Recital: Ji Young Mok '21 BM, Soprano

Quel sguardo sdegnosetto

Quel sguardo sdegnosetto
Lucente e minacioso,
Quel dardo velenoso
Vola a ferirmi il petto:
Bellezze ond'io tutt'ardo
E son da me diviso.
Piagatemi col sguardo,
Sanatemi col riso.

Armatevi pupille
D'asprissimo, d'asprissimo rigore,
Versatemi su'l core
Un nembo di faville,
Ma 'l labro non sia tardo
A ravvivarmi ucciso.
Feriscami quel sguardo,
Ma sanimi quel riso.

Begli occhi a l'armi, a l'armi!
Io vi preparo il seno.
Gioite di piagarmi,
Infin ch'io venga meno.
E se da vostri dardi
Io resterò conquiso,
Ferischino quei sguardi,
Ma sanimi quel riso.

Bartholomeo Magni

That scornful little glance

That scornful little glance
gleaming and threatening -
that poisonous dart -
Shoots out and strikes my heart.
Charms that have set me on fire,
and have divided me.
Wound me with a glance
Heal me with laughter!

Eyes be armed
with roughest rigor
pour on my heart
a cloudburst of sparks!
But let not the lips be late
in reviving my corpse;
let that glance wound me
but that laughter heals me.

To arms sweet eyes!
I prepare my breast for you:
take joy in wounding me
until I faint.
For if by your darts
I remain conquered,
Wound me with those glances!
But heal me with  that laughter.

Translation copyright © by Laura Kate Marshall, Reprinted with permission from the LiederNet Archive -https://www.lieder.net/

Da tempeste il legno infranto

Da tempeste il legno infranto,
se poi salvo giunge in porto
non sa più che desiar.

Così il cor tra pene, e pianto,
or che trova il suo conforto
torna l'anima a bear. 

Nicola Francesco Haym

A storm‑battered vessel

A storm-battered vessel,
if it at least arrives safely in port,
has nothing left to desire.

So my heart, through suffering and weeping,
now that it has found comfort,
returns to make my soul happy at last. 

Translation copyright © by Andrew Schneider, Reprinted with permission from the LiederNet Archive -https://www.lieder.net/

Kornblumen

Kornblumen nenn ich die Gestalten,
die milden mit den blauen Augen,
die, anspruchslos in stillem Walten,
den Tau des Friedens, den sie saugen
aus ihren eigenen klaren Seelen,
mitteilen allem, dem sie nahen,
bewußtlos der Gefühlsjuwelen,
die sie von Himmelshand empfahn.
Dir wird so wohl in ihrer Nähe,
als gingst du durch ein Saatgefilde,
durch das der Hauch des Abends wehe,
voll frommen Friedens und voll Milde.

Felix Dahn

Cornflowers

Cornflowers are what I call those girls,
Those gentle girls with blue eyes,
Who simply and serenely impart
The dew of peace, which they draw
From their own pure souls,
To all those they approach,
Unaware of the jewels of feeling
They receive from the hand of Heaven:
You feel so at ease in their company,
As though you were walking through a cornfield,
Rippled by the breath of evening,
Full of devout peace and gentleness. 

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

Mohnblumen

Mohnblumen sind die runden,
rotblutigen gesunden,
die sommersprossgebraunten,
die immer froh gelaunten,
kreuzbraven, kreuzfidelen,
tanznimmermüden Seelen;
die unter'm Lachen weinen
und nur geboren scheinen,
die Kornblumen zu necken,
und dennoch oft verstecken
die weichsten, besten Herzen,
im Schlinggewächs von Scherzen;
die man, weiß Gott, mit Küssen
ersticken würde müssen,
wär' man nicht immer bange,
umarmest du die Range,
sie springt ein voller Brander
aufflammend auseinander.

Felix Dahn

Poppies

Poppies are the round,
Red-blooded, healthy girls,
The brown and freckled ones,
The always good-humored ones,
Honest and merry as the day is long,
Who never tire of dancing,
Who laugh and cry simultaneously
And only seem to be born
To tease the cornflowers,
And yet often conceal
The gentlest and kindest hearts
As they entwine and play their pranks,
Those whom, God knows,
You would have to stifle with kisses,
Were you not so timid,
For if you embrace the minx,
She will burst, like smouldering timber, 
Into flames!

