Evanna Chiew, mezzo-soprano

evanna chiew mezzo-soprano

master of music degree recital March 24, 2014 • Sudler Hall in William L. Harkness Hall

Robert Blocker, Dean

Master of Music Degree Recital

evanna chiew mezzo-soprano Kyle Swann, piano Monday, March 24, 2014 • 4:00 pm • Sudler Hall in William L. Harkness Hall

Ottorino Respighi 1879–1936

From “Sei liriche, prima serie” O falce di luna Serenata indiana (trans. Roberto Ascoli) Pioggia

Maurice Ravel 1875–1937

Shéhérazade I. Asie II. La flûte enchantée III. L’indifférent

Gabriele D’Annunzio Percy Bysshe Shelley Vittoria Aganoor Pompilj

Tristan Klingsor

Jonathan Slade, flute

Franz Schubert 1797–1828

Auf dem Wasser zu singen, D. 774 Du bist die Ruh, D. 776

Aaron Copland 1900–1990

Ernst Schulze

Im Frühling, D. 882

Friedrich Leopold zu StolbergStolberg Friedrich Rückert

Ständchen, D. 957

Ludwig Rellstab

From “Twelve Poems of Emily Dickinson” Nature, the gentlest mother When they come back The Chariot The world feels dusty Heart, we will forget him

Emily Dickinson

This performance is in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the Master of Music degree.

Texts & Translations

ottorino respighi O falce di luna calante Text by Gabriele D’Annunzio Translation by Anne Evans

O falce di luna calanteche brilli su l’acque deserte, o falce d’argento, qual mèsse di sogni ondeggia a ‘l tuo mite chiarore qua giù!

O crescent of a waning moonyou that shine on the deserted waters, o silver crescent, what harvest of dreams wavers in your pale glow down here!

Aneliti brevi di foglie di fiori di flutti da ‘l bosco esalano a ‘l mare: non canto, non grido, non suono pe ‘l vasto silenzio va.

Short breaths of leaves of flowers, ripples from the woods go forth to the sea, no song, no cry, no sound goes through the vast silence.

Oppresso d’amor, di piacere, il popol de’ vivi s’addorme.

O falce calante, qual mèsse di sogni ondeggia a ‘l tuo mite chiarore qua giü!

Oppressed by love, by pleasure, the whole world is fast asleep.

O waning crescent, what harvest of dreams wavers in your pale glow down here!

ottorino respighi Serenata indiana Text by Percy Bysshe Shelley trans. Roberto Ascoli Del sonno tra i fantasimi Di te sognavo, o amore!

Mi desto: i venti trepididi sospirano, È delle stelle vivido il fulgore.

Ti sognavo; e uno spirito M’addusse, come fu?

Oh amor, sotto il balcone Della camera, ove dimori tu!

I arise from dreams of thee In the first sweet sleep of night, When the winds are breathing low, And the stars are shining bright: I arise from dreams of thee, And a spirit in my feet Has led me - who knows how?

To thy chamber window, Sweet!

Le aure errabonde languono Sulle mute correnti.

Dei gigli neri vagano gli effluvii, Come in sogno pensieri evanescenti.

All’usignolo il querulo canto Nel petto muor: Così debbo morire, o fior dell’anima, Così sovra il tuor cuor!

The wandering airs they faint On the dark, the silent stream The Champak odours fail Like sweet thoughts in a dream; The nightingale’s complaint, It dies upon her heart; As I must die on thine, O belovèd as thou art!

Texts & Translations

Oh! Da terra sollevami!

Io muoio, io languo, io manco.

Piova in baci il tuor amor sulle miei palpebre Bianche, sul labbro sitibondo e bianco.

Ahi! La mia guancia è pallida!

Il cuor battiti dà impetuosi!

Oh! Ancor contro il tuo stringilo: Ivi s’infrangerà.

Oh lift me from the grass!

I die! I faint! I fail!

Let thy love in kisses rain On my lips and eyelids pale.

My cheek is cold and white, alas!

My heart beats loud and fast; Oh! press it to thine own again, Where it will break at last.

ottorino respighi Pioggia Text by Vittoria Aganoor Pompilj Piovea: per le finestre spalancate A quella tregua di ostinati odori Saliano dal giardin fresche folate D’erbe risorte e di risorti fiori

It’s raining: through the open windows, To the respite of the persistent scents Climbing from the garden are fresh gusts Of revived grass and flowers.

S’acchettava il tumulto dei colori Sotto il vel delle gocciole implorate; E intorno ai pioppi ai frassini agli allori Beveano ingorde le zolle assetate.

It calms the tumult of colors Under its veil of imploring drops; And around the poplars, the ash trees, the laurels Drinks greedily the thirsty soil.

Esser pianta, esser foglia, esser stelo E nell’angoscia dell’ardor (pensavo) Così largo ristoro aver dal cielo!

