Recital: Chihiro Asano '22 MM, Mezzo-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.
Chihiro Asano '22 MM studies Voice with Ian Howell.
This performance is open to in-person audiences, and can also be viewed below via livestream.
- Chihiro Asano '22 MM, mezzo-soprano
- Ziang Xu, piano
Kunihiko Hashimoto | お六娘
Text
お六娘
お六娘は 丸顔ござる
花の盛りの はたちでござる
九月九日 月の夜ござる
月がかくれて うすやみござる
村の若者 集まりござる
鎮守祭りの 崩れでござる
何かひそひそ 話してござる
虫の鳴く音が 邪魔してござる
お六娘は 座敷でござる
島田高髷 影法師ござる
村の若者 呼出しござる
つぶて口笛 さまざまござる
お六娘が 品よくござる
口笛もつぶてもきかぬでござる
村の若者 しおれてござる
月が出てきて 笑ってござるOroku musume
The girl Oroku has a round face,
She is slim and supple, 20 years old.
On September ninth,
The moon is hidden, and the area is dark.
There's a gathering of the village youth.
It's the after party of the town festival
The young people are whispering about something.
I can't hear anything over the buzzing of the insects.
The girl Oroku is in the tatami room
Shimada's high topknot appears in the shadows.
Village youth are calling her
Whistling and throwing a stone.
The girl Oroku is classy.
She doesn't even look at the sound of the whistle or stones
Village youth are disappointed.
The moon is out, and it's laughing.
Translation by Chihiro AsanoAlban Berg | Sieben frühe Lieder
Nacht
Schilflied
Die Nachtigall
Traumgekrönt
Im Zimmer
Liebesode
SommertageTexts
Nacht
Dämmern Wolken über Nacht und Tal.
Nebel schweben. Wasser rauschen sacht.
Nun entschleiert sich’s mit einem Mal.
O gib acht! gib acht!
Weites Wunderland ist aufgetan,
Silbern ragen Berge traumhaft groß,
Stille Pfade silberlicht talan
Aus verborg’nem Schoß.
Und die hehre Welt so traumhaft rein.
Stummer Buchenbaum am Wege steht
Schattenschwarz – ein Hauch vom fernen Hain
Einsam leise weht.
Und aus tiefen Grundes Düsterheit
Blinken Lichter auf in stummer Nacht.
Trinke Seele! trinke Einsamkeit!
O gib acht! gib acht!
Carl Hauptmann
Schilflied
Auf geheimem Waldespfade
Schleich’ ich gern im Abendschein
An das öde Schilfgestade,
Mädchen, und gedenke dein!
Wenn sich dann der Busch verdüstert,
Rauscht das Rohr geheimnisvoll,
Und es klaget und es flüstert,
Daß ich weinen, weinen soll.
Und ich mein’, ich höre wehen
Leise deiner Stimme Klang,
Und im Weiher untergehen
Deinen lieblichen Gesang.
Nikolaus Lenau
Die Nachtigall
Das macht, es hat die Nachtigall
Die ganze Nacht gesungen;
Da sind von ihrem süssen Schall,
Da sind in Hall und Widerhall
Die Rosen aufgesprungen.
Sie war doch sonst ein wildes Blut,
Nun geht sie tief in Sinnen;
Trägt in der Hand den Sommerhut
Und duldet still der Sonne Glut
Und weiß nicht, was beginnen.
Das macht, es hat die Nachtigall
Die ganze Nacht gesungen;
Da sind von ihrem süssen Schall,
Da sind in Hall und Widerhall
Die Rosen aufgesprungen.
Theodor Storm
Traumgekrönt
Das war der Tag der weißen Chrysanthemen, –
mir bangte fast vor seiner Pracht …
Und dann, dann kamst du mir die Seele nehmen
tief in der Nacht.
Mir war so bang, und du kamst lieb und leise, –
ich hatte grad im Traum an dich gedacht.
Du kamst, und leis wie eine Märchenweise
erklang die Nacht …
Rainer Maria Rilke
Im Zimmer
Herbstsonnenschein.
Der liebe Abend blickt so still herein.
Ein Feuerlein rot
Knistert im Ofenloch und loht.
So! – Mein Kopf auf deinen Knie’n. –
So ist mir gut;
Wenn mein Auge so in deinem ruht.
Wie leise die Minuten ziehn! …
Johannes Schlaf
Liebesode
Im Arm der Liebe schliefen wir selig ein.
Am offnen Fenster lauschte der Sommerwind,
und unsrer Atemzüge Frieden
trug er hinaus in die helle Mondnacht. –
Und aus dem Garten tastete zagend sich
Ein Rosenduft an unserer Liebe Bett
Und gab uns wundervolle Träume,
Träume des Rausches – so reich an Sehnsucht!