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

Epheu

Aber Epheu nenn' ich jene Mädchen
mit den sanften Worten,
mit dem Haar, dem schlichten, hellen
um den leis' gewölbten Brau'n,
mit den braunen seelenvollen Rehenaugen,
die in Tränen steh'n so oft,
in ihren Tränen gerade sind unwiderstehlich;
ohne Kraft und Selbstgefühl,
schmucklos mit verborg'ner Blüte,
doch mit unerschöpflich tiefer
treuer inniger Empfindung
können sie mit eigner Triebkraft
nie sich heben aus den Wurzeln,
sind geboren, sich zu ranken
liebend um ein ander Leben:
an der ersten Lieb'umrankung
hängt ihr ganzes Lebensschicksal,
denn sie zählen zu den seltnen Blumen,
die nur einmal blühen.

Felix Dahn

Ivy

But ivy is my name for those
Girls with gentle words,
With sleek fair hair
And slightly arched brows,
With brown soulful fawn-like eyes
that well up so often with tears—
which are simply irresistible;
Without strength and self-confidence,
Unadorned with hidden flowers,
But with inexhaustibly deep,
True and ardent feeling,
They cannot, through their own strength,
Rise from their roots,
But are born to twine themselves
Lovingly round another’s life:—
Their whole life’s destiny
Depends on their first love-entwining,
For they belong to that rare breed of flower
That blossoms only once. 

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

Wasserrose

Kennst du die Blume, die märchenhafte,
     sagengefeierte Wasserrose?
Sie wiegt auf ätherischem, schlankem Schafte
das durchsicht'ge Haupt, das farbenlose,
sie blüht auf schilfigem Teich im Haine,
gehütet vom Schwan, der umkreiset sie einsam,
sie erschließt sich nur dem Mondenscheine,
mit dem ihr der silberne Schimmer gemeinsam:
so blüht sie, die zaub'rische Schwester der Sterne,
umschwärmt von der träumerisch dunklen Phaläne,
die am Rande des Teichs sich sehnet von ferne,
und sie nimmer erreicht, wie sehr sie sich sehne.
Wasserrose, so nenn' ich die schlanke, 
nachtlock'ge Maid, alabastern von Wangen
in dem Auge der ahnende tiefe Gedanke,
als sei sie ein Geist und auf Erden gefangen.
Wenn sie spricht, ist's wie silbernes Wogenrauschen,
wenn sie schweigt, ist's die ahnende Stille der Mondnacht;
sie scheint mit den Sternen Blicke zu tauschen,
deren Sprache die gleiche Natur sie gewohnt macht;

du kannst nie ermüden, in's Aug' ihr zu schau'n,
das die seidne, lange Wimper umsäumt hat,
und du glaubst, wie bezaubernd von seligem Grau'n,
was je die Romantik von Elfen geträumt hat

Felix Dahn

Waterlily

Do you know this flower, the fairy-like water-lily,
     celebrated in legend?
On her ethereal, slender stem
She sways her colourless transparent head;
It blossoms on a reedy and sylvan pond,
Protected by the solitary swan that swims round it,
Opening only to the moonlight,
Whose silver gleam it shares.
Thus it blossoms, the magical sister of the stars,
As the dreamy dark moth, fluttering round it,
Yearns for it from afar at the edge of the pond,
And never reaches it for all its yearning.—
Water-lily is my name for the slender 
Maiden with night-black locks and alabaster cheeks,
With deep foreboding thoughts in her eyes,
As though she were a spirit imprisoned on earth.
Her speech resembles the silver rippling of waves,
Her silence the foreboding stillness of a moonlit night,
She seems to exchange glances with the stars,
Whose language—their natures being the  same—shE
     shares.
You can never tire of gazing into her eyes,
Framed by her silken long lashes,
And you believe, bewitched by their blissful grey,
All that Romantics have ever dreamt about elves.

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

Coquetterie Posthume

Quand je mourrai, que l’on me mette,
Avant que de clouer mon cercueil,
Un peu de rouge à la pommette,
Un peu de noir au bord de l’œil.

Car je veux, dans ma bière close,
Comme le soir de son aveu,
Rester éternellement rose
Avec du khol sous mon œil bleu.

Posez-moi sans jaune immortelle,
Sans coussin de larmes brodé,
Sur mon oreiller de dentelle
De ma chevelure inondé.

Cet oreiller, dans les nuits folles,
A vu dormir nos fronts unis,
Et sous le drap noir des gondoles
Compté nos baisers infinis.

Entre mes mains de cire pâle,
Que la prière réunit,
Tournez ce chapelet d’opale 
Par le pape à Rome bénit.

Je l’égrènerai dans la couche
D’où nul encor ne s’est levé.
Sa bouche en a dit sur ma bouche
Chaque Pater et chaque Ave.

