Lieder by Strauss, Berg, Schoenberg

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Longing Lieder by Strauss, Berg, Schoenberg

LUCY CROWEANNA TILBROOK

Longing Lieder by Strauss, Berg, Schoenberg

LUCY CROWEANNA TILBROOK

Credits

Tracklist

Programme note

Sung texts

Biographies

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Recorded inAngela Burgess Recital Hall,Royal Academy of Music, London, UK,on 28-29 October 2019, 19-20 January & 8-9 July 2020

Recording Producer Jonathan Freeman-Attwood

Recording EngineerPhilip Hobbs

Post-productionJulia Thomas

Designstoempstudio.com

Cover Image© Victoria Cadisch

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LUCY CROWEsoprano

ANNA TILBROOK piano

Longing

Richard Strauss (1864–1949)

Acht Gedichte aus Letzte Blätter, Op. 10

1 — No. 1: Zueignung 1:41

2 — No. 2: Nichts 1:31

3 — No. 3: Die Nacht 3:06

4 — No. 4: Die Georgine 4:25

5 — No. 8: Allerseelen 3:23

Alban Berg (1885–1935)

Sieben frühe Lieder

6 — Nacht 3:53

7 — Schilflied 1:58

8 — Die Nachtigall 2:03

9 — Traumgekrönt 2:16

10 — Im Zimmer 1:12

11 — Liebesode 1:44

12 — Sommertage 1:41

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Richard Strauss13 — Ich schwebe, Op. 48 No. 2 1:55

14 — Ständchen, Op. 17 No. 2 2:32

15 — Nachtgang, Op. 29 No. 3 3:08

16 — Morgen!, Op. 27 No. 4 3:57

Arnold Schoenberg (1874–1951)

Vier Lieder, Op. 2

17 — Erwartung 4:01

18 — Schenk mir deinen goldenen Kamm 4:10

19 — Erhebung 1:18

20 — Waldsonne 3:42

Richard Strauss Vier letzte Lieder, TrV 296

21 — Frühling ● 3:13

22 — September ● 4:51

23 — Beim Schlafengehn ● 5:25

24 — Im Abendrot ◯ 7:15

● piano transcription by Max Wolff◯ piano transcription by Ernst Roth

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‘Longing’, our first recital album, celebrates a 20-year working partnership and friend-ship. Since meeting at the Royal Academy of Music in 2000, we have performed regularly at Wigmore Hall, throughout the UK, and at Carnegie Hall and the Concertgebouw in Amsterdam. We are thrilled to release an album together, partly recorded when the world was silent, which made the process even more poignant.

We hope our love for this repertoire and our mutual admiration and sheer joy of making music together shine through.

— Lucy Crowe & Anna Tilbrook

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MENULonging for Love among the ruins in Strauss, Berg and Schoenberg

Few composers embodied the ambitious spirit of the German Empire (1871–1914) more than Richard Strauss. Son of the famous Munich horn player Franz Strauss (who performed at Bayreuth), he took a swipe at Wagner’s mantle and returned to a kind of business-minded Kapellmeister tradition by being active in nearly every genre. As an operatic and symphonic composer in the post-Wagne-rian tradition, he achieved a blistering global success, but his prolific work in the composition of lieder (over 200) also places him as one of the most important figures in the genre after Schubert and Schumann.

The many facets of Strauss’s career are difficult to appreciate at first glance. He composed the Acht Gedichte, Op. 10, in 1885, for example, but simply laid them aside for two years, only bothering to publish them in 1887 when it became clear his catalogue needed to reflect his ambitions as a budding vocal and operatic composer. Musically, there is a grandeur of tone and confidence of style in these early Strauss lieder difficult to situate in the landscape of his immediate forebears (Hugo Wolf) or contemporaries (Gustav Mahler, Hans Pfitzner). At the time of com-position, Strauss was 21 and, remarkably, nearly all eight from this first printed collection have remained in the repertoire, especially ‘Zueignung’, ‘Die Nacht’ and ‘Allerseelen’.

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MENU When he married the soprano Pauline de Ahna in 1894, he gifted his bride four songs, of which ‘Morgen!’ remains one of the most celebrated. Inspired by his wife’s voice and their concert tours, Strauss went on to produce a raft of lieder over the next decade, including ‘Nachtgang’ (1895) and the elegant cradle-song ‘Ich schwebe’ (1900) – later a favourite of Elisabeth Schumann. Strauss’s lieder became a core part of Germany’s middle class musical scene, and a model for aspiring young composers alike.

