Recital: Marina Beeson '21 BM, Soprano
NEC's students meet one-on-one each week with a faculty artist to perfect their craft. As each one leaves NEC to make their mark in the performance world, they present a full, professional recital that is free and open to the public. It's your first look at the artists of tomorrow.
Marina Beeson '21 BM studies Voice with Lisa Saffer.
- Marina Beeson '21 BM, soprano
- Justin Williams, piano
- Lisa Saffer, studio instructor
W. A. Mozart | Ridente la calma
Text
Ridente la calma
Ridente la calma nell'alma si desti;
Né resti più segno di sdegno e timor.
Tu vieni, frattanto, a stringer mio bene,
Le dolce catene sí grate al mio cor.
AnonymousMay a Happy Calm Arise
May a happy calm arise in my soul
and may neither a bit of anger nor fear survive in it.
In the meantime you are coming, my beloved, to grasp
those sweet chains that make my heart so grateful.
Translation copyright © Mario Giuseppe Genesi from the LiederNet Archive https://www.lieder.net/W. A. Mozart | Vado, ma dove?
Text
Vado, ma dove?
Vado, ma dove? O Dei
Se de' tormenti suoi,
se de' sospiri miei
non sente il ciel pietà!
Tu che mi parli al core,
Guida i miei passi, amore;
Tu quel ritegno or togli
Che dubitar mi fa.
Lorenzo Da PonteWhere am I going?
Where am I going? Oh Gods!
If for his torments
If for my sighs
Heaven feels no pity!
You who speak to my heart
Guide my footsteps, love;
Now remove that restraint
Which makes me doubt.
Translation by Marina BeesonFrancis Poulenc | Fiançailles pour rire
La dame d'André
Dans l'herbe
Il vole
Mon cadavre est doux comme un gant
Violon
FleursTexts
La dame d’André
André ne connaît pas la dame
Qu’il prend aujourd’hui par la main.
A-t-elle un coeur à lendemains,
Et pour le soir a-t-elle une âme?
Au retour d’un bal campagnard
S’en allait-elle en robe vague
Chercher dans le meules la bague
Des fiançailles du hassard?
A-t-elle eu peur, la nuit venue,
Guettée par les ombres d’hier.
Dans son jardin lorsque l’hiver
Entrait par la grande avenue?
Il l’a aimée pour sa couleur
Pour sa bonne humeur de Dimanche.
Pâlira-t-elle aux feuilles blanches
De son album des temps meilleurs?
Louise de VilmorinAndré’s Lady friend
André does not know the woman
Whose hand he takes today.
Has she a heart for the future,
And for evening has she a soul?
Returning from a country dance,
Did she in her loose-fitting gown
Go and seek in the haystacks
The ring of random betrothal?
Was she afraid, when night fell,
Watched by the ghosts of the past,
In her garden, when winter
Entered by the wide avenue?
He loved her for her complexion,
For her Sunday good humour.
Will she fade on the blank pages
Of his album of better days?
Translation © Richard Stokes from A French Song Companion (Oxford, 2000) provided courtesy of Oxford Lieder-www.oxfordlieder.co.ukDans l’herbe
Je ne peux plus rien dire
Ni rien faire pour lui.
Il est mort de sa belle
Il est mort de sa mort belle
Dehors
Sous l’arbre de la Loi
En plein silence
En plein paysage
Dans l’herbe.
Il est mort inaperçu
Encriant son passage
En appelant, en m’appelant
Mais comme j’étais loin de lui
Et que sa voix ne portait plus
Il est mort seul dans les bois
Sous son arbre d’enfance
Et je ne peux plus rien dire
Ni rien faire pour lui.
Louise de VilmorinIn the Grass
I can say nothing more
Do nothing more for him.
He died for his fair one
He died a fair death
Outside
Beneath the tree of Justice
In utter silence
In open country
In the grass.
He died unnoticed
Crying out as he passed away
Calling, Calling me
But since I was far from him
And since his voice no longer carried
He died alone in the woods
Beneath his childhood tree
And I can say nothing more
Do nothing more for him.
