School of Music
U N C G
Shana Reiko Riley
soprano
Ināra Zandmane, piano
assisted by
Eric Koontz, viola
Graduate Recital
Sunday, April 24, 2005
1:30 pm
Recital Hall, School of Music
Program
Alma grande e nobil core, K. 578 Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart
Ch’io mi scordi di te…Non temer amato bene, K. 505 (1756-1791)
Frühling übers Jahr Hugo Wolf
Blumengruß (1860-1903)
Die Spröde
Die Bekehrte
Intermission
Vocalise-étude en forme de habanera Maurice Ravel
(1875-1937)
Vocalises for voice and viola David Diamond
Poco allegro (b. 1915)
Tempo moderato
Allegro
Fiançailles pour rire Francis Poulenc
La Dame d’André (1899-1963)
Dans l’herbe
Il vole
Mon cadavre est doux comme un gant
Violon
Fleurs
from Canto a Sevilla Joaquín Turina
Las fuentecitas del Parque (1882-1949)
El Fantasma
La Giralda
In partial fulfillment of the degree requirements for the
Master of Music in Performance
_____
The hall is equipped with a listening assistance system.
Patrons needing such assistance should contact an usher in the lobby.
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart:
Alma grande e nobil core
text by Giuseppe Palomba (1789)
Alma grande e nobil core
Le tue pari ognor disprezza
Sono dama al fasto avezza
E so farmi rispettar.
Va, favella, a quell’ ingrate,
Gli dirai che fido io sono.
Ma non merita perdono,
Si mi voglio vendicar.
Ch’io mi scordi di te…
Non temer amato bene
text by Abbé Giambattista Varesco (1786)
Ch’io mi scordi di te?
Che a lei mi doni puoi consigliarmi?
E puoi voler ch’io viva?
Ah no, sarebbe il viver mio di morte assai peggior!
Venga la morte!
Intrepida l’attendo,
ma, ch’io possa struggermi ad altra face,
ad altr’oggetto donar gl’affetti miei,
come tentarlo?
Ah! Di dolor, morrei!
Non temer, amato bene
per te sempre il cuor sará.
Piú non reggo a tante pene,
l’alma mia mancando va.
Tu sospiri? O duol funesto!
Pensa almen, che istante é questo!
Non mi posso, oh Dio! spiegar.
Stelle barbare, stelle spietate,
perché mai tanto rigor?
Alme belle, che vedete
le mie pene in tal momento,
dite voi, s’egual tormento
puó soffrir un fido cuor.
Hugo Wolf:
Frühling übers Jahr
text by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1888)
Das Beet,
schon lokkert sichs in die Höh!
Da wanken Glöckchen
so weiß wie Schnee;
Saffran entfaltet gewaltge Glut,
Smaragden keimt es und keimt wie Blut;
Primeln stolzieren so naseweis,
schalkhafte Veilchen, versteckt mit Fleiß;
was auch noch alles da regt und webt,
genug, der Frühling, er wirkt und lebt.
A great soul and noble heart
A great soul and noble heart
scorn the likes of you,
I am a lady accustomed to grandeur
and I know how to make myself respected.
Go, speak to that ingrate,
tell him that I am faithful.
But he does not merit pardon, truly I wish to
avenge myself.
That I could forget about you…
Do not fear, my beloved
That I could forget about you?
You ask me that, you counsel me?
That I would live and want another?
Ah, no, my life would be worse than death!
Let death come!
I await it fearlessly,
but, that I could long for another man,
give another my affections,
how to attempt it?
Ah! Of sorrow, I would die!
Do not fear, my beloved
my heart will always be yours.
I cannot bear so much pain any longer,
my spirit, fainting, goes.
You sigh? Oh grief, fatal!
Think, at least, what a moment this is!
I cannot explain myself, oh God!
Stars barbarous, stars merciless,
why so much severity?
Beautiful souls, who see
my pain in such a moment,
tell me if equal torment
can suffer a faithful heart.
Spring All Year
The flower-bed
already new growth breaks up!
There swaying bells
as white as snow;
saffron unfurls with powerful glow,
emerald green buds and buds like blood;
primroses strut so pertly,
roguish violets, hidden with diligence;
so much stirs and weaves there,
in short, the spring, it works and lives.
— continued
Doch was im Garten am reichsten blüht,
das ist des Liebchens lieblich Gemüt.
Da glühen Blicke mir immerfort,
erregend Liedchen, er heiternd Wort.
Ein immer offen, ein Blütenherz,
im Ernste freundlich und rein im Scherz.
Wenn Ros und Lilie der Sommer bringt,
er doch vergebens mit Liebchen ringt.
