Issuu

Robert Blocker, Dean

Jordan Costa tenor Yale Opera Master of Musical Arts Degree Recital April 9, 2022 | 7:30 p.m. | Morse Recital Hall in Sprague Memorial Hall JJ Penna, piano

Vincenzo Bellini 1801–1835

La ricordanza (1834)

Carlo Pepoli

Franz Liszt 1811–1886

S’il est un charmant gazon, S. 284/1

Victor Hugo

Oh! quand je dors, S. 282/2 Enfant, si j’étais roi, S. 283/2 Hugo Wolf 1860–1903

Selections from Goethe-Lieder (1875) 29. Anakreons Grab 50. Ganymed

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Francis Poulenc 1899–1963

Voyage à Paris, FP 107, No. 4

Guillaume Apollinaire

Bleuet, FP 102 Montparnasse, FP 127 intermission

Benjamin Britten 1913–1976

Selections from The Holy Sonnets of John Donne, Op. 35 6. XVII: Since she whom I lov’d hath pay'd her last debt 7. VII: At the round earth’s imagined corners 8. I: Thou hast made me 9. X: Death be not proud

Fernando Obradors 1897–1945

Selections from Canciones Clásicas Españolas I (1921) 3. ¿Corazón porqué pasáis? 6. Del Cabello más sutil 7. Chiquitita la novia

John Donne

Anonymous Anonymous Francisco Fernández Boigas

This performance is in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the Master of Musical Arts degree. As a courtesy to others, please silence all devices. Photography and recording of any kind are strictly prohibited. Please do not leave the hall during musical selections. Thank you.

Texts and Translations La ricordanza

The Remembrance

Era la notte, e presso di Colei Che sola al cor mi giunse e vi sta sola, Con quel pianger che rompe la parola, Io pregava mercede a martir miei.

It was night, and beside Her Who alone reached my heart and there remains alone, With those tears that impede words I pleaded for pity on my anguish.

Quand'Ella, chinando gli occhi bei, Disse (e il membrarlo sol me, da me invola): Ponmi al cor la tua destra, e ti consola: Ch'io amo e te sol' amo intender dei, Poi fatta, per amor, tremante e bianca, In atto soavissimo mi pose La bella faccia sulla spalla manca. Se dopo il dole assai più duol l'amaro; Se per me nullo istante a quel rispose, Ah! quant' era in quell'ora il morir caro!

When She, lowering her lovely eyes, Said (the mere memory of it makes my head whirl): "Place your hand on my heart, and be consoled: You should know that I love you and you alone", This said from love, pale and trembling, In the sweetest of acts she leaned Her lovely face on my left shoulder. Even if, after this bliss, grief was far more bitter, Even if; for me, no moment matched this, Ah! how dear was dying in that hour! Translation by Antonio Giuliano ©

S'il est un charmant gazon S'il est un charmant gazon Que le ciel arrose, Où brille en toute saison Quelque fleur éclose, Où l'on cueille à pleine main Lys, chèvrefeuille et jasmin, J'en veux faire le chemin Où ton pied se pose! S'il est un rêve d'amour, Parfumé de rose, Où l'on trouve chaque jour Quelque douce chose, Un rêve que Dieu bénit, Où l'âme à l'âme s'unit, Oh ! j'en veux faire le nid Où ton cœur se pose!

If there's a lovely grassy plot If there's a lovely grassy plot watered by the sky where in every season some flower blossoms, where one can freely gather lilies, honeysuckle, and jasmines... I wish to make it the path on which you place your feet. If there is a dream of love scented with roses, where one finds every day something gentle and sweet, a dream blessed by God where soul is joined to soul... oh, I wish to make it the nest in which you rest your heart. Translation by Peter Low ©

Oh! Quand je dors

Oh, while I sleep

Oh! quand je dors, viens auprès de ma couche, Comme à Pétrarque apparaissait Laura, Et qu’en passant ton haleine me touche … Soudain ma bouche S’entr’ouvrira! Sur mon front morne où peut-être s’achève Un songe noir qui trop longtemps dura, Que ton regard comme un astre se lève … Et soudain mon rêve Rayonnera! Puis sur ma lèvre où voltige une flamme, Éclair d’amour que Dieu même épura, Pose un baiser, et d’ange deviens femme … Soudain mon âme S’éveillera!