Translation © Richard Stokes from A French Song Companion (Oxford, 2000) provided courtesy of Oxford Lieder-www.oxfordlieder.co.ukIl vole
En allant se coucher le soleil
Se reflète au vernis de ma table:
C’est le fromage rond de la fable
Au bec de mes ciseaux de vermeil.
– Mais où est le corbeau? – Il vole.
Je voudrais coudre mais un aimant
Attire à lui toutes mes aiguilles.
Sur la place les joueurs de quilles
De belle en belle passent le temps.
– Mais où est mon amant? – Il vole.
C’est un voleur que j’ai pour amant,
Le corbeau vole et mon amant vole,
Voleur de cœur manque à sa parole
Et voleur de fromage est absent.
– Mais où est le bonheur? – Il vole.
Je pleure sous le saule pleureur
Je mêle mes larmes à ses feuilles
Je pleure car je veux qu’on me veuille
Et je ne plais pas à mon voleur.
– Mais où donc est l’amour? – Il vole.
Trouvez la rime à ma déraison
Et par les routes du paysage
Ramenez-moi mon amant volage
Qui prend les cœurs et perd ma raison.
Je veux que mon voleur me vole
Louise de VilmorinStealing Away
The sun as it sets
Is reflected in my polished table –
It is the round cheese of the fable
In the beak of my silver scissors.
But where’s the crow? Stealing away on its wing.
I’d like to sew but a magnet
Attracts all my needles.
In the square the skittle-players
Pass the time playing game after game.
But where’s my lover? Stealing away on his wing.
I’ve a stealer for a lover,
The crow steals away and my lover steals,
The stealer of my heart breaks his word
And the stealer of cheese is absent.
But where is happiness? Stealing away on its wing.
I weep under the weeping willow
I mingle my tears with its leaves
I weep because I want to be wanted
And because my stealer doesn’t care for me.
But where can love be? Stealing away on its wing.
Find the sense in my nonsense
And along the country ways
Bring me back my wayward lover
Who steals hearts and robs me of my senses.
I want my stealer to steal me.
Translation © Richard Stokes from A French Song Companion (Oxford, 2000) provided courtesy of Oxford Lieder-www.oxfordlieder.co.ukMon cadavre est doux comme un gant
Mon cadavre est doux comme un gant
Doux comme un gant de peau glacée
Et mes prunelles effaces
Font de mes yeux des cailloux blancs.
Deux cailloux blancs dans mon visage,
Dans le silence deux muets
Ombrés encore d’un secret
Et lourds du poids mort des images.
Mes doigts tant de fois égarés
Sont joints en attitude sainte
Appuyés au creux de mes plaints
Au noeud de mon coeur arrêté.
Et mes deux pieds sont les montagnes.
Les deux derniers monts que j’ai vus
À la minute où j’ai perdu
La course que les années gagnent.
Mon souvenir est ressemblant.
Enfants emportez-le bien vite,
Allez, allez, ma vie est dite.
Mon cadavre est doux comme un gant.
Louise de VilmorinMy corpse is as soft as a glove
My corpse is as soft as a glove
soft as a glove of glacé kid
And my hidden pupils
Make two white pebbles of my eyes.
Two white pebbles in my face
Two mutes in the silence
Still darkened by a secret
Laden with the dead weight of what they’ve seen.
My fingers that roved so often
Are joined in a saintly pose
Resting in the hollow of my sorrows
At the center of my arrested heart.
And my two feet are mountains
The last two hills I saw
At the very moment I lost the race
That the years always win.
Your memory of my is true-
Children bear it swiftly away,
Go, go, my life is over
My corpse is as soft as a glove,
Translation © Richard Stokes from A French Song Companion (Oxford, 2000) provided courtesy of Oxford Lieder-www.oxfordlieder.co.ukViolon
Couple amoureux aus accents méconnus
Le violon et son joueur me plaisent.
Ah! j’aime ces gémissements tendus
Sur la corde des malaises.
Aux accords sur les cordes des pendus
À l’heure où les Lois se taisent
Le coeur en forme de fraise
S’offre à l’amour comme un fruit inconnu.
Louise de Vilmorin
Violin
Loving couple of misapprehended sounds
Violin and player please me.
Ah! I love these long wailings
Stretched on the string of disquiet.