Two decades younger than Strauss, the Viennese Alban Berg remains one of the most approachable of the Second Viennese School. Prior to commencing his studies with Arnold Schoenberg in 1904, Berg’s interests gravitated more toward literature than music. It is of little surprise then that after three years of musical study, he made his public debut as a composer of lieder. The Sieben frühe Lieder, of which only three were aired in a recital of November 1907, hint at an unusually versatile musical talent whose creative imagination flowed organically out of a complex literary sensibility.

‘Traumgekrönt’ by Berg’s contemporary Austrian poet Rainer Maria Rilke, ‘Liebesode’ by the German Otto Erich Hartleben (known for his translation of Pierrot Lunaire), and ‘Die Nachtigall’ by nineteenth-century realist Theodor Storm form a triptych of nocturnal visions of beauty and Angst. Giving voice to a city dominated by a hyper-literary scene of coffee-house intellectuals, these set-tings prismatically refract the sense of fragility and anxiety of a generation that had experienced the nineteenth century as a long, drawn-out affair that blurred confusingly into the twentieth. Notably, only the previous month (October 1907) Gustav Mahler departed Vienna (after a long period of bitter scandal), and the

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MENUfollowing summer Gustav Klimt would organize the sensational epoch-defining Kunstschau exhibition of 1908, the same year in which Arnold Schoenberg would forge into the atonal with his Second String Quartet and its vocal setting of Stefan George. Arguably, Berg’s songs capture the atmosphere of fin-de-siècle Vienna like few other works.

Augmented by poems by Carl Hauptmann, Nikolaus Lenau, Johannes Schlaf and Paul Hohenberg – most of whom have fallen into neglect today – the Sieben frühe Lieder constitute a high-romantic cycle bathed in shimmering blue-grey har-monies. The palpable influence of Wagner pervades at the subcutaneous level, over which Berg weaves an iridescent tonal fabric drawn from Debussy, Wolf, and even Mahler (in his Alpine, Schubertian simplicity). This is Viennese Modernism in its most highly erotic expression. Collectively, the songs display an opulence of literary-musical expression that smoulders so intensely it threatens to collapse in physical exhaustion. Respite from a lover’s half- morbid state (Nature and Love are thematic fixtures) is temporarily found in ‘Die Nachtigall’ and ‘Im Zimmer’, only for the floor to give way in the devastating ‘Sommertage’ that concludes the cycle.

The success of the opera Wozzeck, premiered in 1925, confirmed Berg’s place in music history. When he orchestrated these songs in 1928, he added the title ‘frühe’ (‘early’), as if to provide an apologetic gesture that distanced them from his current ‘mature’ works. Dedicated to his wife Helene (née Nahowski), whom he met at the end of 1906 and married in May 1911, the sensuously lyrical hues found their way into his first mature work under Schoenberg’s tutelage, the Piano Sonata, Op. 1 (1910).

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MENU Ten years Berg’s senior, the Viennese expressionist composer, theorist and painter Arnold Schoenberg admired Richard Strauss, particularly for his lieder. Strauss most frequently set the poems of Richard Dehmel (1863–1920), and the 25-year-old Schoenberg followed his lead and set some of the very same texts. He composed his Vier Lieder, Op. 2, in 1899/1900, having taken up Dehmel’s recent collection of poetry Weib und Welt (Woman and World, 1896), for which the poet was tried for blasphemy. For ‘Erwartung’, which opens the set, Schoenberg shades the vocal line with a chillingly filigree accompaniment to illuminate the charged metaphors of shadows and subconsciousness. The declamatory ‘Schenk mir dei-nen goldenen kamm’ (‘Jesus bettelt’), with its sensual references to Mary and Magdalena, call to mind the censor’s gavel just as much as its final three chords evoke the heart of Christ. The hyper-Schumannesque ‘Erhebung’ provides flashes of hope before Schoenberg turns to the German Naturalist poet Johannes Schlaf (1862–1941) and his Helldunkel (1899) for ‘Waldsonne’, with its playfully sensual naturalism. The premieres of the first two took place in Vienna on 11 February 1904, the third on 26 January 1907 with the work’s dedicatee Alexander Zemlinsky at the piano on both occasions; the fourth was first performed on 14 January 1910.

