The Performing Arts Series Presents:
Laura Strickling
Laura Strickling, soprano
Daniel Schlosberg, piano
Tuesday, November 11, 2025 | 7:30 p.m.
A. F. Siebert Chapel
Kenosha, WI
program
Rastlose Liebe, D. 138 (1821) Franz Schubert/Johann von Goethe
Liebst du um Schönheit, Op. 12, No. 4 (1841) Clara Schumann/Emmanuel Geibel
Nocturne (1911) Joseph Marx/Otto Erich Hartleben
Kling! Op. 48, No 3 (1901) Richard Strauss/Karl Frederich Henckell
Fiançailles pour rire (1939)
La dame d'Andre
Dans l'herbe
Il vole
Mon cadavre est doux comme un gant
Violon
Fleurs
Francis Poulenc/Louise de Vilmorin
Chère nuit (1897) Alfred Bachelet/Eugène Adenis-Colombeau
Intermission
The Year's at the Spring (1900)
Night (1945)
Nocturne (1941)
I Am in Doubt (1975)
Heart, We Will Forget Him (1950)
The Spring and the Fall (1975)
Selections from the 40@40 Project:
Amy Beach/Robert Browning
Florence Price/Louise C. Wallace
Samuel Barber/Frederic Prokosch
Undine Smith Moore/Florence Willeté
Aaron Copland/Emily Dickinson
Sven Lekberg/Edna St. Vincent Millay
Prometheus's Monster Myron Silberstein/Karen Poppy
Two Old Crows (2020) Juliana Hall/Vachel Lindsay Romance (2024) Mikhail Johnson/Claude Mackay
Thanks a Latte (2020) Lori Laitman/Caitlin Vincent
ENCORE
The Soprano's Revenge (2023) Jodi Goble/Jodi Goble
This artist is presented in part by the support of the Racine Community Foundation. For more information, please visit www.racinecommunityfoundation.org.
Rastlose Liebe
Restless Love
Johann von Goethe (1749–1832)
Translation: Laura Strickling
Dem Schnee, dem Regen, Dem Wind entgegen, Im Dampf der Klüfte, Durch Nebeldüfte, Immer zu! Immer zu!
Ohne Rast und Ruh!
Lieber durch Leiden
Wollt ich mich schlagen, Als so viel Freuden Des Lebens ertragen. Alle das Neigen
Von Herzen zu Herzen, Ach wie so eigen Schaffet das Schmerzen!
Wie soll ich fliehen? Wälderwärts ziehen?
Alles vergebens!
Krone des Lebens, Glück ohne Ruh, Liebe, bist du!
Liebst du um Schönheit
If You Love for Beauty
Friedrich Rückert (1788–1866)
Translation: Laura Strickling
Liebst du um Schönheit, O nicht mich liebe!
Liebe die Sonne, Sie trägt ein gold'nes Haar!
Liebst du um Jugend, O nicht mich liebe!
Liebe den Frühling, Der jung ist jedes Jahr!
Liebst du um Schätze, O nicht mich liebe.
Liebe die Meerfrau, Sie hat viel Perlen klar.
Through the snow, the rain, Against the wind, Amidst the fog of the canyons Through the scent of mist, Always onward! Always onward! Without rest or peace!
I would rather Suffer struggles Than endure So many of life's joys.
Inclinations
From heart to heart, Ah, so strangely Create pain!
How shall I flee? Towards the forest? All in vain! Crown of life, Happiness without peace, Love, you are!
If you love for beauty, Oh, love me not!
Love the sun, She has golden hair!
If you love for youth, Oh, love me not!
Love spring, She is young every year!
If you love for treasure, Oh, love me not!
Love the mermaid, She has many pristine pearls.
text and translations
Liebst du um Liebe, O ja, mich liebe!
Liebe mich immer, Dich lieb' ich immerdar.
