Benjamin Britten / Peter Pears


The bonny Earl o' Moray

Language: English


Ye Hielands and ye Lowlands,
O where hae ye been?
Thay hae slain the Earl o' Moray,
And laid him on the green.

He was a braw gallant
And he rade at the ring;
And the bonnie Earl o' Moray
He might have been a king.

O lang will his Lady
Look frae the Castle Doune,
Ere she see the Earl o' Moray
Come soundin' thru' the toon . . .

O wae tae ye, Huntley,
And wherefore did ye sae?
I bade ye bring him wi' you
And forbade ye him to slay.

He was a braw gallant
And he played at the glove;
And the bonnie Earl o' Moray
He was the Queen's love.

http://open.spotify.com/track/3zMEWUfHojFW4AXofsUYFY

Hoy en BBC Radio 3:

Gerald Finley, Julius Drake

Schumann
Belsatzar
Die feindlichen Brüder
Abends am Strand
Die beiden Grenadiere

Ravel
Histoires Naturelles

Barber
The Daisies
Solitary Hotel
Bessie Bobtail
Nocturne

Ives
West London
In the Alley
Charlie Rutlage
Slugging a Vampire.

Dejo los enlaces:
Información - http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b00zdh7w
Para escuchar - http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/console/bbc_radio_three

thank you. sobre todo tb. en nombre de santuzza!!

Ippolitov-Ivanov. De sus 4 Poemas de Rabindranath Tagore, el primero, Arms are Drawn to Arms. Canta Zara Dolukhanova.



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http://open.spotify.com/track/3CptXAj1ckwlA7okzhEkMi
Britten / Pears

The ploughboy

A flaxen-headed cowboy, as simple as may be,
And next a merry ploughboy, I whistled o'er the lea;
But now a saucy footman, I strut in worsted lace,
And soon I'll be a butler, and [wag]1 my jolly face.
When steward I'm promoted, I'll [snip a]2 trademen's bill,
My master's coffers empty, my pockets for to fill;
When lolling in my chariot, so great a man I'll be,
You'll forget the little ploughboy that whistled o'er the lea.

I'll buy votes at elections, but, when I've made the pelf,
I'll stand poll for the parliament, and then vote in myself;
Whatever's good for me, sir, I never will oppose;
When all my ayes are sold off, why then I'll sell my noes.
I'll [bawl]3, harangue, and paragraph, with speeches charm the ear;
And when I'm tired on my legs, then I'll sit down a peer;
In court or city honours, so great a man I'll be,
You'll forget the little ploughboy that whistled o'er the lea.

Fabuloso. Lo acabo de estar oyendo. Gracias

Sigo con el ciclo de Ippolitov-Ivanov y Tagore. Don't Leave Without Saying Farewell.



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Del malogrado Charles Tomlinson Griffes (1884-1920), podemos oir el tristísimo primer lied, "El lamento de Ian, the Proud", de su Opus 11 (Tres poemas de MacLeod), compuesto en 1918, interpretado por el barítono Marcus De Loach, con Thomas Bagwell al piano:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RnvyhKFZtDI

What is this crying that I hear in the wind?
Is it the old sorrow and the old grief?
Or is it a new thing coming, a whirling leaf
About the gray hair of me who am weary and blind?
I know not what it is, but on the moor above the shore
There is a stone which the purple nets of heather bind,
And thereon is writ: She will return no more.
O blown, whirling leaf, and the old grief,
And wind crying to me who am old and blind!


¿Que es ese grito que oigo en el viento?
¿Es el viejo dolor y la antigua pena?
¿O es algo nuevo que llega, una hoja volandera
alrededor de mis cabellos grises, yo, que estoy agotado y ciego?
No sé lo que es, pero en la orilla del río
hay una piedra rodeada por una red púrpura de brezo
y en ella está escrito: “Ella no volverá”
¡Oh, hoja agitada, volandera, y la antigua pena,
y cómo me grita el viento que soy viejo y ciego!

http://open.spotify.com/track/1VjNjj2vwxRQTq3guoKjtW

Sweet Polly Oliver
Britten/Pears


Sweet Polly Oliver

Language: English


As sweet Polly Oliver lay musing in bed,
A sudden strange fancy came into her head.
"Nor father nor mother shall make me false prove,
I'll 'list as a soldier, and follow my love".

