LOVE WITHOUT BORDERS:
A JOURNEY IN THREE CHAPTERS
Aigul Akhmetshina, Mezzo-Soprano
Jonathan Palmer Lakeland, Piano
TRANSLATIONS
Note from the Performers: The text printed here first lists the words in the sung language, followed by the translation of this text into English. We would like to offer our deepest thanks to Helena Bayliss, Maria Yarleque, and Aster Vale for their translations of these texts.
Rachmaninoff, “Morning” Op.4, No.2
Text by M.L. Yanov | Translation by Helena Bayliss
«Люблю тебя!» - шепнула дню заря
И, небо охватив, зарделась от признанья,
И солнца луч, природу озаря,
С улыбкой посылал ей жгучие лобзанья.
А день, как бы еще не доверяя
Осуществлению своих заветных грез,
Спускался на землю, с улыбкой утирая
Блестевшие вокруг ряды алмазных слез…
“I love thee”, whispered Dawn to Day,
And blushed at this confession, and embraced the day.
The ray of sunshine, having lit the world,
was covering it with ardent kisses.
The day, however, still not quite trusting
That its most cherished dream was coming true,
Descended onto us, and smiling wiped the tears
That sparkled like diamonds spread on earth.
Rachmaninoff, “I Wait for thee” Op.14, No.1
Text by M. Davidova | Translation by Helena Bayliss
Я жду тебя! Закат угас,
И ночи темные покровы
Спускаться на землю готовы
И спрятать нас. Я жду тебя!
Душистой мглой ночь наполнила
Мир уснувший и разлучила день минувший навек с землей.
Я жду тебя! Терзаясь и любя,
Считаю каждое мгновенье,
Полна тоски и нетерпенья,
Я жду тебя!
I wait for you! The sun has set,
The night is ready to drape the Earth
With darkness and to hide us from view.
I wait for you!
The night has filled the slumbering world
With fragrant dusk. The day that passed is lost to us forever.
I wait for you! Tormented and longing,
I count every passing moment,
In anguish and in love,
I wait for you!
Balakirev, “I loved him”
Text by Aleksey Vasilyevich Koltsov | Translation by Helena Bayliss
Я любила его жарче дня и огня,
Как другим не любить никогда, никогда!
Только с ним лишь одним я на свете жила;
Ему душу мою, ему жизнь отдала!
Что за ночь, за луна, когда друга я жду!
Вся бледна, холодна, замираю, дрожу!
Вот идет он, поет: “Где ты, зорька моя!”
Вот он руку берет, вот целует меня,
Вот целует меня!
“Милый друг, погаси поцелуи твои!
И без них, при тебе огнь пылает в крови;
И без них, при тебе жжет румянец лицо,
И волнуется грудь и блистают глаза,
И блистают глаза словно в небе звезда!”
I loved him more ardently than a blaze,
Others could never love him, not like me.
He was my only darling in this world,
I gave him my soul; I gave him my life!
What a moon, what a night when my friend I await!
Trembling and pale, I welcome my fate.
Here he comes, singing: “Where are you, my bright dawn?”
Now he takes my hand, now his lips are on mine.
“Dear friend, spare me your kisses!
When you hold me, my blood is in fire,
A crimson blush spreads on my cheek,
My heart is racing and my eyes glow bright,
My eyes glow bright like two stars in the night.”
Tchaikovsky, “Whether the day reigns”
Text by Aleksey Apukhtin | Translation by Helena Bayliss
День ли царит, тишина ли ночная,
В снах ли тревожных, в житейской борьбе,
Всюду со мной, мою жизнь наполняя,
Дума все та же, одна, роковая, -
Всё о тебе!
С нею не страшен мне призрак былого,
Сердце воспрянуло, снова любя...
Вера, мечты, вдохновенное слово,
Всё, что в душе дорогого, святого, -
Всё от тебя!
Будут ли дни мои ясны, унылы,
Скоро ли сгину я, жизнь загубя, -
Знаю одно: что до самой могилы
Помыслы, чувства, и песни, и силы
Всё для тебя!
Whether the day reigns, or the silence of night,
Whether tormented in sleep or by daily struggle,
Always with me, filling my live,
The same fateful thought, -
Always of you!
It banishes the ghost of my past,
It revived my heart which loves again…
My faith, my dreams, an inspired word,
All that is cherished and holy in my soul, -
Always from you!
