Recital: Emma Strange '22, Soprano

Alcandro, lo confesso

Alcandro, lo confesso,
Stupisco di me stesso. II volto, il ciglio,
La voce di costui nel cor mi desta
Un palpito improvviso,
Che le risente in ogni fibra il sangue.
Fra tutti i miei pensieri
La cagion ne ricerco, e non la trovo.
Che sarà, giusti Dei, questo ch'io provo?

Non so d'onde viene
Quel tenero affetto,
Quel moto che ignoto
Mi nasce nel petto,
Quel gel, che le vene
Scorrendo mi va.
Nel seno destarmi
Sì fieri contrasti
Non parmi che basti
La sola pietà. 
 

Alcandro, I confess it

Alcandro, I confess it,
I am astonished at myself. His countenance, his gaze,
his voice: they awaken in my heart
a sudden trembling
that my blood feels anew in every fiber of my being.
I search for the cause within all my thoughts,
and cannot find it.
Great gods, what is this I am about to undertake?

I do not know from whence comes
That tender affection,
that unknown vibration
which is born in my breast,
that ice which flows
throughout my veins.
To me it does not seem
that mere pity
can possibly awake my heart
to such fierce conflict. 

Translation from Italian to English copyright
© 2018 by Andrew Schneider, reprinted with
permission from the LiederNet Archive.

La colombe poignardée

Si Dieu n'avait pas fait le soleil et les mondes,
 Il n'y aurait pas eu les douleurs,
ni ma blonde, 
Pas de coups, de sang rouge et ni ma bien-aimée . . .
Il n'y aurait sur terre colombe poignardée.

Si Dieu n'avait pas fait la lune et les orages,
Il n'y aurait pas eu de pleurs aux doux visages,
Ni de couteau farouche et ni ma bien-aimée . . .
Il n'y aurait sur terre colombe poignardée. . . 

Si Dieu n'avait pas fait les jours après le jour,
 Il n'y aurait pas eu d'amour, ni mon amour!
Il n'y aurait sur terre colombe poignardée.
Et ni, Seigneur! ma bien-aimée.


Le petit pigeon bleu

Je voudrais être petit pigeon bleu
Sur le toit de ta chaumière
Pour t’écouter remuer les assiettes
et mettre des pommes de pin au feu.

J’écouterais aussi la belle histoire
Que tes enfants écoutent chaque soir.
C’est toi qui la contes, je serais heureux
Tout comme un ange écoutant le bon Dieu.

Oui la belle histoire du paradis,
Quand les oiseaux s’aimaient entre eux,
Les arbres aussi, les poissons aussi,
Les chênes, les carpes, les hochequeues,
Les pins parasols, les écureuils,
Les zéphyrs, les roseaux, les roses,
Les arcs-en-ciel sur les eaux,
Les gouttes de rosée
et deux personnes.

Sur le toit de ta chaumière,
Je voudrais être petit pigeon bleu.
J'écouterais entre les pailles, heureux,
Tout comme un ange écoutant le bon Dieu!


L’oiseau bleu

Aliénor, Eléonor, Genièvre,
Ilse, Nausicaa, Viviane,
Eve, Blancheflor, Urgèle et Gwendoloéna,
Carotte, Céphise, Amalthée,
Rosalys, Rosalinde rose,
Eunice, Eione, Galatée,
Sylphes, nymphes, apothéose,
Muses, Musette, Mélusine,
Musidora, Muse adorée,
Germaine Tourangelle,
Ondine, Calliope, Clio dorée,
Vénus Anadyomède, Irène, Roxane, Io,
reines, impératrices, fées, voix heureuses d'être fées,
Ah, Nourdjebane, Badoulboudour,
la Sulamite et la Sultane,
Yseut, Isoline, Peau d’Ane,
Amour.


Le petit serin en cage

Il était un p’tit jaune tout habillé de gris, canari,
Qui demandait l'aumône aux chats et aux souris,
canari, toto canaro, canari.

Compère, Mistigri, le lairras-tu, le lairras-tu souffri ?
Le chat d’la Mèr’ Michel, canari,
ses moustach’s comme un gril, canari,
A fait la courte échelle aux rats et aux souris,
canari,toto canaro, canari !
Ah! Père Mistigri, me lairras-tu mouri ?

Tu t’en iras au ciel, canari,
croqué par les souris, canari,
les rats, (c’est rationnel) te croqu’ront bien aussi,
canari, toto canaro, canari.

Et Mistigri chéri croqu’ra le tout, miaou !

