Sarah Yanovitch, soprano

sarah yanovitch soprano

master of music student recital Institute of Sacred Music ¡ Martin Jean, director March 3, 2014 • Marquand Chapel

Robert Blocker, Dean

Master of Music Student Recital

sarah yanovitch soprano Simon Jacobs, piano & harpsichord Monday, March 3, 2014 • 5:00 pm • Marquand Chapel

Claudio Monteverdi 1567–1643

Prologue — La Musica, from L’Orfeo

Giulio Caccini 1551–1618

Tu ch’hai le penne amore Sfogava con le stelle, from Le nuove musiche

Antonio Vivaldi 1669–1741

Domine Deus, from Gloria, RV 589

Franz Joseph Haydn 1732–1809

Und Gott sprach...Nun beut die Flur, from Die Schöpfung Und Gott sprach...Auf Starkem Fittiche, from Die Schöpfung

Claude Debussy 1862–1918

Selections from Ariettes oubliées: C’est l’extase langoureuse Il pleure dans mon coeur L’ombre des arbres Green

Samuel Barber 1910–1981

Knoxville: Summer of 1915

Alessandro Striggio

Ottavio Rinuccini

Gottfried van Swieten

Paul Verlaine

James Agee

As a courtesy to the performers and audience, silence electronic devices.

Please do not leave the hall during selections. Photography or recording of any kind is prohibited.

Texts & Translations

claudio monteverdi Prologue–La Musica Libretto by Alessandro Striggio Dal mio Permesso amato à voi ne vegno, Incliti Eroi, sangue gentil de’ Regi, di cui nara la Fama eccelsi pregi, nè giunge al ver, perch’è tropp’ alto il segno.

Io la Musica son, ch’a i dolci accenti, sò far tranquillo ogni turbato core, et hor di nobil ira, et hor d’amore, poss’ infiammar le più gelate menti.

Io sù Cetera d’or cantando soglio mortal orecchio lusingar talhora, e in questa guisa à l’armonia Sonora de la lira del ciel più l’alme invoglio.

From my beloved Permessus I come to you glorious Heroes, noble bloodline of Rulers, of whom Fame relates high praise without quite attaining the truth, as it is too high a mark I am Music, who in sweet accents, can make peaceful every troubled heart, and so with noble anger, and so with love, can I inflame the coldest minds.

Quinci à dirvi d’Orfeo desio mi sprona, d’Orfeo che trasse al suo cantarle fere, e servo fè l’Inferno a sue preghiere, Gloria immortal di Pindo e d’Elicona.

Hor mentre i canti alterno hor lieti, hor mesti, non si mova augellin fra queste piante, nè s’oda in queste rive onda sonante, et ogni auretta in suo cammin s’arresti.

Hence desire spurs me to tell you of Orpheus, of Orpheus who tamed wild beasts with his song, and made Hades answer his prayers, to the immortal glory of Pindus and Helicon.

giulio caccini Tu ch’hai le penne Amore Text by Ottavio Rinuccini

Tu ch’hai le penne Amore e sai spiegarle a volo, deh muovi ratto un volo fin là dov’è ‘l mio core, e se non sai la via, cò miei sospir t’invia.

Singing with my golden Lyre, I like to charm, now and then, mortal ears, and in such a fashion that I make their souls aspire more For the resounding harmony of the Lyre of Heaven.

While I vary my songs, now happy, now sad, no small bird shall move among these bushes, nor on these banks a sounding wave be heard, and every breeze shall stay its wanderings.

Cupid, you who has the wings of a bird and knows how to spread them in flight, fly then quickly to where my heart is, and if you do not know the way Then let my sighs lead you.

Texts & Translations

Va pur ch’il troverrai tra ‘l velo e ‘l bianco seno, O tra ‘l dolce sereno de’ luminosi rai, O tra bei nodi d’oro del mio dolce tesoro.

Vanne lusinga, e prega perchè dal bel soggiorno, faccia il mio cor ritrono, e se ‘l venir pur niega,

Go then: you will find it between the veil and her white breast, or in the sweet serenity of her bright eyes, or among the beautiful golden tresses of my sweet treasure.

rivolto al nostro sole, digli cotai parole:

turn to our sun and say to it these words:

Quel tuo fedele amante, tra lieta amica gente, vive mesto e dolente, e col tristo sembiante, d’ogni allegrezza spento turba l’altrui contento.

That your faithful lover, among happy and friendly people, lives in sadness and sorrow, and with a sad face, with every joy spent, disturbs the happiness of others.

Ma se per mia ventura del suo tornar dubbiosa, mandarlo a me non osa, Amor prometti e giura, che suo fu sempre, e sia il core e l’alma mia.

