Birthday Salon - 5/16/2020, Liz's house, Pickwick, MN
Google may attempt to translate the non-English texts, which will mess with some formatting.
If you tell google to stop "helping", this should look like a concert program!
If you tell google to stop "helping", this should look like a concert program!
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Trois mélodies de 1916 - Erik Satie
I. La statue de bronze, Poet: Léon-Paul Fargue La grenouille du jeu de tonneau S'ennuie, le soir, sous la tonnelle… Elle en a assez! D'être la statue Qui va prononcer un grand mot: Le Mot! Elle aimerait mieux être avec les autres Qui font des bulles de musique Avec le savon de la lune Au bord du lavoir mordoré Qu'on voit, là-bas, luire entre les branches… On lui lance à coeur de journée Une pâture de pistoles Qui la traversent sans lui profiter Et s'en vont sonner Dans les cabinets De son piédestal numéroté! Et le soir, les insectes couchent dans sa bouche… II. Daphénéo, Poet: Mimi Godebska Dis-moi, Daphénéo, quel est donc cet arbre Dont les fruits sont des oiseaux qui pleurent? Cet arbre, Chrysaline, est un oisetier. Ah! Je croyais que les noisetiers Donnaient des noisettes, Daphénéo. Oui, Chrysaline, les noisetiers donnent des noisettes, Mais les oisetiers donnent des oiseaux qui pleurent. III. Le chapelier, Poet: René Chalupt Le chapelier s'étonne de constater Que sa montre retarde de trois jours, Bien qu'il ait eu soin de la graisser Toujours avec du beurre de première qualité. Mais il a laissé tomber des miettes De pain dans les rouages, Et il a beau plonger sa montre dans le thé, Ça ne le fera pas avancer davantage. |
I. The bronze statue The frog of the tonneau game Is bored, this evening, under the arbor She has had enough Of being the statue That pronounces a big word: The Word! She would rather be among the others Who make bubbles of music With the soap of the moon At the edge of the coppery washtub That one sees over there between branches One throws at the heart of day A platter of disks That traverse through without profiting her And go clinking Through the compartments Of her numbered pedestal And at night, insects sleep in her mouth Dapheneo Tell me, Daphénéo, what is this tree Where the fruits are birds which cry? This tree, Chrysaline, is a bird-tree Ah! I thought that hazelnut trees Produced hazelnuts, Daphénéo. Yes, Chrysaline, hazelnut trees produce hazelnuts But bird-trees produce birds which cry. The Hatter The hatter is astonished to find That his watch is three days late Even though he has kept it greased Always with the finest quality butter. But he let fall into it crumbs Of bread - into the works And he could well plunge his watch into tea But it wouldn’t be advantageous. |
And so the penguin (2019) - Anthony Donofrio
Poet: Anthony Donofrio
Perhaps I’ll find home.
Perhaps I’ll find myself.
Perhaps I’ll find something meaningful.
Perhaps I’ll find death.
And so, the penguin,
now strengthened,
fear pushed down, somewhere,
began.
The others, some curious
some stunned,
looked on.
As did a team of researchers.
Cameras out, they chose to
archive rather than save or at least help.
And so, the penguin walked.
And so, the penguin endured.
And so, the penguin took in the
vast empty of a new home.
A new reality, A new sense of…
And so, the penguin wept.
Later, as they closed in…
Smoke.
Smoldering.
Warmth.
And a letter.
“My dearest, I write to you in complete despair. This place has broken me. Yesterday, I learned that I must spend yet another winter here. I am unsure of what to do, as I cannot leave. Part of me wants to fight, and part of me wants to collapse. Another part of me wants to burn the entire thing to the ground.
Just take the whole place down.”
And so, the penguin found a
small hut, still standing, with a
small warm fire.
And so, the penguin slept.
Poet: Anthony Donofrio
Perhaps I’ll find home.
Perhaps I’ll find myself.
Perhaps I’ll find something meaningful.
Perhaps I’ll find death.
And so, the penguin,
now strengthened,
fear pushed down, somewhere,
began.