Oh, while I sleep, come close to where I lie, As Laura once appeared to Petrarch, And let your breath in passing touch me … At once my lips Will part! On my somber brow, where a dismal dream That lasted too long now perhaps is ending, Let your countenance rise like a star … At once my dream Will shine! Then on my lips, where a flame flickers— A flash of love which God himself has purified— Place a kiss and be transformed from angel into woman … At once my soul Will wake! Translation by Faith J. Cormier ©

Enfant, si j'étais roi

Child, if I were king

Enfant, si j'étais roi, je donnerais l'empire, Et mon char, et mon sceptre, et mon peuple à genoux, Et ma couronne d'or, et mes bains de porphyre, Et mes flottes, à qui la mer ne peut suffire, Pour un regard de vous!

Child, if I were king I would give the empire, and my chariot, and my scepter, and my kneeling people, and my golden crown, and my porphyry baths, and my fleets that the sea could not hold, for one of your glances!

Si j'étais Dieu, la terre et l'air avec les ondes, Les anges, les démons courbés devant ma loi, Et le profond chaos aux entrailles fécondes, L'éternité, l'espace et les cieux et les mondes, Pour un baiser de toi!

If I were God, earth and heaven with the waves, the angels, the demons bent before my law, and the chaos of the fertile deep, eternity, space, the heavens and the worlds for a kiss from you! Translation by Faith J. Cormier ©

Anakreons Grab

Anacreon’s Grave

Wo die Rose hier blüht, wo Reben um Lorbeer sich schlingen, Wo das Turtelchen lockt, wo sich das Grillchen ergötzt, Welch ein Grab ist hier, das alle Götter mit Leben Schön bepflanzt und geziert? Es ist Anakreons Ruh. Frühling, Sommer und Herbst genoß der glückliche Dichter; Vor dem Winter hat ihn endlich der Hügel geschützt.

Where the rose is in flower, where vine interlaces with laurel, Where the turtle-dove calls, where the cricket rejoices, Whose grave is this that all the gods have decked with life And beautiful plants? It is Anacreon’s resting place. The happy poet savored spring, summer and autumn; This mound has at the last protected him from winter. Translation by Richard Stokes ©

Ganymed Wie im Morgenglanze Du rings mich anglühst, Frühling, Geliebter! Mit tausendfacher Liebeswonne Sich an mein Herz drängt Deiner ewigen Wärme Heilig Gefühl, Unendliche Schöne! Dass ich dich fassen möcht’ In diesen Arm! Ach, an deinem Busen Lieg’ ich, schmachte, Und deine Blumen, dein Gras Drängen sich an mein Herz. Du kühlst den brennenden Durst meines Busens, Lieblicher Morgenwind! Ruft drein die Nachtigall Liebend mach mir aus dem Nebeltal. Ich komm’, ich komme! Wohin? Ach wohin? Hinauf! Hinauf strebt’s. Es schweben die Wolken Abwärts, die Wolken Neigen sich der sehnenden Liebe. Mir! Mir! In euerm Schosse Aufwärts! Umfangend umfangen! Aufwärts an deinen Busen, Alliebender Vater!

Ganymede How your glow envelops me in the morning radiance, spring, my beloved! With love’s thousandfold joy the hallowed sensation of your eternal warmth floods my heart, infinite beauty! O that I might clasp you in my arms! Ah, on your breast I lie languishing, and your flowers, your grass press close to my heart. You cool the burning thirst within my breast, sweet morning breeze, as the nightingale calls tenderly to me from the misty valley. I come, I come! But whither? Ah, whither? Upwards! Strive upwards! The clouds drift down, yielding to yearning love, to me, to me! In your lap, upwards, embracing and embraced! Upwards to your bosom, all-loving Father! Translation by Richard Wigmore ©

Voyage à Paris

Voyage to Paris

Ah! la charmante chose Quitter un pays morose Pour Paris Paris joli Qu’un jour Dut créer l’Amour

Oh! how delightful To leave a morose country For Paris Pretty Paris That one day Love must have made Translation by Richard Stokes ©