Nocturne
Night Song
Otto Erich Hartleben (1864–1905)
Translation: Laura Strickling
Süß duftende Lindenblüthe in quellender Juninacht. Eine Wonne aus meinem Gemüthe ist mir in Sinnen erwacht.
Als klänge vor meinen Ohren leise das Lied vom Glück, als töne, die lange verloren, die Jugend leise zurück.
Süß duftende Lindenblüthe in quellender Juninacht.
Eine Wonne aus meinem Gemüthe ist mir zu Schmerzen erwacht.
Kling!
Ring!
Karl Friedrich Henckell (1864–1929)
Translation: Laura Strickling
Kling!...
Meine Seele gibt reinen Ton. Und ich wähnte die Arme Von dem wütenden Harme Wilder Zeiten zerrissen schon.
Sing!
Meine Seele, den Beichtgesang Wiedergewonnener Fülle! Hebe vom Herzen die Hülle! Heil dir, geläuterter Innenklang!
Kling!
Kling meine Seele, kling dein Leben, Quellendes, frisches Gebild! Blühendes hat sich begeben. Auf dem verdorrten Gefild.
If you love for love, Oh, yes, love me!
Love me always, I will love you forever.
Sweetly fragrant linden blossom
In the burgeoning June night. A rapture from within my soul Has awakened in my senses.
As if, quietly sounding, I heard The song of happiness
As if my long-lost youth Were echoing back to me.
Sweetly fragrant linden blossom
In the burgeoning June night. A rapture from within my soul Has awakened to my pain.
Ring!...
My soul gives pure sound. And I thought my arms By the furious wrath Of wild times were already torn apart.
Sing!
My soul, the confessional song Of regained fullness!
Lift the veil from your heart! Hail to you, purified inner sound!
Ring!
Ring my soul, ring your life, Burgeoning, fresh creation! Blooming on the withered field. On the withered field.
Fiançailles pour rire
Betrothal for Laughter
Louise de Vilmorin (1902–1969)
Translation: Laura Strickling
text and translations
La dame d’Andre
Andre’s
Lady
André ne connait pas la dame
Qu’il prend aujourd’hui par la main.
A-t-elle un coeur à lendemains
Et pour le soir a-t-elle une âme?
Au retour d’un bal campagnard
S’en allait-elle en robe vague
Chercher dans le meules la bague
Des fiançailles du hasard?
A-t-elle eu peur, la nuit venue,
Guettée par les ombres d’hier.
Dans son jardin lorsque l’hiver
Entrait par la grande avenue?
Il l’a aimée pour sa couleur
Pour sa bonne humeur de Dimanche.
Pâlira-t-elle aux feuilles blanches
De son album des temps meilleurs?
Dans l’herbe
In the Grass
Je ne peux plus rien dire
Ni rien faire pour lui.
Il est mort de sa belle
Il est mort de sa mort belle
Dehors
Sous l’arbre de la Loi
En plein silence
En plein paysage
Dans l’herbe.
Il est mort inaperçu
Encriant son passage
En appelant, en m’appelant
Mais comme j’étais loin de lui
Et que sa voix ne portait plus
Il est mort seul dans les bois
Sous son arbre d’enfance
Et je ne peux plus rien dire
Ni rien faire pour lui.
André does not know the woman
Who he takes by the hand today. Has she a heart for the future, And for evening has she a soul?
Returning from a country dance, Did she go in her loose-fitting gown and seek in the haystacks
The ring of random betrothal?
Was she afraid, when night fell, Ambushed by the ghosts of yesterday, In her garden, when winter
Entered by the wide avenue?
He loved her for her complexion, For her Sunday good humor. Will she fade on the white pages
Of his album of better times?
I can say nothing more
Neither do anything for him. He died for his beautiful one
He died a beautiful death
Outside
Beneath the tree of Justice
In complete silence
In open landscape
In the grass.