Blumengruß (1888)
Der Strauß, den ich gepflücket,
grüße dich viel tausendmal!
Ich habe mich oft gebükket,
ach, wohl eintausendmal
und ihn ans Herz gedrükket
wie hunderttausendmal!
Die Spröde (1889)
An dem reinsten Frühlingsmorgen
ging die Schäferin und sang,
jung und schön und ohne Sorgen,
daß es durch die Felder klang,
so lala! Lerallala!
Thyrsis bot ihr für ein Mäulchen zwei,
drei Schäfchen gleich am Ort,
schalkhaft blickte sie ein Weilchen;
doch sie sang und lachte fort:
so lala! Lerallala!
Und ein andrer bot ihr Bänder,
und der dritte bot sein Herz;
doch sie tribe mit Herz und Bändern
so wie mit den Lämmern Scherz,
nur lala! Lerallala!
Die Bekehrte (1889)
Bei dem Glanz der Abendröte
Ging ich still den Wald entlang,
Damon saß und blies die Flöte,
daß es von den Felsen klang,
so la la! Le ralla!
Und er zog mich zu sich nieder,
küßte mich so hold, so süß,
und ich sagte: “blase wieder!”
und der gute Junge blies,
so la la! Le ralla!
Meine Ruh is nun verloren,
meine Freude floh davon,
und ich hör vor meinen Ohren
immer nur den alten Ton,
so la la! Le ralla!
But the richest blooms in the garden,
that is my sweetheart’s lovely spirit.
Her ever-glowing glances,
exciting little songs, cheering words.
An ever opening, blossoming heart,
in kindly earnest and pure jest.
Though summer brings roses and lilies,
it vies with my sweetheart in vain.
Flower greeting
The bouquet that I picked,
may it greet you many thousand times!
I have myself often bent
ah, perhaps a thousand times,
And pressed it to the heart
how many hundred thousand times!
The coy one
On the purest spring morning
went the shepherdess and sang,
young and beautiful and without a care
so that it rang throughout the fields,
so lala! Lerallala!
Thyrsis offered her, for a kiss
two, three little sheep right on the spot,
roguishly she looked for a while;
but she sang and laughed forth:
so lala! Lerallala!
And another offered her ribbons,
and the third offered his heart;
but she made fun of heart and ribbons
just as with the lambs in jest,
only lala! Lerallala!
The Reformed One
In the splendor of sunset
I went quietly along the woods,
Damon sat and blew on the flute
so that it rang from the rocks,
so la la! Le ralla!
And he drew me down to him,
kissed me so dearly, so sweetly,
and I said: “play again!”
and the good youth played,
so la la! Le ralla!
My peace is now lost,
my joy has fled away,
and I hear in my ears
always only that old tune,
so la la! Le ralla!
Francis Poulenc:
Fiançailles pour rire
text by Louise de Vilmorin (1939)
La dame d’André
André ne connaît pas la dame
Qu’il prend aujourd’hui par la main.
A-t-elle un coeur á 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 les meules la bague
Des fiançailles du hasard?
A-t-elle eu peur, la nui venue,
Guettée par les ombres d’hier,
Dans son jardin lorsque l’hiver
Entrait par la grande avenue?
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’arbe de la Loi
En plein silence
En plein paysage
Dans l’herbe.
Il est mort inaperçu
En criant 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.
Il vole
En allant se coucher le soleil
Se refléte au vernis de ma table
C’est le fromage rond de la fable
Au bec de mes ciseaux de vermeil.
Mais oú est le corbeau? Il vole.
Je voudrais coudre mais un aimant
Attire á lui toutes mes aiguilles.
Sur la place les joueurs de quills
De belle en belle passent le temps.
Mais oú est mon amant? Il vole.
C’est un voleur que j’ai pour amant,
Le corbeau vole et mon amant vole,
Voleur de coeur manque á sa parole
Whimsical Betrothal
André’s Lady
André does not know the woman
whom he took by the hand today
Has she a heart for the tomorrows,
and for the evening has she a soul?
On returning from a country ball
did she go in her flowing dress
to seek in the hay stacks the ring
for the random betrothal?
Was she afraid, when night fell,
haunted by the ghosts of the past,
in her garden, when winter
entered by the wide avenue?
In the grass
I can say nothing more
nor do anything for him.
He died for his beautiful one
he died a natural death
outside
under the tree of the Law
in deep silence
in open countryside
in the grass.
He died unnoticed
crying out in his passing
calling
calling me.
But as I was far from him
and because his voice no longer carried
he died alone in the woods
beneath the tree of his childhood.
