Amy Jerva,
mezzo-soprano
Dena Fauske,
soprano
Brian Davis, piano
Senior Recital
Thursday, March 30, 2006
5:30 pm
Recital Hall, School of Music
Program
An die Musik Franz Schubert
(1797-1828)
Frühlingslied Felix Mendelssohn
(1809-1847)
Wie Melodien zieht es mir Johannes Brahms
(1833-1897)
Mariä Wiegenlied Max Reger
(1873-1916)
Miss Jerva
Stornello Giuseppe Verdi
La zingara (1813-1901)
Deh, pietoso, oh Addolorata
Miss Fauske
Au cimetière Gabriel Fauré
(1845-1924)
L’heure exquise Lady Dean Paul Poldowski
(1879-1932)
Miss Jerva
Zigeunerlieder Johannes Brahms
He, Zigeuner, greife in die Saiten ein! (1833-1897)
Wisst ihr, wann mein Kindchen
Brauner Bursche
Kommt dir manchmal in den Sinn
Rote Abendwolken
Miss Fauske
Affani del pensier George Frideric Handel
(1685-1759)
Miss Jerva
Donde lieta from La bohème Giacomo Puccini
(1858-1924)
Miss Fauske
The Sky Above the Roof Ralph Vaughan Williams
Silent Noon (1872-1958)
Where the Music Comes From Lee Hoiby
(b. 1926)
Miss Jerva
Songs on Poems of Van Doren John Duke
Slowly, Slowly, Wisdom Gathers (1899-1984)
So Simple
Dunce’s Song
Miss Fauske
Duetto buffo di due gatti Gioacchino Rossini
(1792-1868)
Miss Fauske and Miss Jerva
In partial fulfillment of the degree requirements for the
Bachelor of Music in Music Education
_____
The hall is equipped with a listening assistance system.
Patrons needing such assistance should contact an usher in the lobby.
Franz Schubert:
An die Musik
Text by Franz von Schober
(1796-1882)
Du holde Kunst in wieviel grauen Stunden,
Wo mich des Lebens wilder Kreis umstrickt,
Hast du mein Herz zu warmer Lieb entzunden,
Hast mich in eine beßre Welt entrückt!
Oft hat ein Seufzer, deiner Harf’ entfloßen,
Ein süßer, heiliger Akkord von dir
Den Himmel beßrer Zeiten mir erschloßen,
Du holde Kunst, ich danke dir dafür!
To Music
Oh, sacred art, how oft in hours blighted,
While into life’s untamed circle hurled,
Hast thou my heart to warm love reignited
To transport me into a better world!
So often has a sigh from they heart drifted,
A chord from thee, holy and full of bliss,
A glimpse of better times from heaven lifted,
Thou sacred art, my thanks to thee for this!
Felix Mendelssohn:
Frühlingslied
Text by Friederike Robert
(1795-1832)
Jetzt kommt der Frühling, der Himmel isch
blau,
Die Wegle sin trucken, die Lüfte geh’n lau.
Jetzt kommt der Frühling, die Vögle im Wald
Zwitschern und locka ihre Weible wol bald.
Jetzt kommt der Frühling, die Bähm’ schlage
aus,
Un i bring mei Schätzle ein Veigelestrauß.
Spring song
Now spring is coming and the sky is blue;
The paths are dry, the air has grown mild.
Now spring is coming, and the birds in the
wood
Are twittering and courting already.
Now spring is coming, and the trees are
blossoming,
And I’m bringing my darling a little bouquet.
Johannes Brahms:
Wie Melodien zieht es mir
Text by Klaus Groth
(1819-1899)
Wie Melodien zieht es,
Mir leise durch den Sinn,
Wie Frühlingsblumen blüht es,
Und schwebt wie Duft dahin.
Doch kommt das Wort und faßt es
Und führt es vor das Aug’,
Wie Nebelgrau erblaßt es
Und schwindet wie ein Hauch.
Und dennoch ruht im Reime
Verborgen wohl ein Duft,
Den mild aus stillem Keime
Ein feuchtes Auge ruft.
Like a melody it floats
It pulls me, like a melody,
Quietly through my mind;
It blossoms like spring flowers
And wafts away like fragrance.
But when it is captured in words,
And placed before my eyes,
It turns pale like a gray mist
And disappears like a breath.
