Matthew Arnold
baritone
Kristen Ironside, piano
Graduate Recital
Saturday, April 12, 2014
5:30 pm
St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church, West Market St.
Program
Lieder eines fahrenden Gesellen (1883-1885) Gustav Mahler
I. Wenn mein Schatz Hochzeit macht (1860-1911)
II. Ging heut Morgen übers Feld
III. Ich hab ein glühend Messer
IV. Die zwei blauen Augen von meinem Schatz
V molchan’ji nochi tajnoj, Op. 4 No. 1 (1893) Sergei Rachmaninoff
O net, molju, ne ukhodi!, Op. 4 No. 3 (1873-1943)
Vesennije vody, Op. 14 No. 11
Intermission
Lamento (1868) Henri Duparc
Phidylé (1872-1882)
I Canti della Sera (1908) Francesco Santoliquido
I. L’assiolo Canta (1883-1971)
III. Tristezza Crepuscolare
IV. L’incontro
from American Folk Set Volume I (2000) Steven Mark Kohn
Ten Thousand Miles Away (b. 1957)
Down by the Salley Gardens (1938) Ivor Gurney
(1890-1937)
from Folk Songs, Volume I (1943) Benjamin Britten
Oliver Cromwell (1913-1976)
Matthew Arnold is a student of Prof. Clara O’Brien
________
In partial fulfillment of the degree requirements for the
Master of Music in Performance
Gustav Mahler
Lieder eines fahrenden Gesellen
Text by Gustav Mahler (1860-1911)
Wenn mein Schatz Hochzeit macht
Wenn mein Schatz Hochzeit macht,
Fröhliche Hochzeit macht,
Hab' ich meinen traurigen Tag!
Geh' ich in mein Kämmerlein,
Dunkles Kämmerlein,
Weine, wein' um meinen Schatz,
Um meinen lieben Schatz!
Blümlein blau! Verdorre nicht!
Vöglein süß! Du singst auf grüner Heide.
Ach, wie ist die Welt so schön!
Ziküth! Ziküth!
Singet nicht! Blühet nicht!
Lenz ist ja vorbei!
Alles Singen ist nun aus.
Des Abends, wenn ich schlafen geh',
Denk' ich an mein Leide.
An mein Leide!
Ging heut morgen übers Feld
Ging heut morgen übers Feld,
Tau noch auf den Gräsern hing;
Sprach zu mir der lust'ge Fink:
"Ei du! Gelt? Guten Morgen! Ei gelt?
Du! Wird's nicht eine schöne Welt?
Zink! Zink! Schön und flink!
Wie mir doch die Welt gefällt!"
Auch die Glockenblum' am Feld
Hat mir lustig, guter Ding',
Mit den Glöckchen, klinge, kling,
Ihren Morgengruß geschellt:
"Wird's nicht eine schöne Welt?
Kling, kling! Schönes Ding!
Wie mir doch die Welt gefällt! Heia!"
Und da fing im Sonnenschein
Gleich die Welt zu funkeln an;
Alles Ton und Farbe gewann
Im Sonnenschein!
Blum' und Vogel, groß und klein!
"Guten Tag, ist's nicht eine schöne Welt?
Ei du, gelt? Schöne Welt?"
Nun fängt auch mein Glück wohl an?
Nein, nein, das ich mein',
Mir nimmer blühen kann!
Songs of a Wayfarer
When My Darling Has Her Wedding Day
When my darling has her wedding-day,
her joyous wedding-day,
I will have my day of mourning!
I will go to my little room,
my dark little room,
and weep, weep for my darling,
for my dear darling!
Blue flower! Do not wither!
Sweet little bird - you sing on the green
heath!
Alas, how can the world be so fair?
Chirp! Chirp!
Do not sing; do not bloom!
Spring is over.
All singing must now be done.
At night when I go to sleep,
I think of my sorrow,
of my sorrow!