And I can say nothing more
nor do anything for him.
He flies*
As the sun is setting
it is reflected in the polished surface of my table
it is the round cheese of the fable
in the beak of my silver scissors.
But where is the crow? It flies.
I should like to sew but a magnet
attracts all my needles.
On the square the skittle players
pass the time with game after game.
But where is my lover? He flies.
I have a thief for a lover,
the crow flies and my lover steals,
the thief of my heart breaks his word
Et voleur de fromage est absent.
Mais oú est le bonheur? Il vole.
Je pleure sous le saule pleureur
Je mêle mes larmes á ses feuilles.
Je pleure car je veux qu’on me veuille
Et je ne plais pas á mon voleur.
Mais oú donc est l’amour? Il vole.
Trouvez la rime á ma déraison
Et par les routes du paysage
Ramenez-moi mon amant volage
Qui prend 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 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 arête.
Et mes deux pieds sont les montagnes
Les deux dernier monts que j’ai vus
A la minute oú 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.
Violon
Couple amoureux aux 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
A l’heure oú les Lois se taisent
Le coeur en forme de fraise,
S’offre á l’amour comme un fruit inconnu.
and the thief of the cheese is not here.
But where is the good fortune? It flies.
I weep under the weeping willow
I mingle my tears with its leaves.
I weep because I want to be wanted
and I am not pleasing to my thief.
But where then is love? It flies.
Find the rhyme for my lack of reason
And by the roads of the countryside
bring me back my flighty lover
who takes hearts and drives me mad.
I wish that my thief would steal me.
*the word “voler” has a double meaning
in French: to fly, or to steal.
My corpse is as limp as a glove
My corpse is as limp as a glove
limp as a glove of glacé leather
and my two hidden pupils
make two white pebbles of my eyes.
Two white pebbles in my face
two mutes in the silence
dark still with a secret
and heavy with the burden of images
My fingers so often straying
are joined in a saintly pose
resting on the hollow of my groans
at the center of my stopped heart.
And my two feet are the mountains
the last two hills I saw
at the moment when I lost
the race that the years win.
I still resemble myself
children bear away the memory quickly,
go, go, my life is done.
My corpse is as limp as a glove.
Violin
Enamoured couple with strange accents
the violin and its player please me.
Ah! I love these wailings stretched out
over the cord of uneasiness.
In the chords on the hung cords
at the hour when the Laws are silent
the heart, in the shape of a strawberry,
gives itself to love like an unknown fruit.
Fleurs
Fleurs promises,
fleur tenues dans tes bras,
Fleurs sorties
des parentheses d’un pas,
Qui t’apportait ces fleurs l’hiver
Saupoudrées du sable des mer?
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.
Joaquín Turina:
Canto a Sevilla
text by José Muñoz San Román (1927)
Las fuentecitas del Parque
Como besos solares
en la arena dorada;
como tiernas caricias
de la luna de plata,
son las fentues del Parque
en la dulce mañana,
o entre el mago silencio
de la noche estrellada.
Entre el bello boscaje
donde luce la acacia,
el naranjo aromoso,
y la altísima palma
son las Fuentes del Parque
de Sevilla la amada,
como oasis, milagros
de frescura y de gracia.
¡Oh, el amor que se mira
al espejo del agua,
de sus senos tranquilos
en la fúlgida entraña!
¡Oh, el amor que suspire
a la música grata
de las agues que surgen
cantarinas y cándidas!
Dulce amor peregrine
por las sendas doradas
de este Parque de ensueños.
De este edén de las almas.
Como goza el misterio
de las horas más plácidas,
al frescor de estas fuentes
rumorosas y mágicas.
¡Ah!
Flowers
Promised flowers,
flowers held in your arms,
flowers sprung
from the parenthesis of a step,
who brought you these flowers in winter
powdered with the sand of the seas?
Sand of your kisses,
flowers of faded loves
the beautiful eyes are ashes
and in the fireplace
a heart beribboned with sighs
burns with its sacred pictures.
Song of Seville
The little fountains of the park
Like kisses rays of sun
in the gold sand;
like soft caresses
of the silver moon,
are the fountains of the park
in the sweet morning,
or among the magical silence
of the starry night.
Among the beautiful grove
where the acacia gleams,
the fragrant oranges,
and the tall palm
are the fountains of the park
of the beloved Seville,
like an oasis, miracles
of coolness and grace.
Oh, love that gazes at itself
in the mirror of water,
of its tranquil breast
in the shining core!
Oh, love that sighs
to the pleasant music
of the waters that appear
singing and innocent!
