Recital: Sarah Nalty '21 BM, Soprano

Lagrime mie

Lagrime mie, a che vi trattenete?
Perché non isfogate il fier dolore
che mi toglie’l respiro e opprime il core?
Lidia, che tant’adoro,
perch’un guardo pietoso, ahi, mi donò,
il paterno rigor l’impriggionò.

Tra due mura rinchiusa
sta la bella innocente,
dove giunger non può raggio di sole;
e quel che più mi duole
ed’ accresc’al mio mal tormenti e pene,
è che per mia cagione
provi male il mio bene.

E voi, lumi dolenti, non piangete?
Lagrime mie, a che vi trattenete?
Lidia, ahimè, veggo mancarmi
L’idol mio che tanto adoro;
sta colei tra duri marmi,
per cui spiro e pur non moro.

Se la morte m’è gradita,
hor che son privo di spene,
deh, toglietemi la vita,
ve ne prego, aspre mie pene.
Ma ben m’accorgo che per tormentarmi
maggiormente la sorte
mi niega anco la morte.

Se dunque è vero, o Dio,
che sol del pianto mio
il rio destino ha sete,
Lagrime mie, a che vi trattenete?...

Pietro Dolfino

My tears

My tears, why do you hold back?
Why do you not let burst forth the fierce pain
that takes my breath and oppressses my heart?
Because she looked on me with a favorable glance,
Lidia, whom I so much adore,
is imprisoned by her stern father.

Between two walls
the beautiful innocent one is enclosed,
where the sun’s rays can’t reach her;
and what grieves me most
and adds torment and pain to my suffering,
is that my love
suffers on my account.

And you, grieving eyes, you don’t weep?
My tears, why do you hold back?
Alas, I miss Lidia,
the idol that I so much adore;
she’s enclosed in hard marble,
the one for whom I sigh and yet do not die.

Because I welcome death,
now that I’m deprived of hope,
Ah, take away my life,
I implore you, my harsh pain.
But I well realize that to torment me
all the more
fate denies me even death.

Thus since it’s true, oh God,
that wicked destiny
thirsts only for my weeping,
tears, why do you hold back?

Translated by Richard Kolb

Le garçon de Liège

Un garçon de conte de fée
m’a fait un grand salut bourgeois
en plein vent, au bord d’une allée,
debout sous l’arbre de la Loi.

Les oiseaux d’arrière-saison
faisaient des leurs malgré la pluie
et prise par ma déraison
j’osai lui dire: <Je m’ennuie.>

Sans dire un doux mot de menteur
le soir dans ma chambre à tristesse
il vint consoler ma pâleur.
Son ombre me fit des promesses.

Mais c’était un garçon de Liège,
léger, léger comme le vent
qui ne se prend à aucun piège
et court les plaines du beau temps

Et dans ma chemise de nuit,
depuis lors quand je voudrais rire
Ah! beau jeune homme je m’ennuie, 
Ah! dans ma chemise à mourir.

The boy of Cork

A fairy-tale youth
bowed to me a deep bourgeois bow
in the open air, alongside an avenue,
standing, beneath the tree of Law.

The birds of late autumn
kept up their work, despite the rain
and seized by my folly
I dared tell him: “I’m bored.”

Without saying one sweet word of falsehood
that evening, in my room of sadness,
he came to console my pallor.
His shadow made me promises.

But he was a boy of Cork,
light, light as the wind
which is not to be caught in any trap
and roams the plains in fine weather.

and in my night-shirt,
ever since, whenever I want to laugh,
ah, handsome young man, I’m bored, 
ah, in my shirt, to death!

Au-delà

Eau-de-vie! Au-delà!
À l’heure du plaisir,
choisir n’est pas trahir,
je choisis celui-là.

Je choisis celui-là
qui sait me faire rire,
d’un doigt de-ci, de-là,
comme on fait pour écrire.

Comme on fait pour écrire,
il va par-ci, par-là,
sans que j’ose lui dire:
j’aime bien ce jeu-là.

J’aime bien ce jeu-là,
qu’un souffle fait finir, 
jusqu’au dernier soupir
je choisis ce jeu-là.

Eau-de-vie! Au-delà!
À l’heure du plaisir,
choisir n’est pas trahir,
je choisis celui-là.

Beyond

Water-of-life! Beyond!
At the hour of pleasure,
to choose is not to betray,
I choose that one.

I choose that one
who can make me laugh,
with a finger here, there,
as one does when writing.

As one does when writing,
he comes here, he goes there,
without my daring to say to him:
I do like that game.

I do like that game,
which a breath puts to an end, 
up until the last sigh
I choose that game.

Water-of-life! Beyond!
At the hour of pleasure,
to choose is not to betray,
I choose that one.

