Soave sia il vento 
Soave sia il vento, 
Tranquilla sia l’onda, 
Ed ogni elemento 
Benigno risponda 
Ai nostri desir. 

Gentle be the Breeze 
Gentle be the breeze, 
Calm be the waves, 
And every element 
Smile in favor 
On our desire. 

Des Knaben Wunderhorn

Gustav Mahler (1860-1911)

Das Irdische Leben 

Text by Anonymous  

Mutter, ach Mutter! es hungert mich, 
 Gib mir Brot, sonst sterbe ich. 
 Warte nur, mein liebes Kind! 
 Morgen wollen wir ernten geschwind. 
   
 Und als das Korn geerntet war, 
 Rief das Kind noch immerdar: 
 Mutter, ach Mutter! es hungert mich, 
 Gib mir Brot, sonst sterbe ich. 
 Warte nur, mein liebes Kind, 
 Morgen wollen wir dreschen geschwind. 
   
 Und als das Korn gedroschen war, 
 Rief das Kind noch immerdar: 
 Mutter, ach Mutter! es hungert mich, 
 Gib mir Brot, sonst sterbe ich. 
 Warte nur, mein liebes Kind, 
 Morgen wollen wir backen geschwind. 
 Und als das Brot gebacken war, 
 Lag das Kind auf der Totenbahr. 

The Earthly Life

Translation by Richard Stokes

Mother, ah mother, I am starving. 
 Give me bread or I shall die. 
 Wait, only wait, my beloved child! 
 Tomorrow the reaping will be swiftly done. 
   
 And when at last the corn was reaped, 
 Still the child kept on crying: 
 Mother, ah mother, I am starving, 
 Give me bread or I shall die. 
 Wait, only wait, my beloved child! 
 Tomorrow the threshing will be swiftly done. 
   
 And when at last the corn was threshed, 
 Still the child kept on crying: 
 Mother, ah mother, I am starving. 
 Give me bread or I shall die. 
 Wait, only wait, my beloved child! 
 Tomorrow the baking will be swiftly done. 
 And when at last the bread was baked, 
 The child lay dead upon the bier.  

Des Knaben Wunderhorn

Gustav Mahler (1860-1911)

Wer hat dies Liedlein erdacht?! 

Text: Anonymous

Dort oben in dem hohen Haus, 
 Da gucket ein fein's, lieb's Mädel heraus, 
 Es ist nicht dort daheime, 
 Es ist des Wirts sein Töchterlein, 
 Es wohnt auf grüner Heide. 
                                                       
 Mein Herze ist wund, 
 Komm, Schätzel, mach's gesund. 
 Dein schwarzbraune Äuglein, 
 Die haben mich verwundt. 
 Dein rosiger Mund 
 Macht Herzen gesund. 
 Macht Jugend verständig, 
 Macht Tote lebendig, 
 Macht Kranke gesund. 
   
 Wer hat denn das schöne Liedlein erdacht? 
 Es haben's drei Gäns übers Wasser gebracht, 
 Zwei graue und eine weiße; 
 Und wer das Liedlein nicht singen kann, 
 Dem wollen sie es pfeifen. Ja! 

Who Made Up This Little Song?!


High in the mountain stands a house, 
 From it a sweet pretty maid looks out, 
 But that is not her home, 
 She’s the innkeeper’s young daughter. 
 She lives on the green moor. 
   
 My heart is sick, 
 Come, my love, and cure it. 
 Your dark brown eyes 
 Have wounded me. 
 Your rosy lips 
 Can cure sick hearts, 
 Make young men wise, 
 Make dead men live, 
 Can cure the sick. 
   
 Who made up this pretty little song? 
 Three geese brought it across the water. 
 Two grey ones and a white one; 
 And for those who can’t sing this song, 
 They will pipe it to them. They will! 

