James Antoine McClure
baritone
Brian Davis, piano
Graduate Recital
Monday, October 16, 2006
7:30 pm
Recital Hall, School of Music
Program
Ah mai non cessate Stefano Donaudy
O del mio amato ben (1879-1925)
Quando ti rivedró
Vier ernste Gesänge, Op. 121 Johannes Brahms
Denn es gehet… (1833-1897)
Ich wandte mich…
O tod! Wie bitter bist du…
Wenn ich mit menschen…
Intermission
Don Quichotte à Dulcinée Maurice Ravel
Chanson romanesque (1875-1937)
Chanson épique
Chanson à boire
Despite and Still, Op. 41 Samuel Barber
A Last Song (1910-1981)
My Lizard
Solitary Hotel
Despite and Still
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.
Stefano Donaudy:
Ah mai non cessante…
Text by Alberto Donaudy (1880-1941)
Ah, mai non cessate dal vostro parlar,
o labbra desiate ond'io folle vo'
col miel delle vostre parole vo' far
un dolce guanciale su cui dormirò.
O sonni beati da niun mai sognati
che su quel guanciale dormendo farò,
dormendo e sognando, vicino al tuo cor,
il dolce, desiato mio sogno d'amor.
Ah! dormendo, sognando, sognando d'amor!
O del mio amato ben…
O del mio amato ben perduto incanto!
Lungi è dagli occhi miei
chi m'era gloria e vanto!
Or per le mute stanze
sempre lo cerco e chiamo
con pieno il cor di speranze?
Ma cerco invan, chiamo invan!
E il pianger m'è sì caro,
che di pianto sol nutro il cor.
Mi sembra, senza lui, triste ogni loco.
Notte mi sembra il giorno;
mi sembra gelo il foco.
Se pur talvolta spero
di darmi ad altra cura,
sol mi tormenta un pensiero:
Ma, senza lui, che farò?
Mi par così la vita vana cosa
senza il mio ben.
Quando ti rivedró…
Quando ti rivedrò,
infida amante che mi fosti sì cara?
Tante lagrime ho piante
or che altrui ci separa,
che temo sia fuggita ogni gioia
per sempre di mia vita.
Eppur più mi dispero,
più ritorno a sperare.
Più t'odio nel pensiero
e più ancora l'anima mia ti torna ad amar.
Quando ti rivedrò,
infida amante che mi fosti cara così?
Ah, never cease…
Ah, never cease from your talking,
oh desired lips which I madly want;
with your words I want to make
a sweet pillow on which I will sleep.
Oh blessed dreams that no one ever
dreamed, that, sleeping on that pillow, I will
make; sleeping and dreaming, close to your
heart, the sweet, desired dream of love.
Ah! Sleeping, dreaming of love!
Oh lost enchantment of my dearly
beloved…
Oh, lost enchantment of my dearly beloved!
Far from my eyes is he
who was, to me, glory and pride!
Now through the empty rooms
I always seek him and call him
with a heart full of hopes?
But I seek in vain, I call in vain!
And the weeping is so dear to me,
that with weeping alone I nourish my heart.
It seems to me, without him, sad everywhere.
The day seems like night to me;
the fire seems cold to me.
If, however, I sometimes hope
to give myself to another cure,
one thought alone torments me:
But without him, what shall I do?
To me, life seems a vain thing
without my beloved.
When shall I see you again…
When shall I see you again,
Unfaithful lover, who were so dear to me?
So many tears I have wept
Now that another separates us,
That I fear that may be fled
Every joy forever from my life.
And yet the more I despair,
The more I return to hoping.
The more I hate you in my mind,
The more my soul turns again to loving you.
When shall I see you again,
Unfaithful lover, who were so dear to me?
Johannes Brahms:
Vier ernste Gesänge
Text from Ecclesiastes 3:19-22.
Denn es gehet dem Menschen…
Denn es gehet dem Menschen wie dem Vieh;
wie dies stirbt, so stirbt er auch;
und haben alle einerlei Odem;
und der Mensch hat nichts mehr denn das
Vieh:
denn es ist alles eitel.
Es fährt alles an einem Ort;
es ist alles von Staub gemacht,
und wird wieder zu Staub.
Wer weiß, ob der Geist des Menschen
aufwärts fahre,
und der Odem des Viehes unterwärts unter
die Erde fahre?
Darum sahe ich, daß nichts bessers ist,
denn daß der Mensch fröhlich sei in seiner
Arbeit,
denn das ist sein Teil.
Denn wer will ihn dahin bringen,
daß er sehe, was nach ihm geschehen wird?
