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 12,700 university students, the UNCG School of
Music serves over 575 music majors with a full-time faculty and staff of 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 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 psycho-acoustics lab,
electronic music labs, and recording studio space are additional features of the
new facility. In addition, an enclosed multi-level parking deck adjoins 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 further 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/
JENNIFER W. CORBELL
Soprano
Laura Moore, piano
Amy Boger Morris, piano
assisted by
Wade Elkins, baritone
Warren Coker, baritone
Sidney Outlaw, bass-baritone
Graduate Recital
Monday, May 6, 2002
5:30 pm
Recital Hall, School of Music
Program
Amor Claudio Monteverdi
from Lamento della ninfa (1567-1643)
Mr. Elkins, Mr. Coker and Mr. Outlaw
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
Mrs. Morris
Die Lotosblume Robert Schumann
Requiem (1810-1856)
Kennst du das Land
from Goethe’s Wilhelm Meister
Intermission
Till Earth Outwears Gerald Finzi
Let me enjoy the Earth (1901-1956)
In Years defaced
The Market-Girl
I look into my Glass
It never looks like Summer
At a lunar Eclipse
Life laughs onward
Rusalka’s Song to the Moon Antonín Dvorák
from Rusalka (1841-1904)
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 please see one of the ushers in the lobby.
Who bask amid these knolls
May catch a faery sound
On sleepy noontides from the ground:
“O not again Till Earth outwears
Shall love like theirs
Suffuse this glen!”
The Market-Girl
Nobody took any notice of her
as she stood on the causey kerb,
All eager to sell her honey and apples
and bunches of garden herb;
And if she had offered to give her wares
and herself with them too that day,
I doubt if a soul would have cared to
take a bargain so choice away.
But chancing to trace her sunburnt grace
that morning as I passed nigh,
I went and I said “Poor maidy dear! and will
none of the people buy?”
And so it began; and soon we knew
what the end of it all must be,
And I found that though no others had bid,
a prize had been won by me.
I look into my Glass
I look into my glass,
And view my wasting skin,
And say, “Would God it came to pass
My heart had shrunk as thin!”
For then, I, undistrest
By hearts grown cold to me,
Could lonely wait my endless rest
With equanimity.
But Time, to make me grieve,
Part steals, part lets abide;
And shakes this fragile frame at eve
With throbbings of noontide.
It never looks like Summer
“It never looks like summer
here on Beeny by the sea.”
But though she saw its look as drear,
Summer it seemed to me.
It never looks like summer now
Whatever weather’s there;
But ah, it cannot anyhow,
On Benny or elsewhere!
At a lunar Eclipse
Thy shadow, Earth, from Pole
to Central Sea,
Now steals along upon the Moon’s meek shine
In even monochrome and curving line
Of imperturbable serenity.
How shall I link such suncast symmetry
With the torn troubled form I know as thine,
That profile, placid as a brow divine,
With continents of moil and misery?
And can immense Mortality but throw So small
a shade,
and Heaven’s high human scheme
Be hemmed within the coasts yon arc implies?
Is such the stellar gauge of earthly show,
Nation at war with nation,
brains that teem,
Heroes,
and women fairer than the skies?
Life laughs onward
Rambling I looked for an old abode
Where, year back, one had lived I knew;
Its site a dwelling duly showed,
But it was new.
I went where, not so long ago,
The sod had riven two breasts asunder;
Daisies throve gaily there,
as though No grave were under.
I walked along a terrace
where Loud children gambolled in the sun:
The figure that had once sat there
Was missed by none.
Life laughed and moved on unsubdued,
I saw that Old succumbed to Young:
‘Twas well,
My too regretful mood
Died on my tongue.
Rusalka’s Song to the Moon
Oh, moon in the deep heavens,
your light sees far away,
around the wide world you wander,
you look into the dwellings of people,
around the wide world you wander,
you look into the dwellings of people.
Oh, moon, stand still for a while, tell me,
where is my beloved,
oh, moon, stand still for a while, tell me, tell.
where is my beloved?
Tell him, oh silvery moon,
that my arms embrace him,
so that he, at least for a little while,
might remember me in his dreams,
so that he, at least for a little while,
he would remember in his dreams.
Give him light far away, give him light, tell him,
tell, who waits here for him,
give him light far away, give him light, tell him,
tell, who waits here for him!
Oh, if his human soul dreams of me,
let this remembrance awaken him!
Oh, moon, hurry, hurry,
oh, moon, hurry!
Amor
Love (she said, stopping and gazing at the
skies), Love, where is the faith the traitor swore?
(Unhappy maiden!) Let my love return to me as
he was before, or kiss me, so that I suffer
torment no longer. (Unhappy maiden!) No, I
don’t want him to sigh except far from me
(Unhappy maiden!) not that he will tell me, in
faith, of his torments. (Unhappy maiden, ah no
longer can she bear such coldness.)
