Nicole Leung, soprano, December 10, 2021

Robert Blocker, Dean

Nicole Leung soprano Master of Musical Arts Degree Recital December 10, 2021 | 4:30 p.m. | Morse Recital Hall in Sprague Memorial Hall J.J. Penna, piano

Lili Boulanger 1893–1918

Clairières dans le ciel (1913–14) I. Elle était descendue au bas de la prairie II. Elle est gravement gaie III. Parfois, je suis triste IV. Un poète disait V. Au pied de mon lit

Francis Jammes

Richard Strauss 1864–1949

Brentano Lieder, Op. 68 I. An die Nacht II. Ich wollt' ein Sträusslein binden III. Säusle, liebe Myrthe!

Clements Brentano

intermission

Samuel Barber 1910–1981

Four Songs, Op. 13 I. A Nun Takes the Veil II. The Secrets of the Old III. Sure on this Shining Night IV. Nocturne

John Harbison b. 1938

Mirabai Songs (1982) I. It's True, I Went to the Market II. All I Was Doing Was Breathing III. Why Mira Can't Go Back to Her Old House IV. Where Did You Go? V. The Clouds VI. Don't Go, Don't Go

Gerard Manley Hopkins William Butler Yeats James Agee Frederic Prokosch Mirabai Rathor (transc. Robert Bly)

Clairières dans le ciel (1914) Lili Boulanger (1893-1918)

Clearings in the sky

1. Elle était descendue au bas de la prairie

1. She came down to the bottom of the meadow

Elle était descendue au bas de la prairie, et, comme la prairie était toute fleurie de plantes dont la tige aime à pousser dans l'eau, ces plantes inondées je les avais cueillies.

Bientôt, s'étant mouillée, elle gagnant le haut de cette prairie-là qui était toute fleurie.

Elle riait et s'ébrouait avec la grâce dégingandée qu'ont les jeunes filles trop grandes.

Elle avait le regard qu'ont les fleurs de lavande.

She had gone down to the bottom of the meadow, and because the meadow was full of flowers that like to grow in the water, I had gathered the drowned plants.

Soon, because she was wet, she came back to the top of that flowery meadow.

She laughed and moved with the lanky grace of girls who are too tall.

She looked the way lavender flowers do.

Francis Jammes (1868-1938)

2. Elle est gravement gaie Francis Jammes (1868-1938)

2. She is gravely gay

Elle est gravement gaie. Par moments son regard se levait comme pour surprendre ma pensée.

Elle était douce alors comme quand il est tard le velours jaune et bleu d'une allée de pensées.

She is solemnly gay. Sometimes she looked up as if to see what I was thinking.

She was as soft as the yellow and blue velvet of a lane of pansies late at night.

3. Parfois je suis triste Francis Jammes (1868-1938)

3. Sometimes, I’m sad

Parfois, je suis triste. Et soudain, je pense à elle.

Alors, je suis joyeux. Mais je redeviens triste de ce que je ne sais pas combien elle m'aime.

Elle est la jeune fille à l'âme toute claire, et qui, dedans son cœur, garde avec jalousie l'unique passion que l'on donne à un seul.

Elle est partie avant que s'ouvrent les tilleuls, et, comme ils ont fleuri depuis qu'elle est partie, Je me suis étonné de voir, ô mes amis, des branches de tilleuls qui n’avaient pas de fleurs.

Sometimes I'm sad, and then suddenly I think of her and I'm happy. Then I'm sad again because I don't know how much she loves me.

She is a bright-souled girl, and in her heart she jealously protects the one passion she will bestow on only one.

She left before the lindens opened.

They have flowered since then and I was amazed, my friends, to see linden branches with no flowers on them.

4. Un poète disait Francis Jammes (1868-1938)

4. A poet said

Un poète disait que, lorsqu'il était jeune, il fleurissait des vers comme un rosier des roses.

Lorsque je pense à elle, il me semble que jase une fontaine intarissable dans mon cœur.

Comme sur le lys Dieu pose un parfum d'église, comme il met du corail aux joues de la cerise, je veux poser sur elle, avec dévotion, la couleur d'un parfum, qui n'aura pas de nom.

A poet said that when he was young poems budded out of him like roses on a rose bush.

When I think of her, it feels like there is an inexhaustible spring in my heart.

As God gives the lily the odor of a church and tints the cherry's cheeks, I want to give her with devotion the color of a scent that shall have no name.

5. Au pied de mon lit Francis Jammes (1868-1938)

5. At the foot of my bed

Au pied de mon lit, une *Vierge Négresse fut mise par ma mère. Et j'aime cette Vierge d'une religion un peu italienne.

Virgo Lauretana, debout dans un fond d'or, qui me faites penser à mille fruits de mer que l'on vend sur les quais où pas un souffle d'air n'émeut les pavillons qui lourdement s'endorment, Virgo Lauretana, vous savez qu'en ces heures où je ne me sens pas digne d'être aimé d'elle c'est vous dont le parfum me rafraîchit le cœur.

At the foot of my bed my mother hung a Black Virgin.

And I love this Virgin with an almost Italian devotion.