There is far more than a substantial chronological gap separating Berg’s Sieben frühe Lieder (1907) from Richard Strauss’s Vier letzte Lieder (1948). The de vastation of two World Wars irrevocably changed the conditions for creative art-ists. In the case of the octogenarian Strauss, the sense of retrospection conjured in his Four Last Songs represents a kind of apotheosis of music history stretch-ing back to Beethoven. In the autumn of 1945, Strauss and his wife emigrated to Switzerland whilst Germany, the country he had called home for eighty years, began the impossible task of rebuilding. Plagued by illness, depression, and an

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MENUuncertain political future, he devoted his energies to trivial ‘wrist exercises’. A chance encounter with poems by the arch-Romantic Joseph von Eichendorff and contemporary Hermann Hesse inspired an outburst of lyri cism that found its way into sketches and eventually ‘four songs’ his son Franz had casually requested by mail. Each song is a universe of restrained resignation and memory, preserved and then reflected through the amber resin of one of music history’s sharpest minds. Nature’s eternity resides at the core of the cycle, but matters take a per-sonal turn in ‘Im Abendrot’ where Strauss refe rences his own Tod und Verklärung (premiered in 1890) to underline the final words: ‘Ist dies etwa der Tod?’ (‘Is this perhaps – Death?’) – undoubtedly one of the most poignant moments in the entire musical canon. Strauss entrusted the work to Kirsten Flagstad, who gave the pre-miere under the baton of Wilhelm Furtwängler in London on 22 May 1950 (Wagner’s birthday).

© Dr. Matthew Werley, 2021Universität Mozarteum Salzburg

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MENU1 — Zueignung

Ja, du weißt es, teure Seele,Daß ich fern von dir mich quäle,Liebe macht die Herzen krank,Habe Dank.

Einst hielt ich, der Freiheit Zecher,Hoch den Amethysten-Becher,Und du segnetest den Trank,Habe Dank.

Und beschworst darin die Bösen,Bis ich, was ich nie gewesen,Heilig, heilig an’s Herz dir sank,Habe Dank!

Hermann von Gilm zu Rosenegg

2 — Nichts

Nennen soll ich, sagt ihr, meineKönigin im Liederreich!Toren, die ihr seid, ich kenneSie am wenigsten von euch.

Fragt mich nach der Augen Farbe,Fragt mich nach der Stimme Ton,Fragt nach Gang und Tanz und Haltung,Ach, und was weiß ich davon.

Dedication

Yes, dear soul, you knowThat I’m in torment far from you,Love makes hearts sick –Be thanked.

Once, revelling in freedom,I held the amethyst cup aloftAnd you blessed that draught –Be thanked.

And you banished the evil spirits,Till I, as never before,Holy, sank holy upon your heart –Be thanked.

Translation © Richard Stokes, 2005

Nothing

You say I should nameMy queen in the realm of song!Fools that you are, I knowHer least of all of you.

Ask me the colour of her eyes,Ask me about the sound of her voice,Ask me about her walk, dancing, bearing,Ah! what do I know of all that.

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MENUIst die Sonne nicht die QuelleAlles Lebens, alles Licht’sUnd was wissen von derselbenIch, und ihr, und alle? – nichts.


3 — Die Nacht

Aus dem Walde tritt die Nacht,Aus den Bäumen schleicht sie leise,Schaut sich um in weitem Kreise,Nun gib Acht!

Alle Lichter dieser Welt,Alle Blumen, alle FarbenLöscht sie aus und stiehlt die GarbenWeg vom Feld.

Alles nimmt sie, was nur hold,Nimmt das Silber weg des StromsNimmt vom Kupferdach des DomsWeg das Gold.

Ausgeplündert steht der Strauch:Rücke näher, Seel’ an Seele,O die Nacht, mir bangt, sie stehleDich mir auch.


Is not the sun the sourceOf all life, of all light,And what do we know about it,I and you and everyone? – nothing.


Night

Night steps from the woods,Slips softly from the trees,Gazes about her in a wide arc,Now beware!

All the lights of this world,All the flowers, all the coloursShe extinguishes and steals the sheavesFrom the field.

She takes all that is fair,Takes the silver from the stream,Takes from the cathedral’s copper roofThe gold.

The bush stands plundered:Draw closer, soul to soul,Ah the night, I fear, will stealYou too from me.


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MENU4 — Die Georgine

Warum so spät erst, Georgine?Das Rosenmärchen ist erzählt,Und honigsatt hat sich die BieneIhr Bett zum Schlummer ausgewählt.

Sind nicht zu kalt dir diese Nächte?Wie lebst du diese Tage hin?Wenn ich dir jetzt den Frühling brächte,Du feuergelbe Träumerin,

Wenn ich mit Maitau dich benetzte,Begöße dich mit Junilicht,Doch ach! dann wärst du nicht die Letzte,Die stolze Einzige auch nicht.