Die tote Stadt 
Erich Wolfgang Korngold (1897-1957)

Pierrot’s Tanzlied
Paul Schott (1860-1945)

Mein Sehnen, mein Wähnen, es träumt sich zurück. 
Im Tanze gewann ich, verlor ich mein Glück. Im Tanze am Rhein, bei Mondenschein, 
gestand mir's aus Blauaug ein inniger Blick, 
gestand mir's ihr bittend Wort: 
o bleib, o geh mit nicht fort, 
bewahre der Heimat still blühendes Glück, 
mein Sehnen, mein Wähnen, es träumt sich zurück. 
Zauber der Ferne warf in die Seele den Brand, 
Zauber des Tanzes lockte, ward Komödiant. 
Folgt ihr, der Wundersüssen, 
lernt unter Tränen küssen. 
Rausch und Not, und Wahn und Glück, 
ach, das ist des Gauklers Geschick. 
Mein Sehnen, mein Wähnen, es träumt sich zurück…. 

Pierrot’s Dance Song

My longing, my imagining, it dreams itself back. 
In the dance, I won and lost my happiness. 
In the dance by the Rhine, in moonlight, 
A heartfelt glance from a blue-eyed girl confessed to me, 
She confessed to me with a pleading word: 
Oh, stay, don’t go away, 
Preserve the homeland’s quietly blooming happiness, 
My longing, my imagining, it dreams itself back. 
The magic of distance ignited a fire in my soul, 
The magic of dance enticed, turning into a comedian. 
Follow her, the wondrous sweet one, 
Learn to kiss under tears. 
Intoxication and hardship, delusion and happiness, 
Ah, that is the fate of a juggler. 
My longing, my imagining, it dreams itself back….

Star Gazing

Dr. Raymond Wise (b. 1961)
Libretto by Paul Schott

Text by Maria Hamilton-Abegunde (b. mid 1960s)

Whispering into Light

The stars don’t know I look at them. They don’t see me.

Though, I cannot be sure, I stand here, face up.

Each and every night. I am light just like they are.

What’s on the other side of their brilliance?

Ah, if I close my eyes long enough, can I be there 

and not here? Could I stay? Or would someone call 

me back, to be so kind to the children? To be so prompt 

with the dinner? To be so…me. How I long to be me,

whatever that means. I’m going to whisper to them,

to the stars. Surely whispering into light, will carry 

a message to the other side of time.

The Night is Like Me 

The night is like me. So dark and full of promises. 

She hides secrets that delight only her. She patiently 

waits. Lah, lah, lah, lah. She patiently waits for morning.

Be still, I tell myself. Let night turn into day slowly.

But wait for her fullness to lift off the world. Then wait

for your ears to hear the waking breath of the children.

How many are waiting? The are waiting.

How many are waiting for our arrival?

The Window Reveals All 

The window reveals all. One day, a woman will come

and stand here. She will know what no one else knows: 

Hmmm…Ah, I could see everything and see everyone.

The window reveals all. One day, a woman will come 

and stand here. She will see what I imagine and cannot.

That my life is so important to someone else besides me.

Black Holes and Star Dust 

Black holes, and stardust…The Milky Way...

Messages from ancients. What if they remember 

my true home? Do they see me?  Smaller than they 

appear in the sky. They are mirrors. I am starlight.

Some midnights, I can hear them twinkle. They keep

me up at night, streaming through the curtain. I think 

if I am silent, I can hear the voice of God, and it sounds 

like me dreaming.

Trois Ballades de François Villon 
Claude Debussy (1862-1918) 

Ballade que Villon feit à la requeste de sa mère pour prier Nostre-Dame
Text by François Villon

Dame due ciel, régent terrienne,

Emperière des infernaulx paluz, 

Recevez-moy, vostre humble chrestienne,

Que comprinse soye entre vois esleuz,

Ce non obstant qu’oncques riens ne valuz.

Les biens de vous, ma dame et ma maistresse,

Sont trop plus grans que ne suis pecheresse,

Sans lesquelz bien ame ne peult merir

N’avoir les cieulx, je n’en suis menteresse.

En ceste foi je vueil vivre et mourir.