He died unnoticed
Crying out as he passed away
Calling, On me calling
But since I was far from him
And since his voice no longer carried
He died alone in the woods
Beneath his tree of his childhood
And I can say nothing more
Neither do anything for him.
text and translations
Il vole
The One Who Flies Away
En allant se coucher le soleil
Se reflète au vernis de ma table:
C’est le fromage rond de la fable
Au bec de mes ciseaux de vermeil.
Mais où est le corbeau?
Il vole.
Je voudrais coudre mais un aimant
Attire à lui toutes mes aiguilles.
Sur la place les joueurs de quilles
De belle en belle passent le temps.
Mais où est mon amant?
Il vole.
C’est un voleur que j’ai pour amant, Le corbeau vole et mon amant vole,
Voleur de coeur manque à sa parole
Et voleur de fromage est absent.
Mais où est le bonheur?
Il vole.
Je pleure sous le saule pleureur
Je mêle mes larmes à ses feuilles
Je pleure car je veux qu’on me veuille
Et je ne plais pas à mon voleur.
Mais où donc est l’amour?
Il vole.
Trouvez la rime à ma déraison
Et par les routes du paysage
Ramenez-moi mon amant volage
Qui prend les coeurs et perd ma raison. Je veux que mon voleur me vole.
As the sun sets it is reflected in the polish of my table –It is the round cheese of the fable
In the beak of my silver scissors.
But where is the crow? He flies.
I want to sew but a magnet
Attracts all my needles.
On the square the bowlers
Pass the time playing game after game. But where’s my lover? He flies.
I’ve a thief for a lover, The crow steals and my lover steals, The thief of my heart breaks his word And the thief of cheese is absent.
But where is happiness? It flies.
I weep under the weeping willow I mingle my tears with its leaves I weep because I want to be desired And because I do not please my thief. But where is love? It flies.
Find the rhyme to my madness
And by the roads of the countryside Bring back to me my fickle lover Who steals hearts and drives me mad. I wish that my thief would steal me.
Mon cadavre est doux comme un gant
My Cadaver is Soft Like a Glove
Mon cadavre est doux comme un gant
Doux comme un gant de peau glacée
Et mes prunelles effaces
Font de mes yeux des cailloux blancs.
Deux cailloux blancs dans mon visage,
Dans le silence deux muets
Ombrés encore d’un secret
Et lourds du poids mort des images.
Mes doigts tant de fois égarés
Sont joints en attitude sainte
Appuyés au creux de mes plaints
Au noeud de mon coeur arrêté.
Et mes deux pieds sont les montagnes,
Les deux derniers monts que j’ai vus
À la minute où j’ai perdu
La course que les années gagnent.
Mon souvenir est ressemblant
Enfants emportez-le bien vite, Allez, allez, ma vie est dite.
Mon cadavre est doux comme un gant.
Violon Violin
Couple amoureux aus accents méconnus
Le violon et son joueur me plaisent.
Ah! j’aime ces gémissements tendus
Sur la corde des malaises.
Aux accords sur les cordes des pendus
À l’heure où les Lois se taisent
Le coeur en forme de fraise
S’offre à l’amour comme un fruit inconnu.
Fleurs
Flowers
Fleurs promises, fleurs tenues dans tes bras,
Fleurs sorties des parenthèses d’un pas, Qui t’apportait ces fleurs l’hiver
Saupoudrés du sable des mers?
Sable de tes baisers, fleurs des amours fanées
Les beaux yeux sont de cendre et dans la cheminée
Un coeur enrubanné de plaints
Brûle avec ses images saintes.
My corpse is as soft as a glove
Soft as a glove of iced leather
And my hidden pupils
Make of my eyes white pebbles.
Two white pebbles in my face,
In the silence two mutes
Shadowed again by a secret
Heavy with the dead weight of images.
My fingers that so often strayed
Are joined in a holy pose
Resting on the hollow of my plaintive groans
At the center of my arrested heart.
And my two feet are mountains,
The last two mountains that I saw
At the moment that I lost
The race that the years win.
