Recital: Tyler Bouque '21 BM, Baritone

Komm, süßes Kreuz

Komm, süßes Kreuz, so will ich sagen,
Mein Jesu, gib es immer her!
Wird mein Leiden einst zu schwer,
So hilfst du mir es selber tragen.
 

Come sweet cross

Come sweet cross – this is what I will say,
My Jesus, give it always to me!
If my suffering at any time becomes too heavy,
Then you yourself helped me to bear it.

Recueillement

Sois sage, ô ma Douleur, et tiens-toi plus tranquille;
Tu réclamais le Soir: il descend; le voici :
Une atmosphère obscure enveloppe la ville,
Aux uns portant la paix, aux autres le souci.
Pendant que des mortels la multitude vile,
Sous le fouet du Plaisir, ce bourreau sans merci,
Va cueillir des remords dans la fête servile,
Ma Douleur, donne-moi la main ; viens par ici,
Loin d’eux. Vois se pencher les défuntes Années,
Sur les balcons du ciel, en robes surannées;
Surgir du fonds des eaux le Regret souriant;
Le Soleil moribond s’endormir sous une arche,
Et, comme un long linceul traînant à l’Orient,
Entends, ma chère, entends la douce Nuit qui marche.

Charles Baudelaire

Meditation

Be good, O my Sorrow, and keep more calm.
You longed for Evening; it is falling; now:
A dusky atmosphere enfolds the town,
Bringing peace to some, to others care.
While the vile multitude of mortals,
Lashed by Pleasure, that pitiless tormentor,
Goes gathering remorse in abject revels,
Give me your hand, my Sorrow; come this way,
Far from them. See the departed Years leaning,
In outmoded dress, from the heavens’  balustrades;
See smiling Regret well up from the waters’ depths;
The dying Sun fall asleep beneath an arch,
And like a long shroud trailing in the East,Listen, my love, listen to the tread of gentle Night.

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

Schenk mir deinen goldenen Kamm

Schenk mir deinen goldenen Kamm;
Jeder Morgen soll dich mahnen,
Daß du mir die Haare küßtest.
Schenk mir deinen seidenen Schwamm;
Jeden Abend will ich ahnen,
Wem du dich im Bade rüstest,
O Maria!
Schenk mir Alles, was du hast;
Meine Seele ist nicht eitel,
Stolz empfang ich deinen Segen.
Schenk mir deine schwerste Last:
Willst du nicht auf meinen Scheitel
Auch dein Herz, dein Herz noch legen,
Magdalena?

Richard Dehmel

Give me your golden comb

Give me your golden comb;
every morning shall remind you
that you kissed my hair.
Give me your silken sponge;
every evening I want to sense
for whom you prepared yourself in the bath -
oh, Maria!
Give me everything you have;
my soul is not vain,
proudly I receive your blessing.
Give me your heavy burden:
will you not lay on my head
your heart too, your heart
Magdalena?

Translation © Richard Stokes, provided courtesy of Oxford Lieder www.oxfordlieder.co.uk

Harmonie du Soir

Voici venir les temps où vibrant sur sa tige
Chaque fleur s’évapore ainsi qu’un encensoir ;
Les sons et les parfums tournent dans l’air du soir ;
Valse mélancolique et langoureux vertige !
Chaque fleur s’évapore ainsi qu’un encensoir ;
Le violon frémit comme un cœur qu’on afflige ;
Valse mélancolique et langoureux vertige !
Le ciel est triste et beau comme un grand reposoir.
Le violon frémit comme un cœur qu’on afflige
Un cœur tendre, qui hait le néant vaste et noir !
Le ciel est triste et beau comme un grand reposoir ;
Le soleil s’est noyé dans son sang qui se fige.
Un cœur tendre, qui hait le néant vaste et noir,
Du passé lumineux recueille tout vestige !
Le soleil s’est noyé dans son sang qui se fige ...
Ton souvenir en moi luit comme un ostensoir!