Bleuet

Rookie

Montparnasse

Ô porte de l'hôtel avec deux plantes vertes Vertes qui jamais Ne porteront de fleurs Où sont mes fruits? Où me planté-je? Ô porte de l'hôtel un ange est devant toi Distribuant des prospectus On n'a jamais si bien défendu la vertu Donnez-moi pour toujours une chambre à la semaine Ange barbu vous êtes en réalité Un poète lyrique d'Allemagne Qui voulez connaître Paris Vous connaissez de son pavé Ces raies sur lesquelles il ne faut pas que l'on marche Et vous rêvez D'aller passer votre Dimanche à Garches Il fait un peu lourd et vos cheveux sont longs Ô bon petit poète un peu bête et trop blond Vos yeux ressemblent tant à ces deux grands ballons Qui s'en vont dans l'air pur À l'aventure

O hotel door with two green plants Greenery which never Shall bear any flowers Where are my fruits Where did I plant myself O hotel door an angel stands before you Distributing leaflets Virtue has never been so well defended Give me for ever a room by the week Bearded angel you are in reality A lyric poet from Germany Who wants to get to know Paris You know its pavements’ Cracks where you must not step And you dream Of spending your Sunday at Garches It is somewhat sultry and your hair is long O good little poet rather stupid and too blond Your eyes so resemble those two big balloons Which float away in the pure air Randomly

Since she whom I lov’d Since she whom I lov'd hath paid her last debt To nature, and to hers, and my good is dead, And her soul early into heaven ravished, Wholly in heavenly things my mind is set. Here the admiring her my mind did whet To seek thee, God; so streams do show the head; But though I have found thee, and thou my thirst hast fed, A holy thirsty dropsy melts me yet. But why should I beg more love, whenas thou Dost woo my soul, for hers off'ring all thine, And dost not only fear lest I allow My love to saints and angels, things divine, But in thy tender jealousy dost doubt Lest the world, flesh, yea devil put thee out.

At the round earth's imagin'd corners At the round earth's imagin'd corners, blow Your trumpets, angels, and arise, arise From death, you numberless infinities Of souls, and to your scatter'd bodies go; All whom the flood did, and fire shall o'erthrow, All whom war, dearth, age, agues, tyrannies, Despair, law, chance hath slain, and you whose eyes Shall behold God and never taste death's woe. But let them sleep, Lord, and me mourn a space, For if above all these my sins abound, 'Tis late to ask abundance of thy grace When we are there; here on this lowly ground Teach me how to repent; for that's as good As if thou'hadst seal'd my pardon with thy blood.

Thou hast made me Thou hast made me, and shall thy work decay? Repair me now, for now mine end doth haste, I run to death, and death meets me as fast, And all my pleasures are like yesterday; I dare not move my dim eyes any way, Despair behind, and death before doth cast Such terror, and my feebled flesh doth waste By sin in it, which it towards hell doth weigh. Only thou art above, and when towards thee By thy leave I can look, I rise again; But our old subtle foe so tempteth me, That not one hour I can myself sustain; Thy grace may wing me to prevent his art, And thou like adamant draw mine iron heart.

Death, be not proud Death, be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so; For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me. From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be, Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow, And soonest our best men with thee do go, Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery. Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men, And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell, And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then? One short sleep past, we wake eternally And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.

¿Corazón, porqué pasáis

Heart, why do you pass…?

¿Corazón, porqué pasáis Las noches de amor despierto Si vuestro dueño descansa En los brazos de otro dueño?

My heart, why do you keep awake during the nights of love, if your master rests in the arms of another master? Translation by Alice Rogers-Mendoza ©

Del cabello más sutil

From the finest hair

Del cabello más sutil Que tienes en tu trenzado He de hacer una cadena Para traerte a mi lado. Una alcarraza en tu casa, Chiquilla, quisiera ser, Para besarte en la boca, Cuando fueras a beber.

From the finest hair in your tresses I wish to make a chain to draw you to my side. In your house, young girl, I'd fain be a pitcher, to kiss your lips whenever you went to drink. Ah!

Chiquitita la novia

Tiny is the bride

Chiquitita la novia, Chiquitito el novio, Chiquitita la sala, Y el dormitorio, Por eso yo quiero Chiquitita la cama Y el mosquitero.

Tiny is the bride, Tiny is the groom, Tiny is the living room, Tiny is the bedroom. That is why I want a tiny bed with a mosquito net. Translation by Alice Rogers-Mendoza ©