Issuu

Robert Blocker, Dean

Greer Lyle soprano Yale Opera Certificate in Performance Recital April 20, 2022 | 4:30 p.m. | Morse Recital Hall in Sprague Memorial Hall JJ Penna, piano

Osvaldo Golijov b. 1960

Lúa descolorida (1999)

Rosalía de Castro

Olivier Messiaen 1908–1992

Chants de Terre et de Ciel (1938) I. Bail avec Mi (Pour ma femme) III. Danse du bébé-pilule (Pour mon petit Pascal) IV. Arc-en-ciel d’innocence (Pour mon petit Pascal) VI. Résurrection (Pour le jour de Pâques)

Olivier Messiaen

intermission

Erich Wolfgang Korngold 1897–1957

Drei Lieder, Op. 22 I. Was du mir bist? II. III.

Samuel Barber 1910–1981

Mit Dir zu schweigen Welt ist stille eingeschlafen

Knoxville: Summer of 1915, Op. 24

Eleonore van der Straaten Karl Kobald Karl Kobald James Agee

This performance is in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the Certificate in Performance. 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 Lúa descolorida

Moon, colorless

Text by Rosalia de Castro

English Translation © Osvaldo Golijov

Lúa descolorida Como cor de ouro pálido, vesme i eu non quixera me vises de tan alto. Ó espaso que recorres, lévame, caladiña, nun teu raio.

Moon, colorless

Astro das almas orfas, lúa descolorida, eu ben sei que n'alumas tristeza cal a miña. Vai contalo ó teu dono, e dille que me leve abonde habita.

Star of the orphan souls, Moon, colorless: I know that you don’t illuminate sadness as sad as mine. Go and tell it to your master and tell him to take me to his place.

Mais non lle contes nada, descolorida lúa, pois nin neste nin noutros mundos teréis fertuna. Se sabe onde a morte ten a morada escura, dille que corpo e alma xuntamente me leve adonde non recorden nunca, Nin no mundo en que estóu nin nas alturas.

But don’t tell him anything, Moon, colorless, because my fate won’t change here or in other worlds. If you know where Death has her dark mansion, Tell her to take my body and soul together To a place where I won’t be remembered, Neither in this world, nor in the heights above.

Chants de Terre et de Ciel

Songs of Earth and Heaven

like the color of pale gold: You see me here and I wouldn’t like you to see me from the heights above. Take me, silently, in your ray to the space of your journey.

Text by Olivier Messiaen

English Translation © Richard Stokes and Siglind Bruhn

I. Bail avec Mi (pour ma femme) Ton œil de terre, mon œil de terre, nos mains de terre, Pour tisser l'atmosphère, la montagne de l'atmosphère. Étoile de silence à mon cur de terre, à mes lèvres de terre, Petite boule de soleil complémentaire à ma terre. Le bail, doux compagnon de mon épaule amère.

I. Lease with Mi (for my wife) Your earthly eye, my earthly eye, our earthly hands, For weaving the atmosphere, the mountain of atmosphere, Star of silence at my earthly heart, at my earthly lips, Small sun ball that complements my earth, The lease, sweet companion of my bitter shoulder.

III. Danse du bébé-Pilule (pour mon petit Pascal) Pilule, viens, dansons, Malonlanlaine, ma. C'est l'alphabet du rire aux doigts de ta maman. Son oui perpétuel était un lac tranquille. Malonlanlaine, ma. Douceur des escaliers, surprise au coin des portes. Tous les oiseaux légers s'envolaient de tes mains. Oiseaux légers, cailloux, refrains, crème légère. En poisons bleus, en lunes bleues, les auréoles de la terre et de l'eau, un seul poumon dans un seul roseau, Io, io, malonlaine, ma, malonlaine, ma……. L'œil désarmé, un ange sur la tête, ton petit nez levé yers le bleu qui s'avale, ourlant de cris dorés les horizons de verre, tu tendais ton cur si pur.

III. Dance of Baby Pilule (for my little Pascal)

IV. Arc-en-ciel d'innocence (pour mon petit Pascal), Pilule, tu t'étires comme une majuscule de vieux missel. Tues fatigué; regarde ta main. Jouet incassable, les resorts fonctionnent toujours; mais on ne peut pas le lancer par dessus bord comme la jolie poupée en coton. Rêve aux plis de l'heure: tresse, tresse des vocalises autour du silence : le soleil t'écrira sur l'épaule du matin pour lancer des oiseaux dans ta bouche sans dents. Sourire, sourire, ce que tu chantes, chanter, chanter, tia appris à sourire. Ce que tu ne vois pas, sauras-tu en rêver?