The others, some curious
some stunned,
looked on.
As did a team of researchers.
Cameras out, they chose to
archive rather than save or at least help.
And so, the penguin walked.
And so, the penguin endured.
And so, the penguin took in the
vast empty of a new home.
A new reality, A new sense of…
And so, the penguin wept.
Later, as they closed in…
Smoke.
Smoldering.
Warmth.
And a letter.
“My dearest, I write to you in complete despair. This place has broken me. Yesterday, I learned that I must spend yet another winter here. I am unsure of what to do, as I cannot leave. Part of me wants to fight, and part of me wants to collapse. Another part of me wants to burn the entire thing to the ground.
Just take the whole place down.”
And so, the penguin found a
small hut, still standing, with a
small warm fire.
And so, the penguin slept.
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Le dromadaire
Avec ces quatre dromadaires Don Pedro d'Alfaroubeira Courut le monde et l'admira. Il fit ce que je voudrais faire Si j'avais quatre dromadaires. La chèvre de Thibet Les poils de cette chèvre et même Ceux d'or pour qui prit tant de peine Jason, ne valent rien aux prix Des cheveux dont je suis épris. La sauterelle Voici la fine sauterelle, La nourriture de Saint Jean. Puissent mes vers être comme elle, Le régal des meilleures gens. Le dauphin Dauphins, vous jouez dans la mer, Mais le flot est toujours amer. Parfois, ma joie éclate-t-elle? La vie est encore cruelle. L'écrevisse Incertitude, ô mes délices Vous et mois nous nous en allons Comme s'en vont les écrevisses, A reculons, à reculons. La carpe Dans vos viviers, dans vos étangs, Carpes, que vous vivez longtemps! Est-ce que la mort vous oublie, Poissons de la mélancolie? |
The Dromedary
With his four dromedaries Don Pedro d’Alfaroubeira Traversed the world and admired it. Such is what I would like to do If I had four dromedaries. The Tibetan Goat The fleece of this goat and even of gold for which Jason paid dearly, Have no value Compared to the hairs I desire. The Grasshopper Here is the little grasshopper, Nourishment for Saint John May my verses be like her, A feast for the best folks. The Dolphin Dolphins, you play in the sea But the flotsam is always bitter Perchance my joy may break free? Life is again cruel. The Crawfish Uncertainty, oh my delights, You and I, we travel along Like the crawfish travel. Backwards, ever backwards. The Carp In your pools, in your ponds, Carp, how long you live! Is it that Death has forgotten you, Fish of melancholy? |
Labor Day - LJ White
Poet: Erika Meitner
The way we sleep to-
gether is locational,
seasonal -- the way
you can buy useful things off
the roadside here in
summer passing through: peaches,
heirloom tomatoes,
squash, sweet corn, bait, antiques, rugs,
tie-dye, fireworks, guns --
your hand around the back of
my neck in the dark
above the covers the way
you'd hold a beer can,
near empty, out on the porch
before tossing it.
Poet: Erika Meitner
The way we sleep to-
gether is locational,
seasonal -- the way
you can buy useful things off
the roadside here in
summer passing through: peaches,
heirloom tomatoes,
squash, sweet corn, bait, antiques, rugs,
tie-dye, fireworks, guns --
your hand around the back of
my neck in the dark
above the covers the way
you'd hold a beer can,
near empty, out on the porch
before tossing it.
Night - Florence Price
Poet: Louise C. Wallace
Night comes, a Madonna clad in scented blue.
Rose red her mouth and deep her eyes,
She lights her stars, and turns to where,
Beneath her silver lamp the moon
Upon a couch of shadow lies
A dreamy child,
The wearied Day.
Poet: Louise C. Wallace
Night comes, a Madonna clad in scented blue.
Rose red her mouth and deep her eyes,
She lights her stars, and turns to where,
Beneath her silver lamp the moon
Upon a couch of shadow lies
A dreamy child,
The wearied Day.
