Recital: Sara Buggy '21 MM, 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.
Sara Buggy '21 MM studies Voice with Jane Eaglen. She is the recipient of a scholarship made possible by the Florence O. Preble Scholarship Fund.
- Sara Buggy '21 MM, soprano
- Jane Eaglen, Studio Instructor
W. A. Mozart | Vado, ma dove? Oh Dei!
Text
Vado, Ma dove? Oh Dei!
Vado, ma dove? Oh 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 dal PonteI go, but where? Oh Gods!
I go, but where? Oh Gods!
For your torments,
For my sighs,
Does heaven feel no pity?
You, who speak to my heart,
guide my steps, love;
Your checks or warnings
Make me doubt myself.
Translation by Sara BuggyW. A. Mozart | Chi sa, chi sa, qual sia
Text
Chi sa, chi sa, qual sia
Chi sa, chi sa, qual sia
l'affanno del mio bene,
se sdegno, gelosia,
timor, sospetto, amor.
Voi che sapete, o Dei,
I puri affetti miei,
Voi questo dubbio amaro
Toglietemi dal cor.
Lorenzo dal PonteWho knows, who know, what may be
Who knows, who knows, what may be
the anguish of my beloved,
If it be wrath, jealousy,
fear, suspicion, love.
You who know, oh Gods,
my pure affection,
Take this bitter doubt
out of my heartGabriel Fauré | La Bonne Chanson
Une Sainte en son auréole
Puisque l'aube grandit
La lune blanche
J'allais par des chemins perfides
J'ai presque peur en vérité
Avant que tu ne t'en ailles
Donc, ce sera par un clair jour d'été
N'est-ce pas?
L'hiver a cesséTexts
Une Sainte en son auréole
Une Sainte en son auréole,
Une Châtelaine en sa tour,
Tout ce que contient la parole
Humaine de grâce et d'amour;
La note d'or que fait entendre
Un cor dans le lointain des bois,
Mariée à la fierté tendre
Des nobles Dames d'autrefois;
Avec cela le charme insigne
D'un frais sourire triomphant
Éclos dans des candeurs de cygne
Et des rougeurs de femme-enfant;
Des aspects nacrés, blancs et roses,
Un doux accord patricien:
Je vois, j'entends toutes ces choses
Dans son nom Carlovingien.A Saint in her halo
A Saint in her halo,
A Châtelaine in her tower,
All that human words contain
Of grace and love;
The golden note of a horn
In forests far away,
Blended with the tender pride
Of noble Ladies of long ago;
And then - the rare charm
Of fresh, triumphant smile,
Flowering in swan-like innocence
And the blushes of a child-bride;
A nacreous sheen of white and pink,
A sweet patrician harmony -
All these things I see and hear
In her Carolingian name.Puisque l'aube grandit
Puisque l'aube grandit, puisque voici l'aurore,
Puisque, après m'avoir fui longtemps, l'espoir veut bien
Revoler devers moi qui l'appelle et l'implore,
Puisque tout ce bonheur veut bien être le mien,
Je veux, guidé par vous, beaux yeux aux flammes douces,
Par toi conduit, ô main où tremblera ma main,
Marcher droit, que ce soit par des sentiers de mousses
Ou que rocs et cailloux encombrent le chemin;
Et comme, pour bercer les lenteurs de la route,
Je chanterai des airs ingénus, je me dis
Qu'elle m'écoutera sans déplaisir sans doute;
Et vraiment je ne veux pas d'autre Paradis.Since day is breaking
Since day is breaking, since dawn is here,
Since hope, having long eluded me, would now
Return to me and my imploring,
Since all this happiness will truly be mine.
I shall, guided by your fair eyes' gentle glow,
Led by your hand in which I place my trembling hand,
Walk straight ahead, on mossy paths
Or boulder-strewn and stony tracks.
And while, to ease the journey's languid pace,
I shall sing some simple airs, I tell myself
That she will surely hear me without displeasure;
And truly I crave no other paradise.La lune blanche
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.The white moon
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 hourJ'allais par des chemins perfides
J'allais par les chemins perfides,
Douloureusement incertain.
Vos chères mains furent mes guides.
Si pâle à l'horizon lointain
Luisait un faible espoir d'aurore;
Votre regard fut le matin.
Nul bruit, sinon son pas sonore,
N'encourageait le voyageur.
Votre voix me dit: "Marche encore!"