A vostre Filz dictes que je suys sienne;

De lui soyent mes pechez aboluz:

Pardonnez-moy comme à l’Egyptienne,

Ou comme il feut au clerc Théophilus,

Lequel par vous fut quitte et absoluz,

Combien qu’il eust au diable faict promesse.

Preservez-moy que je n’accomplisse ce!

Vierge protant sans rompure encourir

Le sacrament qu’on celebre à le messe.

En ceste foy je bueil vivre et mourir.

Femme je suis povrette et ancienne,

Qui riens ne sçay, oncques lettre ne leuz;

Au moustier voy dont suis paroissienne,

Paradis painct où sont harpes et luz,

Et ung enfer où damnez sont boulluz:

L’ung enfer où damnez sont boulluz:

L’ung me faict paour, l’aultre joye et liesse. 

La joye avoir fais-moy, haulte Desse,

A qui pecheurs doibvent tous recourir,

Comblez de foy, sans faincte ne paresse.

En ceste foy je vueil vivre et mourir.

Ballad made at Villon’s mother’s request
for a prayer to Our Lady
Translation by Richard Stokes and Allison Voth

Lady of heaven, Regent of earth,

Empress of the infernal swamps,

Receive me, your humble Christian,

To be numbered among your elect,

Despite my worth as nothing,

Your goodness, my Lady and my Mistress,

Is far greater than my sinfulness,

Without it, no soul can merit

Nor enter heaven, I do not lie.

In this faith, I wish to live and die.

Tell your son that I am his.

Through him, may my sins be pardoned.

May he forgive me as he forgave the Egyptian woman

Or the clerk, Theophilus,

Who was acquitted and absolved by you,

Despite his pact with Satan.

Preserve me from doing such a thing,

Virgin, who bore without breaking the sacrament,

In this faith I wish to live and die.

I am a poor, old woman,

Ignorant and unlettered.

In my parish church I see

A painted paradise with harps and lutes,

And a hell where the damned are boiled:

One fills me with fright, the other, with joy and bliss

Grant me that joy, high Goddess.

To whom all sinners in the end must turn,

Full of faith, without hypocrisy or sloth.

In this faith I wish to live and die.

Six Mélodies

David Bontemps (b. 1947) 

Tes yeux sont des adieux

Text by Marie-Ange Jolicoeur (1889-1983)

Tes yeux sont des adieux

et l'air triste du couchant

Tes mains ne savent rien

car trop lasses sans voir passent.

Le temps tu t’en souviens

Plus jamais ne revient

dans nos vies qu’il étreint.

L’été

Cécile Chaminade (1857-1944) 

Text by Édouard Guinand (1838-1909)

Ah! Chantez, chantez,

Folle fauvette,

Gaie alouette,

Joyeux pinson, chantez, aimez!

Parfum des roses,

Fraîches écloses,

Rendez nos bois, nos bois plus embaumés!

Ah! Chantez, aimez!

Soleil qui dore

Les sycomores

Remplis d’essains tout bruisants,

Verse la joie,

Que tout se noie

Dans tes rayons resplendissants.

Ah! Chantez, aimez…

Souffle, qui passes

Dans les espaces

Semant l’espoir d’un jour d’été

Que ton haleine

Donne à la plaine

Plus d’éclat et plus de beauté.

Ah! chantez, chantez!

Dans la prairie

Calme et fleurie,

Entendez-vous ces mots si doux?

L’âme charmée,

L’épouse aimée

Bénit le ciel près de l’époux!

Ah, chantez, aimez…

Your Eyes are Your Farewells 

Translation by Allison Voth

Your eyes are your farewells

and the sad air of sunset

Your hands know nothing

too weary to see what passes by.

The time you remember

that embraced our lives

Will never return.

Summer

Translation by Allison Voth

Ah, sing, sing,

Foolhardy warbler,

Gay lark,

Happy chaffinch, sing and love!

Scent of roses,

Newly opened,

Render our woods more fragrant!

Ah! sing, love!