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Verschwiegene Liebe - Hugo Wolf
Poet: Josef von Eichendorff Über Wipfel und Saaten In den Glanz hinein - Wer mag sie erraten, Wer holte sie ein? Gedanken sich wiegen, Die Nacht ist verschwiegen, Gedanken sind frei. Errät es nur eine, Wer an sie gedacht Beim Rauschen der Haine, Wenn niemand mehr wacht Als die Wolken, die fliegen - Mein Lieb ist verschwiegen Und schön wie die Nacht |
Silent Love
Over treetops and seeds Into the splendor Who might guess, What may come with them? Thoughts sway, The night is silent Thoughts are free. If only one guesses Who is thinking of them By the rustling of the groves, when no one is awake Except the clouds that float by - my love is silent and beautiful as the night. |
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An den kleinen Radioapparat - Hanns Eisler
Poet: Bertolt Brecht Du kleiner Kasten, den ich flüchtend trug, Daß seine Lampen mir auch nicht zerbrächen, Besorgt vom Haus zum Schiff, vom Schiff zum Zug, Daß meine Feinde weiter zu mir sprächen, An meinem Lager und zu meiner Pein, Der letzten nachts, der ersten in der Früh, Von ihren Siegen und von meiner Müh: Versprich mir, nicht auf einmal stumm zu sein! |
To the little wireless radio
You little box, which I carried with me That your works would not break on me Fleeing from house to ship, from ship to train, That my enemies from farther away Will speak to me. At my bedside and to my pain, Last thing at night, the first thing in the morning Of their victories and my fears: Promise me, never once go silent! |
Nocturne - Benjamin Britten
Poet: W. H. Auden
Now through night's caressing grip
Earth and all her oceans slip,
Capes of China slide away
From her fingers into day
And the Americas incline
Coasts towards her shadow line.
Now the ragged vagrants creep
Into crooked holes to sleep:
Just and unjust, worst and best,
Change their places as they rest:
Awkward lovers lie in fields
Where disdainful beauty yields:
While the splendid and the proud
Naked stand before the crowd
And the losing gambler gains
And the beggar entertains:
May sleep's healing power extend
Through these hours to our friend.
Unpursued by hostile force,
Traction engine, bull or horse
Or revolting succubus;
Calmly till the morning break
Let him lie,
then gently wake.
Poet: W. H. Auden
Now through night's caressing grip
Earth and all her oceans slip,
Capes of China slide away
From her fingers into day
And the Americas incline
Coasts towards her shadow line.
Now the ragged vagrants creep
Into crooked holes to sleep:
Just and unjust, worst and best,
Change their places as they rest:
Awkward lovers lie in fields
Where disdainful beauty yields:
While the splendid and the proud
Naked stand before the crowd
And the losing gambler gains
And the beggar entertains:
May sleep's healing power extend
Through these hours to our friend.
Unpursued by hostile force,
Traction engine, bull or horse
Or revolting succubus;
Calmly till the morning break
Let him lie,
then gently wake.
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Сирень - Sergei Rachmaninov
Poet: Ekaterina Beketova По утру, на заре, По росистой траве, Я пойду свежим утром дышать; И в душистую тень, Где теснится сирень, Я пойду свое счастье искать… В жизни счастье одно Мне найти суждено, И то счастье в сирени живёт; На зелёных ветвях, На душистых кистях Моё бедное счастье цветёт… |
Lilacs
In the morning, at dawn In the dewy grass I will go for a fresh breath in the morning And in the fragrant shadow Where clusters the lilacs I will go to find my happiness.. In life, there is one happiness I’m destined to find And that happiness lives in the lilacs In green branches In scented bunches My poor happiness blooms… |
Breath of a Rose - William Grant Still
Poet: Langston Hughes
Love is like dew
On lilacs at dawn:
Comes the swift sun
And the dew is gone.
Love is like star-light
In the sky at morn:
Star-light that dies
When day is born.
Love is like perfume
In the heart of a rose:
The flower withers,
The perfume goes--
Love is no more
Than the breath of a rose,
No more
Than the breath of a rose
Poet: Langston Hughes
Love is like dew
On lilacs at dawn:
Comes the swift sun
And the dew is gone.