Otto Erich Hartleben
Sommertage
Nun ziehen Tage über die Welt,
gesandt aus blauer Ewigkeit,
im Sommerwind verweht die Zeit.
Nun windet nächtens der Herr
Sternenkränze mit seliger Hand
über Wander- und Wunderland.
O Herz, was kann in diesen Tagen
dein hellstes Wanderlied denn sagen
von deiner tiefen, tiefen Lust:
Im Wiesensang verstummt die Brust,
nun schweigt das Wort, wo Bild um Bild
zu dir zieht und dich ganz erfüllt.
Paul HohenbergNight
Clouds loom over night and valley.
Mists hover, waters softly murmur.
Now at once all is unveiled.
O take heed! take heed!
A vast wonderland opens up,
Silvery mountains soar dreamlike tall,
Silent paths climb silver-bright valleywards
From a hidden womb.
And the glorious world so dreamlike pure.
A silent beech-tree stands by the wayside
Shadow-black – a breath from the distant grove
Blows solitary soft.
And from the deep valley’s gloom
Lights twinkle in the silent night.
Drink soul! drink solitude!
O take heed! take heed!
Reed song
Along a secret forest path
I love to steal in the evening light
To the desolate reedy shore
And think, my girl, of you!
When the bushes then grow dark,
The reeds pipe mysteriously,
Lamenting and whispering,
That I must weep, must weep.
And I seem to hear the soft sound
Of your voice,
And your lovely singing
Drowning in the pond.
The nightingale
It is because the nightingale
Has sung throughout the night,
That from the sweet sound
Of her echoing song
The roses have sprung up.
She was once a wild creature,
Now she wanders deep in thought;
In her hand a summer hat,
Bearing in silence the sun’s heat,
Not knowing what to do.
It is because the nightingale
Has sung throughout the night,
That from the sweet sound
Of her echoing song
The roses have sprung up.
Crowned with dreams
That was the day of the white chrysanthemums –
Its brilliance almost frightened me ...
And then, then you came to take my soul
at the dead of night.
I was so frightened, and you came sweetly and gently,
I had been thinking of you in my dreams.
You came, and soft as a fairy tune
the night rang out …
In the room
Autumn sunshine.
The lovely evening looks in so silently.
A little red fire
Crackles and blazes in the hearth.
Like this! – With my head on your knees. –
Like this I am content;
When my eyes rest in yours like this.
How gently the minutes pass!
Ode to love
In love’s arms we fell blissfully asleep.
The summer wind listened at the open window,
and carried the peace of our breathing
out into the moon-bright night. –
And from the garden a scent of roses
came timidly to our bed of love
and gave us wonderful dreams,
ecstatic dreams – so rich in longing!
Summer days
Days, sent from blue eternity,
journey now across the world,
time drifts away in the summer wind.
The Lord at night now garlands
star-chains with his blessed hand
across lands of wandering and wonder.
In these days, O heart, what can
your brightest travel-song say
of your deep, deep joy?
The heart falls silent in the meadows’ song,
words now cease when image after image
comes to you and fills you utterly.
Translation © Richard Stokes, author of
The Book of Lieder (Faber, 2005) provided
courtesy of Oxford Lieder- www.oxfordlieder.co.ukNormand Lockwood | Songs Ad Memoriam Daniel S. K. Chang
On the Border
Thinking of a Friend Lost in the Tibetan War
Behind Broken-Mountain Temple
Parting 1
Parting 2
The Garden of the Golden ValleyText
On the Border
Although a bugle breaks the crystal air of spring,
Soldiers in the lookout watch at ease today,
spring wind blowing across green graves,
The pale sun setting beyond Liangchou.
For now, on gray plains done with war,
The border is open to travel again,
And Tartars can no more choose than rivers.
They are running, all of them,
t’ward the south, t’ward the south, t’ward the south.
They are running t’ward the south.
Thinking of a Friend Lost in the Tibetan War
Last year you went with your troops to Tibet.
Last year. And when your men had vanished beyond the city wall,vanished,
News was cut off between two worlds as between the living and the dead.
If no one had come upon a faithful horse
Guarding a crumpl’d tent or torn flag or any trace of you.
If only I knew I might serve you in the temple,
Instead of these tears, these tears t’ward the far sky.
Behind Broken-Mountain Temple
In the pure morning, near the old temple,
Were early sunlight points the treetops,
My path has wound through a sheltered hollow of boughs and flowers, to a Buddhist retreat.