Quand je mourrai, que l’on me mette,
Avant que de clouer mon cercueil,
Un peu de rouge à la pommette
Un peu de noir au bord de l’œil.

Théophile Gautier

Posthumous flirtation

When I die, before my coffin is
nailed shut, let a little rouge
be dabbed on my cheeks,
a touch of black around my eyes.

For in my closed coffin I want to be
as I was when he made me his vows,
to blush with pink for ever more,
with kohl beneath my blue eyes.

Without yellow immortelles,
without a tear-embroidered cushion,
lay me on my lace pillow,
engulfed in my own tresses.

This pillow, on nights of passion,
saw us asleep, brow to brow,
and counted our endless kisses
beneath the gondola’s black sheet.

Between my pale waxen hands
joined in prayer, 
rotate this opal rosary,
blessed by the Pope in Rome.

I shall tell the beads on the couch
from which no one has yet risen;
his mouth against my mouth
has said each Pater and each Ave.

When I die, before my coffin is
nailed shut, let a little rouge
be dabbed on my cheeks,
a touch of black around my eyes.

Translation © Richard Stokes from A French Song Companion (Oxford, 2000) provided courtesy of Oxford Lieder-www.oxfordlieder.co.uk

Musique

La lune se levait, pure, mais plus glacée
Que le ressouvenir de quelque amour passée.
Les étoiles, au fond du ciel silencieux,
Brillaient, mais d'un éclat changeant, comme des yeux
Où flotte une pensée insaisissable à l'âme.
Et le violon, tendre et doux, comme une femme
Dont la voix s'affaiblit dans l'ardente langueur,
Chante: » Encore un soir perdu pour le bonheur.

Paul Bourget

Music

The moon was rising, fresh but more frozen
Than the recollection of a love long past.
The stars, silent at the back of the sky,
Glittered, but with an unpredictable radiance, like [a pair of] eyes
In which floats the elusive idea of the soul.
And the violin, tender and gentle, like a woman
Whose voice grows weaker in burning    lassitude,
Sang out: "One more night lost to pleasure." 

Translation copyright © by Emily Ezust,from the LiederNet Archive -- https://www.lieder.net/

Paysage Sentimental

Le ciel d'hiver, si doux, si triste, si dormant,
Où le soleil errait parmi vapeurs blanches,
Était pareil au doux, au profond sentiment
Qui nous rendait heureux mélancoliquement
Par cette après-midi de baiser sous les branches...

Branches mortes qu'aucun souffle ne remuait,
Branches noires avec quelque feuille fanée,
Ah! que mon âme s'est à ton âme donnée
Plus tendrement encor dans ce grand bois muet,
Et dans cette langueur de la mort de l'année !

La mort de tout, sinon de toi que j'aime tant,
Et sinon du bonheur dont mon âme est comblée,
Bonheur qui dort au fond de cette âme isolée,
Mystérieux, paisible et frais comme l'étang
Que nous vivons au fond de la pâle vallée.

Paul Bourget

Sentimental landscape

The winter sky, so sweet, so sad, so slumbrous,
where the sun wandered among pale mists,
was like the sweet, deep feeling
that made us happy in a melancholy way
on that afternoon of kisses under the branches,

dead branches not stirred by any breeze,
black branches with a few withered leaves.
Ah, how your lips were given to my lips
more tenderly still in this great, mute woods 
and in this languor of the year's death,

the death of everything except that I love you,
and except for the happiness filling my soul,
happiness that rests deep in this isolated soul,
mysterious, peaceful and cool, like the pond
that grew pale at the bottom of the pale valley. 

Translation copyright © by John Glenn Paton, Reprinted with permission from the LiederNet Archive -https://www.lieder.net/

Romance [musique pour éventail];
     'Voici que le printemps'

Voici que le printemps, ce fils léger d’avril,
Beau page en pourpoint vert brodé de roses blanches.
Paraît leste, fringant et les poings sur les hanches
Comme un prince acclamé revient d’un long exil.
Les branches des buissons verdis rendent étroite
La route qu’il poursuit en dansant comme un fol;
Sur son épaule gauche il porte un rossignol,
Un merle s’est posé sur son épaule droite.
Et les fleurs qui dormaient sous les mousses des bois
Ouvrent leurs yeux où flotte une ombre vague et tendre;
Et sur leurs petits pieds se dressent, pour entendre
Les deux oiseaux siffler et chanter à la fois.
Car le merle sifflote et le rossignol chante;
Le merle siffle ceux qui ne sont pas aimés,
Et pour les amoureux languissants et charmés,
Le rossignol prolonge une chanson touchante.

