Katherine Hughes
Richardson
soprano
Rich Auvil, piano
Graduate Recital
Sunday, April 10, 2011
3:30 pm
Recital Hall, Music Building
Program
Deux Mélodies Hébraïques Maurice Ravel
Kaddisch (1875-1937)
LʼEnigme Eternelle
Fiançailles Pour Rire Francis Poulenc
La dame dʼAndré (1899-1963)
Dans lʼherbe
Il vole
Mon cadavre est doux comme un gant
Violon
Fleurs
Seitdem dein Augʼ Richard Strauss
Ach Lieb, ich muss nun scheiden! (1864-1949)
Einerlei
Allerseelen
Intermission
¡Sereno! from Seis Canciones Castellanas Jesus Guridi
(1886-1961)
La Rosa y el Sauce Carlos Guastavino
(1912-2000)
Polo from Veinte cantos populares españolas Joaquin Nin
(1879-1949)
Déita Silvane Ottorino Respighi
I Fauni (1879-1936)
Musica in horto
Egle
Acqua
Crepusculo
A Letter from Sullivan Ballou John Kander
(b. 1927)
Katherine Hughes Richardson is a student of Dr. Carla LeFevre
________
In partial fulfillment of the degree requirements for the
Master of Music in Performance
Maurice Ravel:
Deux Mélodies Hébraïques
Kaddisch
Yithgaddal weyith kaddash
scheméh rabba
Beʼolmâ diverâ
ʻkhireʼ outhé
Vey amliʼkh malʼkhouté
behay yéʼkhön,
Ouvezo meʼkhôu ouveʼhayyé
Deʼkhol beth yisraël
baʼagalâ ouvizman qariw
Weimrou. Amen.
Yithbaraʼkh. Weyischtabaʼh
Weyith paêr weyith romam weyithnassé
Weyithhaddar weyithʼallé weyithhallal
Scheméh deqoudschâ beriʼkh hou,
Leʼêla uleʼêla min kol birʼkhatha weschiratha
Tousch behatha weneʼhamathâ daamirâan
Ah! Beʼolma. Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!
Weïmrou Amen.
LʼEnigme Eternelle
Frägt die Velt die alte Casche
Tra la tra la la la la, Tra la tra la la la la
Entfernt men Tra la la la la la la la la
Tra la la la la
Un as men will kennen sagen
Tra la la la tra la la la
Francis Poulenc:
Fiançailles Pour Rire
Text by Louise de Vilmorin (1902-1969)
La dame dʼAndré
André ne connait pas la dame
Quʼil prend aujourdʼhui par la main.
A-t-elle un coeur à lendemains
Et pour le soir a-t-elle une âme?
Au retour dʼun bal campagnard
Sʼen allait-elle en robe vague
Chercher dans les meules la bague
Des fiançailles du hazard?
A-t-elle eu peur? La nuit venue,
Guettée par les ombres dʼhier,
Dans son jardin lorsque lʼhiver
Entrait par la grande avenue?
Il lʼa aimée pour sa couleur
Pour sa bonne humeur de Dimanche.
Pâlira-t-elle aux feuilles blanches
De son album des temps meilleurs?
Two Hebrew Melodies
Kaddish (Mournerʼs Prayer)
May His great name be exalted and sanctified,
great is Godʼs name
In the world which he created
according to his will
May he establish his Kingdom
during your lifetime,
and during your days and during the lifetimes
of all the house of Israel
speedily and very soon
and say, Amen.
Blessed and praised
Glorified and exalted, extolled
And honored, adored and lauded
Be the name of the Holy one,
Above and beyond all the blessings, hymns,
Praises and consolations that are uttered
Ah, in the world. Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!
And say, Amen.
The Eternal Enigma
The world asks the age-old question
Tra la tra la la la la Tra la tra la la la la
Men respond Tra la la la la la la la la
Tra la la la la
Not that men will know what to say
Tra la la la tra la la la
Engagements for laughing
Andréʼs woman
André doesnʼt know the woman
Who he takes by the hand today.