My memory is like
Children, bear it swiftly away, Go, go my life is over.
My corpse is a soft as a glove.
Loving couple of unknown accents
Violin and player please me.
Ah! I love these tense moans
On the cord of discomfort.
To the sound of hanged cords
At the hour when Justice is silent
The heart shaped like a strawberry
Offers itself to love like an unknown fruit.
Promised flowers, flowers held in your arms,
Flowers from a step’s parentheses,
Who brought you these winter flowers
Sprinkled with the sand of the sea?
Sand of your kisses, flowers of faded loves
The beautiful eyes are ashes in the fireplace
A heart beribboned in moans
Burns with its sacred images.
text and translations
Chère nuit
Dear Night
Eugène Adénis-Colombeau (1854–1923)
Translation: Laura Strickling
Voici l'heure bientôt.
Derrière la colline je vois le soleil qui decline et cache ses rayons jaloux ... J'entends chanter l'âme des choses et les narcisses et les roses m'apportent des parfums plus doux !
Chére nuit aux clartés sereines toi que ramènes le tendre amant ah ! descends et voile la terre de ton mystère calme et charmant.
Mon bonheur renaît sous ton aile Ô nuit plus belle que les beaux jours: Ah! lève-toi pour faire encore briller l'aurore de mes amours
The Year’s at the Spring
From Pippa Passes
Robert Browning (1812–1889)
The year's at the spring And day's at the morn; Morning's at seven; The hillside's dew-pearled; The lark's on the wing; The snail's on the thorn: God's in His heaven— All's right with the world!
Night
Louise C. Wallace (1902–1973)
Night comes, a Madonna clad in scented blue.
Rose red her mouth and deep her eyes, She lights her stars, and turns to where, Beneath her silver lamp the moon, Upon a couch of shadow lies A dreamy child, The wearied Day.
The hour will be here soon. Behind the hill I see the sun that sets and masks its rays jealously. I hear the soul of things singing, and the narcissuses and roses bring to me the sweetest perfumes!
Dear night of serene light, you who bring back my tender lover, Ah! Descend and veil the earth with your calm and charming mystery.
My happiness is reborn under your wings. Oh night, more beautiful than the beautiful days: Ah! Rise! To make shine again the dawn of my love
Nocture
Frederic Prokosch
(1908–1989)
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.
I
Am in Doubt
Florence Hynes Willeté
(1901–1982)
I'll love you until stars fall. Can it be so sure, so lasting as my heart demands of one whose slightest touch upon my hands is like the wind inside an aspen tree? I am in doubt of this frail thing I hold so sworn to constancy And this is why, why, Too often I have watched a burnt blue sky Where slipping stars spilled scarlet and grew cold.
Heart, We Will Forget Him
Emily Dickinson (1830–1886)
Heart! We will forget him! You and I – tonight! You may forget the warmth he gave –I will forget the light! When you have done, pray tell me That I may straight begin! Haste! lest while you’re lagging I remember him!
text and translations
The Spring and the Fall Edna St, Vincent Millay (1893–1950)
In the spring of the year, in the spring of the year, I walked the road beside my dear. The trees were black where the bark was wet. I see them yet, in the spring of the year. He broke me a bough of the blossoming peach That was out of the way and hard to reach. In the fall of the year, in the fall of the year, I walked the road beside my dear. The rooks went up with a raucous trill. I hear them still, in the fall of the year. He laughed at all I dared to praise, And broke my heart, in little ways. Year be springing or year be falling, The bark will drip and the birds be calling. There's much that's fine to see and hear In the spring of a year, in the fall of a year. 'Tis not love's going hurt my days. But that it went in little ways.
Prometheus's Monster Karen Poppy (b. 1976)
There’s this cat Called Prometheus Who wants to Skunk up my tree. Gave me fire, Creativity, Then backed away… Afraid of it, of me. Prometheus, return to me.
I am your useful monster. Set aflame So prettily.