Aux officiers de la garde blanche

Officiers de la garde blanche,
gardez-moi de certaines pensées la nuit.
Gardez-moi des corps à corps et de l’appui
d’une main sur ma hanche.
Gardez-moi surtout de lui
qui par la manche m’entraîne
vers le hasard des mains pleines
et les ailleurs d’eau qui luit.
Épargnez-moi les tourments en tourmente
de l’aimer un jour plus qu’aujourd’hui,
et la froide moiteur des attentes
qui presseront aux vitres et aux portes
mon profil de dame déjà morte.
Officiers de la garde blanche,
je ne veux pas pleurer pour lui
sur terre. Je veux pleurer en pluie
sur sa terre, sur son astre orné de buis,
lorsque plus tard je planerai transparente,
au-dessus des cent pas d’ennui.
Officiers des consciences pures,
vous qui faites les visages beaux,
confiez dans l’espace au vol des oiseaux
un message pour les chercheurs de mesure
et forgez pour nous des chaînes sans anneaux.

Louise de Vilmorin

To the officers of the white guard

Officers of the white guard,
keep me from certain thoughts at night.
Keep me from bodily contacts and the pressing
of a hand upon my hip.
Above all keep me from him
who, by the sleeve, pulls me
towards the chance of full hands
and the elsewheres of glistening water.
Spare me the torments in torment
of loving him some day more than today,
and the cold dampness of the awaiting
which will impress my profile of a lady already dead onto the windows and doors.
Officers of the white guard,
I do not want to weep for him
on earth. I want to weep in rain
upon his land, upon his star adorned with boxwood,
when, later, transparent, I float
above the hundred strides of misery.
Officers of pure consciences,
you who render faces beautiful,
confide in space to the flight of the birds
a message for those seeking moderation
and forge for us chains without rings. 

© translated by Christopher Goldsack from Mélodie Treasury.com

Reine des mouettes

Reine des mouettes, mon orpheline,
je t’ai vue rose, je m’en souviens,
sous les brumes mousselines
de ton deuil ancien.

Rose d’aimer le baiser qui chagrine
tu te laissais accorder à mes mains
sous les brumes mousselines
voiles de nos liens.

Rougis, rougis, mon baiser te devine
mouette prise aux noeuds des grands chemins.

Reine des mouettes, mon orpheline,
tu étais rose accordée à mes mains
rose sous les mousselines 
et je m’en souviens.

Queen of seagulls

Queen of seagulls, my little orphan,
I recall you blushing pink,
beneath the muslin mists
of your ancient sorrow.

Blushing pink at the kiss which provokes you,
you surrendered to my hands
beneath the muslin mists,
veils of bond between us.

Blush, blush, my kiss finds you out,
seagull caught where great highways meet.

Queen of seagulls, my little orphan,
you blushed pink, surrendered to my hands,
pink beneath the muslin 
and I recall the moment.

C’est ainsi que tu es

Ta chair, d’âme mêlée,
chevelure emmêlée,
ton pied courant le temps,
ton ombre qui s’étend
et murmure à ma tempe,
voilà, c’est ton portrait,
c’est ainsi que tu es,
et je veux te l’écrire
pour que la nuit venue,
tu puisses croire et dire, 
que je t’ai bien connue.

That is how you are

Your flesh, mingled with soul,
your tangled hair,
your feet pursuing time,
your shadow which stretches
and whispers close to my temple.
There, that is your portrait,
that is how you are,
and I shall write it down for you
so that when night comes,
you may believe and say 
that I knew you well.

Paganini

Violon hippocampe et sirène
Berceau des coeurs coeur et berceau
Larmes de Marie Madeleine
Soupir d’une reine
Écho

Violon orgeuil des mains légères
Départ à cheval sur les eaux
Amour chevauchant le mystère 
Voleur en prière 
Oiseau

Violon femme morganatique
Chat botté courant la forêt
Puit des vérités lunatiques
Confession publique
Corset

Violon alcool de l’âme en peine
Préférence muscle du soir
Épaules des saisons soudaines
Feuille de chêne
Miroir

Violon chevalier du silence
Jouet évadé du bonheur
Poitrine des milles présences
Bateau de plaisance
Chasseur.

Louise de Vilmorin

Paganini

Violin sea-horse and siren,
Cradle of hearts heart and cradle
Tears of Mary Magdalene
A queen’s sigh
Echo

Violin pride of delicate hands
Departure on horseback over the waters
Love astride mystery 
Thief at prayer 
Bird

Violin morganatic wife
Puss-in-Boots ranging the forest
Well of capricious truths
Public confession
Corset

Violin alcohol of the troubled soul
Preference muscle of the evening
Shoulders of sudden seasons
Oak-leaf
Mirror

Violin knight of silence
Toy escaped from happiness,
Breast of a thousand presences
Pleasure-boat
Hunter.