IV. Rainbow of Innocence (for my little Pascal)

Pilule, come, let's dance, Malonlanlaine, ma. It's the alphabet of laughter at your mom's fingers. Her perpetual yes was a tranquil lake. Malonlanlaine, ma. Sweetness of staircases, surprise at the door corner. All the light birds flew away from your hands,

Light birds, pebbles, refrains, light cream; In blue fish, in blue moons; the haloes of earth and water, a single lung in a single reed, lo, io, malonlaine, ma, malonlaine, ma. The eye disarmed, an angel on the head, your little nose raised to the blue that is to be swallowed, hemming the crystal horizons with golden cries, you offered your heart, which is so pure. Chanter, chanter, chanter, ah! Chanter, To sing, to sing, to sing, oh! To sing, gatherers glaneuses d'étoiles, tresses de la vie, of stars, braids of life, pouviez-vous chanter plus délicieusement? could you sing more delightfully? Le vent sur tes oreilles, malonlanlaine, ma, The wind on your ears, malonlanlaine ma, joue à saute-mouton, malonlanlaine, ma. plays leap-frog, malonlanlaine ma. Et la présence verte et l'œil de ta maman. And the green presence and your mom's eye. En effeuillant une heure autour de mon sourire. By plucking the petals from an hour around my Malonlanlaine, ma. smile. Malonlanlaine, ma. Autour de mon sourire. Ma, ma, ma, io ! ha, ha, Around my smile. Ma, ma, ma, io ! ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha ! io, io ! ha, ha io, io !

Pilule, you stretch like one of the capital letters in an old missal, You are tired; look at your hand. An unbreakable toy, its springs always work; but one cannot throw it overboard like the pretty cotton doll. Dream of the creases within the hour: braid, braid vowel sounds around the silence: the sun will write on your morning shoulder so as to throw birds into your toothless mouth. To smile, to smile, what you sing; to sing, to sing has taught you to smile. Would you know to dream of things you don't see?

Viens, que je te catapulte dans le jour comme la libellule aviateur! Te voilà plus haut que moi; quel plaisir de dominer tous ces géants! Attache à tes poignets fins les arcs-en-ciel d'innocence qui sont tombés de tes yeux, fais les frémir dans les encoignures du temps. Très loin, très près; recommençons cent fois le jeu! Où est-il? si haut qu'on ne le voit plus? Saute, mon bilboquet Pilule! Tu t'agites comme un battant de cloche pascale. Bonjour, petit garçon.

Come, let me catapult you into the day like an aviator dragonfly! There you are higher than me; what joy to dominate all those giants! Attach to your tiny wrists the rainbows of innocence that have fallen from your eyes, make them tremble in the creases of time. Very far, very close; let us restart the game a hundred times! Where is he? So high that one cannot see him anymore? Jump, my ring-and-pin Pilule! You swing back and forth like an Easter bell clapper. Good morning, little boy.

VI. Résurrection (pour le jour de Pâques)

VI. Resurrection (for Easter Day)

Alléluia, alléluia, Il est le premier, le Seigneur Jésus. Des morts, il est le premier né. Sept étoiles d’amour au transpercé, revêtez votre habit de clarté. Je suis ressuscité, je suis ressuscité. Je chante: pour toi, mon Père, pour toi, mon Dieu, Alléluia De mort à vie je passe. Un ange. Sur la pierre il s’est posé. Parfum, porte, perle, azymes de la Vérité. Alléluia, alléluia, Nous l’avons touché, nous l’avons vu. De nos mains nous l’avons touché. Un seul fleuve de vie dans son côté, revêtez votre habit de clarté. Je suis ressuscité, je suis ressuscité. Je monte: vers toi, mon Père, vers toi, mon Dieu, Alléluia. De terre à ciel je passe. . Du pain. Il le rompt et leurs yeux sont dessillés.