To be a plant, to be a leaf, to be a stem And in the anguish of ardor (I think) Thus to be slowly restored by the sky!

Sul davanzal protesa io gli arboscelli, I fiori, l’erbe guardavo guardavo E mi battea la pioggia sui capelli.

On the sill I lean; the saplings, The flowers, the grass I watch, And the rain beats down on my hair.

maurice ravel Shéhérazade Text by Tristan Klingsor Asie Vieux pays merveilleux des contes de nourrice Où dort la fantaisie comme une impératrice En sa forêt tout emplie de mystère.

Asie, Je voudrais m’en aller avec la goëlette Qui se berce ce soir dans le port Mystérieuse et solitaire Et qui déploie enfin ses voiles violettes

Asia Old marvelous country of childhood tales Where fantasy sleeps like an empress In her forest all surrounded by mystery.

Asia, I would like to go with the little boat Who rocks tonight in the port, Mysterious and solitary, And who finally deploys its violet sails

Texts & Translations

Comme un immense oiseau de nuit dans le ciel d’or.

Je voudrais m’en aller vers des îles de fleurs En écoutant chanter la mer perverse Sur un vieux rythme ensorceleur.

Je voudrais voir Damas et les villes de Perse Avec les minarets légers dans l’air.

Je voudrais voir de beaux turbans de soie Sur des visages noirs aux dents claires; Je voudrais voir des yeux sombres d’amour Et des prunelles brillantes de joie En des peaux jaunes comme des oranges; Je voudrais voir des vêtements de velours Et des habits à longues franges.

Je voudrais voir des calumets entre des bouches Tout entourées de barbe blanche; Je voudrais voir d’âpres marchands aux regards louches, Et des cadis, et des vizirs Qui du seul mouvement de leur doigt qui se penche, Accordent vie ou mort au gré de leur désir.

Je voudrais voir la Perse, et l’Inde, et puis la Chine, Les mandarins ventrus sous les ombrelles, Et les princesses aux mains fines, Et les lettrés qui se querellent Sur la poésie et sur la beauté; Je voudrais m’attarder au palais enchanté Et comme un voyageur étranger Contempler à loisir des paysages peints Sur des étoffes en des cadres de sapin Avec un personnage au milieu d’un verger; Je voudrais voir des assassins souriant Du bourreau qui coupe un cou d’innocent Avec son grand sabre courbé d’Orient.

Je voudrais voir des pauvres et des reines; Je voudrais voir des roses et du sang; Je voudrais voir mourir d’amour ou bien de haine.

Like an immense night bird in the golden sky.

I would like to go to the isle of flowers, While listening to the perverse sea sing On an old enchanted rhythm.

I would like to see Damascus and the cities of Persia With the light minarets in the air.

I would like to see beautiful turbans of silk On dark faces with light teeth; I would like to see eyes sombre with love And pupils shining with joy In skin yellow like oranges; I would like to see clothing of velvet And habits with long fringes.

I would like to see calumets between the lips All surrounded by white beards.

I would like to see bitter merchants with slanted gazes, And the judges, and the viziers Who with a sole movement of their fingers that perch, Accord life or death according to their desire.

I would like to see Persia, and India, and then China.

The pot-bellied mandarins under the umbrellas, And the princesses with fine hands, And the learned ones who quarrel About poetry, or about beauty.

I would like to linger behind in the enchanted palace, And like a strange traveller, Contemplate at leisure the countries painted On the fabric stretched over a pinewood frame, With a person in the middle of an orchard.

I would like to see smiling assassins, The executioner who cuts an innocent neck, With his great curved Oriental sabre.

I would like to see poor people and queens; I would like to see roses and blood; I would like to see someone dying of love or even of hate.

Texts & Translations

Et puis m’en revenir plus tard Narrer mon aventure aux curieux de rêves

And then, returning later, To narrate my adventure to those curious of dreams

En élevant comme Sindbad ma vieille tasse arabe De temps en temps jusqu’à mes lèvres Pour interrompre le conte avec art....

While lifting, like Sinbad, my old Arabian cup From time to time to my lips To interrupt the tale with art...

maurice ravel La flûte enchantée Text by Tristan Klingsor L’ombre est douce et mon maître dort Coiffé d’un bonnet conique de soie Et son long nez jaune en sa barbe blanche.

Mais moi, je suis éveillée encor Et j’écoute au dehors Une chanson de flûte où s’épanche Tour à tour la tristesse ou la joie.

Un air tour à tour langoureux ou frivole Que mon amoureux chéri joue, Et quand je m’approche de la croisée Il me semble que chaque note s’envole De la flûte vers ma joue Comme un mystérieux baiser.

The shadow is sweet, and my master sleeps Coiffed in a conical silk bonnet, With his long yellow nose in his white beard.