Mon coeur craintif, mon sombre coeur
Pleurait, seul, sur la triste voie;
L'amour, délicieux vainqueur,
Nous a réunis dans la joie.I walked along treacherous ways
I walked along treacherous ways,
Painfully uncertain.
Your dear hands guided me.
So pale on the far horizon
A faint hope of dawn was gleaming;
Your gaze was the morning.
No sound, save his own footfall,
Encouraged the traveller.
Your voice said: 'Walk on!'
My fearful heart, my heavy heart,
Wept, lonely along the sad road;
Love, that charming conqueror,
Has united us in joy.J'ai presque peur, en vérité
J'ai presque peur, en vérité
Tant je sens ma vie enlacée
A la radieuse pensée
Qui m'a pris l'âme l'autre été,
Tant votre image, à jamais chère,
Habite en ce coeur tout à vous,
Ce coeur uniquement jaloux
De vous aimer et de vous plaire ;
Et je tremble, pardonnez-moi
D'aussi franchement vous le dire,
À penser qu'un mot, qu'un sourire
De vous est désormais ma loi,
Et qu'il vous suffirait d'un geste,
D'une parole ou d'un clin d'oeil,
Pour mettre tout mon être en deuil
De son illusion céleste.
Mais plutôt je ne veux vous voir,
L'avenir dût-il m'être sombre
Et fécond en peines sans nombre,
Qu'à travers un immense espoir,
Plongé dans ce bonheur suprême
De me dire encore et toujours,
En dépit des mornes retours,
Que je vous aime, que je t'aime!In truth, I am almost afraid
In truth, I am almost afraid,
So much do I feel my life bound up
With the radiant thoughts
That captured my soul last summer,
So deeply does your ever-dear image
Inhabit this heart that is wholly yours,
This heart, whose sole desire
Is to love you and please you.
And I tremble, forgive me
For telling you so frankly,
To think that one word, one smile
From you is henceforth law to me,
And that one gesture would suffice,
One word, one single glance,
To plunge my whole being in mourning
From its heavenly illusion.
But I would sooner not see you -
However dark the future might be
And full of untold grief -
Could I not, through an immense hope,
Immersed in this supreme happiness,
Repeat to myself again and again,
Despite bleak reversals,
That I love you, I love you!Avant que tu ne t'en ailles
Avant que tu ne t'en ailles,
Pâle étoile du matin
Mille cailles
Chantent, chantent dans le thym.
Tourne devers le poète
Dont les yeux sont pleins d'amour;
L'alouette
Monte au ciel avec le jour.
Tourne ton regard que noie
L'aurore dans son azur;
Quelle joie
Parmi les champs de blé mûr!
Et fais luire ma pensée
Là-bas - bien loin, oh, bien loin !
La rosée
Gaîment brille sur le foin.
Dans le doux rêve où s'agite
Ma mie endormie encor...
Vite, vite,
Car voici le soleil d'or.Before you fade
Before you fade,
Pale morning star,
A thousand quail
Are singing, singing in the thyme.
Turn to the poet
Whose eyes are full of love,
The lark
Soars heavenward with the day.
Turn your gaze drowned
In the blue of dawn;
What delight
Among the fields of ripened corn!
And make my thoughts gleam
Yonder, far, ah far away!
The dew
Glints brightly on the hay.
Into the sweet dream where still asleep
My love is stirring...
-Make haste, make haste,
For here's the golden sun.Donc, ce sera par un clair jour d'été
Donc, ce sera par un clair jour d'été
Le grand soleil, complice de ma joie,
Fera, parmi le satin et la soie,
Plus belle encor votre chère beauté;
Le ciel tout bleu, comme une haute tente,
Frissonnera somptueux à longs plis
Sur nos deux fronts qu'auront pâlis
L'émotion du bonheur et l'attente;
Et quand le soir viendra, l'air sera doux
Qui se jouera, caressant, dans vos voiles,
Et les regards paisibles des étoiles
Bienveillamment souriront aux époux.So, on a bright summer day it shall be
So, on a bright summer day it shall be:
The great sun, my partner in joy,
Shall make, amid the satin and the silk,
Your dear beauty lovelier still;
The sky, all blue, like a tall canopy,
Shall quiver sumptuously in the long folds
Above our two happy brows, grown pale
With pleasure and expectancy;
And when evening comes, the breeze shall be soft
And play caressingly about your veils,
And the peaceful stars looking down
Shall smile benevolently on man and wife.N'est-ce pas?