Ich wandte mich…
Text from Ecclesiastes 4:1-3
Ich wandte mich und sahe an
Alle, die Unrecht leiden unter der Sonne;
Und siehe, da waren Tränen derer,
Die Unrecht litten und hatten keinen Tröster;
Und die ihnen Unrecht täten, waren zu
mächtig,
Daß sie keinen Tröster haben konnten.
Da lobte ich die Toten,
Die schon gestorben waren
Mehr als die Lebendigen,
Die noch das Leben hatten;
Und der noch nicht ist, ist besser, als alle
beide,
Und des Bösen nicht inne wird,
Das unter der Sonne geschieht
O tod! Wie bitter bist du…
Text from Ecclesiastes 41:1-2
O Tod, wie bitter bist du,
Wenn an dich gedenket ein Mensch,
Der gute Tage und genug hat
Und ohne Sorge lebet;
Und dem es wohl geht in allen Dingen
Und noch wohl essen mag!
O Tod, wie bitter bist du.
O Tod, wie wohl tust du dem Dürftigen,
Der da schwach und alt ist,
Four Serious Songs
For that which befalls the sons of men…
For that which befalls the sons of men befalls
beasts, as the one dies, so dies the other;
yea, they have all one breath;
so that a man hath no preeminence above a
beast:
for all is vanity.
All go unto one place;
all are of the dust
and all turn to dust again.
Who knows the spirit of man
that goes upward,
and the spirit of the beast
that goes downward to the earth?
Wherefore I perceive that there is nothing
better, than that a man should rejoice in his
own works;
for that is his portion:
for who shall bring him to see
what shall be after him?
So I turned…
So I turned, and considered all the oppressions
that are done under the sun:
and behold the tears of such
as were oppressed, and they had no
comforter; and on the side of their oppressors
there was power;
but they had no comforter.
Wherefore I praised the dead
which are already dead
more than the living
which are yet alive.
Yea, better is he than both they, which hath
not yet been,
who hath not seen the evil work
that is done under the sun.
O death how bitter are you...
O death, how bitter is the remembrance of thee
to a man that is at peace in his possessions,
unto the man that hath nothing to distract him,
and hath prosperity in all things,
and that still hath strength
to receive meat!
O death, how biter is the remembrance of
thee. O death, how acceptable is thy sentence
unto a man that is needy and that fails in
Der in allen Sorgen steckt,
Und nichts Bessers zu hoffen,
Noch zu erwarten hat!
O Tod, wie wohl tust du!
Wenn ich mit menschen…
Text from Corinthians 13:1-3, 12-13
Wenn ich mit Menschen und mit Engelszungen
redete,
Und hätte der Liebe nicht,
So wär' ich ein tönend Erz,
Oder eine klingende Schelle.
Und wenn ich weissagen könnte,
Und wüßte alle Geheimnisse
Und alle Erkenntnis,
Und hätte allen Glauben, also
Daß ich Berge versetzte,
Und hätte der Liebe nicht,
So wäre ich nichts.
Und wenn ich alle meine Habe den Armen
gäbe,
Und ließe meinen Leib brennen,
Und hätte der Liebe nicht,
So wäre mir's nichts nütze.
Wir sehen jetzt durch einen Spiegel
In einem dunkeln Worte;
Dann aber von Angesicht zu Angesichte.
Jetzt erkenne ich's stückweise,
Dann aber werd ich's erkennen,
Gleich wie ich erkennet bin.
Nun aber bleibet Glaube, Hoffnung, Liebe,
Diese drei;
Aber die Liebe ist die größeste unter ihnen.
Maurice Ravel:
Don Quichotte á Dulcinée
Text by Paul Morand (1888-1976)
Chanson Romanesque
Si vous me disiez que la terre
A tant tourner vous offense,
Je lui dépêcherais panca:
Vous la verrriez fixe et se taire.
Si vous me disiez que l’ennui
Vous vient du ciel trop fleuri d’astre,
Déchirant les divins cadastre,
Je faucherais d’un coup la nuit.
Si vous me disiez que l’espace
Ainsi vidé ne vous plaît point,
Chevalier-dieu, la lance au poing,
J’étoilerais le vent qui passé.
strength, that is in extreme old age, and is
distracted in all things, and that looks for no
better lot, nor waits on better days!
O death, how acceptable is thy sentence.
If I speak with the tongues of men…
If I speak with the tongues of men and of
angels,
and have not charity,
I am become as sounding brass,
or a tinkling cymbal.
And though I have the gift of prophecy,
and understand all mysteries,
and all knowledge;
and though I have all faith,
so that I could remove mountains,
and have not charity,
I am nothing.
And though I bestow all my goods to feed the
poor,
and though I give my body to be burned,
and have not charity,
it profits me nothing.
For now we see through a glass,
darkly;
but then face to face;
now I know in part;
but then I shall know
even as also I am known.