Will she have a heart tomorrow
And for the evening does she have a soul?
Returning from a country dance
Will she be in a loose fitting dress?
Searching in the haystacks for a ring
Of the couple engaged by chance?
Was she afraid? The night came,
Watched by the shadows of yesterday,
In her garden until the winter
Which enters by the big avenue?
He liked her for her color
For her good humor on Sunday.
Will she turn pale over the white papers
Of her album of better times?
Dans lʼherbe
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 lʼarbre de la loi en plein silence
En plein paysage dans lʼherbe.
Il est mort inaperçu en criant son passage
En appellant en mʼappelant
Mais comme jʼétais loin de lui
Et que sa voix ne portait plus
Il est mort seul dans les bois
Sous son arbre dʼenfance
Et je ne peux plus rien dire
ni rien faire pour lui.
Il vole
En allant se coucher le soleil
Se reflète au vernis de ma table:
Cʼest 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 a lui toutes mes aiguilles.
Sur la place les joueurs de quilles
De belle en belle passant le temps.
Mais où est mon amant? Il vole.
Cʼest un voleur que jʼai pour amant.
Le corbeau vole et mon amant vole,
Voleur de coeur manque à sa parole
Et voleur de fromage est absent.
Mais où est le bonheur? Il vole.
Je pleure sous les saule pleureur
Je mêle mes larmes à ses feuilles
Je pleure car je veux quʼon me veuille
Et je ne plais pas à mon voleur.
Mais où donc est lʼamour?
Mais où donc est lʼamour? Il vole.
Trouvez la rime à ma déraison
Et par les routes de paysage
Ramenez-moi mon amant volage
Qui prends les coeurs et perd ma raison.
Je veux que mon voleur me vole.
Mon cadavre est doux comme un gant
Mon cadavre est doux comme un gant
Doux comme un gant de peau glacée
Et mes prunelles effacées
Font de mes yeux des cailloux blancs.
Deux cailloux blancs dans mon visage
Dans le silence deux muets
Ombrés encore dʼun secret
Et lourds du poids mort des images.
Mes doigts tant de fois égarés
Sont joints en attitude sainte
Appuyés au creux de mes plaintes
Au noeud de mon coeur arêté.
In the grass
I canʼt say or do anything more for him.
He is dead because of his beauty
He is dead because of his dead beauty.
Outside under the tree of law, in full silence
In the countryside, in the grass.
He died imperceptibly in crying of her passing
In calling, in calling me
But I was so far from him
And his voice couldnʼt carry further
He died alone in the woods
Under the tree of his childhood
And there is nothing more I can say
Or do for him.
It flies
In going to bed, the sun
Reflects on the varnish of my table:
Itʼs the round cheese of the fable
On the tip of my silver scissors.
But where is the crow? He flies.
I would like to sew on but one lover,
Attach myself to him with all my needles.
In the square, the players of skittles
One beauty with another, pass the time.
But where is my lover? He flies.
Itʼs a thief I have for a lover.
The crow flies and my lover flies,
Thief of hearts, missing his words,
And the thief of cheese is absent.
But where is happiness? It flies.
I cry under the weeping willow.
I mix my tears with its leaves.
I cry because I want him to want me
And I am not pleasing to my thief.
But where is love?
But where is love? It flies.
Find the rhyme in my reason
And by the roads of the countryside
Bring back my flying love
Who takes hearts while I lose my sanity.
I want that my thief would steal me.
My corpse is soft like a glove
My corpse is soft like a glove,
Soft like a glove of icy skin
And my erased pupils
Make my eyes into white stones.
Two white stones in my face
In the silence, two mutes
Shadowed again with a secret
And heavy with the dead weight of images.
My fingers many times led astray
Are joined in a saintly manner
Resting in the hollow of my moans
In the core of my stopped heart.