N'est-ce pas? nous irons gais et lents, dans la voie
Modeste que nous montre en souriant l'Espoir,
Peu soucieux qu'on nous ignore ou qu'on nous voie.
Isolés dans l'amour ainsi qu'en un bois noir,
Nos deux coeurs, exhalant leur tendresse paisible,
Seront deux rossignols qui chantent dans le soir.
Sans nous préoccuper de ce que nous destine
Le Sort, nous marcherons pourtant du même pas,
Et la main dans la main, avec l'âme enfantine.
De ceux qui s'aiment sans mélange, n'est-ce pas?Is it not so?
Is it not so? Happy and unhurried we'll follow
The modest path where Hope directs us with a smile,
Little caring if we are neither known nor seen.
Isolated in love as in a dark wood,
Our two hearts, breathing gentle love,
Shall be two nightingales singing at evening.
With no thought of what Destiny
Has in store, we shall walk along together,
Hand in hand our souls like those of children
Whose love is unalloyed, is that not so?L'hiver a cessé
L'hiver a cessé : la lumière est tiède
Et danse, du sol au firmament clair.
Il faut que le coeur le plus triste cède
À l'immense joie éparse dans l'air.
J'ai depuis un an le printemps dans l'âme
Et le vert retour du doux floréal,
Ainsi qu'une flamme entoure une flamme,
Met de l'idéal sur mon idéal.
Le ciel bleu prolonge, exhausse et couronne
L'immuable azur où rit mon amour
La saison est belle et ma part est bonne
Et tous mes espoirs ont enfin leur tour.
Que vienne l'été! que viennent encore
L'automne et l'hiver! Et chaque saison
Me sera charmante, ô Toi que décore
Cette fantaisie et cette raison!
Paul VerlaineWinter is over
Winter is over, the light is soft
And dances up from the earth to the clear sky.
The saddest heart must surrender
To the great joy that fills the air.
For a year I have had spring in my soul,
And the green return of sweet May,
Like flame encircling flame,
Adds an ideal to my ideal.
The blue sky prolongs, heightens, and crowns
the steadfast azure where my love smiles.
The season is fair and my lot is happy
And all my hopes are at last fulfilled.
Let summer come! Let autumn
And winter come too! Each season
Will delight me, O you graced with
Imagination and good sense!
Translation © Richard Stokes, from A French Song Companion (Oxford, 2000) provided courtesy of Oxford Lieder-www.oxfordlieder.co.uk---intermission
Richard Strauss | from Sechs Lieder (Brentano Lieder), op. 68
II. Ich wollt ein Sträußlein binden
V. AmorTexts
Ich wollt' ein Sträußlein binden
Ich wollt ein Sträußlein binden,
Da kam die dunkle Nacht,
Kein Blümlein war zu finden,
Sonst hätt' ich dir's gebracht.
Da flossen von den Wangen
Mir Tränen in den Klee,
Ein Blümlein aufgegangen
Ich nun im Garten seh.
Das wollte ich dir brechen
Wohl in dem dunklen Klee,
Da fing es an zu sprechen:
"Ach, tue mir nicht weh!”
"Sei freundlich im Herzen,
Betracht dein eigen Leid,
Und lasse mich in Schmerzen
Nicht sterben vor der Zeit!"
Und hätt's nicht so gesprochen,
Im Garten ganz allein,
So hätt' ich dir's gebrochen,
Nun aber darf's nicht sein.
Mein Schatz ist ausgeblieben,
Ich bin so ganz allein.
Im Lieben wohnt Betrüben,
Und kann nicht anders sein.
Clemens BrentanoI meant to make you a bouquet
I meant to make you a bouquet
But dark night then came,
There were no flowers to be found,
Or I’d have brought you some.
Tears then flowed down my cheeks
Into the clover,
And now I saw a flower
That had sprung up in the garden.
I meant to pick it for you
There in the dark clover,
When it started to speak:
‘Ah, do no hurt me!
Be kind in your heart,
Consider you own suffering,
And do not make me die
In torment before my time!’
And had it not spoken these words,
All alone in the garden,
I’d have picked it for you,
But now that cannot be.
My sweetheart stayed away,
I am utterly alone.
Sadness dwells in loving,
And cannot be otherwise.
