Recital: Chihiro Asano '22 MM, Mezzo-Soprano

お六娘

お六娘は　丸顔ござる
花の盛りの　はたちでござる
九月九日　月の夜ござる
月がかくれて　うすやみござる

村の若者　集まりござる
鎮守祭りの　崩れでござる
何かひそひそ　話してござる
虫の鳴く音が　邪魔してござる

お六娘は　座敷でござる
島田高髷　影法師ござる
村の若者　呼出しござる
つぶて口笛　さまざまござる

お六娘が　品よくござる
口笛もつぶてもきかぬでござる
村の若者　しおれてござる
月が出てきて　笑ってござる

Oroku musume

The girl Oroku has a round face,
She is slim and supple, 20 years old.
On September ninth,
The moon is hidden, and the area is dark.

There's a gathering of the village youth.
It's the after party of the town festival
The young people are whispering about something.
I can't hear anything over the buzzing of the insects.

The girl Oroku is in the tatami room
Shimada's high topknot appears in the shadows.
Village youth are calling her
Whistling and throwing a stone.

The girl Oroku is classy.
She doesn't even look at the sound of the whistle or stones
Village youth are disappointed.
The moon is out, and it's laughing.

Translation by Chihiro Asano

Nacht

Dämmern Wolken über Nacht und Tal.
Nebel schweben. Wasser rauschen sacht.
Nun entschleiert sich’s mit einem Mal.
O gib acht! gib acht!

Weites Wunderland ist aufgetan,
Silbern ragen Berge traumhaft groß,
Stille Pfade silberlicht talan
Aus verborg’nem Schoß.

Und die hehre Welt so traumhaft rein.
Stummer Buchenbaum am Wege steht
Schattenschwarz – ein Hauch vom fernen Hain
Einsam leise weht.

Und aus tiefen Grundes Düsterheit
Blinken Lichter auf in stummer Nacht.
Trinke Seele! trinke Einsamkeit!
O gib acht! gib acht!

Carl Hauptmann


Schilflied

Auf geheimem Waldespfade
Schleich’ ich gern im Abendschein
An das öde Schilfgestade,
Mädchen, und gedenke dein!

Wenn sich dann der Busch verdüstert,
Rauscht das Rohr geheimnisvoll,
Und es klaget und es flüstert,
Daß ich weinen, weinen soll.

Und ich mein’, ich höre wehen
Leise deiner Stimme Klang,
Und im Weiher untergehen
Deinen lieblichen Gesang.

Nikolaus Lenau


Die Nachtigall

Das macht, es hat die Nachtigall
Die ganze Nacht gesungen;
Da sind von ihrem süssen Schall,
Da sind in Hall und Widerhall
Die Rosen aufgesprungen.

Sie war doch sonst ein wildes Blut,
Nun geht sie tief in Sinnen;
Trägt in der Hand den Sommerhut
Und duldet still der Sonne Glut
Und weiß nicht, was beginnen.

Das macht, es hat die Nachtigall
Die ganze Nacht gesungen;
Da sind von ihrem süssen Schall,
Da sind in Hall und Widerhall
Die Rosen aufgesprungen.

Theodor Storm


Traumgekrönt

Das war der Tag der weißen Chrysanthemen, –
mir bangte fast vor seiner Pracht …
Und dann, dann kamst du mir die Seele nehmen
        tief in der Nacht.

Mir war so bang, und du kamst lieb und leise, –
ich hatte grad im Traum an dich gedacht.
Du kamst, und leis wie eine Märchenweise
        erklang die Nacht …

Rainer Maria Rilke


Im Zimmer

Herbstsonnenschein.
Der liebe Abend blickt so still herein.
Ein Feuerlein rot
Knistert im Ofenloch und loht.

So! – Mein Kopf auf deinen Knie’n. –
So ist mir gut;
Wenn mein Auge so in deinem ruht.
Wie leise die Minuten ziehn! …

Johannes Schlaf


Liebesode

Im Arm der Liebe schliefen wir selig ein.
Am offnen Fenster lauschte der Sommerwind,
und unsrer Atemzüge Frieden
trug er hinaus in die helle Mondnacht. –

Und aus dem Garten tastete zagend sich
Ein Rosenduft an unserer Liebe Bett
Und gab uns wundervolle Träume,
Träume des Rausches – so reich an Sehnsucht!

Otto Erich Hartleben


Sommertage

Nun ziehen Tage über die Welt,
gesandt aus blauer Ewigkeit,
im Sommerwind verweht die Zeit.
Nun windet nächtens der Herr
Sternenkränze mit seliger Hand
über Wander- und Wunderland.