But me, I am still awake, And I hear outside A flute song that pours out By turns sadness or joy.

An air by turns languorous or frivolous That my dear lover plays, And when I approach the window, It seems to me that each note flies From the flute to my cheek Like a mysterious kiss.

maurice ravel L’indifférent Text by Tristan Klingsor Tes yeux sont doux comme ceux d’une fille, Jeune étranger, Et la courbe fine De ton beau visage de duvet ombragé Est plus séduisante encor de ligne.

Ta lèvre chante sur le pas de ma porte Une langue inconnue et charmante Comme une musique fausse.

Entre! Et que mon vin te réconforte...

Mais non, tu passes Et de mon seuil je te vois t’éloigner Me faisant un dernier geste avec grâce Et la hanche légèrement ployée Par ta démarche féminine et lasse...

Your eyes are sweet like those of a girl, Young stranger, And the fine curve Of your handsome face shaded with down Is more seductive still of line.

Your lips sing on my doorstep A language unknown and charming, Like a false music.

Enter! And may my wine comfort you...

But no, you’re passing by And from my doorstep I watch you growing distant While making me a last graceful gesture And your hip lightly bent By your lazy and feminine gait...

Texts & Translations

franz schubert Im Frühling, D. 882 Text by Ernst Schulze Translation by Emily Ezust Still sitz’ ich an des Hügels Hang, Der Himmel ist so klar, Das Lüftchen spielt im grünen Tal, Wo ich beim ersten Frühlingsstrahl Einst, ach, so glücklich war;

Quietly I sit on the hill’s slope.

The sky is so clear; a breeze plays in the green valley where I was at Spring’s first sunbeam once - ah, I was so happy;

Wo ich an ihrer Seite ging So traulich und so nah, Und tief im dunkeln Felsenquell Den schönen Himmel blau und hell, Und sie im Himmel sah.

Where I walked at her side, So intimate and so close, and deep in the dark rocky spring was the beautiful sky, blue and bright; and I saw her in the sky.

Sieh, wie der bunte Frühling schon Aus Knosp’ und Blüte blickt!

Nicht alle Blüten sind mir gleich, Am liebsten pflück’ ich von dem Zweig, Von welchem sie gepflückt.

Look how colorful Spring already looks out from bud and blossom!

Not every blossom is the same for me: I like best to pick from the branch from which she picked hers.

Denn Alles ist wie damals noch, Die Blumen, das Gefild, Die Sonne scheint nicht minder hell, Nicht minder freundlich schwimmt im Quell Das blaue Himmelsbild.

For all is as it was back then: the flowers, the field; the sun does not shine less brightly, nor does the stream reflect any less charmingly the blue image of the sky.

Es wandeln nur sich Will’ und Wahn, Es wechseln Lust und Streit, Vorüber flieht der Liebe Glück, Und nur die Liebe bleibt zurück, Die Lieb’ und ach, das Leid!

The only things that change are will and illusion: Joys and quarrels alternate, the happiness of love flies past and only the love remains The love and, ah, the sorrow.

O wär’ ich doch ein Vöglein nur Dort an dem Wiesenhang!

Dann blieb’ ich auf den Zweigen hier, Und säng’ ein süßes Lied von ihr, Den ganzen Sommer lang.

Oh, if only I were a little bird, there on the meadow’s slope -then I would remain here on these branches and sing a sweet song about her the whole summer long.

Texts & Translations

franz schubert Auf dem Wasser zu singen, D. 774 Text by Friedrich Leopold zu Stolberg-Stolberg Translation by Lynn Thompson Mitten im Schimmer der spiegelnden Wellen Gleitet, wie Schwäne, der wankende Kahn: Ach, auf der Freude sanftschimmernden Wellen Gleitet die Seele dahin wie der Kahn; Denn von dem Himmel herab auf die Wellen Tanzet das Abendrot rund um den Kahn.

In the middle of the shimmer of the reflecting waves Glides, as swans do, the wavering boat; Ah, on joy’s soft shimmering waves Glides the soul along like the boat; Then from Heaven down onto the waves Dances the sunset all around the boat.

Über den Wipfeln des westlichen Haines Winket uns freundlich der rötliche Schein; Unter den Zweigen des östlichen Haines Säuselt der Kalmus im rötlichen Schein; Freude des Himmels und Ruhe des Haines Atmet die Seel im errötenden Schein.

Over the treetops of the western grove Waves, in a friendly way, the reddish gleam; Under the branches of the eastern grove Murmur the reeds in the reddish light; Joy of Heaven and the peace of the grove Is breathed by the soul in the reddening light.

Ach, es entschwindet mit tauigem Flügel Mir auf den wiegenden Wellen die Zeit; Morgen entschwinde mit schimmerndem Flügel

Ah, time vanishes on dewy wing for me, on the rocking waves; Tomorrow, time will vanish with shimmering wings Again, as yesterday and today, Until I, on higher more radiant wing, Myself vanish to the changing time.