And yet, remaining in my rhymes
There hides still a fragrance,
Which mildly from the quiet bud
My moist eyes call forth.
Max Reger:
Mariä Wiegenlied
Text by Martin Boelitz
(1874-1918)
Maria sitzt im Rosenhag
Und wiegt ihr Jesuskind,
Durch die Blätter leise
Weht der warme Sommerwind.
Zu ihren Füßen singt
Ein buntes Vögelein:
Schlaf, Kindlein, süße,
Schlaf nun ein!
Hold ist dein Lächeln,
Holder deines Schlummers Lust,
Leg dein müdes Köpfchen
Fest an deiner Mutter brust!
Schlaf, Kindlein, süße,
Schlaf nun ein!
Mary’s Lullaby
Mary sits in the rosegrove
And rocks her child Jesus,
Softly through the leaves
Blows a warm summer wind.
At her feet sings a colorful little bird:
Sleep, child, my sweet,
Just go to sleep!
Lovely is your smile,
Lovely is your joy in slumber,
Lay your tired little head
Against your mother’s breast!
Sleep, child, my sweet,
Just go to sleep!
Giuseppe Verdi:
Stornello
Text by Giuseppe Verdi
(1813-1901)
Tu dici che non m’ami…
Anch’io non t’amo.
Dici non mi vuoi ben,
Non te ne voglio.
Dici ch’a un altro pesce hai teso l’amo.
Anch’io in altro giardin la rosa coglio.
Anco di questo vo’che ci accordiamo:
Tu fa quel che ti pare,
Io quel che voglio.
Son libera di me,
Padrone è ognuno.
Serva di tutti e non servo a nessuno.
Costanza nell’amor è una follia;
Volubile io sono e me ne vanto.
Non tremo più scontrandoti per via,
Nè, quando sei lontan mi struggo in pianto.
Come usignol che usci di prigionia,
Tutta la notte e il di folleggio e canto.
Little song
You say that you don’t love me…
I don’t love you either.
You say you don’t wish me well,
I don’t want you.
You say that you have caught another fish.
I gather roses in another garden too.
Also on this I want us to agree:
You do what you wish,
And I’ll do what I want.
I myself am free,
Everyone is a master.
I am of service to all and servant to no one.
Constancy in love is folly;
I am inconsistent and I brag about it.
I don’t tremble to see you on the street,
Nor, when you’re far away do I pine away in
tears.
Like the nightingale who emerges from prison,
All day and night I frolic and sing.
La zingara
Chi padre mi fosse qual patria mi sia,
Invano la gente chiamando mi va;
Del primo mai seppi ed è patria mia la terra
che un fiore,
Che un frutto mi da.
Dovunque il destino m’addita un sentiero,
Io trovo un sorriso,
Io trovo un amor;
Perchè del passato darommi pensiero,
Se l’ora presente è lieta al mio cor?
Puo, è vero, il domani un torbido velo dell’aure
serene l’aspetto turbar;
Ma s’oggi risplende azzurro il mio cielo,
Perchè rattristarmi d’un dubbio avvenir?
Io sono una pianta che ghiaccio non spoglia,
Che tu tutto disfida del verno il rigor;
Se fronda qui cade,
La un’altra germoglia,
In ogni stagione son carca di fior.
The gypsy
Which father is my native one,
In vain the people name
me;
Of that I shall never know, my native land is
that of a flower,
Which a fruit gave me.
Everywhere destiny shows me a path,
I find a smile,
I find a love;
Why should the past give me thought,
If the present hour is joyful to my heart?
Tomorrow may, it’s true, bring a troubled veil to
my image of serene breezes;
But if my heaven shines blue today,
Why grieve of a doubtful future?
I am a plant that frost does not spoil,
That winter challenges with its severity;
If a leaf falls here,
There another will sprout,
Every season is laden with flowers.
Deh, pietoso, oh Addolorata
Text by Wolfgang Goethe
(1749-1842)
Deh, pietoso, oh Addolorata,
China il guardo al mio dolore;
Tu, una spada fitta in core,
Volgi gl’occhi desolata
Al morente tuo figliuol.
Quelle occhiate, i sosprir vanno
Lassù al padre e son preghiere
Che il suo tempri ed il tuo affanno.
Come a me squarcin le viscere
Gl’insoffribili miei guai
E dell’ansio petto i palpiti
Chi comprendere puo mai?
Di che trema il cor?
