Katie Skawski
soprano
Chris Steele, piano
Junior Recital
Monday, April 9, 2012
5:30 pm
Organ Hall, Music Building
Program
Hébé Ernest Chausson
from Chansons de Shakespeare (1855-1899)
Chanson d’amour
Chanson d’Ophélia
Gretchen am Spinnrade Franz Schubert
from Gesange aus Wilhelm Meister (1797-1828)
Lied der Mignon (So lasst mich scheinen)
Lied der Mignon (Nur wer die Sehnsucht kennt)
I am in need of music Ben Moore (b. 1960)
Screw Spring Richard Hundley (b. 1931)
Losing My Mind from Follies Stephen Sondheim (b. 1930)
The Last Five Years Jason Robert Brown (b. 1970)
A Part of That
A Summer In Ohio
Katie Skawski is a student of Dr. Robert Bracey
________
In partial fulfillment of the degree requirements for the
Bachelor of Music in Performance
Ernest Chausson:
Hébé
Text by Louise Ackermann (1813-1890)
Les yeux baissés, rougissante et candide,
Vers leur banquet, quand Hébé s’avançait,
Les Dieux charmés tendaient leur coupe
vide,
Et de nectar l’enfant la remplissait,
Nous tous aussi, quand passe la jeunesse,
Nous lui tendons notre coupe à l’ènvi.
Quel est le vin qu’y verse la Déesse?
Nous l’ignorons; il enivre et ravit.
Ayant souri dans sa grace immortelle,
Hébé s’éloigne; on la rappelled en vain.
Longtemps encor, sur la route éternelle,
Notre oeil en pleurs suit l’échanson divin.
Chanson d’amour
Text by Maurice Bouchor (1855-1929)
Loin de moi, loin de moi, ces lèvres que
j’adore,
Et dont le mensange, hélas! fut si doux.
Ces beaux yeux que le ciel de mai prend
pour l’aurore,
Ces yeux qui rendraient le matin jaloux.
Loin de moi, loin de moi ces lèvres que
j’adore,
Et dont le mensonge hélas! fut si doux
Mais si malgré tout madouler te touché
Ah! rendsmoi, rendsmoi me baisers,
Sceaux d’amour qui furent poses En vain
Sur tes yeux, tes yeux et ta bouche.
Chanson d’Ophélia
Text by Maurice Bouchor (1855-1929)
Il est mort, ayant bien souffert,
Madame; Il est parti; c’est une chose faite.
Une pierré à ses pieds et pour poser sa tête,
Un tertre vert.
Sure le linceul de neige à pleines mains
semées,
Mille fleurs parfumées,
Avant d’aller soul terre avec lui sans retour
Dans leur jeunesse épanouie
Ont bu, comme une fraiche plui,
Les larmes du sincère amour.
Hébé
Her eyes lowered blushing and ingenuous,
When Hébé drew near their banquet
The enchanted Gods held out their empty
cups,
And the child refilled them with nectar.
All we too, when youth has passed,
Hold out our cup to her with longing.
What is the wine the Goddess pours there?
We do not know; it intoxicates and delights.
Having smiled in her immortal grace,
Hébé goes on her way; we call her back in
vain.
On the eternal path, for a long time still
Our tearful eyes follow the divine cup-bearer.
Song of Love
Take far, far from me the lips that I adore,
And whose deceit, alas! yet proved so
sweet.
Those lovely eyes that the May sky
mistakes for the dawn,
Those eyes that make the morning jealous.
Take far, far from the lips that I adore,
And whose deceit, alas! yet proved so
sweet.
But if, despite all, my pain should touch
you,
Ah! then yield , yield to me again my kisses,
Seals of love that were placed in vain
Upon your eyes, your eyes, and your lips.
Ophelia’s Song
He is dead, having suffered enough,
Madame; he has gone; it’s a done thing,
A stone at his feet, and green grass
On which to rest his head.
On the blanket of snow, sown freely by the
handful,
A thousand perfumed flowers,
Before going down into the earth with him
In the bloom of their youth,
Have drunk, like a fresh rain,
The tears of true love.
Franz Schubert:
Gretchen am Spinnrade
Text by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
(1749-1832)
Meine Ruh is hin,
Mein Herz ist schwer,
Ich finde sie nimmer
Und nimmermehr.
Wo ich ihn nicht hab,
Ist mir das Grab,
Die ganze Welt
Ist mir vergällt.