I Walked Across the Field This Morning
I walked across the fields this morning;
dew still hung on every blade of grass.
The merry finch spoke to me:
"Hey! Isn't it? Good morning! Isn't it?
You! Isn't it becoming a fine world?
Chirp! Chirp! Fair and sharp!
How the world delights me!"
Also, the bluebells in the field
merrily with good spirits
tolled out to me with bells (ding, ding)
their morning greeting:
"Isn't it becoming a fine world?
Ding, ding! Fair thing!
How the world delights me!"
And then, in the sunshine,
the world suddenly began to glitter;
everything gained sound and color
in the sunshine!
Flower and bird, great and small!
"Good day, is it not a fine world?
Hey, isn't it? A fair world?"
Now will my happiness also begin?
No, no - the happiness I mean
can never bloom!
Ich hab ein glühend Messer
Ich hab' ein glühend Messer,
Ein Messer in meiner Brust,
O weh! Das schneid't so tief
In jede Freud' und jede Lust.
Ach, was ist das für ein böser Gast!
Nimmer hält er Ruh', nimmer hält er Rast,
Nicht bei Tag, noch bei Nacht, wenn ich
schlief.
O Weh!
Wenn ich in dem Himmel seh',
Seh' ich zwei blaue Augen stehn.
O Weh! Wenn ich im gelben Felde geh',
Seh' ich von fern das blonde Haar
Im Winde wehn.
O Weh!
Wenn ich aus dem Traum auffahr'
Und höre klingen ihr silbern' Lachen,
O Weh!
Ich wollt', ich läg auf der schwarzen Bahr',
Könnt' nimmer die Augen aufmachen!
Die zwei blauen Augen von meinem Schatz
Die zwei blauen Augen von meinem Schatz,
Die haben mich in die weite Welt geschickt.
Da mußt ich Abschied nehmen vom
allerliebsten Platz!
O Augen blau, warum habt ihr mich
angeblickt?
Nun hab' ich ewig Leid und Grämen.
Ich bin ausgegangen in stiller Nacht
Wohl über die dunkle Heide.
Hat mir niemand Ade gesagt.
Ade! Mein Gesell' war Lieb' und Leide!
Auf der Straße steht ein Lindenbaum,
Da hab' ich zum ersten Mal im Schlaf
geruht!
Unter dem Lindenbaum,
Der hat seine Blüten über mich geschneit,
Da wußt' ich nicht, wie das Leben tut,
War alles, alles wieder gut!
Alles! Alles, Lieb und Leid
Und Welt und Traum!
Sergei Rachmaninoff
V Molchan'ji Nochi Tajnoj
Text by Afanasy fet (1820-1892)
O, dolgo budu ja, v molchan'ji nochi tajnoj,
Kovarnyj lepet tvoj, ulybku, vzor sluchajnyj,
Perstam poslushnuju [volos]1 gustuju
prjad',
Iz myslej izgonjat', i snova prizyvat';
I Have A Red-Hot Knife
I have a red-hot knife,
a knife in my breast.
O woe! It cuts so deeply
into every joy and delight.
Alas, what an evil guest it is!
Never does it rest or relax,
not by day or by night, when I would sleep.
O woe!
When I gaze up into the sky
I see two blue eyes there.
O woe! When I walk in the yellow field,
I see from afar her blond hair
waving in the wind.
O woe!
When I start from a dream
and hear the tinkle of her silvery laugh,
O woe!
Would that I lay on my black bier -
Would that I could never again open my
eyes!
The Two Blue Eyes of My Darling
The two blue eyes of my darling -
they have sent me into the wide world.
I had to take my leave of this well-beloved
place!
O blue eyes, why did you gaze on me?
Now I will have eternal sorrow and grief.
I went out into the quiet night
well across the dark heath.
To me no one bade farewell.
Farewell! My companions are love and
sorrow!
On the road there stands a linden tree,
and there for the first time I found rest in
sleep!
Under the linden tree
that snowed its blossoms onto me -
I did not know how life went on,
and all was well again!
