Creo que al final no tenemos ningún ciclo entre manos (a lo mejor me equivoco, que la semana pasada estuve un poco despistada), así que con vuestro permiso (podéis pegarme virtualmente si hay algo empezado):

Edvard Grieg - Haugtussa (The Mountain Maid)

“Haugtussa” está escrito sobre poemas de Arne Garborg (1851-1924) publicados en 1895, inspirados en la Noruega rural del S.XIX

El personaje principal es “Veslemøy”, llamada “Haugtussa” por su pueblo porque tiene poderes psíquicos. Una “Haugtussa” es una especie de troll subterrestre. Los poemas tratan su vida en la pobreza en la Noruega rural, cómo es diferente a los demás y temida por su comunidad. Ama a un hombre pero éste se casa con otra, lo que casi corrompe su espíritu, pero consigue vencer a los demonios que la acechan y se convierte en una mujer sabia y respetada.

El ciclo está formado por 8 canciones:

Det syng
Veslemøy
Blåbær-li
Møte
Elsk
Killingdans
Vond dag
Ved Gjætle-Bekken

Os dejo las dos primeras (me acabo de dar cuenta de que la primera ya estaba) . Espero que os guste:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rvG212HRqPA

Å veit du den Draum, og veit du den Song, so vil du Tonane gøyme; og gilja det for deg so mang ein Gong, rett aldri so kann du det gløyme. Å hildrande du! Med meg skal du bu; i Blåhaugen skal du din Sylvrokk snu. Du skal ikkje fæle den svale Nott, då Røtane gror ned i Jordi; du såg i Draumen det Måne-Slott og høyrde dei Leikar-Ordi. Det frævest i Blund, det grønkar i Lund, og Dagen ei kjenner den Sæle-Stund. Du skal ikkje fæle den mjuke Nott, då Draumen slær ut sine Vengir i linnare Ljos enn Dagen hev ått og Tonar frå stillare Strengir. Det voggar um [Lid">1, det svævest av Strid, og Dagen ei kjenner den Sæle-Tid. Du skal ikkje fæle den djupe Nott, som søv under svivande Eimar og ser gjenom Gru og ser gjenom grått langt inn i dei draumhulde Heimar og voggar deg linn og lullar deg inn frå Dagen den trøytte, av Soli blind. Du skal ikkje ræddast den Elskhug vill, som syndar og græt og gløymer; hans Famn er heit og hans Hug er mild, og Bjørnen arge han tøymer. Å hildrande du! Med meg skal du bu; i Blåhaugen skal du din Sylvrokk snu.]

Oh, if you know the dream, and if you know the song, you will always retain the notes. and though time and again you may go astray, you will never be able to forget. Oh you enchantress! you shall live with me, on Blue Mountain you shall turn your silver spinning wheel. You shall not fear the gentle night when the dream spreads out its wings to softer strains than daylight can offer, and music from more delicate strings. The hill rocks us gently; all strife fades away, and daylight does not know these hours of bliss. You shall not tremble at fiery passion, that sins and weeps and forgets. His arms are hungry, his heart is meek, and he can tame wild bears. Oh you enchantress! you shall live with me, on Blue Mountain you shall turn your silver spinning wheel. ">

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h9ggj3QPTZ4

Ho er mager og myrk og mjå med brune og reine Drag og Augo djupe og grå' og stilslegt, drøymande Lag. Det er som det halvt um halvt låg ein Svevn yver heile ho; i Rørsle, Tale og alt ho hev denne døyvde Ro. Under Panna fager, men låg lyser Augo som bak ein Eim; det er som dei stirande såg langt inn i ein annan Heim. Berre Barmen gjeng sprengd og tung, og det bivrar um Munnen bleik. Ho er skjelvande sped og veik, midt i det ho er ven og ung.">

She is small and dark and slender with dusky, pure features and deep gray eyes and a soft and dreamy manner. It is almost as though a spell lay over her. In her movements, in her speech there is this muted calm. Beneath her forehead, lovely but low, her eyes shine as if through a mist. They seem to be staring deep into another world. Only her breast is tight and heavy, and there is a quiver about her pale mouth. She is tremblingly frail and delicate, and at the same time, charming and young.">

Y feliz cumpleaños a Edvard Grieg.

Al final no empezamos ningún ciclo después del de Messiaen, en teoría iba Elgar pero no arrancamos. Muy buena idea este de Grieg

Sí. Muy bien. Gracias, Angiolina

Nada de pegarte virtualmente, siempre felicitarte

Gran idea la de Grieg. Yo ando pillado pero os leo y escucho.

Me alegro de que os guste la idea.