Two Old Crows
Vachel Lindsay (1879–1931)
Two old crows sat on a fence rail. Two old crows sat on a fence rail, Thinking of effect and cause, Of weeds and flowers, And nature's laws.
One of them muttered, one of them stuttered, One of them stuttered, one of them muttered. Each of them thought far more than he uttered.
One crow asked the other crow a riddle. One crow asked the other crow a riddle: The muttering crow
Asked the stuttering crow,
“Why does a bee have a sword to his fiddle? Why does a bee have a sword to his fiddle?”
“Bee-cause,” said the other crow, “Bee-cause,
B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B-cause.”
Just then a bee flew close to their rail:— “Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz zzzzzzzzz zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz ZZZZZZZZ.”
And those two black crows Turned pale, And away those crows did sail. Why?
B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B-cause.
B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B-cause. “Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz zzzzzzzzz zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz ZZZZZZZZ.”
text and translations
Romance
Claude McKay (1889–1948)
To clasp you now and feel your head closepressed, Scented and warm against my beating breast;
To whisper soft and quivering your name, And drink the passion burning in your frame;
To lie at full length, taut, with cheek to cheek, And tease your mouth with kisses till you speak
Love words, mad words, dream words, sweet senseless words, Melodious like notes of mating birds;
To hear you ask if I shall love always, And myself answer: Till the end of days;
To feel your easeful sigh of happiness When on your trembling lips I murmur: Yes;
It is so sweet. We know it is not true. What matters it? The night must shed her dew.
We know it is not true, but it is sweet— The poem with this music is complete.
Thanks a Latte Caitlin Vincent (b. 1983)
Today’s the day.
Today I’m taking a stand. Making an impression. Changing my coffee order! Every day, it’s the same. My standard. Regular. Habit. Every day at the hipster café. Every day with the cute barista. For three whole seconds, I have his complete attention.
(Not to mention, his dreamy smile.) But every day, I waste it on routine. You aren’t what you eat, but what you order. And I’m predictable. Forgettable.
But not today. Today, I’ll be spontaneous. Complex.
Today, he’ll wonder what I do, who I am, where I’m going. Today, I’ll order…a macchiato. Edgy and stylish and chic. Or maybe a cappuccino. Funny and frothy and fun. A flat white to show I travel. A long black to show I’m tall. I just need the perfect blend to best espress-o myself. Would a filter be too hipster? A triple shot too high strung? What’s the message in non-fat or skinny? No foam? Extra whip? Light ice? My keep cup is full of potential. For a drink that’s quintessentially me.
This is the moment. I’m next in line. Ready with my order. And there he is in a beanie. Brewing and foaming and grinding. Never minding my racing heart. He turns to me with a smile. Turns to me and says… “The usual?”
text and translations
The Soprano's Revenge Jodi Goble
How many tenors does it take to change a light bulb?
Three, the answer is three, obviously. Tenors are organized in threes, frequently.
One of them screws it in.
The other two stand around and complain that they could have done it better.
As for the mezzos, do I even need to ask? I see I do.
And the answer is: at least two. There must be one to change it, and one to hold the ladder. Otherwise, it’s just too high.
And then there are the basses. But that isn’t fair; It’s a trick question.
Why would they bother to change the bulb when they’re never in the limelight? Poor things.
Which leaves one question:
How many sopranos does it take, to change a light bulb?
How many?
One soprano, only one, it takes only one soprano!
She just holds it up in the air, and the world turns around her! And she shines!