All! All, love and sorrow
and world and dream!
In the Silence of the Secret Night
In the silence of the mysterious night,
your alluring babble, smiles and glances,
your fleeting glances, the locks of your rich
hair, locks pliant under your fingertips -
I will long be trying to get rid of the images
only to call them back again;
Sheptat' i popravljat' bylyje vyrazhen'ja
Rechej mojikh s toboj, ispolnennykh
smushchen'ja,
I v op'janenii, naperekor umu,
Zavetnym imenem budit' nochnuju mglu.
O net, molju, ne ukhodi!
Text by Dmitry Merezhkovsky (1865-1941)
O, net, molju, ne ukhodi!
Vsja bol' nichto pered razlukoj,
Ja slishkom schastliv
`Etoj mukoj,
Sil'nej prizhmi menja k grudi,
Skazhi ljublju.
Prishjol ja vnov',
Bol'noj, izmuchennyj i blednyj.
Smotri, kakoj ja slabyj, bednyj,
Kak mne nuzhna tvoja ljubov'...
Muchenij novykh vperedi
Ja zhdu kak lasku, kak poceluja,
I ob odnom molju, toskuja:
O, bud' so mnoj, ne ukhodi!
Vesennije Vody
Text by Fyodor Tyutchev (1803-1873)
Jeshchjo v poljakh belejet sneg,
A vody uzh vesnoj shumjat --
Begut i budjat sonnyj breg,
Begut, i bleshchut, i glasjat...
Oni glasjat vo vse koncy:
«Vesna idjot, vesna idjot!
My molodoj vesny goncy,
Ona nas vyslala vperjod.
Vesna idjot, vesna idjot,
I tikhikh, teplykh majskikh dnej
Rumjanyj, svetlyj khorovod
Tolpitsja veselo za nej!
Henri Duparc:
Lamento
Text by Théophile Gautier (1811-1872)
Connaissez-vous la blanche tombe,
Où flotte avec un son plaintif
L'ombre d'un if ?
Sur l'if une pâle colombe,
Triste et seule au soleil couchant,
Chante son chant :
I will be repeating and correcting in a
whisper
the words I've told you, the words full of
awkwardness,
and, drunk with love, contrary to reason,
I will be awakening the night's darkness
with a cherished name.
O No, I Beg You, Do Not Leave!
O, no, I beg you, do not leave!
All my pains are nothing compared to
separation
I am only too fortunate
with that torment,
Press me tightly to your bosom
and say you love me.
I came anew
full of pain, pale and exhausted.
See how poor and weak I am,
how I need your love...
The new torments ahead
I await like a caress or kiss,
and again I beg you in anguish:
O stay with me, do not leave!
Spring Waters
The fields are still covered with white snow.
But the streams are already rolling in a
spring mood,
Running and awakening the sleepy shore,
Running and glittering and announcing
loudly.
They are announcing loudly to every
corner:
"Spring is coming, Spring is coming!
We are the messengers of young Spring,
She has sent us to come forward,
Spring is coming, Spring is coming!
And the quiet, warm May days
Follow her, merrily crowded
Into the rosy, bright dancing circle."
Lament
Do you know the white tomb
Where floats with plaintive sound,
The shadow of a yew?
On the yew a pale dove,
Sad and alone under the setting sun,
Sings its song:
On dirait que l'âme éveillée
Pleure sous terre à l'unisson
De la chanson,
Et du malheur d'être oubliée
Se plaint dans un roucoulement
Bien doucement.
Oh! jamais plus, près de la tombe,
Je n'irai, quand descend le soir
Au manteau noir,
Écouter la pâle colombe
Chanter sur la [branche]2 de l'if
Son chant plaintif !
Phidylé
Text by Leconte de Lisle (1818-1894)
L'herbe est molle au sommeil sous les frais
peupliers,
Aux pentes des sources moussues,
Qui dans les prés en fleur germant par mille
issues,
Se perdent sous les noirs halliers.