Wie, Träumerin, lock’ ich vergebens?So reich’ mir schwesterlich die Hand,Ich hab’ den Maitag dieses LebensWie du den Frühling nicht gekannt;

Und spät wie dir, du Feuergelbe,Stahl sich die Liebe mir ins Herz;Ob spät, ob früh, es ist dasselbeEntzücken und derselbe Schmerz.


The dahlia

Why, dahlia, appear so late?The roses have told their taleAnd the honey-sated beeHas chosen where to lay its head.

Are these nights not too cold for you?How do you survive these days?What if I brought you springtime now,You fiery yellow dreamer?

What if I watered you with May dew,Drenched you in the light of June,But ah! you would not be then the last,Nor proud to be unique.

What, O dreamer, do I tempt you in vain?Then give me your sisterly hand,I’ve not known May-time in this life,Just as you’ve not known the spring.

And as with you, fiery yellow flower,Love stole late into my heart,Late or early, it is the sameEnchantment and the same pain.


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MENU5 — Allerseelen

Stell auf den Tisch die duftenden Reseden,Die letzten roten Astern trag herbei,Und laß uns wieder von der Liebe reden,Wie einst im Mai.

Gib mir die Hand, daß ich sie heimlich drücke,Und wenn man’s sieht, mir ist es einerlei,Gib mir nur einen deiner süßen Blicke,Wie einst im Mai.

Es blüht und duftet heut auf jedem Grabe,Ein Tag im Jahr ist ja den Toten frei,Komm am mein Herz, daß ich dich wieder habe,Wie einst im Mai.


All Souls’ Day

Set on the table the fragrant mignonettes,Bring in the last red asters,And let us talk of love againAs once in May.

Give me your hand to press in secret,And if people see, I do not care,Give me but one of your sweet glancesAs once in May.

Each grave today has flowers and is fragrant,One day each year is devoted to the dead;Come to my heart and so be mine again,As once in May.


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MENU6 — Nacht

Dämmern Wolken über Nacht und Tal.Nebel schweben. Wasser rauschen sacht.Nun entschleiert sich’s mit einem Mal.O gib acht! gib acht!

Weites Wunderland ist aufgetan,Silbern ragen Berge traumhaft groß,Stille Pfade silberlicht talanAus verborg’nem Schoß.

Und die hehre Welt so traumhaft rein.Stummer Buchenbaum am Wege stehtSchattenschwarz – ein Hauch vom fernen HainEinsam leise weht.

Und aus tiefen Grundes DüsterheitBlinken Lichter auf in stummer Nacht.Trinke Seele! trinke Einsamkeit!O gib acht! gib acht!

Carl Hauptmann (1858–1921)

7 — Schilflied

Auf geheimem WaldespfadeSchleich’ ich gern im AbendscheinAn das öde Schilfgestade,Mädchen, und gedenke dein!

Night

Clouds loom over night and valley.Mists hover, waters softly murmur.Now at once all is unveiled.O take heed! take heed!

A vast wonderland opens up,Silvery mountains soar dreamlike tall,Silent paths climb silver-bright valleywardsFrom a hidden womb.

And the glorious world so dreamlike pure.A silent beech-tree stands by the waysideShadow-black – a breath from the distant groveBlows solitary soft.

And from the deep valley’s gloomLights twinkle in the silent night.Drink soul! drink solitude!O take heed! take heed!


Reed song

Along a secret forest pathI love to steal in the evening lightTo the desolate reedy shoreAnd think, my girl, of you!

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MENUWenn sich dann der Busch verdüstert,Rauscht das Rohr geheimnisvoll,Und es klaget und es flüstert,Daß ich weinen, weinen soll.

Und ich mein’, ich höre wehenLeise deiner Stimme Klang,Und im Weiher untergehenDeinen lieblichen Gesang.

Nikolaus Lenau (1802–1850)pseudonym of Nikolaus Franz Niembsch, Edler von Strehlenau

8 — Die Nachtigall

Das macht, es hat die NachtigallDie ganze Nacht gesungen;Da sind von ihrem süssen Schall,Da sind in Hall und WiderhallDie Rosen aufgesprungen.

Sie war doch sonst ein wildes Blut,Nun geht sie tief in Sinnen;Trägt in der Hand den SommerhutUnd duldet still der Sonne GlutUnd weiß nicht, was beginnen.

Das macht, es hat die NachtigallDie ganze Nacht gesungen;

When the bushes then grow dark,The reeds pipe mysteriously,Lamenting and whispering,That I must weep, must weep.

And I seem to hear the soft soundOf your voice,And your lovely singingDrowning in the pond.