Le chaton, qui l’eut cru ?
C’est le père Lustucru,
ce vieux monstre malotru,
qui l’a croqué tout cru.

Paul Fort (1872–1960)

The Stabbed Dove

If God had not made the sun and the worlds,
There would not have been pain,
Nor my sweetheart, 
No beatings, red blood, nor my beloved.
There would not be a stabbed dove on Earth.

If God had not made the moon and the storms,
There would not have been tears on soft faces,
Neither a fierce knife, nor my beloved…
There would not be a stabbed dove on Earth…

If God had not made day after day, 
There would not have been love, nor my love!
There would not have been a stabbed dove on Earth,
And nor, God, my beloved!


The Small Blue Pigeon

I would like to be a small blue pigeon,
On the roof of your cottage
To listen to you stir the plates
And put pine cones on the fire.

I would also listen to the beautiful story
That your children listen to every night
It’s you who tells it, and I would be happy
Just like an angel listening to the Good Lord.

Yes, the beautiful story of paradise,
When the birds loved each other,
The trees also, the fishes also,
The oak trees, the carps, the wagtails,
The umbrella-like pines, the squirrels,
The zephyrs, the reeds, the roses,
The rainbows on the waters, 
The drops of dew
And two people.

On the roof or your cottage,
I would like to be a small blue pigeon.
I would listen between the straws, happy,
Just like an angel listening to the Good Lord!


The Blue Bird

Alienor, Eleanor, Genevieve,
Ilse, Nausicaa, Viviane,
Eve, Blancheflor, Urgele, Gwendolyn,
Carrot, Cephise, Amalthea,
Rosalys, pink Rosalinde,
Eunice, Eione, Galatea,
Sylphs, nymphs,apotheosis,
Muses, Musette, Melusine,
Musidora, adored muse,
Germaine Tourangelle,
Ondine, Calliope, golden Clio,
Venus, Anadyomene, Irene, Roxanne, Io,
Queens, empresses, fairies, voices happy to be fairies,
Ah, Nourdjebane, Badoulboudour,
The Shulamite and the Sultan,
Iseult, Isoline, Donkey Skin,
Love.


The Little Canary in the Cage

He was a little yellow one all dressed in gray, canari,
Who begged the cats and mice for alms,
Canari, toto canaro, canari.

Comrade Mistigri, will you leave him to suffer?
The cat of Mother Michel, canari,
His mustache (whiskers) like a grill, canari,
Climbed the short ladder to the rats and mice,
Canari, toto canaro, canari!
Ah! Father Mistigri, will you leave me to die?

You will leave off to heaven, canari,
Bitten by the mice, canari,
The rats (it’s rational) will bite you as well,
Canari, toto canaro, canari.

And darling Mistigri will eat the rest, meow!

The kitten, who would have believed it?
He is the father Lustucru,
That old brutish monster,
Who ate [the canary] totally raw.

Translations by Emma Strange

Der Hirt auf dem Felsen

Wenn auf dem höchsten Fels ich steh',
In's tiefe Tal hernieder seh',
Und singe,

Fern aus dem tiefen dunkeln Tal
Schwingt sich empor der Widerhall
Der Klüfte.

Je weiter meine Stimme dringt,
Je heller sie mir wieder klingt
Von unten.

Mein Liebchen wohnt so weit von mir,
Drum sehn' ich mich so heiß nach ihr
Hinüber.

In tiefem Gram verzehr ich mich,
Mir ist die Freude hin,
Auf Erden mir die Hoffnung wich,
Ich hier so einsam bin.

So sehnend klang im Wald das Lied,
So sehnend klang es durch die Nacht,
Die Herzen es zum Himmel zieht
Mit wunderbarer Macht.

Der Frühling will kommen,
Der Frühling, meine Freud',
Nun mach' ich mich fertig
Zum Wandern bereit.

Wilhelm Müller

The Shepherd on the Rock

When I stand on the highest rock,
Look down into the deep valley
And sing,

From far away in the deep dark valley
The echo from the ravines
Rises up.

The further my voice carries,
The clearer it echoes back to me
From below.

My sweetheart lives so far from me,
Therefore I long so to be with her
Over there.

Deep grief consumes me,
My joy has fled,
All earthly hope has vanished,
I am so lonely here.

The song rang out so longingly through the wood,
Rang out so longingly through the night,
That is draws hearts to heaven
With wondrous power.

Spring is coming,
Spring, my joy,
I shall now make ready
to journey.

Translation © Richard Stokes, author of The Book of Lieder
(Faber); Provided via Oxford Lieder (www.oxfordlieder.co.uk)