Et mes deux pieds sont les montagnes,
Les deux derniers monts que jʼai vus
A la minute où jʼai 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.
Violon
Couple amoureux aux accents méconnus
Le violon et son joueur me plaisent.
Ah! Jʼaime ces gémissement tendus
Sur la corde des malaises.
Aux accords sur les cordes des pendus
A lʼheure où les Lois se taisent
Le coeur en forme de fraise
Sʼoffre a lʼamour comme un fruit inconnu.
Fleurs
Fleurs promises, fleurs tenues dans tes bras,
Fleurs sorties des parentheses dʼun pas,
Qui tʼapportait ces fleurs lʼhiver
Saupoudrées du sable des mers?
Sable de tex baisers, fleurs des amours fanées
Les beaux yeux sont de cendre
Et dans la cheminées
Un coeur enrubanné de plaintes
Brûle avec ses images saintes
Fleurs promises, fleurs tenues dans tes bras.
Qui tʼapportait ces fleurs lʼhiver
Saupoudrées du sable des mers.
Richard Strauss:
Seitdem dein Augʼ
Text by Adolph Freidrich von Schack (1815-
1894)
Seitdem dein Augʼ in meines schaute,
Und Liebe, wie vom Himmel her,
Aus ihm auf mich herniedertaute,
Was böte mir die Erde mehr?
Ihr Bestes hat sie mir gegeben,
Und von des Herzens stillem Glück
Ward übervoll mein ganzes Leben
Durch jenen einen Augenblick
Ach Lieb, ich muss nun scheiden!
Text by Felix Dahn (1834-1912)
Ach Lieb, ich muss nun scheiden,
Gehn über Berg und Tal,
Die Erlen und di Weiden,
Die weinen allzumal.
Sie sahn so oft uns wander
Zusammen an Baches Rand,
And my two feet are the mountains,
The last peaks that I saw
At the minute when I lost
The race that the years have won.
My memories are all the same,
Children carry them away quickly,
Go, go, my story is told.
My corpse is soft like a glove.
Violin
Loving couple with accents unknown to me
The violin and its player please me.
Ah! I love these strained moans
On the ropes of uneasiness.
In agreement, hanging from the ropes
At the hour when laws are silent,
The heart, in the form of a strawberry
Offers itself to love like an unknown fruit.
Flowers
Promised flowers that you held in your arms,
Flowers left in the parentheses of a step,
Who carries to you these winter flowers
That smell of sand from the sea?
Sand of your kisses, flowers of faded love,
The handsome eyes are of ashes,
And in the chimney
A heart in ribbons of sighs
Burns with its saintly images.
Promised flowers that you held in your arms.
Who carries these winter flowers
That smell of the sand of the sea.
Since your glance
Since your eyes looked into mine,
And love, as if falling from heaven,
Fell from them onto me like dew,
What more could earth offer me?
It has already given me its best.
And from the heartʼs tranquil luck
My whole life overflows with happiness
By one glance from you.
Ah Love, I must now go!
Ah love, I must now go,
Go over mountain and valley
The alder trees and the weeping willows
Are all weeping.
So often have they seen us wandering
Together on the banks of the brook,
Das Eine ohnʼ den Andern
Geht über ihren Verstand.
Die Erlen und die Weiden
Vor Schmerz in Thränen stehn,
Nun denket, wie uns beiden
Erst muss zu Herzen gehn.
Einerlei
Text by Achim von Arnim
Ihr Mund ist stets derselbe,
Sein Kuss mir immer neu,
Ihr Auge noch dasselbe,
Sein freier Blick mir treu;
O du liebes Einerlei,
Wie wird aus dir so mancherlei!
Allerseelen
Text by Hermann von Gilm
Stellʼ auf den Tisch die duftenden Reseden,
Die letzten roten Astern tragʼ herbei,
Und lass uns wieder von der Liebe reden,
Wie einst im Mai.