So early next morning she softly arose
And dressed herself up in her dead brother's clothes.
She cut her hair close and she stained her face brown,
And went for a soldier to fair London Town.

Then up spoke the sergeant one day at his drill.
"Now who's good for nursing? A captain, he's ill".
"I'm ready", said Polly. To nurse him she's gone,
And finds it's her true love all wasted and wan.

The first week the doctor kept shaking his head,
"No nursing, young fellow, can save him", he said.
But when Polly Oliver had nursed him back to life,
He cried, "You have cherished him as if you were his wife".

Oh, then Polly Oliver, she burst into tears
And told the good doctor her hopes and her fears,
And very shortly after, for better or for worse,
The captain took joyfully his pretty soldier nurse.

La soprano Ilona Domnich nos presenta esta canción del compositor israelí Paul Ben-Haim, Ani Havazelet ha-Sharon (Soy el lirio del valle), adaptada del "Cantar de los Cantares":

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dTGvyP4ybeg

http://open.spotify.com/track/73fEbI9Fgur37Y7es3ibP0

There's none to soothe

Britten/Pears


There's none to soothe


There's none to soothe my soul to rest,
There's none my load of grief to share,
Or wake to joy this lonely breast,
Or light the gloom of dark despair.

The voice of joy no more can cheer,
The look of love no more can warm
Since mute for aye's that voice so dear,
And closed that eye alone could charm.

En el hilo de temporadas operísticas foreras, salió a colación el nombre del compositor de The Aspern Papers, Dominick Argento.

En 1962, Argento publicó un ciclo de canciones, Six Elizabethan Songs, para soprano y orquesta.

Escuchamos Winter, sobre un texto de Shakespeare, en la voz de Leontyne Price:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yHf_ae0_7qw

When icicles hang by the wall
And Dick the shepherd blows his nail,
And Tom bears logs into the hall,
And milk comes frozen home in pail;

When blood is nipt and ways be foul,
Then nightly sings the staring owl
Tuwhoo! Tuwhit! Tuwhoo! A merry note!
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

When all aloud the wind doth blow,
And coughing drowns the parson's saw,
And birds sit brooding in the snow,
And Marian's nose looks red and raw;

When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl
Then nightly sings the staring owl
Tuwhoo! Tuwhit! Tuwhoo! A merry note!
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

Probando, probando. Este me ha encantado y Kirchschlager, deliciosa. Supongo que ya habrá salido, pero por si no...un poco más de Hugo Wolf.

Das verlassene Mägdlein

http://open.spotify.com/track/2Xkg9nkA90NW9moDw3mJKX

Ya era hora que asomaras por aquí otro poco!
Kirchschlager bien.
Wolf, Hugo Wolf bien.

Ahora pongo otro Britten :

http://open.spotify.com/track/1k1fAMXCk1ZqfQUmPaIjFy

Little Sir William

Easter day was a holiday
Of all the days in the year,
And all the little schoolfellows
Went out to play
But Sir William was not there.

Mamma went to the School Wife House
And knocked at the ring,
Saying, "Little Sir William
if you are there,
Pray let your mother in."

The School Wife open'd the door
And said "He is not here today.
He is with the little schoolfellows
Out on the green
Playing some pretty play."

Mamma went to the Boyne water
That is so wide and deep, saying,
Little Sir William if you are there,
Oh pity your mother's weep."

"How can I pity your weep, mother
And I so long in pain?
For the little penknife
Sticks close to my heart
And the School Wife hath me slain.

Go home, go home my mother dear,
And prepare my winding sheet,
For tomorrow morning before eight o'clock,
You with my body shall meet.

And lay my prayer book at my head,
And my grammar at my feet,
That all the little schoolfellows
as they pass by
May read them for my sake."

Sigo con Ippolitov-Ivanov y Tagore. Tercera canción "O My Friend, Here Is a Flower":



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Gracias por todas las aportaciones.