hast fed,
A holy thirsty dropsy melts mee yett,
But why should I begg more love, when as thou
Dost wooe my soul for hers: off'ring all thine:
And dost not only feare lest I allow
My love to Saints and Angels, things divine,
But in thy tender jealousy dost doubt
Lest the world, Fleshe, yea, Devill putt thee out.
Death, be not proud
Death be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadfull, for thou art not soe,
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill mee.
From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do goe,
Rest of their bones, and souls deliverie.
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings and desperate men,
And dost with poyson, warre, and sickness dwell,
And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well
And better than thy stroake; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.
John Donne (1572-1631)Artists- Anthony León, tenor
- Kyunga Lee, piano