Gib mir die Hand, dass ich sie Heimlich drücke
Und wenn manʼs sieht, mir ist es einerlei,
Gib mir nur einen deiner süssen Blicke,
Wie einst im Mai.
Es blüht und duftet heutʼ auf jedem Grabe
Ein Tag im Jahr ist ha den Toten frei,
Komm an mein Herz, dass ich dich wider habe
Wie einst im Mai.
Jesus Guridi:
¡Sereno!
Folk text
Seis Canciones Castellanas
¡Sereno! ¡Sereno!
En mi casa hay un hombre durmiendo con un
capotón.
En la mano llevaba un reloj y un puñal de
plata.
¡Ay sereno, este hombre me mata!
¡Ay sereno, este hombre me mata!
¡Sereno! ¡Sereno! ¡Sereno! ¡Sereno!
En mi casa hay un hombre durmiendo con un
capotón.
En la mano llevaba un reloj y un puñal de
plata.
¡Ay sereno, este hombre me mata!
One of us without the other
Goes beyond their comprehension.
The alder trees and the weeping willows
Remain in tears and pain,
Now think, how we two
Must feel in our own hearts.
Constancy
Her mouth is always the same,
But her kiss is always new,
Her eyes are always the same
Her open glance towards me always true;
Oh you lovely constancy,
How do you become so many different things!
All Soulsʼ Day
Put on the table the fragrant mignionettes,
Carry the last red astors here,
And let us once again talk of love,
Like once in May.
Give me your hand that I may secretly press it,
And if anyone sees, itʼs all the same to me
Give me just one of your sweet glances
Like once in May.
Today blossoms smell sweetly on each grave,
One day each year all the dead are free,
Come to my heart that I may again have you,
Like once in May.
Watchman!
Six Castilian Songs
Watchman! Watchman!
Thereʼs a cloaked man sleeping in my house.
He was holding a clock and a silver dagger in
his hand.
Oh watchman, this man is killing me!
Oh watchman, this man is killing me!
Watchman! Watchman!...
Thereʼs a cloaked man sleeping in my house.
He was holding a clock and a silver dagger in
his hand.
Oh watchman, this man is killing me!
Carlos Guastavino:
La Rosa y el Sauce
Text by Franco Silva (dates unknown)
La Rosa se iba abriendo
Abrazada al sauce,
El árbol apassionado, apassionado
La amaba tanto!
Pero una niña, una niña coqueta
Se la ha robado,
Y el sauce desconsolado
La está llorando.
Ah!
Joaquin Nin:
Polo
Text by Manuel (Vicente) del Pópulo Garcia
(1775-1832)
Veinte cantos populares españolas
¡Cuerpo Bueno, alma divina,
qué de fatigas me cuestas!
¡Despierta si estás dormida,
y alivia por Dios mis penas!
Mira que si no fallezco,
La pena negra me acaba!
Tan solo con verte ahora,
Mis pesares se acabáran.
¡Ay! ¡Qué fatigas!
¡Ay! Que ya expiro!
Ottorino Respighi:
Déita Silvane
Text by Antonio Rubino (1880-1964)
I Fauni
Sʼodono al monte i saltellanti rivi
Murmureggiare per le forre astruse:
Sʼodono al bosco gemer cornamuse
Con garrito di pifferi giulivi.
E i fauni in corsa per dumeti e clivi,
Erti le corna sulle fronti ottuse,
Bevono per lornari camuse
Filtri sottili e zefir lascivi.
E, mentre in fondo al gran coro alberato
Piange dʼamore per la vita bella
La sampogna dellʼarcade pastore,
Contenta e paurosa dellʼagguato
Fugge ogni ninfa più che fiera snella,
Ardendo in bocca come ardente fiore.
The Rose and the Willow Tree
The rose was slowly opening,
Embraced by the willow,
The passionate, passionate tree
Loved her so much!