Sweet love wandering
through the golden paths
of this park of dreams.
Of this Eden of souls.
Like joy the mystery
of the calmest hours,
the coolness of these fountains
murmuring and magical.
Ah!
El Fantasma
Por las calles misteriosas
ronda de noche un fantasma,
dejando un rumor de ayes
y cadenas cuando pasa.
Viéndolo aullan los perros,
y las cornejas se espantan,
rasgando el tull de las sombras
con el filo de sus alas.
Como un desgraciado augurio
se espera la su llegada
y hasta el novio más valiente
al sentirlo se acobarda.
¿Donde vá y de donde viene?
De cierto no se saba nada;
mas dicen que es el amor
que anda vestido de mascara.
La Giralda
De la gloriosa Sevilla
se hizo el espíritu carne
en la torre peregrine
y la llamaron Giralda
que es nombre que tiene un eco
de repique de campanas.
La Giralda es un ensueño
y es así como un suspiro
que lanza la tierra al cielo.
Encaje de filigrana;
como una bandera al viento
tejida en oro y en plata.
Como un brazo de Sevilla
que se levanta a alcanzar
las gracias que Dios le envía.
Como un pensamiento loco
que habla de amor infinito
hecho repique sonoro.
Oro y plata, dia y noche
y coral y pedreria;
lo mismo ahora que entonces,
cuando yo la imaginaba
en sueños, como un tesoro
la brado por manos de hadas.
Gallarda como mujer
sin tíno sería Sevilla,
lo encantadora que es.
The Ghost
Through the mysterious streets
prowls a ghost of night,
leaving a murmur of sighs
and chains when it passes.
Seeing it, the dogs howl,
and the crows scare themselves,
tearing at the cloak of shadows
with the edges of their wings.
Like an evil omen
one awaits its arrival
and even the most valiant hero
is frightened.
Where will it go and where is it from?
On earth no one knows;
many say that it is love
that walks dressed in costume.
La Giralda*
Of the glorious Seville
it makes the spirit of the flesh
wander from the tower
and they called it Giralda
that its name had an echo
of the ringing of bells.
The Giralda is a dream
and is like a sigh
that spears the earth from the sky.
Delicate lace;
like a flag in the wind
in fabric of gold and silver.
Like an arm of Seville
That stretches upwards to reach
The grace that is send to us by God.
Like a crazy thought
that speaks of infinite love
made of ringing bells.
Gold and silver, day and night
and coral and gems;
things are the same now
as when I imagine it
in dreams, like a treasure
carved by the hands of destiny.
Elegant as a woman
without you Seville would not be
as charming as it is.
*The Giralda is the bell tower of the Seville Cathedral,
towering at 318 feet. It takes its name from the statue of
Faith who holds a weather vane (“giraldillo”).
School of Music
U N C G
The UNCG School of Music has been recognized for years as one of the elite
music institutions in the United States. Fully accredited by the National
Association of Schools of Music since 1938, the School offers the only
comprehensive music program from undergraduate through doctoral study in
both performance and music education in North Carolina. From a total
population of approximately 14,000 university students, the UNCG School of
Music serves nearly 600 music majors with a full-time faculty and staff of more
than sixty. As such, the UNCG School of Music ranks among the largest Schools
of Music in the South.
The UNCG School of Music now occupies a new 26 million dollar music building,
which is among the finest music facilities in the nation. In fact, the new music
building is the second-largest academic building on the UNCG Campus. A large
music library with state-of-the-art playback, study and research facilities houses
all music reference materials. Greatly expanded classroom, studio, practice
room, and rehearsal hall spaces are key components of the new structure. Two
new recital halls, a large computer lab, a psychoacoustics lab, electronic music
labs, and recording studio space are additional features of the new facility. In
addition, an enclosed multi-level parking deck is adjacent to the new music
building to serve students, faculty and concert patrons.
Living in the artistically thriving Greensboro—Winston-Salem—High Point “Triad”
area, students enjoy regular opportunities to attend and perform in concerts
sponsored by such organizations as the Greensboro Symphony Orchestra, the
Greensboro Opera Company, and the Eastern Music Festival. In addition,
UNCG students interact first-hand with some of the world’s major artists who
frequently schedule informal discussions, open rehearsals, and master classes at
UNCG.
Costs of attending public universities in North Carolina, both for in-state and out-of-
state students, represent a truly exceptional value in higher education.
For information regarding music as a major or minor field of study, please write:
Dr. John J. Deal, Dean
UNCG School of Music
P.O. Box 26167
Greensboro, North Carolina 27402-6167
(336) 334-5789
On the Web: www.uncg.edu/mus/