Paul Bourget

Romance


Behold the Spring, that delicate son of April,
A handsome page in green velvet embroidered with white roses,
Behold how nimble, how dashing he is, with hands on his hips,
Like a prince being hailed on his return from long exile.
The branches of verdant bushes hem in
The path he dances along like a jester;
A nightingale perches on his left shoulder,
And on his right shoulder a blackbird has alighted.
And the flowers that slumbered beneath the forest moss
Open their eyes, on which a vague tender shadow quivers;
And their little feet stand on tiptoe to hear
The two birds whistle and sing together.
For the blackbird whistles and the nightingale sings;
The blackbird whistles for those who are not loved,
And for spellbound and languishing lovers
The nightingale pours out a touching song. 

Translation © Richard Stokes from A French Song Companion (Oxford, 2000) provided courtesy of Oxford Lieder-www.oxfordlieder.co.uk

엄마야누나야

엄마야누나야강변살자
뜰에는반짝이는금모래빛,
뒷문밖에는갈잎의노래
엄마야누나야강변살자  

김소월

Dear Mother and Sister

Oh mother and sister, let’s go and live by the river
The golden sands in the courtyard,
The reeds sing outside of the back door.
Oh mother and sister, we are going to live by the river.  

Translated by Ji Young Mok

새타령

새가새가날아든다온갖새가날아든다
남명에대봉새야오동잎에봉황새야
상사병에기러기야고국찾는접동새야
짝을지어원앙새야배띄우는갈매기야
에루후아좋고좋다봄이로다봄이로다
어루후아좋고좋다봄이로다봄이로다
야아 ~ 삼천리강산에새소식왔다고
산천에도펄럭펄럭창파에도펄럭펄럭

새가새가노래한다무슨새가노래하나
종달새비비배배부엉새는부엉부엉
비둘기는구굴구굴딱따구린딱따르르
뻐국새는뻐국뻐국꾀꼴새는꾀꼴꾀꼴
에루후아좋고좋다봄이로다봄이로다
어루후아좋고좋다봄이로다봄이로다
야아~ 삼천리강산에새소식왔다고
숲에서도딩동댕동들에서도딩동댕동

박희경

Ballad of the Birds

Birds, birds in flight, all sorts of birds in flight.
Giant phoenix into Nammyeong, phoenix into paulownia tree leaves.
Wild geese in lovesickness, cuckoos searching for their native land.
Pairs of lovebirds mating, seagulls guiding ships.
Eruhua, lovely, lovely. It’s Spring, It’s Spring.
Eoruhua, lovely, lovely. It’s Spring, It’s Spring.
Ah new news has come to three thousand rivers and mountains.
Fluttering over mountains and streams, flapping over rolling sea waves.

Birds, birds in song. What kind of birds sing?
Skylarks tweet and tweet, owls hoot and hoot.
Doves coo and coo, woodpeckers peck and peck.
Cuckoos twitta-woo, orioles warble warble.
Eruhua, lovely, lovely. It’s Spring, It’s Spring.
Eoruhua, lovely, lovely. It’s Spring, It’s Spring.
Ah new news has come to three thousand rivers and mountains.
In the forest, ding-dong, daeng-dong. In the fields, ding-dong, daeng
     dong.  

Translated by Youngsik Choi

강건너봄이오듯

앞강에살얼음은언제나풀릴꺼나
짐실은배가저만큼새벽안개헤쳐왔네
연분홍꽃다발한아름안고서
물건너우련한빛을
우련한빛을강마을에내리누나
앞강에살얼음은언제나풀릴꺼나
짐실은배가저만큼새벽안개헤쳐왔네

오늘도강물따라뗏목처럼흐를꺼나
새소리바람소리물흐르듯나부끼네
내마음어둔골에나의봄풀어놓아
그리움말없이
그리움말없이, 말없이흐르는구나
오늘도강물따라뗏목처럼흐를꺼나
새소리바람소리물흐르듯나부끼네
물흐르듯나부끼네

송길자

Like a Spring Comes Across the River

May the thin ice soon dissolve into the river
A laden boat arrives parting the dawn mist from afar.
Light pink bouquet in arm
Misty rays are brought across the water.
Misty rays are shone ashore on this river village.
May the fine film of ice soon dissolve into the river
A laden boat arrives parting the dawn mist from afar.

May my longing float away today like a raft on the river
The calls of birds and the sound of the wind flutter by like water flowing.
When my Spring comes to the dark valley of my heart
Resplendent longing silently,
Longing silently, silently flows away.
May my longing float away today like a raft on the river
May the calls of birds and the sound of the wind flutter by like water flowing.
Like water flowing.  

Translated by Youngsik Choi