The nightingale

It is because the nightingaleHas sung throughout the night,That from the sweet soundOf her echoing songThe roses have sprung up.

She was once a wild creature,Now she wanders deep in thought;In her hand a summer hat,Bearing in silence the sun’s heat,Not knowing what to do.

It is because the nightingaleHas sung throughout the night,

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MENUDa sind von ihrem süssen Schall,Da sind in Hall und WiderhallDie Rosen aufgesprungen.

Theodor Woldsen Storm (1817–1888)

9 — Traumgekrönt

Das war der Tag der weißen Chrysanthemen, –mir bangte fast vor seiner Pracht …Und dann, dann kamst du mir die Seele nehmentief in der Nacht.

Mir war so bang, und du kamst lieb und leise, –ich hatte grad im Traum an dich gedacht.Du kamst, und leis wie eine Märchenweiseerklang die Nacht …

Rainer Maria Rilke (1875–1926)

10 — Im Zimmer

Herbstsonnenschein.Der liebe Abend blickt so still herein.Ein Feuerlein rotKnistert im Ofenloch und loht.

So! – Mein Kopf auf deinen Knie’n. –So ist mir gut;

That from the sweet soundOf her echoing songThe roses have sprung up.


Crowned with dreams

That was the day of the white chrysanthemums –its brilliance almost frightened me …And then, then you came to take my soulat the dead of night.

I was so frightened, and you came sweetly and gently –I had been thinking of you in my dreams.You came, and soft as a fairy tunethe night rang out …


In the room

Autumn sunshine.The lovely evening looks in so silently.A little red fireCrackles and blazes in the hearth.

Like this! – With my head on your knees. –Like this I am content;

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MENUWenn mein Auge so in deinem ruht.Wie leise die Minuten ziehn! …

Johannes Schlaf (1862–1941)

11 — Liebesode

Im Arm der Liebe schliefen wir selig ein.Am offnen Fenster lauschte der Sommerwind,und unsrer Atemzüge Friedentrug er hinaus in die helle Mondnacht. –

Und aus dem Garten tastete zagend sichein Rosenduft an unserer Liebe Bettund gab uns wundervolle Träume,Träume des Rausches – so reich an Sehnsucht!

Otto Erich Hartleben (1864–1905)

12 — Sommertage

Nun ziehen Tage über die Welt,gesandt aus blauer Ewigkeit,im Sommerwind verweht die Zeit.Nun windet nächtens der HerrSternenkränze mit seliger Handüber Wander- und Wunderland.

O Herz, was kann in diesen Tagendein hellstes Wanderlied denn sagen

When my eyes rest in yours like this.How gently the minutes pass!


Ode to love

In love’s arms we fell blissfully asleep.The summer wind listened at the open window,and carried the peace of our breathingout into the moon-bright night. –

And from the garden a scent of rosescame timidly to our bed of loveand gave us wonderful dreams,ecstatic dreams – so rich in longing!


Summer days

Days, sent from blue eternity,journey now across the world,time drifts away in the summer wind.The Lord at night now garlandsstar-chains with his blessed handacross lands of wandering and wonder.

In these days, O heart, what canyour brightest travel-song say

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MENUvon deiner tiefen, tiefen Lust:Im Wiesensang verstummt die Brust,nun schweigt das Wort, wo Bild um Bildzu dir zieht und dich ganz erfüllt.

Paul Hohenberg (1885–1956)

13 — Ich schwebe

Ich schwebe wie auf Engelsschwingen,Die Erde kaum berührt mein Fuß,In meinen Ohren hör’ ich’s klingenWie der Geliebten Scheidegruß.

Das tönt so lieblich, mild und leise,Das spricht so zage, zart und rein,Leicht lullt die nachgeklung’ne WeiseIn wonneschweren Traum mich ein.

Mein schimmernd Aug’ – indeß mich füllenDie süßesten der Melodien, –Sieht ohne Falten, ohne HüllenMein lächelnd Lieb’ vorüberziehn.

Karl Friedrich Henckell (1864–1929)

of your deep, deep joy?The heart falls silent in the meadows’ song,words now cease when image after imagecomes to you and fills you utterly.


I float

I float as if on angels’ wings,My foot hardly touches the earth,In my ears I hear a soundLike my love’s farewell greeting.

It sounds so sweetly, gently, softly,It speaks such tender, timid, pure words,The tune still sounds and lulls me gentlyInto bliss-laden dreams.

My glistening eyes – while I’m filledBy the sweetest of melodies –See my love, without clothes or veil,Pass smiling by.