Love is like star-light
In the sky at morn:
Star-light that dies
When day is born.
Love is like perfume
In the heart of a rose:
The flower withers,
The perfume goes--
Love is no more
Than the breath of a rose,
No more
Than the breath of a rose
Three fragments after Schumann and Eisler (2010) - Eliza Brown
Poet: Eliza Brown
I. Friend
Asking little and with strong conviction
You guard your knowledge of me with discretion
May I guard you too?
II. Shadows
Ten years’ worth of the shadows of my loves
And of my griefs lie cast upon this field
I see them best when the grass is wet
And the sun has passed behind the edge of mountain
III. L’Adieu
Quand je voyage loin d’ici When I travel far from here
Est-ce que je pourrai dire que c’est à moi? Can I still say that it’s mine?
Mon coeur aime bien le brouillard My heart loves the fog
Et la fenêtre éclairée de la boulangerie... And the illuminated bakery window...
Poet: Eliza Brown
I. Friend
Asking little and with strong conviction
You guard your knowledge of me with discretion
May I guard you too?
II. Shadows
Ten years’ worth of the shadows of my loves
And of my griefs lie cast upon this field
I see them best when the grass is wet
And the sun has passed behind the edge of mountain
III. L’Adieu
Quand je voyage loin d’ici When I travel far from here
Est-ce que je pourrai dire que c’est à moi? Can I still say that it’s mine?
Mon coeur aime bien le brouillard My heart loves the fog
Et la fenêtre éclairée de la boulangerie... And the illuminated bakery window...
What’ll I Do? (1923) - Irving Berlin
Poet: Irving Berlin
Gone is the romance that was so divine
'Tis broken and cannot be mended
You must go your way and I must go mine
But now that our love dreams have ended
What'll I do when you are far away
And I am blue, what'll I do?
What'll I do when I am wondering who
Is kissing you, what'll I do?
What'll I do with just a photograph
To tell my troubles to?
When I'm alone with only dreams of you
That won't come true
What'll I do?
Poet: Irving Berlin
Gone is the romance that was so divine
'Tis broken and cannot be mended
You must go your way and I must go mine
But now that our love dreams have ended
What'll I do when you are far away
And I am blue, what'll I do?
What'll I do when I am wondering who
Is kissing you, what'll I do?
What'll I do with just a photograph
To tell my troubles to?
When I'm alone with only dreams of you
That won't come true
What'll I do?
Eckart Cycle (2016) - Jason Belcher
Poet: Emily Eckart
I.
Tangled red curls
dark eyes
pale skin
As she sat down across from him at the table for two
He felt unreal
Like his mind had floated out of his body
To observe this visitation from his past
One corner of her mouth went up
The closest she ever got to smiling.
II.
Have you been out there recently I asked
No not for many years
I’m afraid it might have changed
Since I saw it last
III.
What did she know of that stranger
Whose sadness so far outstripped her own
Almost nothing except this
She had stood alone by this river
Under these magnolias
She had smiled to hide the wounds
That festered under her skin
She had worn this golden talisman
So smooth and heavy
This ring that Eleanor now for the first time
Slipped onto her unadorned finger
Poet: Emily Eckart
I.
Tangled red curls
dark eyes
pale skin
As she sat down across from him at the table for two
He felt unreal
Like his mind had floated out of his body
To observe this visitation from his past
One corner of her mouth went up
The closest she ever got to smiling.
II.
Have you been out there recently I asked
No not for many years
I’m afraid it might have changed
Since I saw it last
III.
What did she know of that stranger
Whose sadness so far outstripped her own
Almost nothing except this
She had stood alone by this river
Under these magnolias
She had smiled to hide the wounds
That festered under her skin
She had worn this golden talisman
So smooth and heavy
This ring that Eleanor now for the first time
Slipped onto her unadorned finger
“The Beautiful Question” (2018) - Amanda DeBoer Bartlett
Text from NPR - interview with marine biologist Nan Hauser
Text from NPR - interview with marine biologist Nan Hauser