And now abides faith, hope, charity,
these three;
but the greatest of these is charity.
Romanesque song
If you told me the eternal turning
Of the world, offended you.
I would send Panza:
you would see it motionless and silent.
If you told me to be bored by
the number of stars in the sky.
I would tear the heavens apart,
Erase the night in one swipe.
If you told me that the, now
Empty space, doesn't please you.
Chevalierdieu, with a lance at hand
I would fill the passing wind with stars.
Mais si vous disiez que mon sang
Est plus a moi qu’a vous,ma Dame,
Je blêmirais dessous le blâme
Et je mourrais, vous bénissant.
O Dulcinée.
Chanson épique
Bon Saint Michel qui me donnez loisir
De voir ma Dame et de l’entendre,
Bon Saint Michel qui me daignez choisir
Pour lui complaire et la défendre,
Bon Saint Michel veuillez descendre
Avec Saint Georges sur l’autel
De la Madone au bleu mantel.
D’un rayon du ciel bénissez ma lame
Et son égale en pureté
Et son égale en piété
Comme en pudeur et chasteté:
Ma Dame,
(O grand Saint Georges et Saint Michel)
L’ange qui veille sur ma veille,
Ma douce Dame si pareille
A vous, Madone au bleu mantel!
Amen.
Chanson à boire
Foin du bâtard, illustre Dame,
Qui pour me perdre à vos doux yeux
Dit que l’amour et le vin vieux
Mettent en deuil mon Coeur, mon âme!
Je bois
A la joie!
La joie est le seul but
Où je vais droit… lorsque j’ai bu!
Foin du jaloux, brune maîtresse,
Qui geind, qui pleure et fait serment
D’ètre toujours ce pale amant
Qui me de l’eau dans son ivresse!
Je bois
A la joie!
La joie est le seul but
Où je vais droit… lorsque j’ai bu!
But, my Lady, if you told me
that my blood is more mine, then yours.
That reprimand would turn me pale
And, blessing you, I would die.
Oh, Dulcinée.
Epic song
Dear Saint Michael, who gives me the chance
to see my Lady and to hear her.
Dear Saint Michael who gracefully choose me
to please and defend her.
Dear Saint Michael will you decend
With Saint George to the altar
Of the Virgin in the blue mantle.
Bless my sword, with a beam from heaven
And his equal in purity
And his equal in pity
As in modesty and chastity:
My Lady.
O Great Saint George and Saint Michael
The angel who guards my watch
My sweet Lady, so much like you
Virgin in the blue mantle.
Amen.
Drinking song
Fig for the bastard, illustrious Lady
Who, for loosing me in your sweet eyes
Tells me that love and old wine
Put my heart and soul in mourning.
I drink
To pleasure!
Pleasure is the only goal,
To which I go straight... when I've drunk!
Fig for the jealous, dark-haired mistress
who moans, who cries and swears
Always being the pallid lover,
Watering down his intoxication
I drink
To pleasure!
Pleasure is the only goal,
To which I go straight... when I've drunk!
Samuel Barber:
Despite and Still
A Last Song
Text by Robert Graves (1895-1985)
A last song, and a very last, and yet
another
O when can I give over?
Must I drive the pen until blood burst from
my nails
And my breathe fails and I shake with
fever,
Or sit well wrapped in a many colored
cloak
where the moon shines new through castle
Crystal?
Shall I never hear her whisper softly:
But this is truth written by you only,
And for me only therefore love have done?
My Lizard
Text by Theodore Roethke (1908-1963)
My lizard, my lively writher,
May your limbs never wither,
May the eyes in your face
Survive the green ice of envy’s mean gaze:
May you life out your life
Without hate, without grief,
And your hair ever blaze in the sun,
When I am undone, when I am no one.
Solitary Hotel
Text by James Joyce (1882-1941)
Solitary Hotel in mountain pass.
Autumn.Twilight. Fire lit. In dark corner
young man seated. Young woman enters.
Restless. Solitary. She sits. She goes to
window. She stands. She sits. Twilight.
She thinks. On solitary hotel paper she
writes. She thinks. She writes. She sighs.
Wheel and hoofs. She hurries out. He
comes from his dark corner. He seizes
solitary paper. He holds it towards fire.
Twilight. He reads. Solitary. What? In
sloping, upright and backhands. Queen’s
hotel, Queen’s hotel, Queen’s ho…
Despite and Still
Text by Robert Graves (1895-1985)
Have you not read
The words in my head,
And I made part
Of your own heart?
We have been such as draw
The losing straw
You of your gentleness,
I of my rashness,
Both of despair
Yet still might share this happy will:
To love despite and still.
Never let us deny
The things necessity
But, o, refuse to choose
When chance may seem to give
Loves in alternative.
To love despite and still.