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MENU14 — Ständchen

Mach auf, mach auf! doch leise, mein Kind,Um Keinen vom Schlummer zu wecken!Kaum murmelt der Bach, kaum zittert im WindEin Blatt an den Büschen und Hecken;Drum leise, mein Mädchen, daß nichts sich regt,Nur leise die Hand auf die Klinke gelegt!

Mit Tritten, wie Tritte der Elfen so sacht,Um über die Blumen zu hüpfen,Flieg leicht hinaus in die Mondscheinnacht,Zu mir in den Garten zu schlüpfen!Rings schlummern die Blüten am rieselnden BachUnd duften im Schlaf, nur die Liebe ist wach.

Sitz nieder! Hier dämmerts geheimnisvollUnter den Lindenbäumen.Die Nachtigall uns zu Häupten sollVon unseren Küssen träumenUnd die Rose, wenn sie am Morgen erwacht,Hoch glühn von den Wonneschauern der Nacht.

Adolf Friedrich von Schack (1815–1894)

Serenade

Open up, open up! but softly, my child,So that no one’s roused from slumber!The brook hardly murmurs, the breeze hardly movesA leaf on the bushes and hedges;Gently, my love, so nothing shall stir,Gently with your hand as you lift the latch!

With steps as light as the steps of elves,As they hop their way over flowers,Flit out into the moonlit night,Slip out to me in the garden!The flowers are fragrant in sleepBy the rippling brook, only love is awake.

Sit down! Dusk falls mysteriously hereBeneath the linden trees.The nightingale above usShall dream of our kissesAnd the rose, when it wakes at dawn,Shall glow from our night’s rapture.


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MENU15 — Nachtgang

Wir gingen durch die stille, milde Nacht,dein Arm in meinem,dein Auge in meinem;der Mond goß silbernes Lichtüber dein Angesicht;wie auf Goldgrund ruhte dein schönes Haupt,und du erschienst mir wie eine Heilige:mild, mild und groß, und seelenübervoll,heilig und rein wie die liebe Sonne.Und in die Augenschwoll mir ein warmer Drang,wie Tränenahnung.Fester faßt’ ich dich und küßte –küsste dich ganz leise, –meine Seele weinte.

Otto Julius Bierbaum (1865–1910)

16 — Morgen!

Und morgen wird die Sonne wieder scheinenUnd auf dem Wege, den ich gehen werde,Wird uns, die Glücklichen, sie wieder einenInmitten dieser sonnenatmenden Erde …

Und zu dem Strand, dem weiten, wogenblauen,Werden wir still und langsam niedersteigen,

A walk at night

We walked through the gentle silent night,your arm in mine,your eyes gazing into mine;the moon shed silver lightover your face;as though on gold your fair head lay,and you seemed to me like a saint:gentle, gentle and great, with a brimming soul,holy and pure like the dear sun.And a pressing warmthwelled into my eyes,like impending tears.I held you closer and kissed you –kissed you so gently –my soul wept.


Tomorrow!

And tomorrow the sun will shine againAnd on the path that I shall take,It will unite us, happy ones, again,Amid this same sun-breathing earth …

And to the shore, broad, blue-waved,We shall quietly and slowly descend,

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MENUStumm werden wir uns in die Augen schauen,Und auf uns sinkt des Glückes stummes Schweigen …

John Henry Mackay (1864–1933)

17 — Erwartung

Aus dem meergrünen Teicheneben der roten Villaunter der toten Eichescheint der Mond.

Wo ihr dunkles Abbilddurch das Wasser greift,steht ein Mann und streifteinen Ring von seiner Hand.

Drei Opale blinken;durch die bleichen Steineschwimmen rot und grünefunken und versinken.

Und er küßt sie, undseine Augen leuchtenwie der meergrüne Grund:ein Fenster tut sich auf.

Aus der roten Villaneben der toten Eiche

Speechless we shall gaze into each other’s eyes,And the speechless silence of bliss shall fall on us …


Expectation

From the sea-green pondnear the red villabeneath the dead oakthe moon is shining.

Where her dark imagegleams through the water,a man stands, and drawsa ring from his hand.

Three opals glimmer;among the pale stonesfloat red and green sparksand sink.

And he kisses her,and his eyes gleamlike the sea-green depths:a window opens.

From the red villanear the dead oak,

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MENUwinkt ihm eine bleicheFrauenhand.

Richard Dehmel (1863–1920)

18 — Schenk mir deinen goldenen Kamm

Schenk mir deinen goldenen Kamm;jeder Morgen soll dich mahnen,daß du mir die Haare küßtest.Schenk mir deinen seidenen Schwamm;jeden Abend will ich ahnen,wem du dich im Bade rüstest,O Maria!

