2004-02-13 Sokol Davis [recital program]

              Léo Delibes:
Les Filles de Cadix, Chanson espagnole (The Maids of Cadiz)
Text by Louis Charles Alfred de Musset (1810-1857)
Nous venions de voir le taureau,
Trois garçons, trois fillettes,
Sur la pelouse il faisait beau,
Et nous dansions un boléro
Au son des castagnettes;
"Dites-moi, voisin,
Si j'ai bonne mine?
Et si ma basquine
Va bien, ce matin?
Vous me trouvez la taille fine?" Ah! ah!
Les filles de Cadix aiment assez cela.
Et nous dansions un boléro
Un soir c'était dimanche,
Vers nous s'en vint un hidalgo
Cousu d'or, la plume au chapeau,
Et le poing sur la hanche:
"Si tu veux de moi,
Brune au doux sourire,
Tu n'as qu'à le dire,
Cette or est à toi.
“Passez votre chemin, beau sire,” Ah! Ah!
Les filles de Cadix n'entendent pas cela.
We had just seen the bullfight,
Three lads, three girls.
On the green it was fine
And we danced the bolero
To the sound of castanets.
"Tell me, neighbor,
if I look good,
And if my skirt
Becomes me this morning;
Do you find my waist slim?" Ah! Ah!
The maids of Cadiz are very fond of that.
And we were dancing a bolero
One evening, it was Sunday,
A Hidalgo (Spanish nobleman) came up to us,
Clothes with gold thread, a feather in his hat,
And, fist on hip:
"If you fancy me,
dark-haired girl with the gentle smile,
you have only to say so,
this gold is yours."
"Go your way, handsome gentleman," Ah! Ah!
The maids of Cadiz don’t listen to that.
Hal Sargent, percussion
MM Recital
Saturday, February 14 · 5:30 pm
Recital Hall
Nathan Kling, tenor
BM Recital
Saturday, February 14 · 7:30 pm
Recital Hall
Connie Ignatiou, oboe
MM Recital
Sunday, February 15 · 3:30 pm
Organ Hall
Kim Carper, mezzo-soprano
MM Recital
Sunday, February 15 · 5:30 pm
Organ Hall
Reneé Janette Sokol
mezzo-soprano
Nancy Davis, piano
assisted by
Dr. Mary Ashley Barret, oboe
Brian Hodges, violoncello
Graduate Recital
Friday, February 13, 2004
7:30 pm
Recital Hall, School of Music
upcoming performances
Program
Yeats Love Songs (World premiere) Joyce Hope Suskind
When You Are Old
A Poet To His Beloved
He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven
He Bids His Beloved Be At Peace
Six Songs to the Poetry of Yeats
Those Dancing Days are Gone
The Song of Wandering Aengus
The Wild Swans at Coole
After Long Silence
Mad as the Mist and Snow
The Lake Isle of Innisfree
Intermission
Sireń, op. 21 no. 5 (1902) Sergei Vasil'yevich Rachmaninov
"Ne poj, krasavica!,” op. 4 no. 4 (?1892-3) (1873-1943)
Son, op. 8 no. 5 (1893)
Vesennije vody, op. 14 no. 11 (1896)
Psyché Emile Paladilhe
(1844-1926)
Aimons-nous Camille Saint-Saëns
(1835-1921)
Havanaise Pauline Viardot-Garcia
(1821-1910)
Les Filles de Cadix Léo Delibes
(1836-1891)
In partial fulfillment of the degree requirements for the
Doctor of Musical Arts
_____
The hall is equipped with a listening assistance system.
Patrons needing such assistance should contact an usher in the lobby.
Le soleil s'éteindrait
Pour laisser ta blancheur plus pure,
Le vent qui jusqu'à terre incline la forêt,
En passant n'oserait
Jouer avec ta chevelure,
Tant que tu cacheras
Ta tête entre mes bras!
Et lorsque nos deux coeurs
S'en iront aux sphères heureuses
Où les célestes lys écloront
Sous nos pleurs,
Alors, comme deux fleurs,
Joignons nos lèvres amoureuses,
Et tâchons d'épuiser
La mort dans un baiser!
The sun would extinguish its rays
To make your purity more pure,
The wind which inclines to earth the forest
Would not in passing dare
To frolic with your hair,
While you nestle
Your head in my arms.
And when our two hearts
Shall ascend to paradise,
Where celestial lilies shall open
Beneath our tears,
Then, like flowers,
Let us join our loving lips
And strive to exhaust
Death in a kiss!