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

Ilmenau

Über allen Gipfeln
Ist Ruh’,
In allen Wipfeln
Spürest du
Kaum einen Hauch;
Die Vögelein schweigen im Walde.
Warte nur, balde
Ruhest du auch.

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Ilmenau

Over every mountain-top
lies peace,
in every tree-top
You scarcely feel
A breath of wind;
The little birds are hushed in the wood.
Wait, soon you too
Will be at peace. 

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

Aus ‘Diego Manazares’

Wo irrst du durch einsame Schluchten der Nacht,
Wo bist du mein Leben, mein Glück?
Schon sind die Gestirne der Nacht
Aus tauenden Dunkel erwacht,
Und ach, der Geliebte kehrt noch nicht zurück. 

Ernestine von Krosigk

From ‘Diego Manazares’

Why are you wandering through the lonely ravines of the night?
Where are you, my life, my happiness?
Already the night stars
have awoken from their dewy darkness,
and, alas, my beloved has not yet returned.

Ganymed

Wie im Morgenglanze
Du rings mich anglühst,
Frühling, Geliebter!
Mit tausendfacher Liebeswonne
Sich an mein Herze drängt
Deiner ewigen Wärme
Heilig Gefühl,
Unendliche Schöne!
Dass ich dich fassen möcht’
In diesen Arm!

Ach, an deinem Busen
Lieg’ ich und schmachte,
Und deine Blumen, dein Gras
Drängen dich an mein Herz.
Du kühlst den brennenden
Durst meines Busens,
Lieblicher Morgenwind!
Ruft drein die Nachtigall
Liebend nach mir aus dem Nebeltal.
Ich komm’, ich komme!
Ach wohin, wohin?

Hinauf! strebt’s hinauf!
Es schweben die Wolken
Abwärts, die Wolken
Neigen sich der sehnenden Liebe.
Mir! Mir!
in euerem Schosse
Aufwärts!
Umfangend umfangen!
Aufwärts an deinen Busen, 
Alliebender Vater!

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Ganymede

How your glow envelops me
in the morning radiance,
spring, my beloved!
With love’s thousandfold joy
the hallowed sensation
of your eternal warmth
floods my heart,
infinite beauty!
O that I might clasp you
in my arms!

Ah, on your breast
I lie languishing,
and your flowers, your grass
press close to my heart.
You cool the burning
thirst within my breast,
sweet morning breeze,
as the nightingale calls
tenderly to me from the misty valley.
I come, I come!
But whither? Ah, whither?

Upwards! Strive upwards!
The clouds drift
down, yielding
to yearning love,
to me, to me!
In your lap,
upwards,
embracing and embraced!
Upwards to your bosom,
all-loving Father!

Nachtstück

Wenn über Berge sich der Nebel breitet
Und Luna mit Gewölken kämpft,
So nimmt der Alte seine Harfe, und schreitet
Und singt waldeinwärts und gedämpft:
„Du heilige Nacht:
Bald ist’s vollbracht, 
Bald schlaf ich ihn, den langen Schlummer,
Der mich erlöst von allem Kummer.”

Die grünen Bäume rauschen dann:
„Schlaf süss, du guter, alter Mann”;
Die Gräser lispeln wankend fort:
„Wir decken seinen Ruheort”;
Und mancher liebe Vogel ruft:
„O lass ihn ruhn in Rasengruft!”
Der Alte horcht, der Alte schweigt,
Der Tod hat sich zu ihm geneigt.

Johann Mayrhofer

Nocturne

When the mists spread over the mountains,
and the moon battles with the clouds,
the old man takes his harp, and walks
towards the wood, quietly singing:
‘Holy night,
soon it will be done. 
Soon I shall sleep and long sleep
which will free me from all grief.’

Then the green trees rustle:
‘Sleep sweetly, good old man’;
and the swaying grasses whisper:
'We shall cover his resting place.’
And many a sweet bird calls:
‘Let him rest in his grassy grave!’
The old man listens, the old man is silent.
Death has inclined towards him.

Auflösung

Verbirg dich, Sonne,
Denn die Gluten der Wonne
Versengen mein Gebein;
Verstummet, Töne,
Frühlings Schöne
Flüchte dich und lass mich allein!

Quillen doch aus allen Falten
Meiner Seele liebliche Gewaltne,
Die mich umschlingen,
Himmlisch singen.
Geh unter, Welt, und störe
Nimmer die süssen, ätherischen Chöre.

Johann Mayrhofer

Dissolution

Hide yourself, sun,
for the fires of rapture
burn through my whole being.
Be silent, sounds;
spring beauty,
flee, and let me be alone!

From every recess of my soul
gentle powers well up
and envelop me
with celestial song.
Dissolve, world, and never more
disturb the sweet ethereal choirs.

Translation © Richard Wigmore, author of Schubert: The Complete Song Texts, published by Schirmer Books, provided courtesy of Oxford Lieder (www.oxfordlieder.co.uk)