Song and Verse: Cross Currents | French and American Song in the Twentieth Century
Inaugurated in the fall of 2020, the Song and Verse recital series provides a platform for undergraduate singers at NEC to experience the unique and invigorating process of song preparation and performance—creating interpretations, building performance skills, and forging intellectual and musical connections with a wide literature.
Working closely with Vocal Arts faculty members, students will engage with rich traditions of song composition from around the globe.
Committed to diversity, our programs will feature both established and emerging composers and poets from across many cultures and traditions. This series creates new opportunities for students to participate with the singular type of storytelling unique to song.
WATCH CONCERT STREAM:
- J.J. Penna, piano and coach
- Jimin Park, soprano
- JiYoung Mok, soprano
- Sophia Daisy Chesler, mezzo-soprano
- Sarah Nalty, soprano
- Marina Beeson, soprano
- Daniel Rosenberg, tenor
- Yuntong Han, tenor
Francis Poulenc | Vocalise
Artists- Jimin Park, soprano
Benjamin C. S. Boyle | Ophelia
Text
Ophelia
How should I your true love know
From another one?
By his cockle hat and staff,
And his sandal shoon
He is dead and gone, lady
White his shroud as the mountain snow,
Larded with sweet flowers;
Which bewept to the grave did not go
With true-love showers
Tomorrow is Saint Valentine’s Day,
And all the morning betime,
And I a maid at your window,
To be your Valentine
Then up he rose, and donn’d his clothes,
And dupt the chamber door;
Let in the maid, that out a maid
Never departed more
By Gis and by Saint Charity,
Alack, and fie for shame!
Young men will do it, if they come to it;
By cock, they are to blame
For bonny sweet Robin is all of my joy,
And will he not come again?
And will he not come again?
He will never come again.
His beard was white as snow,
All flaxen was his poll:
He is gone, he is gone,
And we cast away moan:
Gramercy on his soul!
William Shakespeare, from Hamlet
Artists- Jimin Park, soprano
Lili Boulanger | from Clairières dans le ciel
Si tout ceci n’est qu’un pauvre rêve
Nous nous aimerons tant
Vous m’avez regardé avec toute votre âmeTexts
Si tout ceci n'est qu'un pauvre rêve
Si tout ceci n'est qu'un pauvre rêve,
et s'il fautque j'ajoute dans ma vie,
une fois encore,la désillusion aux désillusions;
et, si je dois encore, par ma sombre folie,
chercher dans la douceur du vent et de la pluie
les seules vaines voix qui m'aient en passion:
je ne sais si je guérirai, ô mon amie…If all were naught but a poor dream
If all were naught but a poor dream,
and if I had to pile
disillusionment on disillusionment in my life,
and if in my shadowy madness I again had
to look to the sweetness of wind and rain
to find the only vain voices that love me passionately,
I don't know if I would ever get better, sweetheart…Nous nous aimerons tant
Nous nous aimerons tant que nous tairons nos mots,
en nous tendant la main, quand nous nous reverrons.
Vous serez ombragée par d'anciens rameaux
sur le banc que je sais où nous nous assoirons.
Donc nous nous assoirons sur ce banc, tous deux seuls,
D'un long moment, ô mon amie, vous n'oserez...
Que vous me serrez douce et que je tremblerai…We will love each other so much
We will love each other so much that we won't speak
but just stretch out our hands to each other when we see
each other again.
You will be in the shadow of ancient branches,
on the bench where I know we will sit.
So we'll sit on that bench, alone together...
For a long moment, sweetheart, you won't dare...
How sweet you will be to me, and how I shall tremble…Vous m'avez regardé avec toute votre âme
Vous m'avez regardé avec toute votre âme.
Vous m'avez regardé longtemps comme un ciel bleu.
J'ai mis votre regard à l'ombre de mes yeux...
Que ce regard était passionné et calme…
Francis JammeYou looked at me with all your soul
You looked at me with all your soul.
You looked at me for a long time, like a blue sky.
I put your glance in the shadow of my eyes...
