Recital: Daniel Rosenberg '21 BM, Tenor
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.
Daniel Rosenberg '21 BM studies Voice with Karen Holvik.
- Daniel Rosenberg '21 BM, tenor
- Justin Williams, piano
George Frideric Handel | Tergi l'inguiste lagrime, HWV 29
Text
Tergi l’inguiste lagrime
Tergi l'ingiuste lagrime,
dilegua il tuo martiro,
che s'io per te respiro,
tu regnerai per me.
Di raddolcirti io spero
questo penoso affanno
col dono d'un impero,
col sangue d'un tiranno
che delle nostre ingiurie
punito ancor non è.
Pietro Antonio Domenico Bonaventura TrapassiWipe away your needless tears
Wipe away your needless tears,
dispel your agony.
For if I still breathe because of you,
you will reign because of me.
I wish to soften
your painful anguish
by giving you an empire,
shedding the blood of a tyrant
who has wronged us
and is still unpunished!
Translation copyright © 2019 by Andrew Schneider reprinted with permission from the LiederNet Archive - https://www.lieder.net/George Frideric Handel | Pastorello d'un povero Armento, HWV 19
Text
Pastorello d’un povero Armento
Pastorello d'un povero armento
pur dorme contento,
sotto l'ombra d'un faggio o d'alloro.
Io, d'un regno monarca fastoso,
non trovo riposo,
sotto l'ombra di porpora e d'oro.
Nicola Francesco HaymA Shepherd, though his flock be poor
A shepherd, though his flock be poor,
still slumbers tranquilly
'neath the shadow of some beech or laurel tree.
Though I be a monarch of a kingdom known for ceremony,
I find no rest in the shadow
of the royal purple and gold.
Translation copyright © 2018 by Andrew Schneider reprinted with permission from the LiederNet Archive- https://www.lieder.net/Franz Schubert | Songs
Nachtstück, op. 36 no. 2, D. 672
Aus Heliopolis I, op. 65 no. 3, D. 753
Aus Heliopolis II, D. 754Texts
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 heilge 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 MayrhoferNocturne
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 the 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.
Translation © Richard Wigmore, author of Schubert: The Complete Song Texts, published by Schirmer Books, provided courtesy of Oxford Lieder (www.oxfordlieder.co.uk)Aus Heliopolis I
Im kalten, rauhen Norden
Ist Kunde mir geworden
Von einer Stadt, der Sonnenstadt.
Wo weilt das Schiff, wo ist der Pfad,
Die mich zu jenen Hallen tragen?
Von Menschen konnt’ ich nichts erfragen,
Im Zwiespalt waren sie verworren.
Zur Blume, die sich Helios erkoren,
Die ewig in sein Antlitz blickt,
Wandt’ ich mich nun, und ward entzückt.
„Wende, so wie ich, zur Sonne
Deine Augen! Dort ist Wonne,
Dort ist Leben;
Treu ergeben
Pilgre zu und zweifle nicht:
Ruhe findest du im Licht.
Licht erzeuget alle Gluten,
Hoffnungspflanzen,
Tatenfluten!“
Johann MayrhoferFrom Heliopolis I
In the cold, harsh north
I learnt
of a city, the city of the sun.
Where is the ship, where the path
that will take me to its courts?
Men could tell me nothing,
for they were entangled in conflict.
I then turned to the flower chosen by Helios,
that forever gazes into his face,
and was enchanted.
‘Like me, turn your eyes
to the sun! There is bliss,
there is life;
in true devotion
make your pilgrimage, and do not doubt.
In the light you will find peace.
Light creates all ardour,
begets flowers of hope
and torrents of deeds!’
Translation © Richard Wigmore, author of Schubert: The Complete Song Texts, published by Schirmer Books, provided courtesy of Oxford Lieder (www.oxfordlieder.co.uk)Aus Heliopolis II
Fels auf Felsen hingewälzet,
Fester Grund und treuer Halt;
Wasserfälle, Windesschauer,
Unbegriffene Gewalt.
Einsam auf Gebirges Zinne,
Kloster wie auch Burgruine,
Grab’ sie der Erinn’rung ein!
Denn der Dichter lebt vom Sein.
Atme du den heil’gen Äther
Schling die Arme um die Welt,
Nur dem Würdigen, dem Grossen
Bleibe mutig zugesellt.
