Chiari di Luna – V

Clara Schumann (1819 - 1896): Der Mond kommt still gegangen, Lied per voce e pianoforte op. 13 n. 4 (1844) su testo di Emanuel Geibel (1815 - 1884). Barbara Bonney, soprano; Vladimir Aškenazi, pianoforte.

Der Mond kommt still gegangen
Mit seinem gold’nen Schein.
Da schläft in holdem Prangen
Die müde Erde ein.

Und auf den Lüften schwanken
Aus manchem treuen Sinn
Viel tausend Liebesgedanken
Über die Schläfer hin.

Und drunten im Tale, da funkeln
Die Fenster von Liebchens Haus;
Ich aber blicke im Dunklen
Still in die Welt hinaus.

Clara Schumann, op. 13 n. 4

Six Elizabethan Songs (Dominick Argento 90)

Dominick Argento (27 ottobre 1927 - 2019): Six Elizabethan Songs (1958). Barbara Bonney, soprano; André Previn, pianoforte.

I. Spring (Thomas Nashe, 1567-1601: da Summer’s Last Will and Testament, 1592)

Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year’s pleasant king;
Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring,
Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing,
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!

The palm and may make country houses gay,
Lambs frisk and play, the shepherd pipes all day,
And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay,
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!

The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet,
Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit,
In every street these tunes our ears do greet,
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
Spring! The sweet Spring!

II. Sleep (Samuel Daniel, 1562-1619: da Delia, 1592)

Care-charmer Sleep, son of the sable Night,
Brother to Death, in silent darkness born,
Relieve my anguish and restore thy light,
With dark forgetting of my cares, return;
And let the day be time enough to mourn
The shipwreck of my ill-adventur’d youth:
Let waking eyes suffice to wail their scorn,
Without the torment of the night’s untruth.
Cease, dreams, th’ images of day-desires
To model forth the passions of the morrow;
Never let rising sun approve you liars,
To add more grief to aggravate my sorrow.
Still let me sleep, embracing clouds in vain;
And never wake to feel the day’s disdain.

III. Winter (William Shakespeare, 1564-1616: da Love’s Labour’s Lost V/2, 1597)

When icicles hang by the wall
And Dick the shepherd blows his nail,
And Tom bears logs into the hall,
And milk comes frozen home in pail;
When blood is nipt and ways be foul,
Then nightly sings the staring owl:
Tu-whit! Tu-who! — A merry note!
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

When all aloud the wind doth blow,
And coughing drowns the parson’s saw,
And birds sit brooding in the snow,
And Marian’s nose looks red and raw;
When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl
Then nightly sings the staring owl:
Tu-whit! Tu-who! — A merry note!
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

IV. Dirge (Shakespeare: da Twelfth Night II/4, 1602)

Come away, come away, death,
And in sad cypress let me be laid;
Fly away, fly away, breath;
I am slain by a fair cruel maid.
My shroud of white, stuck all with yew,
O prepare it!
My part of death, no one so true
Did share it.

Not a flower, not a flower sweet,
On my black coffin let there be strown;
Not a friend, not a friend greet
My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown:
[A thousand, thousand sighs to save,]
Lay me, O where
Sad true lover never find my grave,
To weep there!

V. Diaphenia (Henry Constable, 1562-1613: Damelus’ Song to his Diaphenia, c1600)

Diaphenia, like the daffadowndilly,
White as the sun, fair as the lily,
Heigh ho, how I do love thee!
I do love thee as my lambs
Are belovèd of their dams:
How blest were I if thou would’st prove me.

Diaphenia, like the spreading roses,
That in thy sweets all sweets encloses,
Fair sweet, how I do love thee!
I do love thee as each flower
Loves the sun’s life-giving power;
For dead, thy breath to life might move me.

Diaphenia, like to all things blessèd,
When all thy praises are expressèd,
Dear joy, how I do love thee!
As the birds do love the spring,
Or the bees their careful king, —
Then in requite, sweet virgin, love me!

VI. Hymn (Ben Jonson, 1572-1637: Hymn to Diana)

Queen and huntress, chaste and fair,
Now the sun is laid to sleep,
Seated in thy silver chair,
State in wonted manner keep:
Hesperus entreats thy light,
Goddess excellently bright.

Earth, let not thy envious shade
Dare itself to interpose;
Cynthia’s shining orb was made
Heav’n to clear when day did close;
Bless us then with wishèd sight,
Goddess excellently bright.

Lay thy bow of pearl apart,
And thy crystal shining quiver;
Give unto the flying hart
Space to breathe, how short so-ever:
Thou that mak’st a day of night,
Goddess excellently bright.

(La poesia di Ben Jonson è stata musicata anche da Benjamin Britten: fa parte della Serenade per tenore, corno e archi op. 31, che può essere ascoltata in questa pagina del presente blog.)