O Herz, was kann in diesen Tagen
dein hellstes Wanderlied denn sagen
von deiner tiefen, tiefen Lust:
Im Wiesensang verstummt die Brust,
nun schweigt das Wort, wo Bild um Bild
zu dir zieht und dich ganz erfüllt.

Paul Hohenberg

Night

Clouds loom over night and valley.
Mists hover, waters softly murmur.
Now at once all is unveiled.
O take heed! take heed!

A vast wonderland opens up,
Silvery mountains soar dreamlike tall,
Silent paths climb silver-bright valleywards
From a hidden womb.

And the glorious world so dreamlike pure.
A silent beech-tree stands by the wayside
Shadow-black – a breath from the distant grove
Blows solitary soft.

And from the deep valley’s gloom
Lights twinkle in the silent night.
Drink soul! drink solitude!
O take heed! take heed!




Reed song      

Along a secret forest path
I love to steal in the evening light
To the desolate reedy shore
And think, my girl, of you!

When the bushes then grow dark,
The reeds pipe mysteriously,
Lamenting and whispering,
That I must weep, must weep.

And I seem to hear the soft sound
Of your voice,
And your lovely singing
Drowning in the pond.




The nightingale

It is because the nightingale
Has sung throughout the night,
That from the sweet sound
Of her echoing song
The roses have sprung up.

She was once a wild creature,
Now she wanders deep in thought;
In her hand a summer hat,
Bearing in silence the sun’s heat,
Not knowing what to do.

It is because the nightingale
Has sung throughout the night,
That from the sweet sound
Of her echoing song
The roses have sprung up.




Crowned with dreams

That was the day of the white chrysanthemums –
Its brilliance almost frightened me ...
And then, then you came to take my soul
         at the dead of night.

I was so frightened, and you came sweetly and gently,
I had been thinking of you in my dreams.
You came, and soft as a fairy tune
         the night rang out …




In the room

Autumn sunshine.
The lovely evening looks in so silently.
A little red fire
Crackles and blazes in the hearth.

Like this! – With my head on your knees. –
Like this I am content;
When my eyes rest in yours like this.
How gently the minutes pass!




Ode to love

In love’s arms we fell blissfully asleep.
The summer wind listened at the open window,
and carried the peace of our breathing
out into the moon-bright night. –

And from the garden a scent of roses
came timidly to our bed of love
and gave us wonderful dreams,
ecstatic dreams – so rich in longing!




Summer days

Days, sent from blue eternity,
journey now across the world,
time drifts away in the summer wind.
The Lord at night now garlands
star-chains with his blessed hand
across lands of wandering and wonder.

In these days, O heart, what can
your brightest travel-song say
of your deep, deep joy?
The heart falls silent in the meadows’ song,
words now cease when image after image
comes to you and fills you utterly.

Translation © Richard Stokes, author of
The Book of Lieder (Faber, 2005) provided
courtesy of Oxford Lieder-  www.oxfordlieder.co.uk  

Cuba dentro de un piano

Cuando mi madre llevaba un sorbete de fresa por sombrero
y el humo de los barcos aún era humo de habanero.
Mulata vueltabajera …
Cádiz se adormecía entre fandangos y habaneras
y un lorito al piano quería hacer de tenor.
… dime dónde está la flor que el hombre tanto venera.
Mi tío Antonio volvía con su aire de insurrecto.
La Cabaña y el Príncipe sonaban por los patios del Puerto.
 

(Ya no brilla la Perla azul del mar de las Antillas.
Ya se apagó, se nos ha muerto.)
Me encontré con la bella Trinidad …
Cuba se había perdido y ahora era verdad.
Era verdad,
no era mentira.
Un cañonero huido llegó cantándolo en guajira.

La Habana ya se perdió.
Tuvo la culpa el dinero …
Calló,
cayó el cañonero.
Pero después, pero ¡ah! después
fue cuando al SÍ
lo hicieron YES.

Rafael Alberti (1902-1999)


Punto de Habanera

La niña criolla pasa con su miriñaque blanco.
¡Qué blanco!
¡Hola! Crespón de tu espuma;
¡Marineros, contempladla!
Va mojadita de lunas
que le hacen su piel mulata;
Niña no te quejes,
tan solo por esta tarde.
Quisiera mandar al agua que no se escape de pronto
de la cárcel de tu falda.
Tu cuerpo encierra esta tarde
rumor de abrirse de dalia.
Niña no te quejes,
tu cuerpo de fruta está
dormido en fresco brocado.
Tu cintura vibra fina
con la nobleza de un látigo,
toda tu piel huele alegre
a limonal y naranjo.
Los marineros te miran
y se te quedan mirando.
La niña criolla pasa con su miriñaque blanco.
¡Qué blanco!