Lass die Leidenschaften sausen
Im metallenen Akkord,
Wenn die starken Stürme brausen,
Findest du das rechte Wort.
Johann MayrhoferFrom Heliopolis II
Rock piled upon rock,
firm ground and steady foothold;
waterfalls, blasts of wind,
uncomprehended power.
Solitary, on the mountain peak,
stands a monastery and a ruined castle;
etch them in the memory,
for the poet lives through existence.
Breathe the holy ether,
clasp the world in your arms;
boldly consort
only with the worthy and the great.
Let the passions seethe
in brazen harmony.
When fierce tempests rage
you will find the right word.
Translation © Richard Wigmore, author of Schubert: The Complete Song Texts, published by Schirmer Books, provided courtesy of Oxford Lieder (www.oxfordlieder.co.uk)---intermission
Samuel Barber | Songs
Un cygne, op. 27 no. 2
Tombeau dans un parc, op. 27 no. 3Texts
Un cygne
Un cygne avance sur l'eau
tout entouré de lui-même,
comme un glissant tableau;
ainsi à certains instants
un être que l'on aime
est tout un espace mouvant.
Il se rapproche, doublé,
comme ce cygne qui nage,
sur notre âme troublée...
qui à cet être ajoute
la tremblante image
de bonheur et de doute.
Rainer Maria RilkeA swan
A swan moves over the water,
surrounded by itself,
like a gliding tableau.
Thus the beloved
is sometimes
a moving space.
He draws near, duplicated
like the swimming swan,
to our troubled soul ....
which adds
the trembling image
of joy and doubt.
Translation copyright © 2000 by Faith J. Cormier reprinted with permission from the LiederNet Archive - https://www.lieder.net/Tombeau dans un parc
Dors au fond de l'allée,
tendre enfant, sous la dalle,
on fera le chant de l'été
autour de ton intervalle.
Si une blanche colombe
passait au vol là-haut,
je n'offrirais à ton tombeau
que son ombre qui tombe.
Rainer Maria RilkeGrave in a park
At the end of the avenue, sleep,
Tender child, beneath the stone,
We shall sing the song of summer
About your grave.
If a white dove
Passes in flight overhead,
I will give for your Tomb,
Only the shadow that falls.
Translation copyright © 2008 by Bart Suverkrop-IPA Source, LLCFrancis Poulenc | Le disparu, FP 134
Text
Le disparu
Je n'aime plus la rue Saint-Martin
Depuis qu'André Platard l'a quittée,
Je n'aime plus la rue Saint-Martin,
Je n'aime rien, pas même le vin.
Je n'aime plus la rue Saint-Martin
Depuis qu'André Platard l'a quittée.
C'est mon ami, c'est mon copain,
Nous partagions la chambre et le pain.
Je n'aime plus la rue Saint-Martin.
C'est mon ami, c'est mon copain.
Il a disparu un matin,
Ils l'ont emmené, on ne sait plus rien,
On ne l'a plus revu dans la rue Saint-Martin.
Pas la peine d'implorer les saints,
Saint Merry, Jacques, Gervais et Martin,
Pas même Valérien qui se cache sur la colline.
Le temps passe, on ne sait rien,
André Platard a quitté la rue Saint-Martin.
Robert DesnosThe Disappearance
I don't like the Rue Saint-Martin any more,
not since André Platard left it.
I don't like the Rue Saint-Martin any more.
There's nothing I like, not even wine.
I don't like the Rue Saint-Martin any more,
not since André Platard left it.
He's my friend, he's my buddy.
We shared a room, we shared our food.
I don't like the Rue Saint-Martin any more.
He's my friend, he's my buddy.
One morning he disappeared.
They took him away, and we've heard nothing since.
He's not been seen again in the Rue Saint-Martin.
It's not worth praying to the saints -
Saint Merri or Saint Jacques, Saint Gervais or Martin,
or even Valérien who hides up on the hill.
Time passes. We know nothing.
André Platard has left the Rue Saint-Martin.