Pauline Viardot-Garcìa:
Havanaise
Translation to English from both Spanish and French by Louis Pomey
Vente niña conmigo al mar
Que en la playa tengo un bajel,
Bogaremos a dos en él
Que allí sólo se sabe amar.
Ay rubita si tu supieras,
Ay rubita si supieras…Ah! Ah!
Vente niña, etc.
Ay ay ay rubita, dame tu amar.
Sur la rive le flot d'argent
En chantant brise mollement,
Et des eaux avec le ciel pur
Se confond l'azur!
Sois moins rebelle.
Ô ma belle, la mer t'appelle!
Ah! Viens, viens, viens!
Á ses chants laisse-toi charmer!
Ah, viens, c'est lá qu'on sait aimer, etc.
Sois ma belle, moins rebelle,
Laisse-toi charmer,
Oui, laisse-toi charmer,
Ô belle!
C'est en mer que l'on sait aimer, etc.
Rubita, ay vente conmigo al mar
Bogaremos a dos en él
Que allí sólo se sabe amar!
Vente rubita, vente rubita,
Vente al mar, al mar!
Come with me, my child, to the sea,
For on the shore I have a boat;
We shall row it together,
For only there do people know how to love.
Ah, my fair one, if only you knew,
If only you knew… Ah! Ah!
Come with me, my child, etc.
Ay ay, my fair one, give me your love.
Upon the bank the silver wave
Gently breaks up while singing,
And the waters and the pure sky
Merge in the azure distance!
Be less stubborn.
O my fair one, the sea calls you!
Ah! Come, come, come!
Let yourself be charmed by its song, come,
It is there that people know how to love.
O my fair one, be less stubborn,
Let yourself be charmed,
Yes, let yourself be charmed,
O my fair one!
It is at sea that people know how to love, etc.
Fair one, come with me to the sea,
We shall row together,
For only there do people know how to love.
Come, my fair one, come,
Come to the sea!
Vesennije vody (Spring Streams)
Text by Fyodor Ivanovich Tyutchev (1803-1873), "Vesennije vody", 1830?
Translated to English by Yuri Mitelman
Jeshchjo v poljakh belejet sneg,
A vody uzh
vesnoj shumjat,
Begut i budjat sonnyj breg,
Begut i bleshchut,
i glasjat.
Oni glasjat vo vse koncy:
"Vesna idet,
Vesna idet!
My molodoj vesny goncy,
Ona nas vyslala vperjod.
Vesna idet,
Vesna idet!"
I tikhikh, teplykh majskikh dnej
Rumjanyj, svetlyj khorovod
Tolpitsja veselo za nej.
The fields are still covered with white snow.
But the streams are already roiling in a
spring mood,
Running and awakening the sleepy shore,
Running and glittering and announcing
loudly.
They are announcing loudly to every corner:
"Spring is coming,
Spring is coming!
We are the messengers of young Spring,
She has sent us to come forward,
Spring is coming,
Spring is coming!"
And the quiet, warm May days
Follow her, merrily crowded
Into the rosy, bright dancing circle.
Emile Paladhile:
Psyché
Text by Pierre Corneille (1606-1684)
Translation to English copyright © 2003 by Douglas Watt-Carter
Je suis jaloux, Psyché, de toute la nature!
Les rayons du soleil
Vous baisent troup souvent,
Vos cheveux souffrent trop
Les caresses du vent.
Quand il les flatte, j'en murmure!
L'air même que vous respirez
Avec trop de plaisir
Passe sur votre bouche.
Votre habit de trop près vous touche!
Et sitôt que vous soupirez
Je ne sais quoi qui m'effarouche
Craint, parmi vos soupirs,
Des soupirs égarés!
I am jealous, Psyche, of all nature!
The sun's rays
Kiss you too often,
Your hair suffers too much
The wind's caresses.
As it flatters you, I mutter in protest!
The same air that you breathe
With so much pleasure
Passes over your mouth.
It touches your dress too closely!
And whilst you sigh
I do not know what it is that startles me
Fear, amidst your sighs,
Those distracted sighs!
Camille Saint-Saëns:
Aimons-nous (Let us love)
Text by Théodore Faullin de Banville (1823-1891), from Les Exilés (1878)
Translation to English copyright © by Richard Stokes
Aimons-nous et dormons
Sans songer au reste du monde!
Ni le flot de la mer, ni l'ouragan des monts
Tant que nous nous aimons
Ne courbera ta tête blonde,
Car l'amour est plus fort
Que les Dieux et la Mort!
