Brussels Philharmonic | Dreams: de poëzie

Dreams: de poëzie

In die plek waar we eindelijk diep dromen komen de wondere juweeltjes van George Benjamins Dream of the Song één voor één hun irreële schoonheid tonen. De contratenor - “mysteriously sensual and sensually strange” - wordt omarmd door de gesluierde klanken van een vrouwenkoor en het orkest. Maanlicht, het nachtelijke hemelgewelf, ragfijne dromen van een gazelle, een harp, een fluit: beelden van verrukking en verwondering - eindelijk rust.

Dream of the Song
George Benjamin

voor contratenor, vrouwenkoor en orkest (2014-2015)

: 25.09.2015, Concertgebouw Amsterdam - Bejun Mehta, Nederlands Kamerkoor, Koninklijk Concertgebouworkest & George Benjamin
commissie: Koninklijk Concertgebouworkest, BBC Symphony Orchestra, Boston SYmphony Orchestra & Festival d'automne à Paris

I. The Pen

Solomon Ibn Gabirol (translation Peter Cole)

Naked without either cover or dress,
utterly soulles, and hollow—
from its mouth come wisdom and prudence,
and in ambush it kills like an arrow.

II. The Multiple Troubles of Man

Samuel HaNagid (translation Peter Cole)

The multiple troubles of man,
my brother, like slander and pain,
amaze you? Consider the heart
which holds them all
in strangeness, and doesn’t break.

III. Gazing Through the Night

Samuel HaNagid (translation Peter Cole)

Gazing through the
night and its stars,
or the grass and its bugs,
I know in my heart these swarms
are the craft of surpassing wisdom.
Think: the skies
resemble a tent,
stretched taut by loops
and hooks;
and the moon with its stars,
a shepherdess,
on a meadow
grazing her flock;
and the crescent hull in the looser clouds
looks like a ship being tossed;
a whiter cloud, a girl
in her garden
tending her shrubs;
and the dew coming down is her sister
shaking water
from her hair onto the path;
as we
settle in our lives,
like beasts in their ample stalls—
fleeing our terror of death,
like a dove
its hawk in flight—
though we’ll lie in the end like a plat,
hammered into dust and shards.

Casida del llanto

Frederico García Lorca

Casida del llanto
Pero el llanto es un perro inmenso,
el llanto es un ángel inmenso,
el llanto es un violín inmenso,
las lágrimas amordazan al viento,
y no se oye otra cosa que el llanto.

But the weeping is an immense hound,
the weeping is an immense angel,
the weeping is an immense violin,
tears have muzzled the wind
and all that can be heard is the weeping.

IV. Gacela del amor maravilloso

Frederico García Lorca

Cielos y campos
anudaban cadenas en mis manos.

Campos y cielos
azotaban las llagas de mi cuerpo.

Skies and fiels
tied chains on my hands.

Fields and skies
lashed the wounds of my flesh.

V. The Gazelle

Samuel HaNagid (translation Peter Cole)

I’d give everything I own for that gazelle
who, rising at night to his
harp and flute,
saw a cup in my hand
and said:
“Drink your grape blood against my lips!”
And the moon was cut like a D,
on a dark robe, written in gold.

VI. My Heart Thinks as the Sun Comes Up

Solomon Ibn Gabirol (translation Peter Cole)

My heart thinks as the sun comes up
that what it does is wise:
as earth borrows its light,
as pledge it takes the stars

Casida del herido por el agua

Frederico García Lorca

¡qué desiertos de luz iban hundiendo
los arenales de la madrugada!

what deserts of light
buried the sands of dawn!