To the sound of strung-up chords
At the hour when Justice is silent
The heart shaped like a strawberry
Gives itself to love like an unknown fruit.
Translation © Richard Stokes from A French Song Companion (Oxford, 2000) provided courtesy of Oxford Lieder-www.oxfordlieder.co.ukFleurs
Fleurs promises, fleurs tenues dans tes bras,
Fleurs sorties des parenthèses d’un pas,
Qui t’apportait ces fleurs l’hiver
Saupoudrés du sable des mers?
Sable de tes baisers, fleurs des amours fanées
Les beaux yeux sont de cendre et dans la cheminée
coeur enrubanné de plaints
Brûle avec ses images saintes.
Louise de VilmorinFlowers
Promised flowers, flowers held in your arms,
Flowers from a step’s parentheses,
Who brought you these flowers in winter
Sprinkled with the sea’s sand?
Sand of your kisses, flowers of faded loves
Your lovely eyes are ashes and in the hearth
A moan-beribboned heart
Burns with its sacred images.
Translation © Richard Stokes from A French Song Companion (Oxford, 2000) provided
courtesy of Oxford Lieder-www.oxfordlieder.co.uk---intermission
Jake Heggie | Songs and Sonnets to Ophelia
Ophelia's Song
Women Have Loved Before
Not in a Silver Casket
SpringTexts
Ophelia’s Song
The hills are green, my dear one,
and blossoms are filling the air.
The spring is arisen and I am a prisoner there.In this flowery field I’ll lay me
and dream of the open air.
The spring is arisen and I am a prisoner there.Taste of the honey. Sip of the wine.
Pine for a chalice of gold.
I have a dear one and he is mine.
Thicker than water. Water so cold.In this flowery field I’ll lay me
and dream of the open air.
The spring is arisen and I am a prisoner there.
Jake Heggie
Women Have Loved Before
Women have loved before as I love now;
At least, in lively chronicles of the past—
Of Irish waters by a Cornish prow
Or Trojan waters by a Spartan mast
Much to their cost invaded—here and there,
Hunting the amorous line, skimming the rest,
I find some woman bearing as I bear
Love like a burning city in the breast.
I think however that of all alive
I only in such utter, ancient way
Do suffer love; in me alone survive
The unregenerate passions of a day
When treacherous queens, with death upon the tread,
Heedless and willful, took their knights to bed.
Edna St. Vincent Millay
Not In a Silver Casket
Not in a silver casket cool with pearls
Or rich with red corundum or with blue,
Locked, and the key withheld, as other girls
Have given their loves, I give my love to you;
Not in a lovers’-knot, not in a ring
Worked in such fashion, and the legend plain—Semper fidelis, where a secret spring
Kennels a drop of mischief for the brain:
Love in the open hand, no thing but that,
Ungemmed, unhidden, wishing not to hurt,
As one should bring you cowslips in a hat
Swung from the hand, or apples in her skirt,
I bring you, calling out as children do:
“Look what I have!—And these are all for you.”
Edna St. Vincent Millay
Spring
To what purpose, April, do you return again?
Beauty is not enough.
You can no longer quiet me with the redness
Of little leaves opening stickily.
I know what I know.
The sun is hot on my neck as I observe
The spikes of the crocus.
The smell of the earth is good.
It is apparent that there is no death.
But what does that signify?
Not only underground are the brains of men
Eaten by maggots.
Life in itself
Is nothing,
An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.
It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,
April
Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.
Edna St. Vincent MillayEdvard Grieg | Sechs Lieder
Gruss
Dereinst, Gedanke mein
Lauf der Welt
Die verschwiegene Nachtigall
Zur Rosenzeit
Ein TraumTexts
Gruss
Leise zieht durch mein Gemüt
Liebliches Geläute.
Klinge, kleines Frühlingslied,
Kling hinaus ins Weite.
Zieh hinaus, bis an das Haus,
Wo die Veilchen sprießen.
Wenn du eine Rose schaust,
Sag, ich lass’ sie grüßen.
Heinrich HeineGreeting
A sweet sound of bells
Peals gently through my soul.
Ring out, little song of spring,
Ring out far and wide.
