BENNINGTON COLLEGE MUSIC DIVISION
.•
Presents
.
. l . .I :
Bette Goldberg, voice
·~·
.. Chris .Watson, piano
· .7:30 p.m.
Greenwall ·Music Workshop
Thursday
December 10, .1981
Claude Deoussy
I.
(
J
·~·
.
La Flute
"' de Pan
Pierre .Louys
Le Faune
Paul Verlaine
Colloque sentimental
Paul Verlaine
\\
'
II.
Richard Strauss
.Ach Lieb, ich muss nun scheiden
III •
Felix Dahn
St~ndchen
A. F. von Schack
Morgen:
John Henry Mackay
. Ernst Bacon
r:v.
Flowers and Moonlight
Yang-Ti ( eax·ly Chinese)
Snowfall
Emily Dick:l.nson
Summer's Lapse
Emily Dickinson
Elliott carter
Dust of Snow
Robert Frost
The Rose Family
Robert Frost
1,. ·. ).
·.
\.·'
, .. ~hank y9u.,to: , .Fra~ Baker, Willie Finckel·, ·~ichael Downs and Edward Hines
· for their· ears and . ~upport.
.... .
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. .. ·.:
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;_.
I. Claude Debussy
La Flute de Pan (Pierre Louys)
Pour le jour des Hyacinthies,
Il m'a donne une syrinx faite
De roseaux bien tailles
Unis avec la blanche cire
Qui est douce
mes levres comme le
miel.
Il m'apprend ~ jouer, assise sur ses
genoux;
Mais je suis un peu tremblante.
Il en joue apres moi, si doucement
Que je l'entends a peine.
Nous n'avons rien
nous dire,
Tant nous sommes pres l'un de l'autre;
Mais nos chansons veulent se repondre,
Et tour
tour nos bouches
S'unissent sur la flute.
Il est tard;
Voic5 le chant des grenouilles vertes
Qui commence avec la nuit.
Ma mere ne croira jamais
Que je suis restee si longtemps
A chercher ma ceinture perdue.
Le Faune (Paul Verlaine)
Un vieux faune de terre cuite
Rit,, au centre des boulingrins,
Presageant sans doute une suite
Mauvaise
ces instants sereins,
Qui m'ont conduit et t'ont conduite,
Melancoliques pelerins,
Jusqu'a cette heure dont la fuite
Tournoie au son des tamoourins.
a
a
a
a
;
Collogue Sentimental (Paul Verlaine)
Dans le vieux pare solitaire et glac~
Deux formes ont tout
l'heure passe.
Le'lirs ye11?1: sont mo:rts et leur 1evres
sont molles,
Et l'on entend ~ peine leurs paroles.
Dans le vieux pare solitaire et glace
,;
"'
Deux spectres ont evoque
le passe.
Te souvient-il de notre extase ancienne?
Pourquoi voulez-vous done qu'il m'en
souvienne?
Ton coeur bat-il toujours
mon seul
non?
Toujours vois-tu mon a'me en reve? Non.
a
;
a
Ah! Les beaux jours de bonheur indicible
Ou nous joignions nos bouches: C'est
possible
Qu'il ~tait bleu, le ciel, et grand
l'espoire!
The Flute of Pan
For the day of Hyacinthus,
He gave me a flute made
Of well-cut reeds
Joined together with white wax
That is sweet to my lips like honey.
He takes me to play, sitting on his
knees;
But I am a little afraid.
He plays after me, so softly
That I can hardly hear him.
we have nothing to say between us,
Even though we are close to each other;
But our songs want to answer each otherj
And in turn our mouths
Unite on the flute.
It is late;
There is the song of the green frogs
That begins with the night.
r.zy- mother will never believe
That I stayed so long
To look for my lost belt.
The Faun
An ancient faun of terracota
Laughs in the middle of the lawn,
Predicting no doubt a bad sequel
To these serene moments,
Which led you and me,
Melancholy wanderers,
To this hour of flight
Turning around to the sound of
tambourines.
Sentimental ConvGrsati.2E_
In the old park, desolate and icy,
Two forms have just now passed.
Their eyes are dead and their lips
are listless,
And one hardly hears their words.
In the old park, desolate and icy
Two ghosts recalled the past.
"Do you remember our ancient eestasy?"
''Why do you want me to remember that?"
"Does your heart still beat faster
merely at my name?"
"Do you still see my soul in your dream'c
"No".
"Ah! The beauti:f'ul days of inexpressible happiness
When we would join our lips:" "It is
possihle. ·~ .·
"How blue the •sky was~ and· how high
the hope~~'
·:·.. ·.
Collogue Sentimental' (cont.)
L'espoir a fui, vaincu, ve~s le ciel
noir.
Tels ils marchaient dans les avoines
folles,
Et la nuit seule entendit leurs paroles.