How passionate and calm it was…
Translation copyright © by Faith J. Cormier, Reprinted with permission from the LiederNet Archive -https://www.lieder.net/Artists- Ji Young Mok, soprano
William Bolcom | from I Will Breathe a Mountain
The Crazy Woman
The Bustle in a House
O To Be a Dragon
Never More Will the WindTexts
The Crazy Woman
I shall not sing a May song.
A May song should be gay.
I’ll wait until November
And sing a song of gray.
I’ll wait until November.
That is the time for me.
I’ll go out in the frosty dark
And sing most terribly
And all the little people
Will stare at me and say,
“That is the Crazy Woman
Who would not sing in May.”
Gwendolyn Brooks
The Bustle in a House
The bustle in a house
The morning after death
Is solemnest of industries
Enacted upon earth, –
The sweeping up the heart,
And putting love away
We shall not want to use again
Until eternity.
Emily Dickinson
O To Be a Dragon
If I, like Solomon,…
could have my wish–
my wish..O to be a dragon,
a symbol of the power of Heaven–
of silkworm
size or immense; at times invisible.
Felicitous phenomenon!
Marianne Moore
Never More Will the Wind
Never more will the wind
cherish you again,
never more will the rain.
Never more
shall we find you bright
in the snow and wind.
The snow is melted,
the snow is gone,
and you are flown:
Like a bird out of our hand,
like a light out of our heart,
you are gone.
Hilda Doolittle
Artists- Sophia Daisy Chesler, mezzo-soprano
Francis Poulenc | Métamorphoses
Reine des mouettes
C'est ainsi que tu es
PaganiniTexts
Reine des mouettes
Reine des mouettes, mon orpheline,
je t’ai vue rose, je m’en souviens,
sous les brumes mousselines
de ton deuil ancien.
Rose d’aimer le baiser qui chagrine
tu te laissais accorder à mes mains
sous les brumes mousselines
voiles de nos liens.
Rougis, rougis, mon baiser te devine
mouette prise aux noeuds des grands chemins.
Reine des mouettes, mon orpheline,
tu étais rose accordée à mes mains
rose sous les mousselines
et je m’en souviensQueen of seagulls
Queen of seagulls, my little orphan,
I recall you blushing pink,
beneath the muslin mists
of your ancient sorrow.
Blushing pink at the kiss which provokes you,
you surrendered to my hands
beneath the muslin mists,
veils of bond between us.
Blush, blush, my kiss finds you out,
seagull caught where great highways meet.
Queen of seagulls, my little orphan,
you blushed pink, surrendered to my hands,
pink beneath the muslin
and I recall the moment.C’est ainsi que tu es
Ta chair, d’âme mêlée,
chevelure emmêlée,
ton pied courant le temps,
ton ombre qui s’étend
et murmure à ma tempe,
voilà, c’est ton portrait,
c’est ainsi que tu es,
et je veux te l’écrire
pour que la nuit venue,
tu puisses croire et dire,
que je t’ai bien connue.That is how you are
Your flesh, mingled with soul,
your tangled hair,
your feet pursuing time,
your shadow which stretches
and whispers close to my temple.
There, that is your portrait,
that is how you are,
and I shall write it down for you
so that when night comes,
you may believe and say
that I knew you well.Paganini
Violon hippocampe et sirène
Berceau des coeurs coeur et berceau
Larmes de Marie Madeleine
Soupir d’une reine
Écho
Violon orgeuil des mains légères
Départ à cheval sur les eaux
Amour chevauchant le mystère
Voleur en prière
Louise de VilmorinPaganini
Violin sea-horse and siren,
Cradle of hearts heart and cradle
Tears of Mary Magdalene
A queen’s sigh
Echo
Violin pride of delicate hands
Departure on horseback over the waters
Love astride mystery
Thief at prayer
© translated by Christopher Goldsack from Mélodie Treasury.comArtists- Sarah Nalty, soprano
Francis Poulenc | Trois Poèmes de Louise de Vilmorin
Le garçon de Liège
Au-delà
Aux officiers de la garde blancheTexts
Le garçon de Liège
Un garçon de conte de fée
m’a fait un grand salut bourgeois
en plein vent, au bord d’une allée,
debout sous l’arbre de la Loi.