Virgo Lauretana, standing in a field of gold, you make me think of a thousand crustaceans for sale on wharves where not a breath of air stirs the sleepy banners.

Virgo Lauretana, you know that in those hours when I am not worthy to be loved by her, your perfume refreshes my heart.

Translations by Faith J. Cormier from The LiederNet Archive

*”Une Vierge Négresse,” The Black Virgin or Black Madonna is an iconic statue and painting in Catholic and Orthodox countries which depict the Virgin Mary and Infant Jesus in a dark or black hue.

Brentano Lieder (1918) Richard Strauss (1864-1949) An die Nacht Clemens Brentano (1778-1842)

1. To the night

Heilige Nacht, heilige Nacht!

Sterngeschloss’ner Himmelsfriede!

Alles, was das Licht geschieden, Ist verbunden, Aller Wunden Bluten süß im Abendrot!

Holy night, holy night!

Heavenly peace, encircled in stars!

All things divided by light, Are united, All our wounds Bleed sweetly in the sunset!

Bjelbog’s Speer, Bjelbog’s Speer Sinkt in’s Herz der trunknen Erde, Die mit seliger Geberde Eine Rose In dem Schoße Dunkler Lüste niedertaucht!

Bielbog’s spear, Bielbog’s spear Plunges into the heart of the drunken earth, Which with a gesture of bliss Immerses a rose In the womb Of darkened desire!

Heilige Nacht! züchtige Braut, züchtige Braut!

Deine süße Schmach verhülle, Wenn des Hochzeitbechers Fülle Sich ergießet.

Also fließet In die brünstige Nacht der Tag!

Holy night! chaste bride, chaste bride!

Veil your sweet shame, When the wedding-cup Overflows.

Thus does day Stream into fervent night!

2. Ich wollt' ein Sträusslein binden Clemens Brentano (1778-1842)

2. I would have made a bouquet

Ich wollt ein Sträußlein binden, Da kam die dunkle Nacht, Kein Blümlein war zu finden, Sonst hätt' ich dir's gebracht.

I would have made a bouquet but dark night arrived and there was no little flower to be found, or I would have brought it.

Da flossen von den Wangen Mir Tränen in den Klee, Ein Blümlein aufgegangen Ich nun im Garten seh.

Then down my cheeks flowed tears onto the clover I saw that one small flower had come up now in the garden.

Das wollte ich dir brechen Wohl in dem dunklen Klee, Da fing es an zu sprechen: "Ach, tue mir nicht weh!

I wanted to pick it for you deep in the dark clover, but it began to speak: "Ah, do not harm me!

"Sei freundlich im Herzen, Betracht dein eigen Leid, Und lasse mich in Schmerzen Nicht sterben vor der Zeit!”

"Be kind-hearted, consider your own grief, and do not let me die in agony before my time!"

Und hätt's nicht so gesprochen, Im Garten ganz allein, So hätt' ich dir's gebrochen, Nun aber darf's nicht sein.

And if it had not spoken so, in the garden all alone, I would have plucked it for you, but now that cannot be.

Mein Schatz ist ausgeblieben, Ich bin so ganz allein.

Im Lieben wohnt Betrüben, Und kann nicht anders sein.

My sweetheart has not come, I am so entirely alone.

In love dwells tribulation, and it can be no different.

3. Säusle, liebe Myrthe!

Clemens Brentano (1778-1842)

3. Rustle, dear myrtle!

„Säusle, liebe Myrthe!

Wie still ist’s in der Welt, Der Mond, der Sternenhirte Auf klarem Himmelsfeld, Treibt schon die Wolkenschafe Zum Born des Lichtes hin, Schlaf, mein Freund, o schlafe, Bis ich wieder bei dir bin!

‘Rustle, dear myrtle!

How silent the world is, The moon, that shepherd of the stars, In the bright Elysian fields, Already drives the herd of clouds To the spring of light, Sleep, my friend, ah sleep, Till I am with you again!

„Säusle, liebe Myrthe!

Und träum im Sternenschein, Die Turteltaube girrte Auch ihre Brut schon ein.

Still ziehn die Wolkenschafe Zum Born des Lichtes hin, Schlaf, mein Freund, o schlafe, Bis ich wieder bei dir bin!

‘Rustle, dear myrtle!

And dream in the starlight, The turtledove has already cooed Her brood to sleep.

Quietly the herd of clouds travel To the spring of light, Sleep, my friend, ah sleep, Till I am with you again!

„Hörst du, wie die Brunnen rauschen?

Hörst du, wie die Grille zirpt?

Stille, stille, laß uns lauschen, Selig, wer in Träumen stirbt; Selig, wen die Wolken wiegen, Wenn der Mond ein Schlaflied singt; O! wie selig kann der fliegen, Den der Traum den Flügel schwingt, Dass an blauer Himmelsdecke Sterne er wie Blumen pflückt; Schlaf, träume, flieg’, ich wecke Bald dich auf und bin beglückt!“

‘Do you hear the fountains murmur?

Do you hear the cricket chirping?