Ring out till you reach the house
Where violets are blooming.
And if you should see a rose,
Send to her my greeting.
Translation © Richard Stokes, author of The Book of Lieder, published by Faber, provided courtesy of Oxford Lieder, www.oxfordlieder.co.ukDereinst, Gedanke mein
Dereinst,
Gedanke mein
Wirst ruhig sein.
Läßt Liebesglut
Dich still nicht werden:
In kühler Erden
Da schläfst du gut;
Dort ohne Liebe
Und ohne Pein
Wirst ruhig sein.
Was du im Leben
Nicht hast gefunden,
Wenn es entschwunden
Wird’s dir gegeben.
Dann ohne Wunden
Und ohne Pein
Wirst ruhig sein.
Emanuel GeibelOne day, my thoughts
One day,
My thoughts,
You shall be at rest.
Though love’s ardor
Gives you no peace,
You shall sleep well
In cool earth;
There without love
And without pain
You shall be at rest.
What you did not
Find in life
Will be granted you
When life is ended.
Then, free from torment
And free from pain,
You shall be at rest.
Translation © Richard Stokes, author of The Book of Lieder, published by Faber, provided courtesy of Oxford Lieder, www.oxfordlieder.co.ukLauf der Welt
An jedem Abend geh’ ich auf
Hinauf den Wiesensteg.
Sie schaut aus ihrem Gartenhaus,
Es stehet hart am Weg.Wir haben uns noch nie bestellt,
Es ist nur so der Lauf der Welt.
Ich weiß nicht, wie es so geschah,
Seit lange küss’ ich sie,
Ich bitte nicht, sie sagt nicht: ja!
Doch sagt sie: nein! auch nie.
Wenn Lippe gern auf Lippe ruht,
Wir hindern’s nicht, uns dünkt es gut.
Das Lüftchen mit der Rose spielt,
Es fragt nicht: hast mich lieb?
Das Röschen sich am Taue kühlt,
Es sagt nicht lange: gib!
Ich liebe sie, sie liebet mich,
Doch keines sagt: ich liebe dich!
Johann Ludwig UhlandThe Way of the World
Every evening I go out,
Up the meadow path
She looks out from her summer house
Which stands close by the road.
We’ve never planned a rendezvous
It’s just the way of the world.
I don’t know how it came about
For a long time I’ve been kissing her,
I don’t ask, she doesn’t say yes!
But neither does she ever say no!
When lips are pleased to rest on lips,
We don’t prevent it, it just seems good.
The little breeze plays with the rose,
It doesn’t ask: do you love me?
The rose cools itself with dew,
It doesn’t dream of saying: give!
I love her, she loves me,
But neither says: I love you!
Translation © Richard Stokes, author of The Book of Lieder, published by Faber, provided courtesy of Oxford Lieder, www.oxfordlieder.co.ukDie Verschwiegene Nachtigall
Unter den Linden,
An der Haide,
Wo ich mit meinem Trauten saß,
Da mögt ihr finden,
Wie wir beide
Die Blumen brachen und das Gras.
Vor dem Wald mit süßem Schall,
Tandaradei!
Sang im Tal die Nachtigall.
Ich kam gegangen
Zu der Aue,
Mein Liebster kam vor mir dahin.
Ich ward empfangen
Als hehre Fraue,
Daß ich noch immer selig bin.
Ob er mir auch Küsse bot?
Tandaradei!
Seht, wie ist mein Mund so rot!
Wie ich da ruhte,
Wüßt’ es einer,
Behüte Gott, ich schämte mich.
Wie mich der Gute
Herzte, keiner
Erfahre das als er und ich—
Und ein kleines Vögelein,
Tandaradei!
Das wird wohl verschwiegen sein
Karl Joseph SimrockThe Secretive Nightingale
Under the lime trees
By the heath
Where I sat with my beloved,
There you may find
How both of us
Crushed the flowers and grass.
Outside the wood, with a sweet sound,
Tandaradei!
The nightingale sang in the valley.
I came walking
To the meadow,
My beloved arrived before me.
I was received
As a noble lady,
Which still fills me with bliss.
Did he offer me kisses?
Tandaradei!