Sun that gilds

The sycamores

Abuzz with noisy swarms,

Pour forth joy, 

So all drown

In your resplendent rays

Ah! sing, and love…

Breeze, which passes

In the air

Sowing the hope of a summer day,

Let your breath

Give to the meadow

More brightness and beauty

Ah, sing, sing!

In the prairie

Calm and flourishing,

Do you hear these sweet words?

The charming wife

The heavens bless next to her husband!

Ah! Sing, love…

For a Look or a Touch 

Jake Heggie (b. 1961) 
 

Golden Years

Text by Edouard Guinand (1838-1909)

Wild! Free!

We are wild! We are free! Topsy turvy, joyful Berlin.

You are free! You are wild! Topsy turvy child of Berlin.

Golden years. Golden years. Nice. I saw that.

Give me a look or a touch and I’ll know.

A nod or a wink or a glance – mm mm

We don’t need words. Just stand very close.

Let’s not miss out on a chance for love tonight.

A look or a touch and I’ll know you’re the one.

A grin or a smile – mm mm

Just for a while, tonight or a lifetime,

We won’t miss out on a chance for love right now!

Dance with me. This is the Schwanenberg, hottest club in Berlin.

Meet and greet and eat and cheat and swing.

What a band! What a crowd at Schwanenberg!

Take my hand, dance all night at Schwanenberg!

Let’s have a laugh now. Let’s have some fun. Shout: “Police!”

Then watch ‘em pull their skirts up and run!

Everybody’s running around. Screaming! Laughing!

Giddy from the joy of this town, and these golden years. Golden years.

A Hundred Thousand Stars

Text by Gene Scheer (b. 1958) 

One by one. One by one.

A hundred thousand stars, love, have fallen from the sky.

A hundred thousand dreams gone, a hundred thousand sighs,

A hundred thousand whispers, promises and lies

The constellations change, our stories rearranged

And darkness fills the sky.

A hundred thousand stars, love, have vanished from the sky.

A hundred thousand candle flames flicker out and die.

Our laughter in the night, love, when you would hold me tight, love,

Like shadows on a wall nobody will recall.

Who will remember how starlight filled the skies?

As I will always remember the way it filled your eyes.

Every star had a name. Every one was a light.

What is that I hear, love? A train is passing by.

Another star has vanished, stolen from the sky.

Hush, my love! Hush, my love!

You must not be afraid now. This will not be the end.

A hundred million stars will be born to fill the sky again.

You never are alone, love, I swear I’m by your side.

There’s very little light. Auf Wiedersehen, adieu,

Good night, my love. Good night.

Tonadillas   

Enrique Granados (1867-1916)

La maja dolorosa

Text by Fernando Periquet (1873-1940)

De aquel majo amante

que fué mi gloria

guardo anhelante

dichosa memoria.

El me adoraba

vehemente y fiel.

Yo mi vida entera

di a él.

Y otras mil diera

Si él quisiera,

que en hondos amores

martirios son las flores.

Y al recorder mi majo amado

van resurgiendo ensueños

de un tiempo asado.

Ni en el Mentidero

ni en la Florida

majo más majo

paseó en la vida.

Bajo el chambergo

sus ojos ví

con toda el alma

puestos en mí

que a quien miraban

enamoraban,

pues no hallé en el undo 

mirar más profundo.

Y al recorder mi majo amado

van resurgiendo ensueños

de un tiempo passado.

The Forlorn Maiden 

Translation by Pamela Narbone Jerez

Of that handsome lover

that was once my joy

I ardently keep

sweet memories.

he adored me

fervently and loyally.

My whole life I gave to him,

and a thousand more would I give,

if he wished it,

for in deep love 

agony is a flower.

And when I think of my beloved,

Dreams of a time gone by

Are rekindled.

Neither in Mentidero,

nor in Florida,

a more handsome man

ever roamed.

Under the rim of his hat

I saw his eyes

fixed upon me

with all his soul.

They bewitched

all those whom they beheld,

and in this world I never found a gaze

so profound.