Wieder wie gestern und heute die Zeit, Bis ich auf höherem strahlendem Flügel Selber entschwinde der wechselnden Zeit. franz schubert Du bist die Ruh, D. 776 Text by Friedrich Rückert Translation by Lynn Thompson Du bist die Ruh, Der Friede mild, Die Sehnsucht du Und was sie stillt.

You are peace The mild peace, You are longing And what stills it.

Ich weihe dir Voll Lust und Schmerz Zur Wohnung hier Mein Aug und Herz.

Kehr ein bei mir,

I consecrate to you Full of pleasure and pain As a dwelling here My eyes and heart.

Come live with me,

Texts & Translations

Und schließe du Still hinter dir Die Pforten zu.

And close quietly behind you the gates.

Treib andern Schmerz Aus dieser Brust!

Voll sei dies Herz Von deiner Lust.

Drive other pain Out of this breast May my heart be full With your pleasure.

Dies Augenzelt Von deinem Glanz Allein erhellt, O füll es ganz!

The tabernacle of my eyes by your radiance alone is illumined, O fill it completely!

franz schubert Ständchen, D. 957 Text by Ludwig Rellstab Leise flehen meine Lieder Durch die Nacht zu dir; In den stillen Hain hernieder, Liebchen, komm zu mir!

My songs implore you gently Through the night; In the quiet grove below, Beloved, come to me!

Flüsternd schlanke Wipfel rauschen In des Mondes Licht; Des Verräters feindlich Lauschen Fürchte, Holde, nicht.

Whispering, slender treetops murmur In the moonlight; The betrayer’s evil eavesdropping Fear not, dear.

Hörst die Nachtigallen schlagen?

Ach! sie flehen dich, Mit der Töne süßen Klagen Flehen sie für mich.

Do you hear the nightingales call?

Ah! they implore you, With the sound of their sweet lament, They implore you for me.

Sie verstehn des Busens Sehnen, Kennen Liebesschmerz, Rühren mit den Silbertönen Jedes weiche Herz.

They understand the heart’s longing, Know the pain of love, They touch with the silver tones Every gentle heart.

Laß auch dir die Brust bewegen, Liebchen, höre mich!

Bebend harr’ ich dir entgegen!

Komm, beglücke mich!

Let them also move your breast, Beloved, hear me!

Trembling I wait for you, Come, make me happy!

Texts & Translations

aaron copland Nature, the gentlest mother Text by Emily Dickinson Nature, the gentlest mother Impatient of no child, The feeblest or the waywardest, Her admonition mild In forest and the hill By traveler is heard, Restraining rampant squirrel Or too impetuous bird.

How fair her conversation, A summer afternoon, Her household, her assembly; And when the sun goes down Her voice among the aisles Incites the timid prayer Of the minutest cricket, The most unworthy flower.

When all the children sleep She turns as long away As will suffice to light her lamps; Then, bending from the sky, With infinite affection And infiniter care, Her golden finger on her lip, Wills silence everywhere. aaron copland When they come back Text by Emily Dickinson When they come back -- if Blossoms do -I always feel a doubt If Blossoms can be born again When once the Art is out -When they begin, if Robins do, I always had a fear I did not tell, it was their last Experiment Last Year,

When it is May, if May return, Has nobody a pang That on a Face so beautiful We might not look again?

If I am there -- One does not know What Party -- One may be Tomorrow, but if I am there I take back all I say -aaron copland The Chariot Text by Emily Dickinson Because I would not stop for Death -He kindly stopped for me -The carriage held but just ourselves -and Immortality.

We slowly drove -- he knew no haste, And I had put away My labour, and my leisure too For His Civility -We passed the school, where children played, Their lessons scarcely done, We passed the fields of gazing grain, We passed the setting sun.

We paused before a house that seemed a swelling of the ground; The roof was scarcely visible, The cornice but a mound.

Since then ‘tis centuries; but each Feels shorter than the day I first surmised the horses’ heads Were toward eternity.

aaron copland The world feels dusty Text by Emily Dickinson

aaron copland Heart, we will forget him Text by Emily Dickinson

The world feels dusty, when we stop to die...

We want the dew then Honors taste dry...

Heart, we will forget him You and I, tonight.

You may forget the warmth he gave, I will forget the light.

Flags vex a dying face But the least fan stirred by a friend’s hand Cools like the rain

When you have done, pray tell me, That I my thoughts may dim; Haste! lest while you’re lagging, I may remember him!

Mine be the ministry when thy thirst comes...

Dews of thyself to fetch and holy balms.

To learn about upcoming events, call our Box Office at 203 432-4158 or visit online:

music.yale.edu

Robert Blocker, Dean