Let us love and sleep
Without a care for the rest of the world!
Neither ocean waves nor mountain storms,
While we still love each other,
Can bow your golden head,
For love is more powerful
Than Gods and death!
Joyce Hope Suskind:
Yeats Love Songs
Yeats Love Songs are set to four poems by Nobel Prize-winning poet William Butler Yeats
(1865-1939) and scored for soprano, oboe, cello and piano. These vibrant 20th century
American art songs explore varied perspectives on the passage of time and its affect on
lovers, love, life and ultimately the “shadowy horses” of death. Joyce Hope Suskind
weaves an intricate musical web full of passion and longing that accentuates and
intensifies Yeats' well known poetry.
The composer's detailed markings challenge her performers with notation on phrasing like,
"no vib" for the vocalist, and, unusual but haunting harmonics out of the normal range of
sounds typically associated with the cello. Throughout the set, fleeting musical moments
occur that are reminiscent of a wide melange of styles from Rachmaninoff to Hammerstein.
Consequently, while the music is entirely new, it seems to strike a familiar chord within us
that is both ageless, and timeless.
When You Are Old comes from a group of poems published in 1893 that appears later in a
section called The Rose. In his poetry there is a contrast between mortality and
immortality, the ordinary and the beautiful, as in a rose; the past and future of Ireland; love,
and most especially Yeats love for Maud Gonne. Maud was a beautiful actress and
nationalist to whom Yeats devoted 20 years of unrequited love. Maude Gonne continually
refused his romantic advances. She married John Macbride in 1903 dealing a terrible
deathlike blow to the poet. Almost every one of Yeats poems deal with the subject of the
passing of time and how it affected his dreams, verses and in this instance his beloved
Maud. When You Are Old is a slightly nasty attack on Maud. He is telling her that she is
going to lose her looks some day. She delighted in being called, "the most beautiful
woman in Europe". In the poem he places her in the future - old, ugly, with deep shadows
around her eyes, alone without him, and unhappy because she foolishly missed her one
chance with his true "pilgrim" love.
The last three songs come from a set published in 1899 called The Wind Among the
Reeds, and represents a kind of early climax for Yeats. Here he begins to inhabit his own
dream-like reality. By now his love for Maud Gonne has become an obsession. His words
reflect a healthy, passionate and frustrated young man who cannot wholly restrain his
sensuousness. His reference to “White Woman” embodies the eternal Platonic Form - all
the high eternal mysteries of “white beauty”. In doing so he joins the traditions of poetry
dating back to13th-Century Florence, from Dante and Cavalcanti, to the NeoPlatonists
idealistic of the 12th-Century Provençal trouvères. Through the idealistic perception of a
woman’s beauty, a man could more clearly appreciate the beauty of the Universe — her
finite earthly beauty would lead him to an appreciation for the infinite spiritual beauty of the
divine. Yeats begins to blend symbols and concerns of mystical groups like the
theosophists, the Dublin Hermetic Society and the Rosicrucians into his poetry to create a
tone that was distinctively his. In his early years he was the voice of an idealistic Irishman
— passionately spiritual, musical, and romantic.
When You Are Old
When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim Soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;
And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.
A Poet To His Beloved
I bring you with reverent hands
The books of my numberless dreams,
White woman that passion has worn
As the tide wears the dove-grey sands,
And with heart more old than the horn
That is brimmed from the pale fire of time:
White woman with numberless dreams,
I bring you my passionate rhyme.
He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven
Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
He Bids His Beloved Be At Peace
I Hear the Shadowy Horses, their long manes a-shake,
Their hoofs heavy with tumult, their eyes glimmering white;
The North unfolds above them clinging, creeping night,
The East her hidden joy before the morning break,
The West weeps in pale dew and sighs passing away,
The South is pouring down roses of crimson fire:
O vanity of Sleep, Hope, Dream, endless Desire,
The Horses of Disaster plunge in the heavy clay:
Beloved, let your eyes half close, and your heart beat
Over my heart, and your hair fall over my breast,
Drowning love's lonely hour in deep twilight of rest,
And hiding their tossing manes and their tumultuous feet.
_____
Six Songs to the Poetry of Yeats
The Six Songs to the Poetry of Yeats is filled with mystical symbols swirling within supernatural
elements in the poetry. One must be careful when analyzing Yeats poetry into logical sections.