Schenk mir Alles, was du hast;meine Seele ist nicht eitel,stolz empfang ich deinen Segen.Schenk mir deine schwerste Last:willst du nicht auf meinen Scheitelauch dein Herz, dein Herz noch legen,Magdalena?

Richard Dehmel

a woman’s pale handwaves to him.


Give me your golden comb

Give me your golden comb;every morning shall remind youthat you kissed my hair.Give me your silken sponge;every evening I want to sensefor whom you prepared yourself in the bath,oh, Maria!

Give me everything you have;my soul is not vain,proudly I receive your blessing.Give me your heavy burden:will you not lay on my headyour heart too, your heart,Magdalena?


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MENU19 — Erhebung

Gib mir deine Hand,nur den Finger, dannseh ich diesen ganzen Erdkreisals mein Eigen an!

O, wie blüht mein Land!Sieh dir’s doch nur an,daß es mit uns über di Wolkenin die Sonne kann!

Richard Dehmel

20 — Waldsonne

In die braunen, rauschenden NächteFlittert ein Licht herein,Grüngolden ein Schein.

Blumen blinken auf und GräserUnd die singenden, springenden Waldwässerlein,Und Erinnerungen.

Die längst verklungenen:Golden erwachen sie wieder,All deine fröhlichen Lieder.

Exaltation

Give me your hand,only a finger, thenI shall see this whole round earthas my own!

Oh, how my country blossoms!Just look at me,that I may go with you above the cloudsinto the sun!


Forest sun

Into the brown rustling nightsThere flutters a light,A green-golden gleam.

Glinting flowers gaze upAnd the singing, leaping forest brooklets,And memories.

The long silent ones:Golden, they awaken again,All your joyous songs.

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MENUUnd ich sehe deine goldenen Haare glänzen,Und ich sehe deine goldenen Augen glänzenAus den grünen, raunenden Nächten.

Und mir ist, ich läge neben dir auf dem Rasen

Und hörte dich wieder auf der glitzeblanken Syrinx

In die blauen Himmelslüfte blasen.

In die braunen, wühlenden NächteFlittert ein Licht,Ein goldener Schein.

Johannes Schlaf (1862–1941)

21 — Frühling

In dämmrigen GrüftenTräumte ich langVon deinen Bäumen und blauen Lüften,Von deinem Duft und Vogelgesang.

Nun liegst du erschlossenIn Gleiß und ZierVon Licht übergossenWie ein Wunder vor mir.

And I see your golden hair glitter,And I see your golden eyes gleamOut of the green murmuring nights.

And I feel as though I were lying on the lawn by your side

And heard you once more blow on your brightly glinting pipes

Into the blue air of heaven.

Into the brown, turbulent nightsThere flutters a light,A golden gleam.


Spring

In dusky vaultsI have long dreamtOf your trees and blue skies,Of your scents and the songs of birds.

Now you lie revealedIn glistening splendour,Flushed with light,Like a wonder before me.

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MENUDu kennst mich wieder,Du lockest mich zartEs zittert durch all meine GliederDeine selige Gegenwart.

Hermann Hesse (1877–1962)

22 — September

Der Garten trauert,Kühl sinkt in die Blumen der Regen.Der Sommer schauertStill seinem Ende entgegen.

Golden tropft Blatt um BlattNieder vom hohen Akazienbaum.Sommer lächelt erstaunt und mattIn den sterbenden Gartentraum.

Lange noch bei den RosenBleibt er stehn, sehnt sich nach Ruh.Langsam tut er die großen,Müdgewordenen Augen zu.

Hermann Hesse

You know me again,You beckon tenderly to me;All of my limbs quiverFrom your blissful presence!

Translation © Emily EzustReprinted with permission from the LiederNet Archive

September

The garden is mourning,The rain sinks coolly into the flowers.Summer shuddersAs it meets its end.

Leaf upon leaf drops goldenDown from the lofty acacia.Summer smiles, astonished and weak,In the dying garden dream.

For a while still by the rosesIt remains standing, yearning for peace.Slowly it closes its largeEyes grown weary.


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MENU23 — Beim Schlafengehen

Nun der Tag mich müd gemacht,Soll mein sehnliches VerlangenFreundlich die gestirnte NachtWie ein müdes Kind empfangen.

Hände laßt von allem Tun,Stirn vergiß du alles Denken,Alle meine Sinne nunWollen sich in Schlummer senken.