Hallelujah, hallelujah. He is the first, the Lord Jesus. He is the first-born of the dead. Seven stars of love for the pierced one, Put on your garment of light. I have risen again, I have risen again; I sing: For Thee, my Father, for Thee, My God, hallelujah. I pass from death to life. An angel. He has alighted on the stone. Perfume, gate, pearl, Unleavened bread of Truth. Hallelujah, halleluiah. We have touched Him, we have seen Him. With our hands we have touched Him. A single stream of life in His side, Put on your garment of light. I have risen again, I have risen again. I ascend: to Thee, my Father, to Thee, My God, hallelujah. I pass from death to light. Bread. He breaks it and scales fall from their eyes. Perfume, gate, pearl, Wash yourselves in Truth.

Parfum, porte, perle, lavez-vous dans la Vérite.

Was du mir bist?

What you are to me?

Text by Eleonore van der Straaten

Was du mir bist? Der Ausblick in ein schönes Land, Wo fruchtbelad’ne Bäume ragen, Blumen blühn’ am Quellenrand. Was du mir bist? Der Stern’ Funkeln, das Gewölk durchbricht, Der ferne Lichtstrahl, der im Dunkeln spricht: O Wand’rer, verzage nicht! Und war mein Leben auch Entsagen, glänzte mir kein froh Geschick, was dur mir bist? Kannst du noch fragen? Was du mir bist: mein Glaube an das Glück.

What you are to me? The sight of land,

Mit dir zu schweigen

Silence, when I’m with you

Text by Karl Kobald

Mit Dir zu schweigen still im Dunkel, die Seele an der Träume Schoss gelehnt, ist Lauschen ew’gen Melodien, ist Liebe ohne End. Mit Dir zu schweigen in der Dämmerzeit ist Schweben nach der Welten grossen Fülle, ist Wachsen weit in die Unendlichkeit, entrückt in ew’ge Stille.

To sit with you in silence in the dark, Our souls resting in the lap of dreams, Is to hear eternal melodies, Is endless love, it seems. To sit with you at twilight without words Is to float towards the fullness of the earth, Is to grow deep into the infinite, Far removed, a tranquil berth.

Welt ist stille eingeschlafen

When the World has gone to sleep

Text by Karl Kobald

Welt ist stille eingeschlafen, Ruht im Mondenschein Öffnen sich im Himmelshafen Augen, golden, rein, Gottes Geige singt jetzt leis’ Liebste, denk’ an Dich, Wie im Traumboot geht die Reise, such’ in Sternen Dich. Strahlen sel’ger Lieb erhellen Meines Herzens Raum. Zweisprach halten uns’re Seelen, Küssen sich im Traum.

When the world has gone to sleep, Resting in the moon-light And in heaven’s harbour Eyes, pure and golden open, God’s violin sings sweetly And my love, I think of you Sailing in a boat of dreams, I seek you in the stars, Beams of blissful love light up The recesses of my heart. Our souls in deep communion kiss, In my dream … in my dream.

A stand of fruit-laden trees, Flowers in bloom at the water’s edge. What you are to me? The sparkle of stars that breaks through the cloud, The distant ray of light that through the darkness says: Traveller, don’t lose heart! And even if my life was one of resignation, Where no good fortune came my way, What you are to me? Need you ask? What you are to me: my faith in happiness.

Knoxville: Summer of 1915 Text by James Agee

We are talking now of summer evenings in Knoxville Tennessee in the time that I lived there so successfully disguised to myself as a child. ...It has become that 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, hangars. 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, squaring 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, 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; fainting, lifting, lifts, faints foregone: forgotten. Now is the night one blue dew. Now is the night one blue dew, my father has drained, he has coiled the hose. Low in 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 back yard 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 voices 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, oh, will not, not now, not ever; but will not ever tell me who I am.

A sincere and heartfelt thank you to the village that helped me prepare for this recital. I could not have tackled the breadth of Messiaen’s intricacy without the guidance of JJ Penna, who plays every note with awe-inspiring emotion. To my teacher, Gerald Martin Moore, thank you for helping me understand how to navigate the technical demands of this music through your wisdom and guidance and for supporting my ambitious goals. I am grateful to Dean Robert Blocker for allowing me the opportunity to present this recital and to Doris Yarick-Cross for setting me onto my path at Yale. I also would like to extend my gratitude to you, listener, for sharing this moment of music with me.