Yeats wanted to be seen as mysterious, seductive and inspiring. He infused his poems with
many subtle layers hoping to affect each reader in a distinctly different way, allowing them to
delve into their own experiences and memories to bring his poetry to life.
Sergei Vasiľyevich Rachmaninov:
Sireń (Lilacs)
Text by Èkaterina Beketova
Translated to English by Anton Bespalov and Rianne Stam
Po utru, na zare,
Po rosistoj trave,
Ja pojdu svezhim utrom dyshať;
I v dushistuju teń,
Gde tesnitsja sireń,
Ja pojdu svoje schast'je iskať...
V zhizni schasťje odno
Mne najti suzhdeno,
I to schasťje v sireni zhivjot;
Na zeljonykh vetvjakh,
Na dushistykh kistjakh
Mojo bednoje schasťje cvetjot...
In the morning, at daybreak,
over the dewy grass,
I will go to breathe the crisp dawn;
and in the fragrant shade,
where the lilac crowds,
I will go to seek my happiness...
In life, only one happiness
it was fated for me to discover,
and that happiness lives in the lilacs;
in the green boughs,
in the fragrant bunches,
my poor happiness blossoms...
"Ne poj, krasavica!" (“Oh, never sing to me again!”)
Text by Aleksandr Sergeyevich Pushkin (1799-1837), no title, 1828, published 1829.
Translated to English by Anton Bespalov and Rianne Stam
Ne poj, krasavica, pri mne
Ty pesen Gruziji pechaľnoj;
Napominajut mne oni
Druguju zhizń i bereg dal'nij.
Uvy, napominajut mne
Tvoji zhestokije napevy
I step', i noch', i pri lune
Cherty dalekoj, bednoj devy!
Ja prizrak milyj, rokovoj,
Tebja uvidev, zabyvaju;
No ty pojosh', i predo mnoj
Jego ja vnov' voobrazhaju.
Do not sing, my beauty, to me
your sad songs of Georgia;
they remind me
of that other life and distant shore.
Alas, They remind me,
your cruel melodies,
of the steppe, the night and moonlit
features of a poor, distant maiden!
That sweet and fateful apparition
I forget when you appear;
but you sing, and before me
I picture that image anew.
Son (The Dream)
Text by Aleksey Nikolayevich Pleshcheyev (1825-1893), from "In der Fremde, No. 3" after
Orig. Text in German by Heinrich Heine (1797-1856) Ich hatte einst ein schönes Vaterland
Translated to English by Emily Ezust
I u menja byl kraj rodnoj;
Prekrasen on!
Tam jeľ kachalaś nado mnoj...
No to byl son!
Sem'ja druzej zhiva byla.
So vsekh storon
Zvuchali mne ljubvi slova...
No to byl son!
Once I had a wonderful homeland.
The oak grew there so high,
and the violets nodded kindly.
It was a dream.
There I was kissed, and was told
(one can hardly believe how good it sounded)
the words: "I love you!"
It was a dream.
Those Dancing Days are Gone
Come, let me sing into your ear; Those dancing days are gone, gone
All that silk and satin gear; Crouch upon a stone
Wrapping that foul body up in as foul a rag:
I carry the sun in a golden cup, the moon in a silver bag.
Curse as you may I sing it through; What matter if the knave
That the most could pleasure you, the children that he gave,
Are somewhere sleeping like a top under a marble flag?
I carry the sun in a golden cup, the moon in a silver bag.
I thought it out this very day, noon upon the clock,
A man may put pretence away, who leans upon a stick,
May sing until he drop, whether to maid or hag;
I carry the sun in a golden cup, the moon in a silver bag.
The Song of Wandering Aengus
I went out to the hazel wood, because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand, and hooked a berry to a thread;
And when white moths were on the wing and moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream and caught a little silver trout.
When I had laid it on the floor I went to blow the fire a-flame
But something rustled on the floor, and someone called me by my name:
It had become a glimm’ring girl with apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran and faded through the brightening air.
Though I am old with wand’ring through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone, and kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass and pluck till time and times are done
The silver apples of the moon, the golden apples of the sun.
The Wild Swans at Coole
The trees are in their autumn beauty, the woodland paths are dry,
Under the October twilight the water mirrors a still sky;
Upon the brimming water among the stones
Are nine and fifty swans.
The nineteenth autumn has come upon me since
I first made my count; I saw before I had well finished,
All suddenly mount and scatter wheeling in great broken rings
Upon their clam'rous wings.
I have looked upon those brilliant creatures, and now my heart is sore.