Che vuol?
Ah! Tu sola il sai, tu sol!
Sempre, ovunque il passo io giro,
Qual martiro,qual martiro
Qui nel sen potro con me!
Solitaria appena, ho quanto Verso allora,
Oh quanto pianto
E di dentro scoppia il cor.
Oh, piteous, oh Our-Lady-of-Sorrows
Oh, piteous, oh Our-Lady-of-Sorrows,
Bend your glance to my sorrow;
You, a sword fixed in your heart,
To your dying son
Turn your afflicted eyes.
Those glances, the sighs go
Up to the father and are a prayer
They are His vigor and His anxiety.
Like my intolerable woes
Tear my organs
And the palpitations of the anxious breast
Who can ever comprehend?
The heart trembles from that?
Do you want that?
Ah! You alone know it, you alone!
Always, everywhere I step I look,
What martyrdom, what martydom
I carry with me here!
Scarcely alone, I have how much pouring out
then,
Oh how much crying
And inside my heart bursts.
Sul vasel del finestrino
La mia lacrima scendea
Quando all’alba del mattino
Questi fior per te cogliea,
Chè del sole il primo raggio
La mia stanza rischiarava
E dal letto mi cacciava
Agitandomi il dolor.
Ah, per te dal disonore,
Dalla morte io sia salvata.
On the vase at the small window
My tear fell
When at this morning’s dawn
I gathered these flowers for you,
At the first ray of the sun
My room brightens
And intrudes my bed,
Agitating my sorrow
Ah, of shame for you,
I am saved from death.
Gabriel Fauré:
Au Cimetière
Text by Jean Richepin (1849-1926)
Hereux qui meurt ici,
Ainsi que les oiseaux des champs!
Son corps, près des amis,
Est mis dans l’herbe et dans les chants.
Il dort d’un bon sommeil vermeil,
Sous le ciel radieux
Tous ceux qui’il a connus, venus,
Lui font de longs adieux.
A sa croix les parents, pleurants,
Restent agenouillés;
Et ses os, sous les fleurs, de pleurs
Sont doucement mouillés.
Chacun, sur le bois noir,
Peut voir s’il était jeune ou non,
Et peut, avec de vrais regrets,
L’appeler par son nom.
Combien plus malchanceux sont ceux
Qui meurent à la mé.
Et sous le flot profound
S’en vont loin du pays aimé!
Ah! pauvres! qui pour seuls linceuls
Ont les goémons verts,
Où l’on roule inconnu, tout nu,
Et les yeux grands ouverts!
In the cemetery
Happy he who dies here,
Like the birds of the fields!
His body, beside his friends,
Is laid in the grass and amidst the songs.
He sleeps a good and rosy sleep,
Under the radiant sky.
All those he has known come
To bid him a long goodbye.
At his cross his relatives, weeping,
Remain on their knees;
And his bones, under the flowers, with tears
Are gently moistened.
On the black headboard
Everyone can see if he was young or not,
And can, with true regret,
Call him by his name.
How much more unfortunate are they
Who die upon the seas,
And under the deep wave
Go far from the beloved land!
Oh! Poor ones! Who for their only shroud
Have the green seaweeds,
Where they will roll, unknown, unclothed,
And with eyes wide open!
Lady Dean Paul Poldowski:
L’heure exquise
Text by Paul Verlaine
(1844-1896)
La lune blanche luit dans les bois,
De chaque branche part un voix
Sous la ramée,
O bien-aimée!
L’etang reflète, profound miroir,
La silhouette du saule noir
Où le vent pleure,
Rêvons, c’est l’heure!
The exquisite hour
The white moon shines in the forest,
From every branch comes forth a voice,
Under the foliage,
Oh beloved!
The pond reflects, a deep mirror,
The silhouette of the dark willow,
Where the wind is weeping.
Let us dream, this is the hour!
Un vaste et tendre apaisement
Semble descendre du firmament
Que l’astre irise;
C’est l’heure exquise.
A vast and tender calm
Seems to descend from the firmament
Which the orb clads in rainbow colors;
This is the exquisite hour.
Johannes Brahms:
Zigeunerlieder
He, Zigeuner, greife in die Saiten ein!
He, Zigeuner, greife in die Saiten ein!
Spiel das Lied vom ungetreuen Mägdelein!