Hush, hush, let us listen, Happy is he who dies while dreaming; Happy he who is cradled by clouds, While the moon sings a lullaby; Ah, how happily he can fly, Who takes flight in dreams, So that from heaven’s blue vault He gathers stars as though they were flowers; Sleep, dream, fly, I shall wake You soon and be made happy!’

Translations by Richard Stokes from Oxford Lieder

Four Songs Opus 13 (1937-40) Samuel Barber (1910-1981) 1. A Nun Takes the Veil Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844-1889)

2. The Secrets of the old William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)

I have desired to go Where springs not fail, To fields where flies no sharp and sided hail And a few lilies blow.

I have old women's secrets now That had those of the young; Madge tells me what I dared not think When my blood was strong, And what had drowned a lover once Sounds like an old song.

And I have asked to be Where no storms come, Where the green swell is in the havens dumb, And out of the swing of the sea.

Though Marg'ry is stricken dumb If thrown in Madge's way, We three make up a solitude; For none alive today Can know the stories that we know Or say the things we say: How such a man pleased women most Of all that are gone, How such a pair loved many years And such a pair but one, Stories of the bed of straw Or the bed of down.

3. Sure on this Shining Night James Agee (1909-1955)

4. Nocturne Frederic Prokosch (1906-1989)

Sure on this shining night of star made shadows round, Kindness must watch for me this side the ground.

The late year lies down the north. All is healed, all is health.

High summer holds the earth. Hearts all whole.

Sure on this shining night I weep for wonder wand’ring far alone of shadows on the stars.

Close my darling both your eyes, Let your arms lie still at last.

Calm the lake of falsehood lies And the wind of lust has passed, Waves across these hopeless sands Fill my heart and end my day, Underneath your moving hands All my aching flows away.

Even the human pyramids Blaze with such a longing now: Close, my love, your trembling lids, Let the midnight heal your brow, Northward flames Orion’s horn, Westward th’ Egyptian light.

None to watch us, none to warn But the blind eternal night.

Mirabai Songs John Harbison (b. 1938) 1. It’s True, I Went to the Market Mirabai Rathor (1498-1546), translated by Robert Bly (1926-2021)

2. All I Was Doing Was Breathing Mirabai Rathor (1498-1546), translated by Robert Bly (1926-2021)

My friend, I went to the market and bought the Dark One. You claim by night, I claim by day.

Actually I was beating a drum all the time I was buying him.

You say I gave too much; I say too little.

Actually, I put him on a scale before I bought him.

What I paid was my social body, my town body, my family body, and all my inherited jewels.

Mirabai says: The Dark One is my husband now.

Be with me when I lie down; you promised me this in an earlier life.

Something has reached out and taken in the beams of my eyes.

There is a longing, it is for his body, for every hair of that dark body.

All I was doing was being, and the Dancing Energy came by my house.

His face looks curiously like the moon, I saw it from the side, smiling.

My family says: "Don't ever see him again!" And they imply things in a low voice.

But my eyes have their own life; and they know whose they are.

I believe I can bear on my shoulders whatever you want to say of me.

Mira says: Without the energy that lifts mountains, how am I to live?

3. Why Mira Can’t Go Back to Her House Mirabai Rathor (1498-1546), translated by Robert Bly (1926-2021)

4. Where Did You Go? Mirabai Rathor (1498-1546), translated by Robert Bly (1926-2021)

The colors of the Dark One have penetrated Mira's body; all the other colors washed out.

Making love with the Dark One and eating little, those are my pearls and my carnelians.

Meditation beads and the forehead streak, those are my scarves and my rings.

That's enough feminine wiles for me. My teacher taught me this.

Approve me or disapprove me: I praise the Mountain Energy night and day.

I take the old ecstatic path.

I don't steal money, I don't hit anyone. What will you charge me with?

I have felt the swaying of the elephant's shoulders; and now you want me to climb on a jackass?

Try to be serious.

Where did you go, Holy One, after you left my body?

Your flame jumped to the wick, and then you disappeared and left the lamp alone.

You put the boat into the surf, and then walked inland, leaving the boat in an ocean of parting.

Mira says: Tell me when you will come to meet me

5. The Clouds Mirabai Rathor (1498-1546), translated by Robert Bly (1926-2021)

6. Don’t Go, Don’t Go Mirabai Rathor (1498-1546), translated by Robert Bly (1926-2021)

When I saw the dark clouds, I wept, O Dark One, I wept at the dark clouds.

Black clouds soared up, and took some yellow along; rain did fall, some rain fell long.

There was water east of the house, west of the house; fields all green.

The one I love lives past those fields; rain has fallen on my body, on my hair, as I wait in the open door for him.

The Energy that holds up mountains is the energy Mirabai bows down to.

He lives century after century, and the test I set for him he has passed.

Don’t go, don’t go. I touch your soles. I’m sold to you.

Show me where to find the *Bhakti path, show me where to go.

I would like my own body to turn into a heap of incense and sandalwood and you set a torch to it.

When I’ve fallen down to gray ashes, smear me on your shoulders and chest.

Mira says: You who lift the mountains, I have some light, I want to mingle it with yours.

*Bhakti path refers to the spiritual path of love and devotion in Hinduism towards one’s supreme deity