And when I think of my beloved,

dreams of a time gone by 

are rekindled.

 Siete Canciones populares Españolas

Manuel de Falla (1876-1946)

El paño moruno 

Text by Gregorio Martínez Sierra (1881-1947)

Al paño fino, en la tienda,

Una mancha le cayó.

Por menos precio se vende,

Porque perdió su valor.

¡Ay!

Nana 

Text by Anonymous 

Duérmete, niño, duerme,

duerme, mi alma,

duérmete, lucerito,

de la mañana.

Naninta, nana,

duérmete, lucertio

de la mañana.

Jota 

Text from a folk song

Dicen que no nos queremos,

porque no nos ven hablar.

a tu corazón y al mío

se lo pueden preguntar.

Ya me despido de tí,

De tu casa y tu ventana.

Y aunque no quiera tu madre.

Adiós, niña, hasta mañana.

The Moorish Cloth 

Translation by Jacqueline Cockburn and Richard Stokes

On the delicate fabric in the shop

There fell a stain.

It sells for less 

For it has lost its value.

Ay!

Lullaby

Translation by Jacqueline Cockburn

Sleep, little one, sleep,

sleep, my darling,

sleep, my little

morning star.

Lullay, lullay,

sleep, my little

morning star. 

 Jota 

Translation by Jacqueline Cockburn

They say we’re not in love

since they never see us talk;

let them ask

your heart and mine!

I must leave you now,

your house and your window,

and though your mother disapproves,

goodbye, sweet love, till tomorrow.

Of Gods and Cats 

Jake Heggie (b. 1961)

Text by Gavin Geoffrey Dillard (b. 1954)

In the beginning

In the beginning was the Cat,

and the Cat was without purr;

the ethers stirred and there was milk,

and the Cat saw that it was good.

A hand stretched forth across the milk

and scratched behind the Cat’s ears…

and it felt good;

Then the firmament shook

and there was produced a paper bag,

and the Cat went forth, into the bag

and, seeing that it was good…

She fell asleep, purring.

Once upon a universe

Once, when God was a little boy, his Mother caught him

breaking his toys, then gluing them back together again with

prayers and incantations. Don’t play with your creation, she

admonished him, but he went right on building temples, only

to destroy them with vast armies of antlike peoples, creating 

new planets, then wiping them out with their own ignominious 

waste products.  At the end of eternity his Mother shook her 

cosmic finger and insisted that he clean up his universe: 

Or there’ll be no bliss for you, young God! He swept

the entire mess into the nearest black hole and fell asleep 

sucking his Divine Thumb. Amen.

Together wherever we go

from Gypsy 

Jule Styne (1905-1994)

Lyrics by Stephen Sondheim (1930-2021)

Wherever we go,  

whatever we do,  

we’re gonna go through it together. 

We may not go far,  

but sure as a star, 

wherever we are, 

it’s together! 

Wherever I go,  

I know he goes. 

wherever I go,  

I know she goes. 

No fits, no fights,  

no feuds and no egos. 

Amigos together! 

Through thick and through thin, 

all out or all in, 

and whether it’s win, 

place or show, 

with you for me 

and me for you, 

we’ll muddle through 

whatever we do, together 

wherever we go! 

Wherever we go,  

whatever we do,  

we’re gonna go through it together. 

Wherever we sleep, 

if prices are steep 

we’ll always sleep cheaper together. 

Whatever the boat I row, you row. 

whatever the row I hoe, you hoe. 

And any IOU I owe, you owe. 

No, we owe, together! 

We all take the bow, 

including the cow, 

though business is lousy and slow. 

With Herbie’s vim, 

Louise’s verve, 

Now all we need  

is someone with nerve. 

Together, wherever we go! 

If I start to dance, 

we both start to dance, 

And sometimes, by chance, 

We’re together. 

If I sing B flat, we both hit B flat. 

We all can be flat. 

The things we do,  

we do by threes, 

A perfect team. 

No, this way Louise! 

Together, together,  

wherever, wherever,  

together, wherever we go!