LAURA STRICKLING
Two-time GRAMMY® award nominee for Best Classical Vocal Solo Album for 40@40 (2024) and Confessions (2022), soprano Laura Strickling is recognized by The New York Times for her “flexible voice, crystalline diction, and warm presence.” Celebrated for her work performing and promoting art song, with an emphasis on new additions to the canon through her landmark 40@40 Project song commissioning initiative, she is the host of SongCycle – a podcast covering all things song, she curated the NewMusicShelf Anthology of Contemporary Art Songs for soprano, and has performed recitals and presented masterclasses and lectures with art song and chamber music organizations, music festivals, and universities around the world. Her, “powerful and expressive voice across a large range, her variety of timbre and character,” (Classical Scene), make her a welcome guest soloist for a range of opera, oratorio, concert, and chamber works – from Bach to Britten and beyond. She created the roles of Fanni Radnòti in the world premiere of Tom Cipullo’s opera The Parting with Music of Remembrance and the evil Dr. Slade in the serial television-style opera film, Everything for Dawn with Experiments in Opera. A Chicago native, Ms. Strickling is an avid traveler, having lived in Fez (Morocco), Kabul (Afghanistan), and for the past nine years in St. Thomas (U.S. Virgin Islands). She recently relocated to Racine, Wisconsin where she is learning to appreciate cheese, beer, and being cold. www.laurastrickling.com
DANIEL SCHLOSBERG
GRAMMY-nominated pianist Daniel Schlosberg leads a kaleidoscopic musical life. He has appeared with the Chicago Symphony Orchestra in numerous chamber music and new music concerts, and also as featured soloist in subscription performances of Messiaen’s “Trois Petites Liturgies.” He has a passion for contemporary music, having collaborated with Eighth Blackbird, Third Coast Percussion, Fonema Consort and the International Contemporary Ensemble, and he was a founding member of Yarn/Wire. He has given the world premiere of Augusta Read Thomas’s “Starlight Ribbons” for solo piano and the US premiere of Kaija Saariaho’s Calices with violinist Austin Wulliman. He has recorded for the Albany, Bridge, Bright Shiny Things, Centaur, Navona, New World, Nimbus, Jacaranda and Permelia labels. His latest solo release is “Gaul Me Maybe: French Baroque Keyboard Music.” In the art song realm, he has been on staff at Ravinia’s Steans Institute vocal program, and was the founder and director of the Baltimore Lieder Weekend. His release with soprano Laura Strickling, 40@40, reached #1 on the Billboard charts and received a GRAMMY nomination. Other recent projects include Mahler/Zemlinsky: Symphony No 6 (arr. 4-hands) at the National Gallery of Art, DC, and Ravinia, and multiple appearances at Bargemusic in Brooklyn. He is based in Chicago and is Professor of the Practice (piano) and Director of Undergraduate Music Studies at the University of Notre Dame (South Bend, Indiana), where he is also advisor to the student Table Tennis Club. www.danielschlosberg.com
upcoming events
Wind Orchestra and Concert Band
Silent Film Concert
"Sherlock, Jr."
Wednesday, November 12 • 7:30 p.m.
A. F. Siebert Chapel
Student Recital: Mi Wang - Piano
Thursday, November 13 • 7:30 p.m.
A. F. Siebert Chapel
Historical Improvisational Piano Recital
Friday, November 14 • 6:30 p.m.
A. F. Siebert Chapel
Fall Dance Show - Everything You Touch
Friday, November 14 • 7:30 p.m.
Saturday, November 15 • 7:30 p.m.
Sunday, November 16 • 3 p.m.
Wartburg Theatre
Tickets Required. Visit www.carthage.edu/tickets for ticket information
Student Recital: Jana Paulsen
Tuesday, November 18 • 7:30 p.m.
H. F. Johnson Recital Hall
Concert Band / Percussion Ensemble Concert
Wednesday, November 19 • 7:30 p.m.
A. F. Siebert Chapel
Arts at Carthage acknowledges that the land on which our building stands is part of the traditional Potawatomi, Sioux, Peoria, Kickapoo, and Miami peoples past, present, and future. These homelands reside along the southwest shores of Michigami, North America’s largest system of freshwater lakes. We honor with gratitude the land itself, and the people who have stewarded it throughout the generations. Many Indigenous peoples thrive in this place—alive and strong, and this calls us to commit to continuing to learn how to be better stewards of the land we inhabit as well.