Lass die Saiten weinen, klagen, traurig bange,
Bis die heisse Träne netzet diese Wange!
Wisst ihr, wann mein Kindschen
Wisst ihr, wann mein Kindchen am
allerschönsten ist?
Wenn ihr süsses Mündchen scherzt und lacht
und küsst.
Mägdelein, du bist mein, inniglich küss’ ich
dich,
Dich erschuf der Liebe Himmel einzig nur für
mich!
Wisst ihr, wann mein Liebster am besten mir
gefällt?
Wenn in seinem Armen er mich umschlungen
halt.
Schätzelein, du bist mein, inniglich küss’ ich
dich,
Dich erschuf der Liebe Himmel einzig nur für
mich!
Gypsy Songs
Hey, Gypsy, grasp into those strings!
Play the song about the unfaithful girl!
Let the strings weep, lament, sadly anxious,
Till the hot tears wet my cheeks!
Do you know when my little girl is at
her loveliest?
When her sweet little mouth jokes and laughs
and kisses.
Girl, you are mine, I kiss you ardently.
Dear heaven created you just for me!
Do you know when I like my dearest
best?
When in his arms he holds me tight.
Sweetie, you are mine, I kiss you ardently.
Dear heaven created you just for me!
Brauner Bursche
Brauner Bursche führt zum Tanze
Sein blauäugig schönes Kind,
Schlägt die Sporen keck zusammen.
Czardas Melodie beginnt,
Küsst und hertz sein süsses Täubchen,
Dreht sie, führt sie, jauchzt und springt;
Wirft drei blanke Silbergulden
Auf das Cimbal, dass es klingt.
A swarthy lad leads to the dance
His lovely blue-eyed maiden,
Boldy striking his spurs together.
A Czardas melody begins.
He kisses and hugs his sweet little dove,
Turns her, leads her, shouts and springs about;
He tosses three shiny silver coins
Onto the dulcimer to make it ring.
Kommt dir manchmal in den Sinn
Kommt dir manchmal in den Sinn,
Mein süsses Lieb,
Was du einst mit heil’gem Eide mir
gelobt?
Täusch’ mich nicht, verlass’ mich nicht,
Du weisst nicht, wie lieb ich dich hab’!
Lieb’ du mich wie ich dich,
Dann strömt Gottes Huld auf dich herab!
Does it sometimes cross your mind,
My sweet love,
What you once solemnly promised me with a
holy vow?
Do not deceive me, do not leave me,
You do not know how much love I have for
you!
Love me as I love you,
Then the grace of God will stream down upon
you!
Rote Abendwolken
Rote Abendwolken zieh’n am Firmament,
Sehnsuchtsvoll nach dir, mein Lieb,
Das Herze brennt,
Himmel strahlt in glüh’nder Pracht,
Und ich träum’ bei Tag und Nacht,
Nur allein von dem süssen Liebchen mein.
Red sunset clouds drift by in the Firmament,
Full of longing for you my love,
My heart is burning,
Heaven beams in glowing splender,
And I dream by day and night,
Only of my sweet darling.
George Frideric Handel:
Affanni del pensier
Text by Nicola Francesco Haym
(1679-1730)
Affanni del pensier,
Un sol momento datemi pace almen,
E poi tornate.
Pains of thought
Pains of thought,
For a single moment give me peace,
And then return.
Giacomo Puccini:
Donde lieta
Donde lieta uscí al tuo grido d’amore,
Torna sola Mimi al solitario nido.
Ritorna un’altra volta a intesser finti fior!
Addio, senza rancor.
Ascolta, ascolta. Le poche robe aduna che
lasciai sparse.
Nel mio cassette stan chiusi quel cerchietto
d’or, e il libro di preghiere.
Involgi tutto quanto in un grembiale e manderó
il portiere.
Bada, sotto il guanciale c’è la cuffietta rosa.
Se vuoi, se vuoi serbarla a ricordo d’amor!
Addio, addio senza rancor.
From where she left…
From where she left happy at your call of love,
Mimi returns alone to the lonely nest.
She returns once again to weave false flowers!
Goodbye, without bitterness.
Listen, gather together the few things that I left
scattered.
Shut in my drawer are the gold ring and the
book of prayers.
Wrap everything in an apron and I will send the
concierge.
Mind you, under the pillow there is the pink
bonnet.
If you wish, keep it as a memory of love.
Goodbye, without bitterness.