But a coquettish little girl
Came and stole her away,
And the despairing willow,
It is weeping.
(weeping)
Polo (Andalusian Dance)
Twenty Popular Spanish Songs
Beautiful body, heavenly soul,
the torment that you cause me!
Wake up if you are asleep,
And by God, soothe my pain!
If you do not look at me, I will die,
Black pain will kill me!
Only by seeing you now,
My sorrows would end.
Ah, what torment!
Ah, I die!
Forest Spirits
The Fauns
Leaping rivers are heard in the mountains,
Murmuring abstrusely for the gorges:
German bagpipes are heard in the woods
With the fluttering of joyful flutes.
And fauns, running through the dense woods,
With obtuse horns on their heads,
Drink through their noses, which are
thin filters of the lustful breezes.
While at the same time, the great choir of trees
Cries of love for beautiful life,
The rustic pipe of the old Shepherd,
Happy and fearful of the ambush
That every nymph tries to escape,
With burning mouths, like fiery flowers.
Musica in horto
Uno squillo di cròtali clangenti
Rompe in ritmo il silenzio dei roseti,
Mentre in fondo agli aulenti orti segreti
Gorgheggia un flauto liquidi lamenti.
La melodia con tintinnio dʼargenti
Par che a vicenda sʼattristi e sʼallieti.
Ora luce di tremiti inquieti,
Or diffondendo lunghe ombre dolenti:
Cròtali arguti e canne variotoche!
Una gioia di cantici inespressi per voi
Par che dai chiusi orti rampoli,
E in sommo dei rosai,
Che cingon molli ghirlande al cuor
Degli intimi recessi, sʼapron le rose
Come molli bocche.
Egle
Frondeggia il bosco dʼuberi verzure,
Volgendo I rii zaffiro e margherita:
Per gli archi Verdi unʼanima romita
Cinge pallidi fuochi a ridde oscure.
E in te ristretta con le mani pure
Come le pure fonti della vita,
Di sole dʼombre mobile vestita tu danzi,
Egle, con languide misure.
E a te candida e bionda tra le ninfe,
Dʼilari ambagi descrivendo il verde,
Sotto I segreti ombràcoli del verde,
Ove la più inquïeta ombra sʼattrista,
Per le squillanti e liquido ametista
Volge la gioia roca delle linfe.
Acqua
Acqua, e tu ancora sul tuo flauto lene
Intonami un tuo canto variolungo,
Di cui le note abbian lʼodor del fungo,
Del musco e dellʼesiguo capelvenere,
Si che per tutte le sottili vene,
Onde irrighi la fresco solitudine,
Il tuo riscintillio rida e subludi i al gemmar
Delle musiche serene.
Acqua, e, lunghʼessi I calami volubili
Movendo in gioco le cerulee dita,
Avvicenda più lunghe ombre alle luci,
Tu che con modi labile deduci
Sulla mia fronte intenta e sulla vita del verde
Fugitive ombre di nubi.
Crepuscolo
Nellʼorto abbandonato ora lʼedace muschio
Contende allʼellere I recessi,
E tra il coro snelletto dei cipressi
Music in the garden
A ring of the clanging castanets
Rhythmically breaks the silence of the rose
garden,
While at the bottom of the fragrant, secret
garden,
A flute trill warbles liquid laments.
The melody with the clink of silver
both saddens and rejoices.
Now restless light quakes,
Spreading painful shadows:
Witty castanets and various reeds speak!
With joy of unexpressed songs for you
It seems that the closed gardens spring up,
And high in the rosebushes
That softly surround the intimate recesses of
the heart, the roses open
Like soft mouths.
Egle ( Queen of the Serpants)
Luscious green leaves of the forest,
Turning the rivers sapphire and daisy:
A lonely soul bows to the green archs
that encircle the pale fires of a dark riddle.
And you with pure hands, but restricted
Like the pure sources of life,
Of sun and moving shadows, you dance,
Egle, with measured languidness.