Tercera entrega de Haugtussa - Blåbær-Li /Blueberry Hill

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=awdBiP-n_EU

Nei sjå, kor det blåner her! No må me roe oss, Kyra! Å nei, slike fine Bær, og dei, som det berre kryr a'! Nei Maken [hev eg">1 kje sét! Sùmt godt her er då til Fjells. No vil eg eta meg mett; her vil eg vera til Kvelds! Å nam-nam, so søtt og godt! Ja når det slik seg lagar! -- Og allestad blått i blått! Her hev eg for mange Dagar. Slik Smak so frisk og so fin! Eg er som på Kongens Slott. D'er plent som den beste Vin; å nam-nam, so søtt og godt! Men kom no den [Bjørnen]2 stor! - Her fekk bli Rom åt oss båe. Eg torde kje seia eit Ord til slik ein [rysjeleg]3 Våe. Eg sa berre: "ver so god! No må du kje vera bljug! Eg læt deg so vel i Ro; tak for deg etter din Hug." Men var det den Reven [raud]4, so skuld' han få smaka Staven; eg skulde banke han [daud]5, um so han var Bror til Paven. Slikt skarve, harmelegt Sleng! Han stèl både Kje og Lam. Men endå so fin han gjeng[og]6 hev korkje Agg hell Skam. Men var det den stygge Skrubb, so arg og so hol som Futen, -- eg tok meg ein Bjørkekubb og gav han ein god på Snuten. Han reiv sund Sauir og [Lomb]7 for Mor mi so trådt og tidt; ja sant! um han berre kom,[so]6 skuld' han so visst få sitt. Men var det den snilde Gut der burte frå Skare-Bròte, han fekk vel ein på sin Trut, -- men helst på ein annan Måte. Å Tøv, kva tenkjer eg på! Det lid nok på Dagen alt... Eg må til Buskapen sjå; -- ho "Dokka" drøymer um Salt. ]

Just look how blue it is here! Now, my cows, we can rest. Oh, what splendid berries the hillside's fairly teaming with them! Never have I seen the like! How good it is on the mountain. Now I shall eat my fill; I shall stay here till evening! But what if the great bear should come! There's room here for both of us. I'd never dare say a word to such a splendid fellow. I'd say only: "Help yourself! Now you mustn't be shy. I won't bother you a bit; take as much as you like." But if it were the red fox, he'd get a taste of my stick; I would strike him dead even if he were the Pope's brother. Such a sly, scheming rascal! He steals both cows and lambs, And even though he is so handsome, he has neither pride nor shame. But if it were the wicked wolf, as mean and mad as the bailiff, I'd take myself a birch club and fetch him one on the snout. He's forever slaughtering Mother's sheep and lambs; Oh yes, just let him show his face, he'll get what's coming to him! But if it were the nice boy from over in Skare-Brôte, He too would get something on the mouth, but, I hope, something quite different. Oh, rubbish, what am I thinking of! The day is getting on... I'd better see to the herd; there's "Dolly" dreaming of salt.">

La cuarta, Møte. Qué bonita es!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xsCTbv8vBO4&hl

(click)

Y un regalito para Stiffelio y el resto de seguidores de Bostridge que vayan a perderse su recital en Madrid:

Wer nie sein Brot mit Tränen aß (Harfenspieler III) D840



(click)

Gracias guapa

Menos mal que cuando uno no puede hablar, siempre puede seguir escuchando música y escribiendo a los amigos.

Gracias.

Muchas gracias Elvira.

Celebremos el doble cumpleaños del día, aunque sea tarde:

Gounod - Chanson du Printemps - Elly Ameling

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VyTtornA0VM

Viens! enfant, la terre s'éveille,
Le soleil rit au gazon vert!
La fleur au calice entr'ouvert
Reçoit les baisers de l'abeille.
Respirons cet air pur!
Environs-nous d'azur!
Là-haut sur la colline
Viens cueillir l'aubepine!
La neige des pommiers
Parfume les sentiers.

Viens! enfant, voici l'hirondelle,
Qui passe en chantant dans les airs;
Ouvre ton âme aux frais concerts
Eclos sous la feuille nouvelle.
Un vent joyeux, là-bas,
Frémit dans les lilas;
C'est la saison bénie,
C'est l'amour, c'est la vie!
Qu'un fleuve de bonheur
Innonde notre coeur.

Viens! enfant, c'est l'heure charmante
Où l'on voudrait rêver à deux;
Mêlons nos rêves et nos voeux
Sous cette verdure naissante;
Salut, règne des fleurs,
Des parfums, des couleurs!
Les suaves haleines
Voltigent sur les plaines;
Le coeur épanoui
Se perd dans l'infini!