Whether my days shall be bright or dull,
Whether I am to perish soon and ruin my life, -
One thing is clear: to the very grave,
All my thoughts, feelings, songs and vigour,
Always for you!
Rimsky-Korsakov, “Captivated by the Rose”
Text by A. Koltsov | Translation by Helena Bayliss
Пленившись розой, соловей
И день и ночь поёт над ней;
Но роза молча песням внемлет...
На лире так певец иной
Поёт для девы молодой;
А дева милая не знает --
Кому поёт? И отчего
Печальны песни так его?...
Bewitched by the rose, a nightingale
Sings to his beloved day and night.
While the rose remains silent and still.
So does a lover string his lyre,
Wooing a maiden of his choice.
But she knows not for whom he sings
And why he is forlorn.
Guastavino, “La Rosa Y El Sauce”
Text by Francisco Silva y Valdés | Translation by Maria Ximena Yarleque Cafferata
La rosa se iba abriendo
Abrazada al sauce,
El árbol apasionada,
La amaba tanto!
Pero una niña, una niña coqueta
Pero una niña, una niña coqueta
Se la ha robado
Y el sauce desconsolado
La está llorando.
La está llorando.
The rose slowly opened
Wrapped around the willow tree
The passionate tree
loved her so much!
But a little girl, a coy little girl
But a little girl, a coy little girl
Has stolen her away
And the sorrowful willow
Is crying for her
Is crying for her
Bizet, “Adieux de l’hotesse arabe”
Text by Victor Hugo | English translation by Aster Vale
Puisque rien ne t’arrête en cet heureux pays,
Ni l’ombre du palmier, ni le jaune maïs,
Ni le repos, ni l’abondance,
Ni de voir à ta voix battre le jeune sein
De nos sœurs, dont, les soirs, le tournoyant essaim
Couronne un coteau de sa danse,
Adieu, beau voyageur! Hélas adieu.
Oh! que n’es-tu de ceux
Qui donnent pour limite à leurs pieds paresseux
Leur toit de branches ou de toiles!
Qui, rêveurs, sans en faire, écoutent les récits,
Et souhaitent, le soir, devant leur porte assis,
De s’en aller dans les étoiles!
Si tu l’avais voulu, peut-être une de nous,
O jeune homme, eût aimé te servir à genoux
Dans nos huttes toujours ouvertes;
Elle eût fait, en berçant ton sommeil de ses chants,
Pour chasser de ton front les moucherons méchants,
Un éventail de feuilles vertes.
Si tu ne reviens pas, songe un peu quelquefois
Aux filles du désert, sœurs à la douce voix,
Qui dansent pieds nus sur la dune;
O beau jeune homme blanc, bel oiseau passager,
Souviens-toi, car peut-être, ô rapide étranger,
Ton souvenir reste à plus d’une!
Hélas! Adieu! bel étranger! Souviens-toi!
Since nothing can detain you in this happy land—
Not the palm tree's shade, nor fields of golden maize,
Nor rest, nor plenty,
Nor seeing, at your voice, the young hearts beat
Of our sisters, whose swirling evening throng
Crowns a hillside with their dance—
Farewell, fair traveller! Alas, farewell.
Oh, would that you were one of those
Who make the boundary of their wandering feet
A roof of branches or of woven cloth!
Those dreamers who, without setting forth, listen to tales,
And, sitting before their doorway at evening,
Dream of journeying among the stars!
Had you wished it, perhaps one of us,
Young man, would gladly have served you on her knees
Within our huts, forever open;
She would have lulled your sleep with songs,
And, to drive the troublesome gnats from your brow,
Made a fan of green leaves.
If you do not return, remember now and then
The daughters of the desert, sisters of the gentle voice,
Who dance barefoot upon the dune;
O handsome young man, fair passing bird,
Remember—for perhaps, O swift stranger,
Your memory will linger in more than one heart!
Alas! Farewell! Fair stranger! Remember!
Kurt Weill, “Je Ne T’aime Pas”
Text by Maurice Magre | Translation by Aster Vale
Retire ta main, je ne t'aime pas,
Car tu l'as voulu, tu n'es qu'une amie.
Pour d'autres sont fait le creux de tes bras
Et ton cher baiser, ta tête endormie.
Ne me parle pas, lorsque c'est le soir,
Trop intimement, à voix basse même.