Und die Seele unbewachtWill in freien Flügen schweben,Um im Zauberkreis der NachtTief und tausendfach zu leben.

Hermann Hesse

While going to sleep

Now that the day has made me so tired,My dearest longings shallBe accepted kindly by the starry nightLike a weary child.

Hands, cease your activity,Head, forget all of your thoughts;All my senses nowWill sink into slumber.

And my soul, unobserved,Will float about on untrammeled wingsIn the enchanted circle of the night,Living a thousandfold more deeply.


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MENU24 — Im Abendrot

Wir sind durch Not und FreudeGegangen Hand in Hand,Vom Wandern ruhen wirNun überm stillen Land.

Rings sich die Täler neigen,Es dunkelt schon die Luft,Zwei Lerchen nur noch steigenNachträumend in den Duft.

Tritt her, und laß sie schwirrenBald ist es Schlafenszeit,Daß wir uns nicht verirrenIn dieser Einsamkeit.

O weiter, stiller Friede!So tief im Abendrot,Wie sind wir wandermüde –Ist dies etwa der Tod?

Josef Karl Benedikt von Eichendorff (1788–1857)

In the twilight

Through adversity and joy We’ve gone hand in hand;We rest now from our wanderingsUpon this quiet land.

Around us slope the valleys,The skies grow dark;Two larks alone are just climbing,As if after a dream, into the scented air.

Come here and let them whir past,For it will soon be time to rest;We do not wish to get lostIn this solitude.

O wide, quiet peace,So deep in the red dusk,How weary we are of our travels –Is this perhaps – Death?


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MENULucy Crowesoprano

Born in Staffordshire, Lucy Crowe studied at the Royal Academy of Music, London, where she is a Fellow. With repertoire ranging from Purcell, Handel and Mozart to Donizetti’s Adina, Verdi’s Gilda and Janáček’s Vixen, she has sung with opera companies throughout the world, including the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden, Glyndebourne Festival, English National Opera, Teatro Real, Madrid, Deutsche Oper Berlin, Bayerische Staatsoper and Metropolitan Opera, New York.

In concert, Crowe has performed with many of the world’s finest con-ductors and orchestras including City of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra with Emmanuelle Haïm, Sakari Oramo and Andris Nelsons, Berliner Philharmoniker with Daniel Harding and Nelsons, Wiener Philharmoniker with Nelsons, Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment with Richard Egarr, Scottish Chamber Orchestra with Yannick Nézet-Séguin, Monteverdi Choir & Orchestra with Sir John Eliot Gardiner, Orchestra dell’Accademia Nazionale di Santa Cecilia with Sir Antonio Pappano and London Symphony Orchestra with Sir Simon Rattle.

A committed recitalist she has appeared at the Royal Concertgebouw, Amsterdam, Carnegie Hall, New York, and the Aldeburgh, Edinburgh, Mostly Mozart and Salzburg Festivals. She is a regular guest at the BBC Proms and Wigmore Hall, London. Crowe has been named the Royal Academy of Music’s first Giulia Grisi Professor of Performance Mentoring.

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MENUAnna Tilbrookpiano

Anna Tilbrook has collaborated with many leading singers and instru-mentalists including James Gilchrist, Ian Bostridge, Lucy Crowe, Sarah Tynan, Barbara Hannigan, Ashley Riches, Nicholas Daniel, Natalie Clein, Philip Dukes, Jack Liebeck, Guy Johnston and the Fitzwilliam, Carducci, Sacconi, Elias, Navarra and Barbirolli string quartets. Since her debut at Wigmore Hall in 1999 she has become a regular artist at all the major concert halls and festivals. She has also accompanied José Carreras, Angela Gheorghiu and Bryn Terfel in televised concerts.

Tilbrook has performed at the Royal Concertgebouw in Amsterdam and Carnegie Hall in New York with Lucy Crowe, and at Wigmore Hall and St John’s Smith Square in London, deSingel in Antwerp, Alte Oper Frankfurt, Anima Mundi in Pisa and Wratislavia Cantans in Wrocław. She has appeared at the Edinburgh, Aldeburgh, Cheltenham, Oxford Lieder and West Cork Chamber Music festivals. She also regularly curates series of concerts for BBC Radio 3.

In 2017 Anna Tilbrook and James Gilchrist celebrated twenty years of their duo partnership. They have made a series of acclaimed recordings of English songs, Schubert and Schumann cycles, the songs and chamber music of Vaughan Williams, and most recently Solitude and a song cycle by Jonathan Dove, Under Alter’d Skies, written for them. WWW.ANNATILBROOK.CO.UK

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