Les oiseaux d’arrière-saison
faisaient des leurs malgré la pluie
et prise par ma déraison
j’osai lui dire: <Je m’ennuie.>
Sans dire un doux mot de menteur
le soir dans ma chambre à tristesse
il vint consoler ma pâleur.
Son ombre me fit des promesses.
qui ne se prend à aucun piège
Mais c’était un garçon de Liège,
léger, léger comme le vent et court les plaines
du beau temps
Et dans ma chemise de nuit,
depuis lors quand je voudrais rire
Ah! beau jeune homme je m’ennuie,
Ah! dans ma chemise à mourir.The boy of Cork[The boy from Liège]
A fairy-tale youth
bowed to me a deep bourgeois bow
in the open air, alongside an avenue,
standing, beneath the tree of Law.
The birds of late autumn
kept up their work, despite the rain
and seized by my folly
I dared tell him: “I’m bored.”
Without saying one sweet word of falsehood
that evening, in my room of sadness,
he came to console my pallor.
His shadow made me promises.
But he was a boy of Cork,
light, light as the wind which is not to be
caught in any trap
and roams the plains in fine weather.
and in my night-shirt,
ever since, whenever I want to laugh,
ah, handsome young man, I’m bored,
ah, in my shirt, to death!Au-delà
Eau-de-vie! Au-delà!
À l’heure du plaisir,
choisir n’est pas trahir,
je choisis celui-là.
Je choisis celui-là
qui sait me faire rire,
d’un doigt de-ci, de-là,
comme on fait pour écrire.
Comme on fait pour écrire,
il va par-ci, par-là,
sans que j’ose lui dire:
j’aime bien ce jeu-là.
J’aime bien ce jeu-là,
qu’un souffle fait finir,
jusqu’au dernier soupir
je choisis ce jeu-là.
Eau-de-vie! Au-delà!
À l’heure du plaisir,
choisir n’est pas trahir,
je choisis celui-là.Beyond
Water-of-life! Beyond!
At the hour of pleasure,
to choose is not to betray,
I choose that one.
I choose that one
who can make me laugh,
with a finger here, there,
as one does when writing.
As one does when writing,
he comes here, he goes there,
without my daring to say to him:
I do like that game.
I do like that game,
which a breath puts to an end,
up until the last sigh
I choose that game.
Water-of-life! Beyond!
At the hour of pleasure,
to choose is not to betray,
I choose that one.Aux officiers de la garde blanche
Officiers de la garde blanche,
gardez-moi de certaines pensées la nuit.
Gardez-moi des corps à corps et de l’appui
d’une main sur ma hanche.
Gardez-moi surtout de lui
qui par la manche m’entraîne
vers le hasard des mains pleines
et les ailleurs d’eau qui luit.
Épargnez-moi les tourments en tourmente
de l’aimer un jour plus qu’aujourd’hui,
et la froide moiteur des attentes
qui presseront aux vitres et aux portes
mon profil de dame déjà morte.
Officiers de la garde blanche,
je ne veux pas pleurer pour lui
sur terre. Je veux pleurer en pluie
sur sa terre, sur son astre orné de buis,
lorsque plus tard je planerai transparente,
au-dessus des cent pas d’ennui.
Officiers des consciences pures,
vous qui faites les visages beaux,
confiez dans l’espace au vol des oiseaux
un message pour les chercheurs de mesure
et forgez pour nous des chaînes sans anneaux.
Louise de VilmorinTo the officers of the white guard
Officers of the white guard,
keep me from certain thoughts at night.
Keep me from bodily contacts and the pressing
of a hand upon my hip.
Above all keep me from him
who, by the sleeve, pulls me
towards the chance of full hands
and the elsewheres of glistening water.
Spare me the torments in torment
of loving him some day more than today,
and the cold dampness of the awaiting
which will impress my profile of a lady already dead
onto the windows and doors.
