Recital: Zabriel Rivers '21 MM, Countertenor

Toglietemi la vita ancor

Toglietemi la vita ancor,
crudeli cieli,
se mi volete rapir il cor,
toglietemi la vita ancor.

Negatemi i rai del dì,
severe sfere,
se vaghe siete del mio dolor, 
toglietemi la vita ancor. 

Niccolò Minato

You can even take away my life

[You can] even take away my life,
cruel heavens,
if you want to carry off my heart,
Take away my life.

Deny me the sun’s rays,
severe spheres,
if you are pleased with my sadness,
Just take away my life.

Translation from Italian (Italiano) to English copyright © 2015 by Laura Prichard reprinted by permission from the LiederNet Archive, https://www.lieder.net/

Le violette

Rugiadose
Odorose
Violette graziose,
Voi vi state
Vergognose,
Mezzo ascose
Fra le foglie,
E sgridate
Le mie voglie,
Che son troppo ambiziose.

Adriano Morselli

Violets

Dewy
Scented
violets pretty,
You stand
Ashamed (shy),
Half hidden
Among the leaves,
And you scold
My desires, 
That are too ambitious.

Translation from Italian (Italiano) to English copyright © 2005 by Pietro Sirena reprinted by permission from the LiederNet Archive, https://www.lieder.net/

Cara e dolce dolce

Cara e dolce dolce, 
Dolcissima libertà,
quanto ti piange il core.
Fra i lacci d'un crin d'oro
Prova d'un ciglio arcier la crudeltà.
Le dure ritorte,
Che rigida sorte
Mi dà per mercé
Mi stringono i pié
E al mio lungo penar negan pietà.


Anonymous

Dear and very sweet

Dear and very sweet, 
sweetest liberty,
however much my heart weeps for you.
Caught in the bonds of a golden head of hair,
it feels the cruelty of an eye that shoots arrows.
The hard ropes
that unbending fate
gives me in mercy
tie my feet together
and deny pity to my long suffering.

Translation from Italian (Italiano) to English copyright © 2005 by John Glenn Paton, reprinted by permission from the LiederNet Archive, https://www.lieder.net/

Fêtes galantes

Les donneurs de sérénades
Et les belles écouteuses
Échangent des propos fades
Sous les ramures chanteuses.

C'est Tircis et c'est Aminte,
Et c'est l'éternel Clitandre,
Et c'est Damis qui pour mainte
Cruelle fait maint vers tendre.

Leurs courtes vestes de soie,
Leurs longues robes à queues,
Leur élégance, leur joie
Et leurs molles ombres bleues,

Tourbillonnent dans l'extase
D'une lune rose et grise,
Et la mandoline jase
Parmi les frissons de brise. 

Paul Verlaine

The givers of serenades
And the lovely women who listen
Exchange insipid words
Under the singing branches.

There is Thyrsis and Amyntas
And there's the eternal Clytander,
And there's Damis who, for many a
Heartless woman, wrote many a tender verse.

Their short silk coats,
Their long dresses with trains,
Their elegance, their joy
And their soft blue shadows,

Whirl around in the ecstasy
Of a pink and grey moon,
And the mandolin prattles
Among the shivers from the breeze.

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

L’heure exquise

La lune blanche
Luit dans les bois;
De chaque branche
Part une voix
Sous la ramée...

Ô bien aimée.

L'étang reflète,
Profond miroir,
La silhouette
Du saule noir
Où le vent pleure...

Rêvons, c'est l'heure.

Un vaste et tendre
Apaisement
Semble descendre
Du firmament
Que l'astre irise...

C'est l'heure exquise.

Paul Verlaine

The exquisite hour

The white moon
Gleams in the woods;
From every branch
There comes a voice
Beneath the boughs...

O my beloved.

The pool reflects,
Deep mirror,
The silhouette
Of the black willow
Where the wind is weeping...

Let us dream, it is the hour.

A vast and tender
Consolation
Seems to fall
From the sky
The moon illumines...

Exquisite hour.

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

À Chloris

S'il est vrai Chloris que tu m'aimes,   
Mais j'entends que tu m'aimes bien,   
Je ne crois pas que les Rois mêmes   
Aient un bonheur pareil au mien.

Que la mort serait importune,   
A venir changer ma fortune  
Pour la felicité des Dieux;   
Tout ce qu'on dit de l'ambrosie   
Ne touche point ma fantaisie,    
Aux prix des grâces de tes yeux.

Théophile de Viau

To Chloris

If it be true, Chloris, that you love me,
(And I'm told you love me dearly),
I do not believe that even kings
Can match the happiness I know.

Even death would be powerless
To alter my fortune
With the promise of heavenly bliss!
All that they say of ambrosia
Does not stir my imagination
Like the favour of your eyes!

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

Chévere

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

Nicolás Guillén

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;Z
and then he cuts up, cuts up
the flesh of his evil black woman.

Cuba dentro de un piano

Cuando mi madre llevaba un sorbete de fresa
     por sombrero
y el humo de los barcos aun era humo de habanero.
Mulata vuelta bajera.
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 guajiras.
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 Merello

Cuba in a piano

When my mother wore a 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 Carribean 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, and fell.
But later, ah, later
they changed SÍ to YES.

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

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

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!

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