Because I am consumed with love for him, he is
proud; and if I flee from him he will beg for me
love again. (Unhappy maiden!)
If his new love be fairer than I, Love does not
hold in his breast a more faithful love than mine.
You shall never have such sweet kisses from
those lips, nor more tender. Ah be silent
(Unhappy maiden!), be silent, for you know it
full well.
Fiançailles pour rire
Poetry by Louise de Vilmorin
La dame d’André
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?
He loved he for her colour, For her Sunday good
humour. Will she fade on the white leaves Of his
album of better days?
Dans l’herbe
I can say nothing more
nor do anything for him.
he died for his beautiful one
he died a beautiful 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.
Il vole
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
and the thief of the cheese is not here.
But where is my lover? He flies.
I weep under the weeping willow
I mingle my tears with its leaves.
I weep because I want to be desired
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.
Mon cadavre est doux comme un gant
My corpse is as limp as a glove
limp as a glove of glacé kid
and my two hidden pupils
make two white pebbles of my eyes.
Two white pebbles in my face
two mutes in the silence
still shadowed by a secret
and heavy with the burden of things seen.
My fingers so often straying
are joined in a saintly pose
resting on the hollow of my groans
at the centre of my arrested 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 the misprized accents
the violin and its player please me.
Ah! I love these wailings long drawn out
on the cord of uneasiness.
In chords on the cords of the hanged
at the hour when the Laws are silent
the heart, formed like a strawberry,
offers itself to love like an unknown fruit.
Fleurs
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
treasured pictures.
Die Lotosblume
The lotus flower is afraid
of the splendor of the sun,
And with her head bent low
dreaming she waits for the night.
The moon, he is her lover,
He wakens her with his light,
And to him she unveils gracefully
Her innocent flower face.
She glows and blooms and shines,
And gazes mutely aloft;
In fragrance she weeps and trembles
With love and the pain of love.
Requiem
Rest after sorrowful toil
And the burning fires of love!
He who yearned for a blissful union,
He has entered the Saviour’s abode.
For the just there shine the bright
Stars in the cell of death,
For him, who himself as star of night
Will appear,
When he beholds the Lord,
Beholds the Lord in heaven’s glory.
Speak for me, holy souls,
Holy Ghost, give consolation!
Do you hear? Songs of rejoicing,
Festive hymns, joined in singing by the lovely
angel’s harp:
Rest after sorrowful toil
And the burning fires of love!
He who earned for a blissful union,
He has entered the Saviour’s abode.
Kennst du das Land
Do you know the land where the lemons bloom;
In the dark foliage the gold oranges glow,
A gentle wind wafts from the azure sky,
The myrtle grows so still, the laurel high,
Do you know it perhaps?
There! There I want to go with you, oh my beloved,
Do you know the house? On columns rests its roof,
The hall is shining and the chamber gleams,
And marble statues stand and look at me:
What have they done, poor child, to you?
Do you know it perhaps?
There! There I want to go with you, oh my
protector.
Do you know the mountain and its foggy path?
The mule seeks in the fog its road;
In caverns sleeps the dragons’ ancient brood,
The rock is falling, and over it the torrent,
Do you know it perhaps, do you know it
perhaps?
There, there leads our road! Oh father, let us go.
Till Earth Outwears
Poetry by Thomas Hardy
Let me enjoy the Earth
Let me enjoy the earth no less
Because the allenacting Might
That fashioned forth
its loveliness
Had other aims than my delight.
About my path there flits a Fair,
Who throws me not a word or sign;
I’ll charm me with her ignoring air,
And laud the lips not meant for mine.
From manuscripts of moving song
Inspired by scenes and dreams unknown
I’ll pour out raptures that belong
To others, as they were my own.
And someday hence, towards Paradise
And all its blest if such should be
I will lift glad a-far-off eyes,
Though it contain no place for me.
In Years defaced
In years defaced and lost,
Two sat here, transport tossed,
Lit by a living love
The wilted world knew nothing of:
Sacred momently by gaingivings,
Then hoping things that could not be....
Of love and us no trace
Abides upon the place;
The sun and shadows wheel,
Season and season sereward steal:
Foul days and fair
Here, too, prevail,
And gust and gale as everywhere
But lonely shepherd souls
Amor
Love (she said, stopping and gazing at the
skies), Love, where is the faith the traitor swore?
(Unhappy maiden!) Let my love return to me as
he was before, or kiss me, so that I suffer
torment no longer. (Unhappy maiden!) No, I
don’t want him to sigh except far from me
(Unhappy maiden!) not that he will tell me, in
faith, of his torments. (Unhappy maiden, ah no
longer can she bear such coldness.)
Because I am consumed with love for him, he is
proud; and if I flee from him he will beg for me
love again. (Unhappy maiden!)
If his new love be fairer than I, Love does not
hold in his breast a more faithful love than mine.
You shall never have such sweet kisses from
those lips, nor more tender. Ah be silent
(Unhappy maiden!), be silent, for you know it
full well.