Mein armer kopf
Ist mir verrückt,
Mein armer Sinn
Ist mir zerstückt.
Nach ihm nur schau ich
Zum Fenster hinaus,
Nach ihm nur geh ich
Aus dem Haus.
Sein hoher Gang,
Sein’ edle Gestalt,
Seines Mundes Lächeln,
Seiner Augen Gewalt,
Und seiner Rede
Zauberfluss,
Sein Händedruck,
Und ach, sein Kuss!
Mein Busen drängt
Sich nach ihm hin,
Ach dürft’ ich fassen
Und halten ihn,
Und küssen ihn,
So wie ich wollt’,
An seinen Küssen
Vergehen sollt’.
Lied der Mignon (So lasst mich scheinen)
Text by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
So lasst mich scheinen, bis ich werde,
Zieht mir das weiße Kleid nich aus,
Ich eile von der schönen Erde
Hinab in jenes dunkle Haus.
Dort ruh ich eine kleine Stille,
Dann öffnet sich der frische Blick,
Ich lasse dann die reine Hülle,
Den Gürtel und den Kranz zurück.
Gretchen at the Spinning Wheel
My peace is gone,
my heart is heavy;
I will find it never
and nevermore.
Wherever I do not have him
is for me the grave;
the whole world
is to me loathsome.
My poor head
is deranged;
my poor mind
is shattered.
For him only do I gaze
out from the window;
For him only do I go
out of the house.
His fine gait,
noble stature,
his mouth’s smile,
his eyes’ power,
and, of his speech,
magic flow-his
handclasp,
and, ah, his kiss!
My bosom yearns
for him;
ah, could I embrace him
and hold him,
And kiss him
as much as I wish,
in his kisses
I should perish.
Mignon’s Song (So Let Me Seem)
So let me seem, until I so become;
do not take off my white robe!
I shall hasten from the beautiful earth
down to that dark dwelling place.
There shall I rest in a brief silence;
then my refreshed eyes will open.
I will then leave the chaste raiment,
the sash and the wreath behind.
Und jene himmlischen Gestalten,
Sie fragen nicht nach Mann und Weib,
Und keine Kleider, keine Falten
Umgeben den verklärten Leib.
Zwar lebt’ ich ohne Sorg und Mühe,
Doch fühlt’ ich tiefen Schmerz genung,
Vor Kummer altert’ ich zu frühe,
Macht mich auf ewig wieder jung.
Lied der Mignon (Nur wer die Sehnsucht kennt)
Text by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Nur wer die Sehnsucht kennt,
Weiß, was ich leide.
Allein und abgetrennt
Von aller Freude,
Seh ich ans Firmament
Nach jener Seit.
Ach, der mich liebt und kennt,
Ist in der Weite.
Es schwindelte mir, es brennt
Mein Eingeweide
Ben Moore:
I am in need of music
Text by Elizabeth Bishop (1911-1979)
I am in need of music
that would flow over my fretful feeling
fingertips,
Over my bitter tainted, trembling lips,
With melody, deep, clear, and liquid slow.
Oh, for the healing swaying, old and low,
Of some song sung to rest the tired dead,
A song to fall like water on my head,
And over quivering limbs,
dream flushed to glow!
There is a magic made by melody:
A spell of rest, and quiet breath,
and cool Heart, that sinks through the
fading colors deep.
To the subaqueous stillness of the sea,
And floats forever in a moon green pool,
Held in the arms of rhythm
and of sleep.
And those heavenly forms
question not if one man or woman;
and no garments, no folds
enclose the transfigured body.
True, I lived without care and trouble;
yet I felt deep pain enough.
From grief I aged too early;
make me forever again young!
Mignon’s Song (Only he who knows longing)
Only he who knows longing
knows what I suffer.
Alone and separated
from all joy,
I look to the firmament
toward your direction.
Ah, he who loves and knows me
is far away.
I am reeling; on fire are
my vitals.
Richard Hundley:
Screw Spring
Text by William M. Hoffman (b. 1939)
Screw spring.
I’m the only thing not blooming.
The arrowhead plant, so carelessly potted,
is growing god-dammit.
Even the jonquils, bought for on dinner,
are not quite dead.
Under the bed the dust is as thick as wool
on spring sheep,
which are undoubtedly grazing where grass
is growing
at an enviable rate.
Screw spring.