Repose, ô Phidylé! Midi sur les feuillages
Rayonne et t'invite au sommeil.
Par le trèfle et le thym, seules, en plein
soleil,
Chantent les abeilles volages.
Un chaud parfum circule au détour des
sentiers,
La rouge fleur des blés s'incline,
Et les oiseaux, rasant de l'aile la colline,
Cherchent l'ombre des églantiers.
Mais, quand l'Astre, incliné sur sa courbe
éclatante,
Verra ses ardeurs s'apaiser, que ton plus
beau sourire et ton meilleur baiser
Me récompensent de l'attente!
Francesco Santoliquido
I Canti della Sera
Francesco Santoliquido (1883-1971)
L’assiolo Canta
Vieni! Sul bosco splende serena
la notte dell'estate e l'assiolo canta.
Vieni, ti volgio dir quel che non dissi mai.
E sul sentiero fioriscono le stelle,
magici fiori.
Inoltriamoci insieme e là nel folto ti dirò
perchè piansi una triste sera che non c'eri.
Inoltriamoci insieme. Un mistero c'invita,
Odi: l'assiolo canta.
One would say that an awakened soul
Is weeping under the earth in unison
With this song,
And from the misfortune of being forgotten,
Moans its sorrow in a cooing
Quite soft.
Oh! never again near the tomb
Shall I go, when night lets fall
Its black mantle,
To hear the pale dove
Sing on the limb of the yew
Its plaintive song!
Phidylé
The grass is soft for slumber beneath the
fresh poplars, on the slopes by the mossy
springs,
which, in the meadows flowering with a
thousand plants, lose themselves under
dark thickets.
Rest, o Phidylé! the midday sun shines on
the foliage and invites you to sleep!
Among clover and thyme, alone, in full
sunlight
hum the fickle honeybees.
A warm fragrance circulates about the
turning paths, the red cornflower tilts,
and the birds, skimming the hill with their
wings,
search for shade among the wild roses.
But when the sun, turning in its resplendent
orbit, finds its heat abating,
let your loveliest smile and your most
ardent kiss
recompense me for waiting!
The Songs of Evening
The Horned Owl Sings
O Come! The summer night shines so
serene
above the woods and the horned owl sings.
So come, I wish to tell you what I’ve never
said before.
Above our path the stars are blooming, like
magic flowers.
We’ll enter together and there in the thicket
I’ll tell you why I cried one sad twilight
when you were gone. So let’s enter
together. A mystery invites us – O hear: the
horned owl sings
Tristezza Crepuscolare
È la sera.
Dalla terra bagnata sale l'odore
delle foglie morte.
È l'ora delle campane,
è l'ora in cui respiro il vano profumo
d'un amore passato.
E sogno e piango.
È la sera.
È la sera, una sera piena di campane,
una sera piena di profumi,
una sera piena di ricordi
e di tristezze morte.
Piangete, Piangete campane della sera
empite tutto il cielo di malinconia.
Ah! Piangete ancor…
Questa è l’ora dei ricordi,
è l’ora in cui l’antica flamma s’accende
nel cuore disperatamente e lo bruccia.
Campane.
Odore di foglie morte.
Tristezze dissepolte!
L’incontro
Non mi ricordo più
quando noi c'incontrammo
la prima volta
ma fu certo una lontana sera
tutta soffusa di pallide tristezze
lungo un benigno mar!
A noi giungevano di lontano suoni
di campane e di greggi
ed una pace strana ci veniva dal mare.
Questo rammento!
Cosa dicemmo quel giorno,
Lo rammentate?
Io non ricordo più.
Ma che importa?
Oggi mi fiorisce in cuore
la dolcezza appassita di quell'ora lontana.
E m'è dolce stringere nella mia
la vostra mano bianca
e parlarvi d'amor,
anch'oggi vengono di lontano suoni
di campane e di greggi
e anch'oggi il mar come allora
ci sorride lontano.