Fiançailles pour rire
Poetry by Louise de Vilmorin
La dame d’André
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?
He loved he for her colour, For her Sunday good
humour. Will she fade on the white leaves Of his
album of better days?
Dans l’herbe
I can say nothing more
nor do anything for him.
he died for his beautiful one
he died a beautiful 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.
Il vole
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
and the thief of the cheese is not here.
But where is my lover? He flies.
I weep under the weeping willow
I mingle my tears with its leaves.
I weep because I want to be desired
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.
Mon cadavre est doux comme un gant
My corpse is as limp as a glove
limp as a glove of glacé kid
and my two hidden pupils
make two white pebbles of my eyes.
Two white pebbles in my face
two mutes in the silence
still shadowed by a secret
and heavy with the burden of things seen.
My fingers so often straying
are joined in a saintly pose
resting on the hollow of my groans
at the centre of my arrested 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 the misprized accents
the violin and its player please me.
Ah! I love these wailings long drawn out
on the cord of uneasiness.
In chords on the cords of the hanged
at the hour when the Laws are silent
the heart, formed like a strawberry,
offers itself to love like an unknown fruit.
Fleurs
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
treasured pictures.
Die Lotosblume
The lotus flower is afraid
of the splendor of the sun,
And with her head bent low
dreaming she waits for the night.
The moon, he is her lover,
He wakens her with his light,
And to him she unveils gracefully
Her innocent flower face.
She glows and blooms and shines,
And gazes mutely aloft;
In fragrance she weeps and trembles
With love and the pain of love.
Requiem
Rest after sorrowful toil
And the burning fires of love!
He who yearned for a blissful union,
He has entered the Saviour’s abode.
For the just there shine the bright
Stars in the cell of death,
For him, who himself as star of night
Will appear,
When he beholds the Lord,
Beholds the Lord in heaven’s glory.
Speak for me, holy souls,
Holy Ghost, give consolation!
Do you hear? Songs of rejoicing,
Festive hymns, joined in singing by the lovely
angel’s harp:
Rest after sorrowful toil
And the burning fires of love!
He who earned for a blissful union,
He has entered the Saviour’s abode.
Kennst du das Land
Do you know the land where the lemons bloom;
In the dark foliage the gold oranges glow,
A gentle wind wafts from the azure sky,
The myrtle grows so still, the laurel high,
Do you know it perhaps?
There! There I want to go with you, oh my beloved,
Do you know the house? On columns rests its roof,
The hall is shining and the chamber gleams,
And marble statues stand and look at me:
What have they done, poor child, to you?
Do you know it perhaps?
There! There I want to go with you, oh my
protector.
Do you know the mountain and its foggy path?
The mule seeks in the fog its road;
In caverns sleeps the dragons’ ancient brood,
The rock is falling, and over it the torrent,
Do you know it perhaps, do you know it
perhaps?
There, there leads our road! Oh father, let us go.
Till Earth Outwears
Poetry by Thomas Hardy
Let me enjoy the Earth
Let me enjoy the earth no less
Because the allenacting Might
That fashioned forth
its loveliness
Had other aims than my delight.
About my path there flits a Fair,
Who throws me not a word or sign;
I’ll charm me with her ignoring air,
And laud the lips not meant for mine.
From manuscripts of moving song
Inspired by scenes and dreams unknown
I’ll pour out raptures that belong
To others, as they were my own.
And someday hence, towards Paradise
And all its blest if such should be
I will lift glad a-far-off eyes,
Though it contain no place for me.
In Years defaced
In years defaced and lost,
Two sat here, transport tossed,
Lit by a living love
The wilted world knew nothing of:
Sacred momently by gaingivings,
Then hoping things that could not be....
Of love and us no trace
Abides upon the place;
The sun and shadows wheel,
Season and season sereward steal:
Foul days and fair
Here, too, prevail,
And gust and gale as everywhere
But lonely shepherd souls
JENNIFER W. CORBELL
Soprano
Laura Moore, piano
Amy Boger Morris, piano
assisted by
Wade Elkins, baritone
Warren Coker, baritone
Sidney Outlaw, bass-baritone
Graduate Recital
Monday, May 6, 2002
5:30 pm
Recital Hall, School of Music
Program
Amor Claudio Monteverdi
from Lamento della ninfa (1567-1643)
Mr. Elkins, Mr. Coker and Mr. Outlaw
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
Mrs. Morris
Die Lotosblume Robert Schumann
Requiem (1810-1856)
Kennst du das Land
from Goethe’s Wilhelm Meister
Intermission
Till Earth Outwears Gerald Finzi
Let me enjoy the Earth (1901-1956)
In Years defaced
The Market-Girl
I look into my Glass
It never looks like Summer
At a lunar Eclipse
Life laughs onward
Rusalka’s Song to the Moon Antonín Dvorák
from Rusalka (1841-1904)
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 please see one of the ushers in the lobby.