Ne me donne pas surtout ton mouchoir:
Il renferme trop le parfum que j'aime.
Dis-moi tes amours, je ne t'aime pas,
Quelle heure te fut la plus enivrante,
Je ne t'aime pas ...
Et s'il t'aimait bien, ou s'il fut ingrat...
En me le disant, ne sois pas charmante,
Je ne t'aime pas ...
Je n'ai pas pleuré, je n'ai pas souffert,
Ce n'était qu'un rêve et qu'une folie.
Il me suffira que tes yeux soient clairs,
Sans regret du soir,
ni mélancholie,
Il me suffira de voir ton bonheur.
Il me suffira de voir ton sourire.
Conte-moi comment il a pris ton coeur
Et même dis-moi ce qu'on ne peut dire ...
Non, tais-toi plutôt... Je suis à genoux...
Le feu s'est éteint, la porte est fermée...
Je ne t'aime pas.
Ne demande rien, je pleure... C'est tout...
Je ne t'aime pas, je ne t'aime pas,
O ma bien-aimée! Retire ta main.
Je ne t'aime pas... Je ne t'aime pas.
Take back your hand. I do not love you,
For you have chosen this. You are only a friend.
For others are made the hollow of your arms,
Your cherished kiss, your sleeping head.
Do not speak to me when evening falls,
Too intimately, even in a whisper.
And above all, do not give me your handkerchief.
It holds too much of the perfume I love.
Tell me of your loves. I do not love you.
Which hour was sweetest, most intoxicating?
I do not love you...
And did he love you well, or was he unkind?
When you tell me, do not be charming.
I do not love you...
I did not weep. I did not suffer.
It was only a dream, only a madness.
It will be enough for me that your eyes are clear,
With no regret for the evening,
No melancholy.
It will be enough to see your happiness.
It will be enough to see your smile.
Tell me how he captured your heart,
And even tell me what cannot be said...
No, better be silent... I am on my knees...
The fire has died. The door is closed...
I do not love you.
Ask me nothing. I am crying... That is all...
I do n0ot love you, I do not love you,
O my beloved! Take back your hand.
I do not love you... I do not love you.
Elena Roussanova, “Mujer Fatal”
Text/Translation by Sheila del Bosque Fuentes
El amor es un veneno dulce y feroz.
Es como una danza de luz fatal.
Soy un ave libre que no tiene rumbo
Soy un a la heri da que te sangra despacio, con ardor.
Amor, quédate.
Sea mi pecho e se lugar
En donde refugiar el alma donde puedas encender con tu voz mi piel.
Ven, abrázame y que se cure tu dolor.
Que bajo el manto de este cielo sean mis besos
Eco de viento cual hechizo que da un dulce sabor.
Soy la musa de tu sueño triste y mortal.
Dejo corazones en cruel final.
Soy promesa da placer, mas en el fondo
Soy abismo y soledad.
Cual cruel ilusion he tenido que ser.
Amor, quédate.
Sea mi pecho e se lugar
En donde refugiar el alma donde puedas encender con tu voz mi piel.
Ven, abrázame y que se cure tu dolor.
Que bajo el manto de este cielo sean tus latidos suspiros,
de un amor fugaz, que me entregue el corazon
Love is a sweet, ferocious poison.
It’s like a deadly dance of light.
I am an aimless, free bird
I’m a wounded wing, slowly, fervently bleeding for you.
Love, please stay.
Make my breast that place
Where your soul takes shelter
Where you’ll set my skin ablaze with your voice.
Come, embrace me
And let your pain be soothed.
Under this sky-cloak let my kisses
Be an echo of the wind,
That sweet-tasting incantation.
I am the muse of your sad, mortal dream.
I leave hearts to unforgiving fates.
I am the promise of pleasure,
Yet, deep down, I am abandon and solitude.
That cruel fantasy I’ve had to be.
Love, please stay…
Come, embrace me
And let your pain be eased.
Under this sky-cloak let your heartbeats
Be your sighing for a fleeting love.
Now yield your heart to me.
Piazzola - “Yo Soy Maria”
Text by Horacio Ferrer | Translation by Maria Ximena Yarleque Cafferata
Yo soy María de Buenos Aires!
De Buenos Aires María ¿no ven quién soy yo?
María tango, María del arrabal!
María noche, María pasión fatal!
María del amor! De Buenos Aires soy yo!