But if it be my fate that she should not return, or that she dares not send it back to me, Cupid, promise and swear to her, that hers was and always will be my heart and sou

Go then and charm her, and beg that from the pleasant place where she stays she, my heart, may return, and if she refuses to come,

giulio caccini Sfogava con le stelle Text by Ottavio Rinuccini Sfogava con le stelle un infermo d’amore sotto noturno cielo il suo dolore, e dicea fisso in loro: O immagini belle dell’idol mio ch’adoro, si come a memo strate, mentre così splendete, la sua rara beltate, così mostraste a lei, mentre cotanto ardete, i vivi ardori miei.

Crying to the stars, a love-sick man, beneath the night sky spoke of his grief, and said while gazing at them: Oh lovely images of the idol I adore, if only, as you show me her rare beauty when you shine, you could show to her with what burning I live my ardor.

Texts & Translations

La fareste

co’l vostro aureo sembiante pietosa sì, come me fate amante.

That you would make her, with your golden look, compassionate, just as you make me affectionate.

antonio vivaldi Domine Deus Domine Deus, Rex cœlestis, Deus Pater omnipotens.

Lord God, heavenly king, God the Father Almighty.

franz joseph haydn Und Gott Sprach..Nun beut die Flur Text by Gottfried van Swieten Recitative Und Gott sprach: Es bringe die Erde Gras hervor, Kräuter, die Samen geben, und Obstbäume, die Früchte bringen ihrer Art gemäss, die ihren Samen in sich selbst haben auf der Erde, und es ward so.

And God said: Let the earth bring forth grass, herbs, which yield seeds, and fruit trees, who harvests yield according to their species, which have their seeds inside themselves on the earth, and it was so.

franz joseph haydn Und gott sprach: es bringe das Wasser Text by Gottfried van Swieten Recitative Und Gott sprach: es bringe das Wasser in der Fülle hervor webende Geschöpfe, die Leben haben, und Vögel, die über der Erde fliegen mögen in dem offenen Firmamente des Himmels.

And God said: let the water bring forth in abundance the moving creatures, that have life, and birds, which over the earth may fly in the open firmament of the heavens.

Aria Nun beut die Flur das frische Grün dem Auge zur Ergötzung dar; den anmuthsvollen Blick erhöht der Blumen sanfter Schmuck.

Now the fresh green meadow which delights the eye; the charming appearance is enhanced by the flower’s tender ornament.

Texts & Translations

Hier duften Kräuter Balsam aus; hier sprosst den Wunden Heil.

Die Zweige krümmt der goldnen Früchte Last; hier wölbt der Hain zum kühlen Schirme sich; den steilen Berg bekrönt ein dichter Wald.

Here the balsam herbs are fragrant; here sprouts the healing plant.

The branch bends with the golden fruit’s weight; here arches the grove in cool protective cover; the steep mountain is crowned with a thick forest.

Recitative Und Gott sprach: es bringe das Wasser in der Fülle hervor webende Geschöpfe, die Leben haben, und Vögel, die über der Erde fliegen mögen in dem offenen Firmamente des Himmels.

And God said: let the water bring forth in abundance the moving creatures, that have life, and birds, which over the earth may fly in the open firmament of the heavens.

Aria Auf starkem Fittiche schwinget sich der Adler Stolz, und teilet die Luft, im schnellesten Fluge zu Sonne hin.

Den Morgen grüsst der Lerche frohes Lied, und Liebe, girrt das zarte Taubenpaar.

Aus jedem Busch und Hain erschallt der Nachtigallen süsse Kehle.

Noch drückte Gram nicht ihre Brust, noch war zur Klage nicht gestimmt ihr reizender Gesang.

On strong wings soars the proud eagle, and through the air, in the swiftest flight up to the sun.

The lark greets the morning with happy song, and love, the tender pair of doves coo.

From every bush and grove resounds the nightingale’s sweet fluting, no grief yet pressures his breast, still no lamentation tunes his charming song.

claude debussy C’est l’extase langoureuse Text by Paul Verlaine C’est l’extase langoureuse, C’est la fatige amoureuse, C’est tous les frissons des bois Parmi l’étrainte des brises, C’est, vers les ramures grises, Le chœur des petites voix.

O le frêle et frais murmure, Cela gazouille et susurre!

Cela resemble au cri doux Que l’herbe agitée expire…

Tu dirais, sous l’eau qui vire, Le roulis sourd des cailloux.

This is languorous ecstasy, This is the fatigue of love, This is all the trembling of the woods In the embrace of the breezes, It is, among the gray branches, The choir of tiny voices.

O frail and fresh murmur, It babbles and whispers!

It resembles the soft cry That the stirring grass makes…

You would say it is, beneath the swirling water, The muffled movement of the pebbles.

Texts & Translations claude debussy Il pleure dans mon coeur Text by Paul Verlaine Il pleure dans mon cœur Comme il pleut sur la ville, Quelle est cette langueur Qui pénètre mon cœur?

O bruit doux de la pluie Par terre et sur les toits!

Pour un cœur qui s’ennuie, O le bruit de la pluie!