Néstor Luján (1922-1995)


Chévere

Chévere del navajazo,
se vuelve él mismo navaja:
pica tajadas de luna,
mas la luna se le acaba;
pica tajadas de canto,
mas el canto se le acaba;
pica tajadas de sombra,
mas la sombra se le acaba,
y entonces pica que pica
came de su negra mala.

Nicolás Guillén (1902-1989)


Canción de cuna para dormir un negrito

Ninghe, ninghe, ninghe,
tan chiquitito,
el negrito
que no quiere dormir.

Cabeza de coco,
grano de café,
con lindas motitas,
con ojos grandotes
como dos ventanas
que miran al mar.

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

Y si duermes mucho,
el señor de casa
promete comprar
traje con botones
para ser un ‘groom’.

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

Ildefonso Pereda Valdés (1899-1996)


Canto negro

¡Yambambó, yambambé!
Repica el congo solongo,
repica el negro bien negro.
congo solongo del Songo
baila yambó sobre un pie.

Mamatomba,
serembé cuserembá,

El negro canta y se ajuma.
el negro se ajuma y canta.
el negro canta y se va.

Acuemem e serembó
aé,
yambó
aé.

Tamba, tamba, tamba, tamba,
tamba del negro que tumba,
tamba del negro, caramba,
caramba, que el negro tumba,
¡Yambá, yambó, yambambé!

Nicolás Guillén

Cuba inside a piano

When my mother wore strawberry ice for a hat
and the smoke from the boats was still Havana smoke.
Mulata from Vuelta Abajo ...
Cadiz was falling asleep to fandango and habanera
and a little parrot at the piano tried to sing tenor.
...tell me, where is the flower that a man can really respect.
My uncle Anthony would come home in his rebellious way.
The Cabaña and El Príncipe resounded in the patios of
the port. 

(But the blue pearl of the Caribbean shines no more.
Extinguished. For us no more.)
I met beautiful Trinidad...
Cuba was lost, this time it was true.
True
and not a lie.
A gunner on the run arrived, sang Cuban songs about it
all.
Havana was lost
and money was to blame...
The gunner went silent,
fell,
But later, ah, later
they changed SÍ
to YES.




Habanera Rhythm

The Creole girl goes by in her white crinoline.
How white!
The billowing spray of your crepe skirt!
Sailors, look at her!
She passes gleaming in the moonlight
which darkens her skin.
Young girl, do not complain,
only for tonight.
do I wish the water not to suddenly escape
the prison of your skirt.
In your body this evening
dwells the sound of opening dahlias.
Young girl, do not complain,
your ripe body
sleeps in fresh brocade,
your waist quivers
as proud as a whip,
every inch of you skin is gloriously fragrant
with orange and lemon trees.
The sailors look at you
and feast their eyes on you.
The Creole girl goes by in her white crinoline.
How white!




The Dandy

The dandy of the knife thrust
himself becomes a knife:
he cuts slices of the moon,
but the moon is fading on him;
he cuts slices of shadow,
but the shadow is fading on him,
he cuts slices of song,
but the song is fading on him;
and then he cuts up, cuts up
the flesh of his evil black woman.




Lullaby for a little black boy

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 freckles
and wide eyes
like two windows
looking out to sea.

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

And if you sleep soundly,
the master of the house
promises to buy
a suit with buttons
to make you a ‘groom’.

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




Negro Song

Yambambó, yambambé!
The congo solongo is ringing,
the black man, the real black man is ringing;
congo solongo from the Songo
is dancing the yambó on one foot.

Mamatomba,
Serembe cuserembá.

The black man sings and gets drunk,
the black man gets drunk and sings,
the black man sings and goes away.

Acuemem e serembó
aé,
yambó
aé.

Bam, bam, bam, bam,
bam of the black man who tumbles;
drum of the black man, wow,
wow, how the black man's tumbling!
¡Yambá, yambó, yambambé!

Translations by Jacqueline Cockburn and
Richard Stokes published in the The Spanish
Song Companion (Gollancz, 1992), provided
courtesy of Oxford Lieder (www.oxfordlieder.co.uk)