See how red my mouth is!
If anyone knew
How I lay there,
God forbid, I’d be ashamed.
How my darling hugged me,
No one shall know
But he and I—
And a little bird,
Tandaradei!
Who certainly won’t say a word.
Translation © Richard Stokes, author of The Book of Lieder, published by Faber, provided courtesy of Oxford Lieder, www.oxfordlieder.co.ukZur Rosenzeit
Ihr verblühet, süße Rosen,
Meine Liebe trug euch nicht;
Blühet, ach! dem Hoffnungslosen,
Dem der Gram die Seele bricht!
Jener Tage denk’ ich trauernd,
Als ich, Engel, an dir hing,
Auf das erste Knöspchen lauernd
Früh zu meinem Garten ging;
Alle Blüten, alle Früchte
Noch zu deinen Füßen trug
Und vor deinem Angesichte
Hoffnung in dem Herzen schlug.
Ihr verblühet, süße Rosen,
Meine Liebe trug euch nicht;
Blühet, ach! dem Hoffnungslosen,
Dem der Gram die Seele bricht.
Johann Wolfgang von GoetheTime of Roses
You fade, sweet roses,
My love did not wear you;
Ah! You bloom for one bereft of hope,
Whose soul now breaks with grief!
Sorrowfully I think of those days,
When I, my angel, set my heart on you,
And waiting for the first little bud,
Went early to my garden;
Laid all the blossoms, all the fruits
At your very feet,
With hope beating in my heart,
When you looked on me.
You fade, sweet roses,
My love did not wear you;
Ah! you bloom for one bereft of hope,
Whose soul now breaks with grief.
Translation © Richard Stokes, author of The Book of Lieder, published by Faber, provided courtesy of Oxford Lieder, www.oxfordlieder.co.ukEin Traum
Mir träumte einst ein schöner Traum:
Mich liebte eine blonde Maid;
Es war am grünen Waldesraum,
Es war zur warmen Frühlingszeit:
Die Knospe sprang, der Waldbach schwoll,
Fern aus dem Dorfe scholl Geläut—
Wir waren ganzer Wonne voll,
Versunken ganz in Seligkeit.
Und schöner noch als einst der Traum
Begab es sich in Wirklichkeit—
Es war am grünen Waldesraum,
Es war zur warmen Frühlingszeit:
Der Waldbach schwoll, die Knospe sprang,
Geläut erscholl vom Dorfe her—
Ich hielt dich fest, ich hielt dich lang
Und lasse dich nun nimmermehr!
O frühlingsgrüner Waldesraum!
Du lebst in mir durch alle Zeit—
Dort ward die Wirklichkeit zum Traum,
Dort ward der Traum zur Wirklichkeit!
Friedrich Martin von BodenstedtA Dream
I once dreamed a beautiful dream:
A blonde maiden loved me,
It was in the green woodland glade,
It was in the warm springtime:
The buds bloomed, the forest stream swelled,
From the distant village came the sound of bells—
We were so full of bliss,
So lost in happiness.
And more beautiful yet than the dream,
It happened in reality,
It was in the green woodland glade,
It was in the warm springtime:
The forest stream swelled, the buds bloomed,
From the village came the sound of bells—
I held you fast, I held you long,
And now shall never let you go!
O woodland glade so green with spring!
You shall live in me for evermore—
There reality became a dream,
There dream became reality!
Translation © Richard Stokes, author of The Book of Lieder, published by Faber, provided courtesy of Oxford Lieder, www.oxfordlieder.co.ukI would first like to thank my teacher,
Lisa Saffer,
for truly transforming my musical life.
It has been an honor and a joy to be your student.
To Justin Williams,
thank you for sharing your passion and wisdom with me.
It has meant so much to have the opportunity to learn from you and collaborate with you.
To all of the friends I’ve made here at NEC,
I can’t thank you enough for the happiness you’ve brought to my life.
I have been truly blessed to have known you.
Lastly, thank you Mom, Dad, and Tristan
for your constant love and support.
I couldn’t possibly find the words to express how grateful I am for all that you’ve given me.
“I will sing praise to the Lord all my life; I will sing praise to my God as long as I live.” -Psalm 104:33