Autunno – XV

Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy (1809 - 1847): Im Herbst, Lied per voce e pianoforte op. 9 n. 5 (1830) su testo di Karl Klingemann (1798–1862). Barbara Bonney, soprano; Geoffrey Parsons, pianoforte.

Ach, wie schnell die Tage fliehen,
Wo die Sehnsucht neu erwacht,
Wo die Blumen wieder blühen;
Und der Frühling wieder lacht!

Alle Wonne soll erstehen,
In Erfüllung alles gehen.
Ach, wie schnell die Tage fliehen,
Wo die Sehnsucht neu erwacht!

Seht, die Tage gehn und kommen,
Zieh’n vorüber blütenschwer,
Sommerlust ist bald verglommen,
Und der Herbstwind rauscht daher.

Ach, das rechte Blühn und Grünen,
Es ist wieder nicht erschienen!
Ach, wie schnell die Tage fliehen,
Wo die Sehnsucht neu erwacht!

Copland & Dickinson

Aaron Copland (14 novembre 1900-1990): Twelve Poems of Emily Dickinson (1950). Barbara Bonney, soprano; André Previn, pianoforte.

  1. Nature, the gentlest mother
  2. There came a wind like a bugle [a 4:00]
  3. Why do they shut me out of heaven? [a 5:29]
  4. The world feels dusty [a 7:35]
  5. Heart, we will forget him [a 9:30]
  6. Dear March, come in! [a 11:41]
  7. Sleep is supposed to be [a 13:53]
  8. When they come back [a 16:57]
  9. I felt a funeral in my brain [a 18:48]
  10. I’ve heard an organ talk sometimes [a 20:51]
  11. Going to heaven! [a 22:54]
  12. The chariot [a 25:15]


Autunno – VIII

Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy (1809 - 1947): Herbstlied, duetto op. 63 n. 4 (1844); testo di Karl Klingemann (1798-1862). Barbara Bonney, soprano; Angelika Kirchschlager, mezzosoprano; Malcolm Martineau, pianoforte.

Ach, wie so bald verhallet der Reigen,
Wandelt sich Frühling in Winterzeit!
Ach, wie so bald in trauerndes Schweigen
Wandelt sich alle der Fröhlichkeit!

Bald sind die letzten Klänge verflogen!
Bald sind die letzten Sänger gezogen!
Bald ist das letzte Grün dahin!
Alle sie wollen heimwärts ziehn!

Ach, wie so bald verhallet der Reigen,
Wandelt sich Lust in sehnendes Leid.

Wart ihr ein Traum, ihr Liebesgedanken?
Süß wie der Lenz und schnell verweht?
Eines, nur eines will nimmer wanken:
Es ist das Sehnen, das nimmer vergeht.

Ach, wie so bald verhallet der Reigen!
Ach, wie so bald in trauerndes Schweigen
Wandelt sich alle die Fröhlichkeit!

(Oh, quanto presto s’arresta la danza, la primavera si tramuta in inverno; oh, quanto presto in doloroso silenzio si tramuta ogni allegria.
Presto si affievoliscono gli ultimi suoni! Presto se ne vanno gli ultimi alati cantori! Presto l’ultimo verde scompare! Tutti vogliono tornare a casa.
Oh, quanto presto s’arresta la danza e il piacere si trasforma in mesto dolore!
Eravate soltanto un sogno, voi, pensieri d’amore? Dolce come la primavera e presto svanito? Una cosa, solo una cosa non cambierà mai: la nostalgia, che mai se ne va.
Oh, quanto presto s’arresta la danza! Oh, quanto presto in doloroso silenzio si tramuta ogni allegria.)

While she for triumphs laughs

John Dowland (1563-1626): Come again, ayre, dal First Booke of Songes (1597). Barbara Bonney, soprano; Jacob Heringman, liuto.

Lo stesso brano interpretato da membri del Consort of Musicke: Martyn Hill, tenore; Anthony Rooley, liuto; Trevor Jones, bass viol.

Come again! sweet love doth now invite
Thy graces that refrain
To do me due delight,
To see, to hear, to touch, to kiss, to die,
With thee again in sweetest sympathy.

Come again! that I may cease to mourn
Through thy unkind disdain;
For now left and forlorn
I sit, I sigh, I weep, I faint, I die
In deadly pain and endless misery.

All the day the sun that lends me shine
By frowns do cause me pine
And feeds me with delay;
Her smiles, my springs that makes my joys to grow,
Her frowns the Winters of my woe.

All the night my sleeps are full of dreams,
My eyes are full of streams.
My heart takes no delight
To see the fruits and joys that some do find
And mark the storms are me assign’d.

Out alas, my faith is ever true,
Yet will she never rue
Nor yield me any grace;
Her eyes of fire, her heart of flint is made,
Whom tears nor truth may once invade.

Gentle Love, draw forth thy wounding dart,
Thou canst not pierce her heart;
For I, that do approve
By sighs and tears more hot than are thy shafts
Did tempt while she for triumph laughs.