Charles Baudelaire

Evening Harmony

Now comes the time when, quivering on its stem,
Each flower sheds perfume like a censer;
Sounds and scents turn in the evening air;
Melancholy waltz and reeling languor!
Each flower sheds perfume like a censer;
The violin throbs like a wounded heart,
Melancholy waltz and reeling languor!
The sky is sad and beautiful like a great altar.
The violin throbs like a wounded heart,
A fond heart that loathes the vast black void!
The sky is sad and beautiful like a great altar.
The sun has drowned in its congealing blood.
A fond heart that loathes the vast black void
And garners in all the luminous past!
The sun has drowned in its congealing blood...
Your memory within me shines like a monstrance!

Translation © Richard Stokes, from A French Song Companion (Oxford, 2000)

Domande al vento

- V'è una lingua del silenzio? Un rombo
  celato fra parole?
Della città non restava niente. Uno gridava:
- Ma il silenzio è vuoto, o pieno?
  È rifiuto della lingua o memoria antica?
E gridava:
- Cosa racconta la parola, se interrompe?
  Non sentite?
Il vecchio sbucò dalle macerie:
- V'è una lingua del silenzio?
 

Stupori

E io Giuseppe stavo camminando
     ed ecco non riuscivo a muovermi.
Guardai in su e vidi
     che l'aria era attonita
guardai la volta azzurra
     e vidi ch’era immobile
gli uccelli nel cielo
     sospesi a metà.
Guardai a terra e vidi una scodella
     e gli operai intorno
quelli che stavano masticando
     non masticavano più
e quelli che stavano prendendo il cibo
     non lo prendevano più
e quelli col boccone in mano
     non lo ingoiavano più
tutte le facce eran rivolte in alto.
Ed ecco le pecore condotte al pascolo
     erano ferme, non andavano
mentre il pastore alzava il bastone
     rimaneva col braccio levato.
Guardai la corrente del fiume e vidi i capretti,
     il muso sull'acqua ma senza bere.
Tutte le cose per un momento
     furon distratte dal loro corso.

(Protovangelo di Giacomo, XVIII, elaborato daSciarrino)


L'ultimo haiku di Bashō

Malato in viaggio
il sogno mio percorre
pianure aride


La nostra mente

Di parole
risuona ogni pensiero
eco di fiato


Graffito

Io non mi
arritrovai
mai più tanto
malenconico.
Io Federi
go

(su un muro della loggia, negli appartamenti ducali, a Urbino)


Silenzi Leggibili

(t)isin/etei/tannin/dedi/rantha/thonkra/kohen/
pritai/mathia/lam-l/liatin/krina/nam/in

(epigrafe messapica di Ugento)

Questions to the wind

- Is there a language of silence? A rumble
  hidden between words?
Nothing remained of the city. One shouted:
- But is silence empty, or full?
   Is it rejection of the language or ancient memory?   And he shouted:
- What does the word say, if it interrupts?
   Can't you hear?
The old man emerged from the rubble:
- Is there a language of silence?


Amazements

And I, Joseph, was walking
     and found I could not move.
I looked up and saw
     that the air was astonished
I looked at that blue vault
     and I saw that it was motionless
Birds in the sky
     were suspended in half.
I looked down and saw a bowl
     and the workers around it
those who were chewing
     no longer chewed
and those who were taking food
     no longer took it
and those with a morsel in hand
     no longer swallowed it
all faces were turned upwards.
And here were the sheep led to pasture
     they were still, they did not go
while the shepherd raised his staff
     he remained with his arm raised.
I looked at the river current and saw the kids,
     face on the water but without drinking.
All things for a moment
     they were distracted from their course.

(Protoevangelium of Jacob, XVIII, elaborated by Sciarrino.)

 

Bashō's last haiku

Sickly traveling
my lucid dreams travel free
through arid lowlands


Our mind

Of words
every thought resounds
echo of breath


Graffiti

I don't
I stopped
never so much
melancholic.
I Federigo
Go

(on a wall of the loggia, in the ducal apartments, in Urbino)


Legible Silences

(t)isin/etei/tannin/dedi/rantha/thonkra/Kohen/
pritai/mathia/lam-l/liatin/krina/nam/in

(Messapian epigraph of Ugento)

Translations by Tyler Bouque