And you, pale and blonde among the nymphs,
With ambiguous air, describing the green,
Under the secret shadows of the green,
Where the most restless shadow saddens,
Longing for the bright and liquid amethyst
That turns lymph to raucous joy.
Water
Water, and you still on your flute wade in
Intoning your various, long songs
Whose notes have the scent of fungus,
Of moss and of small maiden hair.
In order for all the thin veins
to irrigate their fresh, cool loneliness,
Your laughing sublunary riddle is the gem
Of the serene music.
Water in long, fickle quills,
Moves in the game of the blue fingers,
Alternating more long shadows of light,
You, with your labile ways, deduce
on my intent forehead and on the living green,
the fleeting shadows of the clouds.
Twilight
In the abandoned garden, now edacious moss
Contends in the aging recesses,
And between the swift cypress trees,
Sʼaddorme in grembo dellʼantica pace Pan.
Sul vasto marmoreo torace,
Che I con volvoli infiorano dʼamplessi.
Un tempo forse con canti sommessi
Piegò una ninfa il bel torso procace.
Deità della terra, forza lieta!
Troppo pensiero è nella tua vecchiezza:
Per sempre inaridita è la tua fonte.
Muorʼe il giorno, e per lʼalta ombra inquïeta
Trema e sʼattrista un canto dʼallegrezza:
Lunghe ombre azzurre scendono dal monte.
John Kander:
A Letter From Sullivan Ballou
Text by Sullivan Ballou (1829-1861)
My very dear Sarah:
The indications are very strong that we shall
move in a few days – perhaps tomorrow. Lest I
should not be able to write again, I feel
impelled to write a few lines that may fall upon
your eye when I am no more.
I have no misgivings about or lack of
confidence in the cause in which I am
engaged, and my courage does not halt or
falter. I know how strongly American
civilization now leans on the triumph of the
government and how great a debt we owe to
those who went before us through the blood
and sufferings of the revolution. And I am
willing, perfectly willing to lay down all my joys
in this life to help maintain this government and
to pay that debt.
Sarah, my love for you is deathless. It seems
to bind me with mighty cables that nothing but
omnipotence could break; and yet my love of
country comes over me like a strong wind and
bears me unresistably on with all these chains
to the battlefield.
The memories of the blissful moments I have
spent with you come creeping over me, and I
feel most gratified to God and to you that I
have enjoyed them so long. And hard it is for
me to give them up and burn to ashes the
hopes of future years when, God willing, we
might still have lived and loved together and
seen our sons grown up to honorable
manhood around us.
Pan falls asleep in the lap of ancient peace.
On the vast marble chest,
That the blooming morning glories embrace,
One time, perhaps, with subdued songs,
Bends the torso of a busty nymph.
Deity of the earth, pleased power!
Too many thoughts in your old age,
you will always be withered in your source.
The day dies and the high, uneasy shadows
tremble and sadden a song of joy:
long, blue shadows descend down the
mountain.
I have, I know, but a few and small claims
upon divine providence, but something
whispers to me, perhaps it is the wafted prayer
of my little Edgar, that I shall return to my loved
ones unharmed.
If I do not, my dear Sarah, never forget how
much I love you, and when my last breath
escapes me on the battlefield, it will whisper
your name.
Forgive my faults and the many pains I have
caused you. How thoughtless and foolish I
have often times been! How gladly would I
wash out with my tears evʼry little spot upon
your happiness.
But, oh, Sarah! If the dead can come back to
this earth and flit unseen around those they
loved, I shall always be near you; in the
gladdest days and in the darkest nights,
always, always. And if there be a soft breeze
upon your cheek, it shall be my breath, as the
cool air fans your throbbing temple, it shall be
my spirit passing by.
Sarah, do not mourn me dead; think I am gone
and wait for thee, for we shall meet again.
***Sullivan Ballou was killed in combat one
week after composing this letter.