Translation © Richard Stokes, author of The Book of Lieder, published by Faber, provided courtesy of Oxford Lieder, www.oxfordlieder.co.ukAmor
An dem Feuer saß das Kind
Amor, Amor
Und war blind;
Mit dem kleinen Flügel fächelt
In die Flammen er und lächelt,
Fächelt, lächelt, schlaues Kind.
Ach, der Flügel brennt dem Kind!
Amor, Amor
Läuft geschwind!
"O wie in die Glut durchpeinet!"
Flügelschlagend laut er weinet;
In der Hirtin Schoß entrinnt
Hülfeschreiend das schlaue Kind.
Und die Hirtin hilft dem Kind,
Amor, Amor
Bös und blind.
Hirtin, sieh, dein Herz entbrennet,
Hast den Schelmen nicht gekennet.
Sieh, die Flamme wächst geschwinde.
Hüt dich vor dem schlauen Kind!
Clemens BrentanoCupid
By the fire sat the child
Cupid, Cupid
and was blind;
with his little wings he fans
into the flames and smiles;
Fans, smiles, wily child!
Ah, the child's wing is burning!
Cupid, Cupid
runs quickly.
O how the burning hurts him deeply!
Beating his wings, he weeps loudly;
To the shepherdess's lap runs,
crying for help, the wily child.
And the shepherdess helps the child,
Cupid, Cupid,
naughty and blind.
Shepherdess, look, your heart is burning;
You did not recognize the rascal.
See, the flame is growing quickly.
Save yourself, from the wily child!
Translation from German (Deutsch) to English copyright © 2002 by John Glenn Paton. Reprinted with permission from the LiederNet Archive.Samuel Barber | Knoxville: Summer of 1915
Text
“We are talking now of summer evenings in Knoxville Tennessee in the time that I lived there so successfully disguised to myself as a child.”
...It has become that time of evening when people sit on their porches, rocking gently and talking gently and watching the street and the standing up into their sphere of possession of the trees, of birds' hung havens, hangars. People go by; things go by. A horse, drawing a buggy, breaking his hollow iron music on the asphalt: a loud auto: a quiet auto: people in pairs, not in a hurry, scuffling, switching their weight of aestival body, talking casually, the taste hovering over them of vanilla, strawberry, pasteboard, and starched milk, the image upon them of lovers and horsemen, squaring with clowns in hueless amber.
A streetcar raising its iron moan; stopping; belling and starting, stertorous; rousing and raising again its iron increasing moan and swimming its gold windows and straw seats on past and past and past, the bleak spark crackling and cursing above it like a small malignant spirit set to dog its tracks; the iron whine rises on rising speed; still risen, faints; halts; the faint stinging bell; rises again, still fainter; fainting, lifting, lifts, faints foregone: forgotten. Now is the night one blue dew.
Now is the night one blue dew, my father has drained, he has coiled the hose.
Low in the length of lawns, a frailing of fire who breathes...
Parents on porches: rock and rock. From damp strings morning glories hang their ancient faces.
The dry and exalted noise of the locusts from all the air at once enchants my eardrums.
On the rough wet grass of the backyard my father and mother have spread quilts. We all lie there, my mother, my father, my uncle, my aunt, and I too am lying there.…They are not talking much, and the talk is quiet, of nothing in particular, of nothing at all in particular, of nothing at all. The stars are wide and alive, they seem each like a smile of great sweetness, and they seem very near. All my people are larger bodies than mine,...with voices gentle and meaningless like the voices of sleeping birds. One is an artist, he is living at home. One is a musician, she is living at home. One is my mother who is good to me. One is my father who is good to me. By some chance, here they are, all on this earth; and who shall ever tell the sorrow of being on this earth, lying, on quilts, on the grass, in a summer evening, among the sounds of the night. May God bless my people, my uncle, my aunt, my mother, my good father, oh, remember them kindly in their time of trouble; and in the hour of their taking away.
After a little I am taken in and put to bed. Sleep, soft smiling, draws me unto her: and those receive me, who quietly treat me, as one familiar and well-beloved in that home: but will not, oh, will not, not now, not ever; but will not ever tell me who I am.
James Agee
A huge thank you to my teacher, Jane Eaglen, and my coach, Damien Francoeur-Krzyzek, for all their guidance, kindness, support, and knowledge.
Thank you to my parents for being a mother and father who are truly good to me, and my siblings and friends for their endless support.
You are all the reason I get to sing, and for that I will never be able to thank you enough.