Il pleure sans raison Dans ce cœur que s’écœure.

Quoi! Nulle trahison?

Ce deuil est sans raison.

C’est bien la pire peine De ne savoir pourquoi, Sans amour et sans haine, Mon cœur a tant de peine.

There is weeping in my heart Just as the rain on the village, What is this languor That pierces my heart?

Oh soft sound of the rain On the ground and on the roofs!

For a heart that is weary, Oh the sound of the rain!

There is weeping without reason In the heart that is dejected.

What! No treason?

This sorrow is without reason.

Truly the worst pain Is not to know why, Without love and without hatred, My heart has so much pain.

claude debussy L’ombre des arbres Text by Paul Verlaine L’ombre des arbres dans la rivière embrumée Meurt comme de la fumée, Tandis qu’en l’air, parmi les ramures réelles Se plaignent le tourterelles.

Combien ô voyageur, ce paysages blême Te mira blême toi-même, Et que tristes pleuraient dans les hautes feuillées Tes espérances noyées.

The shadow of trees of the hazy river Fades away like smoke, While in the air, among the real branches The turtledoves lament.

How much, O traveler, this pallid landscape Did mirror your own pallid self, And how sadly wept among the high foliage Your own drowned hopes.

Texts & Translations claude debussy Green Text by Paul Verlaine Voici des fruits, des fleurs, des feuilles et des branches, Et puis voice mon cœur qui ne bat que pour vous.

Ne le déchirez pas avec vos deux mains blanches, Et qu’à vos yeux si beaux l’humble present soit doux.

Here are fruits, flowers, leaves, and branches, And here too is my heart, which beats only for you.

Do not rend it with your two white hands, And let the humble gift find favor in your beautiful eyes.

J’arrive tout couvert encore de rosée Que le vent du matin vient glacer à mon front.

Souffrez que ma fatigue, à vos pieds reposée, Rêve des chers enstants que la délasseront.

Sur votre jeune sain, laissez rouler ma tête Toute sonore encore de vos derniers baisers; Laissez-la s’apaisez de la bonne tempête, Et que je dorme un peu puisque vous reposez.

I come to you still covered with the dew That the morning wind has just frozen on my brow.

Let my fatigue, laid to rest at your feet, Dream of the dear moments that will refresh it.

On your young breast, let my head roll Still resounding with your last kisses; Let it rest from that good storm, And let me sleep a little while you sleep too.

samuel barber Knoxville: Summer of 1915 A prose poem by James Agee It has become the time of evening when people sit on their porches, rocking gently and talking gently and watching the street and the standing up into their sphere of possession of the trees, of birds’ hung havens, hangers.

People go by; things go by.

A horse, drawing a buggy, breaking his hollow iron music on the asphalt; a loud auto; a quiet auto; people in pairs, not in a hurry, scuffling, switching their weight of aestival body, talking casually, the taste hovering over them of vanilla, strawberry, pasteboard and starched milk, the image upon them of lovers and horsemen, squared with clowns in hueless amber.

A streetcar raising its iron moan: stopping, belling and starting; stertorous; rousing and raising again its iron increasing moan and swimming its gold windows and straw seats on past and past and past, (continued)

Texts & Translations

the bleak spark crackling and cursing above it like a small malignant spirit set to dog its tracks; the iron whine rises on rising speed; still risen, faints; halts; the faint stinging bell; rises again, still fainter, fainter, lifting, lifts, faints forgone: forgotten.

Now is the night one blue dew.

Now is the night one blue dew, my father has drained, now he has coiled the hose.

Low on the length of lawns, a frailing of fire who breathes ...

Parents on porches: rock and rock.

From damp strings morning glories hang their ancient faces.

The dry and exalted noise of the locusts from all the air at once enchants my eardrums.

On the rough wet grass of the backyard my father and mother have spread quilts.

We all lie there, my mother, my father, my uncle, my aunt, and I too am lying there ...

They are not talking much, and the talk is quiet, of nothing in particular, of nothing at all in particular, of nothing at all.

The stars are wide and alive, they seem each like a smile of great sweetness, and they seem very near.

All my people are larger bodies than mine, ... with voices gentle and meaningless like the voice of sleeping birds.

One is an artist, he is living at home.

One is a musician, she is living at home.

One is my mother who is good to me.

One is my father who is good to me.

By some chance, here they are, all on this earth; and who shall ever tell the sorrow of being on this earth, lying, on quilts, on the grass, in a summer evening, among the sounds of the night.

May God bless my people, my uncle, my aunt, my mother, my good father, oh, remember them kindly in their time of trouble; and in the hour of their taking away.

After a little I am taken in and put to bed.

Sleep, soft smiling, draws me unto her: and those receive me, who quietly treat me, as one familiar and well-beloved in that home: but will not, no ,will not, not now, not ever; but will not ever tell me who I am.

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Robert Blocker, Dean