Translation copyright © 2002 by Peter Low reprinted with permission from the LiederNet Archive - https://www.lieder.net/Fred Hersch | Blues for an imaginary valentine - from The AIDS Quilt Songbook, No. 2
Text
Blues for an imaginary valentine
how ironic
that I should be the one to go
before you
how ironicfor years
I read the many notices
dreamt of being survived by my longtime companion
not facing this alonehow ironic
now that I know love
and have found feelings long buried
and strength unknown
I know the greater love
is to survive
not to abandon
but to be abandonedhow ironic
through loss
we discover
true lovenow I grieve
not for myself
but for you whom I leave behindand for you who must face death alone
Fred HerschChris DeBlasio | Walt Whitman in 1989 - from The AIDS Quilt Songbook, No. 5
Text
Walt Whitman in 1989
Walt Whitman has come down
today to the hospital room;
he rocks back and forth in the crisis;he says it’s good we haven’t lost
our closeness, and cries
as each one is takenHe has written many lines
about these years: the disfigurement
of young men and the warsof hard tongues and closed minds.
The body in pain will bear such nobility,
but words have the edgeof poison when spoken bitterly.
Now he takes a dying man
in his arms and tells himhow deeply flows the River
that takes the old man and his friends
this evening. It is the Riverof dusk and lamentation.
“Flow.” Walt says. “dear River,
I will carry this young manto your bank. I’ll put him myself
on one of your strong, flat boats,
and we’ll sail together all the way
through evening.”
Perry BrassMarc Blitzstein | Songs
Stay in my arms
I wish it so
In the Clear - from No For an AnswerTexts
Stay in my arms
In this great city where will I find one peaceful, pretty spot where noise is not?
A bit of quiet, untouched by all the hectic riot would help things a lot.
Our temples automatic - science reveals.
Our pace is acrobatic - life moves on wheels
Here’s my admission -
I haven’t very much ambition for the mad existence of our time.Let’s just be old fashioned.
Let’s just be lazy.
The world’s gone crazy
so stay in my arms.My most dear; come close dear.
Don’t be afraid to.
My hands were made to shield you from alarm.What’s all the shooting for?
Where are they rushing?
Whom are they rooting for?
Whom are they crushing?
Forget them or let them grow dim and hazy.
The world’s gone crazy
so stay in my arms.Let’s lie here
year by year midfield and daisy.
The world’s gone crazy
so stay in my arms.While millions of millions go wildly prancing,
I’ll be romancing a song of your charms.
They dance a dance that kills- mad and defenseless.
Such jumping Jacks and Jills.
It’s all so senseless.I love you.
You love me.
That much is plain, dear.
The world’s insane, dear:
so stay in my arms.Marc Blitzstein
I wish it so
I've an unrest inside me
Oh, it's long I have had such an unrest inside me
And it's gettin' real bad
I'm sleepin' at night
And my heart beats so loud that I wake
All dizzy and light with the dreamin' and feelin this ache
Such a thumpin' inside me
That I think I'll go mad
For I wish it so!
What I wish I still don't know
But it's bound to come
Though so long to wait
I keep saying "Tonight!"
Or "Today!" through the endless days
And my heart clamors and prays
It will not come too late
But when come it does
In the shape of love or life
I will give my life
And my love, I know
I've such grand aims
With so many names
That I grow numb
But sure one is bound to come
Because I wish, I wish it so
It's the unrest inside me
And I think I'll go madMarc Blitzstein
In the Clear
You learn many things at school-
And some are the empty rule-
And, strangely, some are true.
But when you are through with school a quite other school begins for you.
Growing pains begin with wildly happy first years,
When you still don’t know you’re you.
Then there come the worst years-
Those you scramble through-
And one day you wake up.
You have lost a certain joy while you’ve been growing,
You have shed some nameless fear
And you’re left with knowing
That you’re in the clear.
On That day you’re grown up.
There are no fanfares to hear;
You’re just in the clear.
You think many things at night
And even will speak them out.
At night they show so plain.
But when the night will have passed,
you’ll never admit those things again.
There was once a boy whose mind and body flew up
In the semblance of a man.
Now it’s time he grew up
As we know he can.
But he’s still Peter Pan.
For I tell him, yes, we love your lovely talents
And your charm, it charms us too.
But your charm and talents simply happened to you.
Well they won’t see you through.
You’re out among bigger boys. Stop playing with toys.
So I’m in the clear… Hurray for me.
Does it have to be so lonely?
Marc BlitzsteinDedicated to gay composers and poets of time past and present who leave us their living messages of pain, joy, and freedom in this music; in the open and in secret.