Officers of the white guard,
I do not want to weep for him
on earth. I want to weep in rain
upon his land, upon his star adorned with boxwood,
when, later, transparent, I float
above the hundred strides of misery.
Officers of pure consciences,
you who render faces beautiful,
confide in space to the flight of the birds
a message for those seeking moderation
and forge for us chains without rings.
© translated by Christopher Goldsack from Mélodie Treasury.comArtists- Sarah Nalty, soprano
Francis 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?André’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?Dans 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.In 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.Il 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 voleStealing 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.Mon 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.My 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 me is true-
Children bear it swiftly away,
Go, go, my life is over
My corpse is as soft as a glove.Violon
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.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.Fleurs
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
Un coeur enrubanné de plaints
Brûle avec ses images saintes.Louise de Vilmorin
Flowers
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.ukArtists- Marina Beeson, soprano
Marc Blitzstein | Songs
In the Clear from No for an Answer
Stay in my Arms
I Wish it SoTexts
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 Blitzstein
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 mad
Marc BlitzsteinArtists- Daniel Rosenberg, tenor
Francis Poulenc | from Tel jour, telle nuit
Une ruine coquille vide
Une herbe pauvre
Je n'ai envie que de t'aime
Figure de force brûlante et faroucheTexts
Une ruine coquille vide
Une ruine coquille vide
Pleure dans son tablier
Les enfants qui jouent autour d'elle
Font moins de bruit que des mouches.
La ruine s'en va à tâtons
Chercher ses vaches dans un pré
J'ai vu le jour je vois cela
Sans en avoir honte.
Il est minuit comme une flèche
Dans un coeur à la portée
Des folâtres lueurs nocturnes
Qui contredisent le sommeil.A ruined empty shell
A ruined empty shell
Weeps on the apron
Her children play around her
Make less noise than the flies
The ruin is groping
Searching those cows on the meadow
I saw the day I see this
Without being ashamed of it
The midnight is like an arrow
In a heart with reach
The frisky nocturnal lights
Which contradicts with the sleepUne herbe pauvre
Une herbe pauvre
Sauvage
Apparut dans la neige.
C'était la santé.
Ma bouche fut émerveillé
Du goût d'air pur qu'elle avait.
Elle était fanée.The poor grass
The poor grass
Wild
Appeared in the snow
It was the health
My mouth was amazed
at the taste of the pure air that she had
She was faded.Je n'ai envie que de t'aimer
Je n'ai envie que de t'aimer
Un orage emplit la vallée
Un poisson la rivière
Je t'ai faite à la taille de ma solitude.
Le monde entier pour se cacher
Des jours des nuits pour se comprendre
Pour ne plus rien voir dans tes yeux
Que ce que je pense de toi
Et d'un monde à ton image
Et des jours et des nuits réglés par tes paupières.I have no desire but to love you
I have no desire but to love you
A storm fills the valley
A fish the river
I made you the size of my loneliness
The whole world to hide
Days and nights to understand each other
To see nothing in your eyes
Than what I think of you
And a world in your image
And days and nights regulated by your eyelids.Figure de force brûlante et farouche
Figure de force brûlante et farouche
Cheveux noire où l'or coule vers le sud
Aux nuits corrompues
Or englouti étoile impure
Dans un lit jamais partagé.
Aux veines des tempes
Comme aux bouts des seins
La vie se refuse.
Les yeux nul ne peut les crever
Boire leur éclat ni leurs larmes.
Le sang au-dessus d'eux triomphe pour lui seul.
Intraitable démesurée
Inutile
Cette santé bâtit une prison.
Paul ÉluardFigure of burning and fierce force
Figure of burning and fierce force
Black hair where gold flows to the south
To corrupt nights
Gold engulfed unclean star
In the bed never shared
To the veins of temples
Like at the tips of breasts
The life is refused
The eyes no one can put out
Drink their shine and their tears
The blood above them triumphs for itself
Intractable disproportionate
Useless
The health builds a prison.
Translations by Yuntong HanArtists- Yuntong Han, tenor