II .. Richard Strauss
Ach Lieb, ich muss nun scheiden
(Felix Dahn)
Ach Lieb, ich muss nun scheiden,
Qe.hn uber Berg uhd Ta 1, .
Die Erlen und die Weiden,
Die weinen allzumal.
Sie sahn so oft uns wandern
Zusammen an Baches Rand;
Das Eine ohn' .den Andern,
Geht uber ihren Verstand.
Die Erlen und die Weiden
Vor Schmerz in Tranen stehn,
Nun denket, wie uns Beiden
Erst muss zu Herzen gehn.
Standchen (A.F. von Schack)
Mach auf, roach auf, doch leise, mein
Kind,
Um Keinen vom Schlummer zu wecken.
Kaum murmelt der Bach, kaum zittert
im Wind
Ein Blatt an d€n Buschen und Hecken.
D'rum leise, mein Madchen, dass nichts
sich regt,
Nur leise die Hand auf die Klinke
gelegt.
Mit Tritten, wie Tritte der Elfen so
sacht,
Um uber die Blumen zu h~pfen,
Flieg' leicht hinaus in die Mondscheinnacht,
Zu mir in den Garten zu schlUpfen.
Rings schlummern die Bluten am
rieselnden Bach
Und duften im Schlaf, nur die Liebe
ist wach.
Sitz' neider, hier dammert geheim- ·
nissvoll
Unter den Lindenbaumen,
Die Nachtigall
,, uns zu Haupten soll
Von uns'ren Kussen traumen,
Und die Rose, wenn sie am Morgen er- ·
wacht
Hoch glUhn von den Wonneschauern der
Nacht.
..
· "Hope has flown, defeated, toward the
black sky."
· So they walked through the wild grass e s~
And only the night heard their words.
Ah, love, I must now leave
Ah. love, I must now leave,
To' wander over hill and dale,
The alder and the willow trees,
They are weeping, every one.
They so often have seen us wandering
Together on the stream's edge;
The one without the other,
Goes beyond their understanding.
The alders and the w.i llows
Are standing in tears of pain,
Now imagine, how we two
Must feel in our hearts.
Serenade
Get up, get up, so' lightly, my child.
--
Awake no one from his sleep.
The brook hardly murmers, the wind
scarcely stirs
A leaf in the bushes and hedges.
Therefore quietly, my sweet, so that
nothing is stirred,
Quietly lay your han.d on the latch.
With footsteps, like steps as gentle
as elves,
About to hop over the flowers,
Slip quietly into .the moonlit night,
And fly to me in the garden.
The flowers sleep around the babbling
brook.
And exhale fragrance in their sleep,
· only love is awake.
Sit down, here dusk grows mysteriously
Under the linden trees,
· The nightingale above our heads shall
Dream of our kisses,
And the rose, when she awakes in the
morning
Shall glow with the rapture of the
mi.ght.
Morgen! (John Henry Mackay)
Und Morgen wird die Sonne wieder
scheinen,
Und auf dem Wege, den ich gehen werde,
Wird uns, die Glucklichen, sie wieder
einen
Inmitten dieser sonnenatmenden Erde •••
Und zu dem Strand, dem weiten, wogenblailen,
Werden .wir still und -langsam niedersteigen,
.
Stumm werden wir uns in die Augen
schauen,
Und auf uns sinkt des Gluckes stummes
Schweigen •••
III. Ernst Bacon
Flowers and Moonlight (Yang-Ti)
The evening river is level and motion. less;
The ·spring colours just open to their
fullest.
Suddenly, a wave carries the moon away,
And the tidal water comes with its
freight of stars.
Tomorrow
And tomorrow the sun will shine again,
And on the path, which I will follow,
We shall again be united, happy ones
Amidst this sun-breathing earth •••
And to the wide shore, with its waves
of blue,
We will quietly and slowly descend,
Mute, we will look into each other's
eyes,
And upon us .will descend the muted
silence of happiness •••
Summer's Lapse (Emily Dickinson)
As imperceptibly as grief
The summer lapsed away,
Too imperceptible, at last,
To seem like perfidy.
Snowfall (Emily Dickinson)
A quietness distilled,
As twilight long begun,
Or Nature, spending with herself
Sequestered afternoon.
rt sifts from leaden sieves,
rt powders all the wood,
It fills with alabaster wool
The wrinkles of the r0ad.
The dusk drew earlier in,
The morning foreign shone,
A courteous, yet harrowing grace,
As guest v'ho would be goneo
It makes an even face
Of mountain and of plain,
Unbroken forehead from the east
Unto the east again.
And thus, without a wing,
Or service of a keel,
Our summer made her light escape
Into the beautiful.
It reaches to the fence,
It wraps it, rail by rail,
Till it is lost in fleeces;
It flings a crystal veil
On stump and stack and stem,
The summer's empty room,
Acres of seams where harvests 'liere,
Recordless, but for them.
rt ruffles wrists of posts,
As ankles of a queen,
Then stills its artisans like ghosts,
Denying they have been.