My boyfriend’s taken to getting up early.
He goes out to see plants pushing their way
out of the ground,and flowering,
and sits by some chartreuse tree in the sun
breathing air as sweet as berry wine,
watching girls pass.
Their faces are rested from sleeping alone
all winter.
Screw spring.
I wish it were winter,
when the world’s this one room.
These walls, this bed do not grow.
Stephen Sondheim:
Follies
Losing My Mind
Text by Stephen Sondheim (b. 1930)
The sun comes up,
I think about you.
The coffee cup,
I think about you.
I want you so,
It's like I'm losing my mind.
The morning ends,
I think about you.
I talk to friends,
I think about you.
And do they know?
It's like I'm losing my mind.
All afternoon,
Doing every little chore,
The thought of you stays bright.
Sometimes I stand in the middle of the
floor,
Not going left,
Not going right.
I dim the lights and think about you,
Spend sleepless nights to think about you.
You said you loved me,
Or were you just being kind?
Or am I losing my mind?
I want you so,
It's like I'm losing my mind.
Does no one know?
It's like I'm losing my mind.
Jason Robert Brown:
The Last Five Years
A Part Of That
Text by Jason Robert Brown (b. 1970)
One day we're just like "Leave it to Beaver".
One day it's just a typical life,
And then he's off on a trip to Jamie-land;
Staring catatonic out the window,
Barely even breathing all the while…
And then he'll smile,
His eyes light up and deep within the
ground,
Without a sound,
A moment comes to life,
And I'm a part of that.
I'm a part of that.
I'm a part of that.
Next day it's just like it never happened
We're making dinners,
We're making plans.
Then he gets on the Mule train to Jamie-land
Handful after handful of Doritos,
Circling the apartment, logging miles…
And then he smiles
His eyes light up, and how can I complain?
Yes, he's insane,
But look what he can do,
And I'm a part of that.
I'm a part of that.
I'm a part of that…
And it's true,
I tend to follow in his stride,
Instead of side by side,
I take his cue.
True, but there's no question,
There's no doubt I said I'd stick it out
And follow through,
And when I do…
Then he smiles,
And where else can I go?
I didn't know the rules do not apply
And then he smiles,
And nothing else makes sense
While he invents
The world that's passing by,
And I'm a part of that.
I'm a part of that.
I'm a part of that,
Aren't I?
I'm a part of that.
A Summer In Ohio
Text by Jason Robert Brown (b. 1970)
I could have a mansion on the hill.
I could lease a villa in Seville,
But it wouldn't be as nice as a summer in
Ohio
With a gay midget named Karl,
playing Tevye and Porgy.
I could wander Paris after dark,
Take a carriage ride through Central Park,
But it wouldn't be as nice as a summer in
Ohio,
Where I'm sharing a room with a "former"
stripper and her snake: Wayne.
I could have a satchel full of dollar bills,
Cures for all the nations ills,
Pills to make a lion purr.
I could be in line to be the British queen,
Look like I was seventeen
Still I'm certain I'd prefer to be going slowly
batty,
Forty miles east of Cincinnati.
I could shove an ice pick in my eye.
I could eat some fish from last July,
But it wouldn't be as awful as a summer in
Ohio,
Without cable, hot water, Vietnamese food,
or you.
I saw your book at a Border's in Kentucky,
Under a sign that said "New and
Recommended".
I stole a look at your picture on the inside
sleeve and then I couldn't leave.
Richard, who was with me, got
uncharacteristically quiet,
And he said, "All things considered, I guess
you don't have to buy it".
So I smile like Mona Lisa, and I lay my Visa
down.
He wants me, he wants me,
but he ain't gonna get me!
I've found my guiding light, I tell the stars
each night:
Look at me!
Look at him!
Son of a bitch! I guess I'm doing something
right!
I finally got something right!
No, it's not Nirvana, but it's on the way.
I play "Anita" at the matinee,
Then I'll get on my knees and pray I can
state in my next bio:
"I'm never gonna go back to Ohio!"
I could chew on tin foil for a spell,
I could get a root canal in Hell,
But it wouldn't be as swell as this summer
is gonna be!
'Cause the torture is just exquisite while I'm
waiting for you to visit,
So hurry up, schmuck, get unstuck and get
on the scene!
Love,
The midget, the stripper, Wayne the Snake,
and Mrs. Jamie Wellerstein…
That's me!