Stravinsky - Three Songs from William Shakespeare - Music to hear, why hear'st thou music...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wv4MA7SLP0Q


Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly?
Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy.
Why lovest thou that which thou receivest not gladly,
Or else receivest with pleasure thine annoy?
If the true concord of well-tunèd sounds,
By unions married, do offend thine ear,
They do but sweetly chide thee, who confounds
In singleness the parts that thou shouldst bear.
Mark how one string, sweet husband to another,
Strikes each in each by mutual ordering,
Resembling sire and child and happy mother,
Who, all in one, one pleasing note do sing.
Whose speechless song, being many, seeming one,
Sings this to thee: "Thou single wilt prove none."

Buenos días

Oigamos al tenor que está estos días por nuestro país, aquí en un repertorio que creo que le va mejor que Schubert : Britten. En concreto la primera de los Holy Sonnets de Jonn Donne, acompañado de R. Vignoles al piano.



Oh my blacke Soule!

Oh my blacke Soule! now thou art summoned
By sicknesse, death's herald, and champion;
Thou art like a pilgrim, which abroad hath done
Treason, and durst not turne to whence hee is fled,
Or like a thiefe, which till death's doome be read,
Wisheth himselfe deliver'd from prison;
But dam'd and hal'd to execution,
Wisheth that still he might be imprisoned.
Yet grace, if thou repent, thou canst not lacke;
But who shall give thee that grace to beginne?
Oh make thyselfe with holy mourning blacke,
And red with blushing, as thou are with sinne;
Or wash thee in Christ's blood, which hath this might
That being red, it dyes red soules to white.

Madrigal Giulio Caccini, "Amor, io parto".

Amor, io parto, e sento nel partire
al penar, al morire,
ch'io parto da colei ch'è la mia vita,
se ben ella gioisce
quand'il mio cor languisce.
O durezza incredibil'e infinita
d'anima che 'l suo core
può restar morto, e non sentir dolore!
Ben mi trafigge amore
l'aspra mia pen', il mio dolor pungente,
ma più mi duol il duol ch'ella non sente.

[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ClXFHhaACgs[/youtube]

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d0z0bebE ... re=related

Y este otro tb. está por aquí.
Padmore cantando Gerald Finzi/Th. Hardy:

A young man's exhortation

Call off your eyes from care
By some determined deftness; put forth joys
Dear as excess without the core that cloys,
And charm Life's lourings fair.

Exalt and crown the hour
That girdles us, and fill it with glee,
Blind glee, excelling aught could ever be,
Were heedfulness in power.

Send up such touching strains
That limitless recruits from Fancy's pack
Shall rush upon your tongue, and tender back
All that your soul contains.

For what do we know best?
That a fresh love-leaf crumpled soon will dry,
And that men moment after moment die,
Of all scope dispossest.

If I have seen one thing
It is the passing preciousness of dreams;
That aspects are within us; and who seems
Most kingly is the King.

Un pequeño viaje a Rusia.

Gretchaninov:

Lullaby
The Dreary Steppe
Like an Angel
My Country

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9DBEsufRdgI

Editado por supresión del youtube

Y con permiso de Angiolina seguimos con el ciclo de Grieg

von Otter: Haugtussa ('Elsk'-Love 5/8) by Edvard Grieg


Elsk

Den galne Guten min Hug hev dåra,
eg fangen sit som ein Fugl i Snåra;
den galne Guten, han gjeng so baus;
han veit, at Fuglen vil aldri laus.

Å giev du batt meg med Bast og Bende,
å gjev du batt meg, so Bandi brende!
Å gjev du drog meg so fast til deg,
at heile Verdi kom burt for meg!

Ja kund' eg trolla og kund' eg heksa,
eg vilde inn i den Guten veksa,
eg vilde veksa meg i deg inn
og vera berre hos Guten min.

Å du, som bur meg i Hjarta inne,
du Magti fekk yver alt mit Minne;
kvart vesle Hugsviv som framum dreg,
det berre kviskrar um deg, um deg.

Um Soli lyser på Himlen blanke,
no ser ho deg, det er all min Tanke;
um Dagen dovnar og Skoming fell:
skal tru han tenkjer på meg i Kveld?


Love

The crazy boy has bewitched my mind.
I am caught like a bird in a net.
The crazy boy, he struts so confidently.
He knows the bird won't try to escape.

Oh, if only you would beat me with rushes,
beat me till they burned to ashes!
If only you would draw me so tightly to yourself
that the whole world vanished for me!

If I could work magic, do witchcraft,
I would like to grow inside that boy,
I would like to grow inside you,
and be only with my own boy.

Oh, you who live deep in my heart,
you have taken hold of my thoughts,
so that every fluttering fancy
whispers only of you, of you.

When the sun shines from the brilliant sky,
she sees you, who are in my every thought.
When the day sinks and darkness falls:
Will he really think of me tonight?