All changed since I, hearing at twilight, the first time on this shore,
the bell-beat of their wings above my head, trod with a lighter tread.
Unwearied still, lover by lover, they paddle in the cold
Companionable streams or climb the air; their hearts have not grown old;
Passion or conquest, wander where they will, attend upon them still.
But now they drift on the still water, mysterious, beautiful;
Among what rushes will they build, by what lake's edge or pool
Delight men's eyes, when I awake someday to find they have flown away?
After Long Silence
Ah Speech after long silence; it is right, All other lovers being estranged or dead.
Unfriendly lamplight hid under its shade, The curtains drawn upon unfriendly night.
That we descant and yet again descant upon the supreme theme of Art and Song;
Bodily decrepitude is wisdom; young we loved each other, and were ignorant.
Mad as the Mist and Snow
Bolt and bar the shutter, for the foul winds blow:
Our minds are at their best this night, and I seem to know
That everything outside us is Mad as the mist and snow,
Horace there by Homer stands, Plato stands below,
And here is Tully's open page. How many years ago
Were you and I unlettered lads mad as the mist and snow?
You ask what makes me sigh old friend, What makes me shudder so?
I shudder and I sigh to think that even Cicero
And many minded Homer were mad as the mist and snow
Mad as the mist and snow…
The Lake Isle of Innisfree
I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:
Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honeybee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.
And I shall have some peace, some peace there,
For peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight's all a glimmer and noon a purple glow
And evening full of the linnet's wings.
I will arise and go now for always night and day
I hear lake-water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep, deep heart's core.
Joyce Hope Suskind has enjoyed a varied career as composer, performer and teacher.
She was born and raised in New York City. Beginning her musical studies as a pianist,
she entered the High School of Music and Art where she became an outstanding oboist.
She occupied the solo chair of the American Youth Orchestra under Dean Dixon. After
entering the Juilliard school on an oboe scholarship, she transferred her major to the study
of voice. She went on to become a specialist in singing 20th century music. After her
recital debut she became soprano soloist with the Composers Ensemble. In her capacity
as piano accompanist at the Martha Graham school and the Jose Limon Wing at Juilliard,
she discovered her talent for composing. Lehman College commissioned her to write a
score for a Balinese dance, using gamelons and other instruments. She is primarily a
composer of vocal music, setting the poetry of William Butler Yeats, Gerard Manley
Hopkins, W.H. Auden, Conrad Aiken, Robert Louis Stevenson, and others. Yeats is her
chosen lyricist. Her Six Songs to poetry of Yeats, published by Casia, is available on the
CD Songs by Women, released by Leonarda Productions. Excerpts may be heard on audio
at www.leonarda.com. Also published by Casia are Yeats Love Songs for voice, oboe,
cello, and piano. In addition to art songs, she has composed cabaret songs, a revue, The
Bottom Line, produced in Oxford, England, and a musical comedy, You Be the Doctor . Ms.
Suskind lives and works in New York City. She has a voice studio and is a co-founder of
the American Center for the Alexander Technique.
Those Dancing Days are Gone
Come, let me sing into your ear; Those dancing days are gone, gone
All that silk and satin gear; Crouch upon a stone
Wrapping that foul body up in as foul a rag:
I carry the sun in a golden cup, the moon in a silver bag.
Curse as you may I sing it through; What matter if the knave
That the most could pleasure you, the children that he gave,
Are somewhere sleeping like a top under a marble flag?
I carry the sun in a golden cup, the moon in a silver bag.
I thought it out this very day, noon upon the clock,
A man may put pretence away, who leans upon a stick,
May sing until he drop, whether to maid or hag;
I carry the sun in a golden cup, the moon in a silver bag.
The Song of Wandering Aengus
I went out to the hazel wood, because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand, and hooked a berry to a thread;
And when white moths were on the wing and moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream and caught a little silver trout.
When I had laid it on the floor I went to blow the fire a-flame
But something rustled on the floor, and someone called me by my name:
It had become a glimm’ring girl with apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran and faded through the brightening air.
Though I am old with wand’ring through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone, and kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass and pluck till time and times are done
The silver apples of the moon, the golden apples of the sun.
The Wild Swans at Coole
The trees are in their autumn beauty, the woodland paths are dry,
Under the October twilight the water mirrors a still sky;
Upon the brimming water among the stones
Are nine and fifty swans.
The nineteenth autumn has come upon me since
I first made my count; I saw before I had well finished,
All suddenly mount and scatter wheeling in great broken rings
Upon their clam'rous wings.