Yo soy María de Buenos Aires
si en este barrio la gente pregunta quién soy,
pronto muy bien lo sabrán
las hembras que me envidiarán,
y cada macho a mis pies
como un ratón en mi trampa ha de caer!
Yo soy María de Buenos Aires!
Soy la más bruja cantando y amando también!
Si el bandoneón me provoca... Tiará, tatá!
Le muerdo fuerte la boca... Tiará, tatá!
Con diez espasmos en flor que yo tengo en mi ser!
Siempre me digo "Dale María!"
cuando un misterio me viene trepando en la voz!
Y canto un tango que nadie jamás cantó
y sueño un sueño que nadie jamás soñó,
porque el mañana es hoy con el ayer después, che!
Yo soy María de Buenos Aires!
De Buenos Aires María yo soy, mi ciudad!
María tango, María del arrabal!
María noche, María pasión fatal!
María del amor! De Buenos Aires soy yo!
I am María from Buenos Aires!
From Buenos Aires, María - don't you see who I am?
María tango, María from the arrabal!
María night, María of fatal passion!
María of love! From Buenos Aires I am!
I am María from Buenos Aires,
If in this neighbourhood people ask who I am,
Soon enough they will know.
The women will envy me,
And every men will be at my feet
Like a mouse caught in my trap, they will fall!
I am María from Buenos Aires!
I am the most badass at singing and loving too!
If the bandoneon provokes me... Tiará, tatá!
I bite its mouth so hard... Tiará, tatá!
With ten blossoming spasms that I carry in my being!
I always tell myself, "Come on, María!",
when a mystery comes climbing up through my voice!
And I sing a tango that no one has ever sung,
And I dream a dream that no one has ever dreamed,
Because tomorrow is today, with yesterday still to come, che!
I am María from Buenos Aires!
From Buenos Aires, María, I am - my city!
María tango, María from the arrabal!
María night, María of fatal passion!
María of love! From Buenos Aires I am!
Rachmaninoff, “How Fair this Spot”
Text by Glafira Adol'fovna Galina | Translation by Helena Bayliss
Здесь хорошо... Взгляни, вдали
Огнём горит река;
Цветным ковром луга легли,
Белеют облака.
Здесь нет людей... Здесь тишина.
Здесь только Бог да я.
Цветы, да старая сосна,
Да ты, мечта моя...
How fair is this spot... Look,
A distant river is bright as flame;
The meadows spread like oriental rugs,
The clouds are white.
No people are here… silence reigns.
I am alone with God.
With flowers, an old pine,
And you, my dream…
Tchaikovsky, “The Soul was soaring quietly above the peaks”
Text by Aleksey Tolstoy | Translation by Helena Bayliss
Горними тихо летела душа небесами,
Грустные долу она опускала ресницы;
Слезы, в пространство от них упадая звездами,
Светлой и длинной за нею вились вереницей.
Встречные тихо ее вопрошали светила:
"Отчего так грустна и о чем эти слезы во взоре?"
Им отвечала она: "Я земли не забыла,
Много оставила там я страданья и горя.
Здесь я лишь ликам блаженства и радости внемлю,
Праведных души не знают ни скорби, ни злобы –
О, отпусти меня снова, Создатель, на землю,
Было б о ком пожалеть, было б о ком пожалеть и утешить кого бы!"
The soul was soaring quietly above the peaks,
Casting her eyes down in sorrow;
Tears were falling from them into space
Forming a long line of stars in her wake.
Oncoming stars asked her quietly:
“Why are you sad, where from are these tears in your eyes?”
She answered: “I haven’t forgotten the Earth,
I left behind much suffering and woe.
Here I meet only the image of bliss and contentment,
Pious souls know neither grief nor rancour -
Oh, let me return back to Earth, my beloved Creator.
I yearn for someone to pity, for souls to console!”
Lakeland, The Temple Bell Stops
Text by Basho | English Adaptation by Jonathan Lakeland
The temple bell stops…
The temple bell stops, but the sound keeps coming out of the flowers
Scented petals ring out,
Soft and sweet,
An autumn breeze gently guides me
Down the road to the cherry blossom shade.
All I meet are strangers there.
Everyone a stranger there.
A calm breeze crosses the field,
Though no one can see
how that wind,
Last felt long ago
by those that died on that field,
Brings the clouds and the rain…
Giving the souls there,
All of them lost there,
A chance to rest from looking at the moon.