Ma oggi forse m'amate un poco,
non sorridete più.
Ah! La vostra mano trema.
Se oggi le belle labbra voi mi darete
non scorderemo più questa dolce ora
d'amor!
Twilight Gloom
It’s the evening.
Out of the damp Earth rises the smell of
dead leaves.
It’s the hour of pealing bells,
It’s a time to breath the faded perfume
of a bygone love.
And I dream and I weep.
It’s the evening.
It’s the evening, and evening full of bells,
an evening full of perfumes,
an evening full of memories
and death’s own sadness.
Weep, O weep you bells of the evening
fill the vastness of heaven with melancholy.
Ah! Weep again…
This is the hour of rememberance,
it’s the time when the old flame engulfs
my desperate heart and ignites it.
Pealing bells.
The smell of dead leaves.
Sorrows unearthed!
The Encounter
I no longer remember
when it was that we met,
but surely the first time
was a bygone dusk
perfused with faded sadness
along a friendly sea!
The sounds of bells and birds
came to us from afar
and a strange peace washed over us from
the sea.
I do remember that!
Do you remember what I said,
that day?
I no longer recall.
But who cares?
Today my heart blooms
with sweet passion from that time long
past.
It’s so sweet for me to clasp
your white hand in mine
and speak to you of love,
for today, just as then, there comes from
afar sounds of bells and of birds
with the sea, just as then, smiling at us in
the distance.
But maybe today you love me a little-you’re
not smiling now.
Ah! Your hand trembles
If you’ll give me your beautiful lips today
We will never forget this sweet moment of
love!
Steven Mark Kohn
Ten Thousand Miles Away
Text by Anonymous
Sing I for a brave and a gallant barque;
for a stiff and a ratling breeze,
A bully crew and a captain true,
to carry me o'er the seas.
To carry me o'er the seas, my boys,
to my true love so gay,
who went on a trip on a Government ship
ten thousand miles away!
Oh, blow, ye winds, hi oh!
a roaming I will go.
I'll stay no more on England's shore
so let the music play.
I'll start by the morning train
to cross the raging main,
for I'm on the road to my own true love,
ten thousand miles away.
My true love she was handsome,
my true love she was young
Her eyes were blue as the violet's hue.
and silv'ry was the sound of her tongue.
And silv'ry was the sound of her tongue,
my boys, and while I sing this lay,
she's a-doing of the grand in a far off land,
ten thousand miles away.
Oh, blow, ye winds, hi oh!
A roaming I will go.
I'll stay no more on England's shore,
so let the music play.
I'll start by the morning train
to cross the raging main!
For I'm on the road to my own true love,
Ten thousand miles away.
Ivor Gurney
Down By the Salley Gardens
Text by W. B. Yeats (1865-1939)
Down by the Salley Gardens my love and I
did meet;
She passed the Salley Gardens with little
snow-white feet.
She bid me take life easy, as the leaves grow
on the tree;
But I, being young and foolish, with her did
not agree.
In a field by the river my love and I did
stand,
And on my leaning shoulder she laid her
snow-white hand.
She bid me take life easy, as the grass grows
on the weirs;
But I was young and foolish, and now am
full of tears.
Benjamin Britten
Oliver Cromwell
Text by: Anonymous Nursery Rhyme
Oliver Cromwell lay buried and dead,
Hee-haw, buried and dead,
There grew an old apple-tree over his head,
Hee-haw, over his head.
The apples were ripe and ready to fall,
Hee-haw, ready to fall,
There came an old woman to gather them
all,
Hee-haw, gather them all.
Oliver rose and gave her a drop,
Hee-haw, gave her a drop,
Which made the old woman go hippety
hop,
Hee-haw, hippety hop.
The saddle and bridle, they lie on the shelf,
Hee-haw, lie on the shelf,
If you want any more you can sing it
yourself,
Hee-haw, sing it yourself.