Here birds are alive with mountain light,
And the mind of man touches peace in a pool,
And a thousand sounds are quieted by the breathing of a bell.
Quieted.
Parting 1
She is slim and supple and not yet fourteen,
The young spring tip of a cardamon spray.
On the Yangchou Road for miles in the breeze
Ev’ry pearl screen is open,
But there is no one like her,but there is no one like her
Parting 2
How can a deep love seem deep love,
How can it smile at farewell feasts?
Even a candle feeling our sadness, weeps, as we do, all night long.
The Garden of the Golden Valley
Stories of passion make sweet dust,
Calm waters, grasses unconcerned.
At sunset, when birds cry in the wind,
Petals are falling,
Petals are falling like a girl’s robe long ago.Xavier Montsalvatge | Cinco canciones negras
Cuba dentro de un piano
Punto de Habanera
Chévere
Canción de cuna para dormir un negrito
Canto negroTexts
Cuba dentro de un piano
Cuando mi madre llevaba un sorbete de fresa por sombrero
y el humo de los barcos aún era humo de habanero.
Mulata vueltabajera …
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 guajira.
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 (1902-1999)
Punto de Habanera
La niña criolla pasa con su miriñaque blanco.
¡Qué blanco!
¡Hola! Crespón de tu espuma;
¡Marineros, contempladla!
Va mojadita de lunas
que le hacen su piel mulata;
Niña no te quejes,
tan solo por esta tarde.
Quisiera mandar al agua que no se escape de pronto
de la cárcel de tu falda.
Tu cuerpo encierra esta tarde
rumor de abrirse de dalia.
Niña no te quejes,
tu cuerpo de fruta está
dormido en fresco brocado.
Tu cintura vibra fina
con la nobleza de un látigo,
toda tu piel huele alegre
a limonal y naranjo.
Los marineros te miran
y se te quedan mirando.
La niña criolla pasa con su miriñaque blanco.
¡Qué blanco!
Néstor Luján (1922-1995)
Chévere
Chévere del navajazo,
se vuelve él mismo navaja:
pica tajadas de luna,
mas la luna se le acaba;
pica tajadas de canto,
mas el canto se le acaba;
pica tajadas de sombra,
mas la sombra se le acaba,
y entonces pica que pica
came de su negra mala.
Nicolás Guillén (1902-1989)
Canción de cuna para dormir un negrito
Ninghe, ninghe, ninghe,
tan chiquitito,
el negrito
que no quiere dormir.
Cabeza de coco,
grano de café,
con lindas motitas,
con ojos grandotes
como dos ventanas
que miran al mar.
Cierra los ojitos,
negrito asustado;
el mandinga blanco
te puede comer.
¡Ya no eres esclavo!
Y si duermes mucho,
el señor de casa
promete comprar
traje con botones
para ser un ‘groom’.
Ninghe, ninghe, ninghe,
duérmete, negrito,
cabeza de coco,
grano de café.
Ildefonso Pereda Valdés (1899-1996)
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 GuillénCuba inside a piano
When my mother wore 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 Caribbean 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,
fell,
But later, ah, later
they changed SÍ
to YES.
Habanera Rhythm
The Creole girl goes by in her white crinoline.
How white!
The billowing spray of your crepe skirt!
Sailors, look at her!
She passes gleaming in the moonlight
which darkens her skin.
Young girl, do not complain,
only for tonight.
do I wish the water not to suddenly escape
the prison of your skirt.
In your body this evening
dwells the sound of opening dahlias.
Young girl, do not complain,
your ripe body
sleeps in fresh brocade,
your waist quivers
as proud as a whip,
every inch of you skin is gloriously fragrant
with orange and lemon trees.
The sailors look at you
and feast their eyes on you.
The Creole girl goes by in her white crinoline.
How white!
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;
and then he cuts up, cuts up
the flesh of his evil black woman.
Lullaby for a little black boy
Lullay, lullay, lullay,
tiny little child,
little black boy,
who won’t go to sleep.
Head like a coconut,
head like a coffee bean,
with pretty freckles
and wide eyes
like two windows
looking out to sea.
Close your tiny eyes,
frightened little boy,
or the white devil
will eat you up.
You’re no longer a slave!
And if you sleep soundly,
the master of the house
promises to buy
a suit with buttons
to make you a ‘groom’.
Lullay, lullay, lullay,
sleep, little black boy,
head like a coconut,
head like a coffee bean.
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!
Translations by Jacqueline Cockburn and
Richard Stokes published in the The Spanish
Song Companion (Gollancz, 1992), provided
courtesy of Oxford Lieder (www.oxfordlieder.co.uk)