I have looked upon those brilliant creatures, and now my heart is sore.
All changed since I, hearing at twilight, the first time on this shore,
the bell-beat of their wings above my head, trod with a lighter tread.
Unwearied still, lover by lover, they paddle in the cold
Companionable streams or climb the air; their hearts have not grown old;
Passion or conquest, wander where they will, attend upon them still.
But now they drift on the still water, mysterious, beautiful;
Among what rushes will they build, by what lake's edge or pool
Delight men's eyes, when I awake someday to find they have flown away?
After Long Silence
Ah Speech after long silence; it is right, All other lovers being estranged or dead.
Unfriendly lamplight hid under its shade, The curtains drawn upon unfriendly night.
That we descant and yet again descant upon the supreme theme of Art and Song;
Bodily decrepitude is wisdom; young we loved each other, and were ignorant.
Mad as the Mist and Snow
Bolt and bar the shutter, for the foul winds blow:
Our minds are at their best this night, and I seem to know
That everything outside us is Mad as the mist and snow,
Horace there by Homer stands, Plato stands below,
And here is Tully's open page. How many years ago
Were you and I unlettered lads mad as the mist and snow?
You ask what makes me sigh old friend, What makes me shudder so?
I shudder and I sigh to think that even Cicero
And many minded Homer were mad as the mist and snow
Mad as the mist and snow…
The Lake Isle of Innisfree
I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:
Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honeybee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.
And I shall have some peace, some peace there,
For peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight's all a glimmer and noon a purple glow
And evening full of the linnet's wings.
I will arise and go now for always night and day
I hear lake-water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep, deep heart's core.
Joyce Hope Suskind has enjoyed a varied career as composer, performer and teacher.
She was born and raised in New York City. Beginning her musical studies as a pianist,
she entered the High School of Music and Art where she became an outstanding oboist.
She occupied the solo chair of the American Youth Orchestra under Dean Dixon. After
entering the Juilliard school on an oboe scholarship, she transferred her major to the study
of voice. She went on to become a specialist in singing 20th century music. After her
recital debut she became soprano soloist with the Composers Ensemble. In her capacity
as piano accompanist at the Martha Graham school and the Jose Limon Wing at Juilliard,
she discovered her talent for composing. Lehman College commissioned her to write a
score for a Balinese dance, using gamelons and other instruments. She is primarily a
composer of vocal music, setting the poetry of William Butler Yeats, Gerard Manley
Hopkins, W.H. Auden, Conrad Aiken, Robert Louis Stevenson, and others. Yeats is her
chosen lyricist. Her Six Songs to poetry of Yeats, published by Casia, is available on the
CD Songs by Women, released by Leonarda Productions. Excerpts may be heard on audio
at www.leonarda.com. Also published by Casia are Yeats Love Songs for voice, oboe,
cello, and piano. In addition to art songs, she has composed cabaret songs, a revue, The
Bottom Line, produced in Oxford, England, and a musical comedy, You Be the Doctor . Ms.
Suskind lives and works in New York City. She has a voice studio and is a co-founder of
the American Center for the Alexander Technique.
Reneé Janette Sokol
mezzo-soprano
Nancy Davis, piano
assisted by
Dr. Mary Ashley Barret, oboe
Brian Hodges, violoncello
Graduate Recital
Friday, February 13, 2004
7:30 pm
Recital Hall, School of Music
Program
Yeats Love Songs (World premiere) Joyce Hope Suskind
When You Are Old
A Poet To His Beloved
He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven
He Bids His Beloved Be At Peace
Six Songs to the Poetry of Yeats
Those Dancing Days are Gone
The Song of Wandering Aengus
The Wild Swans at Coole
After Long Silence
Mad as the Mist and Snow
The Lake Isle of Innisfree
Intermission
Sireń, op. 21 no. 5 (1902) Sergei Vasil'yevich Rachmaninov
"Ne poj, krasavica!,” op. 4 no. 4 (?1892-3) (1873-1943)
Son, op. 8 no. 5 (1893)
Vesennije vody, op. 14 no. 11 (1896)
Psyché Emile Paladilhe
(1844-1926)
Aimons-nous Camille Saint-Saëns
(1835-1921)
Havanaise Pauline Viardot-Garcia
(1821-1910)
Les Filles de Cadix Léo Delibes
(1836-1891)
In partial fulfillment of the degree requirements for the
Doctor of Musical Arts
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