Songs Sung Texts
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Modest Mussorgsky Songs Sung texts CD1 ENGLISH TRANSLATION Pesni i Plaski Smerti Songs and Dances of Death Texts: Golenischev‐Kutusov Texts: Golenischev‐Kutusov 1. Kolïbel'neya 1. Lullaby Stonet rebyonok, svecha, nagoraya, A child moans, a candle burns low, Tusklo mertsayet krugom. And casts a dim flicker around. Tseluyu noch, kolybel'ku kachaya, All through the night, her cradle rocking, Mat' ne zabylasa snom. The mother has not slumbered. Ranym‐ranyokhonko v dver ostorozhno Early in the morning, at the door so gently Smert' serdobol'naya stuk! Death, the compassionate, knocks! Vzdrognula mat', oglyanulas trevozhno... The mother gives a start, and looks round in fear... "Polno pugat'sa, moy drug! “Be not afraid, my dear! Blednoe utro uzh smotrit v okoshko, The pale light of morn now peeps through the window, Placha, toskuya, lyublya, weeping, in longing, in love, Ty utomilas, vzdremni‐ka nemnozhko, Thou hast worn thyself out, now rest thee awhile, Ya posizhu za tebya. and I will sit here by his side. Ugomonit' ty ditya ne sumela; Thou hast not been able to soothe the poor child, Slashche tebya ya spoyu." Sweeter than thou shall I sing." "Tishe! Rebyonok moy mechetsa, byotsa, “Softly! My child is tossing and restless, Dushu terzayet moyu!" It grieves my heart thus to see him!" "Nu, da so mnoyu on skoro uymyotsa, “Come now, he soon will listen to me. Bayushki, bayu, bayu." Hush‐a‐bye, baby, my own." "Shchochki bledneyut, slabeyet dykhan'ye... “His dear cheeks are pale, his breath is failing... Da zamolchi zhe, molyu!" Be silent now, do, I beseech thee!" "Dobroye znamen'e: stikhnet stradan'e. “That's a good sign: soon his suffering will end. Bayushki, bayu, bayu." Hush‐a‐bye, baby, my own." "Proch ty, proklyataya! Laskoy svoyeyu “Get thee away, O accursed one! Thy caresses Sgubish ty radost' moyu." The joy of my heart will destroy." "Net, mirny son ya mladentsu naveyu: “Nay, the sleep of peace will I breathe on the infant: Bayushki, bayu, bayu." Hush‐a‐bye, baby, my own." "Szhal'sa, pozhdi dopevat', khot' mnogoven'ye Have mercy! O tarry, if just for a moment, Strashnuyu pesnyu tvoyu!" Ere ending that dread song of thine!" "Vidish, usnul on pod tikhoe pen'ye. “See now, he sleeps to the singing so gentle. Bayushki, bayu, bayu." Hush‐a‐bye, baby, my own." Composed 14 April 1875 in St. Petersburg, dedicated to Anna J. V. Petrou 2. Serenade 2. Serenade Nega vol'shebnaya, noch golubaya, The magical languor, the blue of the night, Trepetny sumrak vesny... The trembling twilight of spring... Vnemlet, poniknuv golovkoy, bol'naya She listens, the invalid, hanging her head, Shopot nochnoy tishiny. To the whisper of night's silent words. Son ne smykayet blestyashchie ochi, Her eyes, wide and burning, are not dosed in slumber, Zhizn k naslazhdenyu zovyot! Life to its joys calls her still! A pod okoshkom v molchaniy polnochi Yet under her window in the silence of midnight Smert' serenadu poyot: Death sings his soft serenade: "V mrake nevoli, surovoy i tesnoy, “In the dark gloom of prison, severe and confining, Molodost' vyanet tvoya, Thy youth will fade quite away, Rytsar nevedomy, siloy chudesnoy But I, thy unknown knight, with my wondrous power, Osvobozhu ya tebya. Will set thee free. Vstan, posmotri na sebya: krasotoyu Rise, look on thyself: with what beauty Lik tvoy prozrachny blestit, Thy face in radiance doth shine, Shchoki rumyany, volnistoy kosoyu Thy cheeks so rosy, thy rippling tresses Stan tvoy kak tuchey obvit. Veiling thy form like a cloud. Pristal'nykh glaz goluboye siyan'e The blue radiance of thine eyes so intense Yarche nebes i ognya... Is brighter than the skies or fire... Znoyem poludennym veyet dykhan'e… With midday's heat thy breath bloweth o'er me... Ty obol'stila menya. Thou hast bewitched me, my love. Slukh tvoy plenilsa moyey serenadoy, Thine ear is captivated by my soft serenade, Rystsarya shopot tvoy zval. Thy whispered words summoned thy knight. 94928 Mussorgsky: Songs 1 Rytsar prishol za posledney nagradoy: Thy knight has come for his final reward: Chas upoyen'ya nastal. The hour of rapture is near. Nezhen tvoy stan, upoitelen trepet, Fair is thy form, thy tremor enthralling, O, zadushu ya tebya O, I will clasp thee, my own, V krepkikh ob'yat'yakh; lyubovny moy lepet In strongest embraces; to my lays of love Slushay... molchi...Ty moya! Harken... be still... Thou art mine!" Composed 11 May 1875 in St. Petersburg, dedicated to Ludmilla I. Shestakova‐Glinka 3. Trepak 3. Trepak (Russian Dance) Les da polyany, bezlyud'e krugom... In the forest and glades not a soul is in sight... Vyuga i plachet i stonet... The blizzard doth wail and howl... Chuyetsa, budto vo mrake nochnom It feels as if in the gloom of the night Zlaya kovo‐to khoronit. The cruel snow is burying some poor man. Glyad', tak i yest'! v temnote muzhika Look ‐ so it is! In the darkness a peasant Smert' obnimayet, laskayet; By Death is embraced and caressed; S pyanenkim plyashet vdvoyom trepaka, With a drunkard Death dances a trepak together, Na ukho pesn napevayet: And sings in his ear a sweet song: "Okh, muzhichok, starichok ubogy, "Hey, poor peasant, thou wretched old man, Pyan napilsa, poplyolsa dorogoy; Thou hast drunk thyself silly and wandered astray; A metel‐to, ved'ma, podnyalas, vzygrala, But the blizzard, like a witch, rose and played with thee, S polya v les dremuchy nevznachay zagnala, From the glades to the forest dense chanced to drive thee, Gorem, toskoy, da nuzhdoy tomimy, Through sorrow and grief and want grown weary, Lyag, prikorni da usni, rodimy, Lie down, rest and sleep, my friend, Ya tebya, golubchik moy, snezhkom sogreyu, And I shall warm thee, my dear, with a cover of snow, Vdrug tebya velikuyu igru zateyu. Around thee a fine game will I start. Vzbey‐ka posteI' ty, metel' lebyodka! Shake up the bed, thou swan‐like snow! Hey, nachinay, zapevay, pogodka, Hey there, begin, start up a song, wild weather, Skazku da takuyu, shtob vsyu noch tyanulas, A song to last the whole night through, Shtob pyanchuge krepko pod neyo zasnulas. That this drunkard may sink into sleep to its strains. Oy vy, lesa, nebesa da tuchi, O you forests, heavens and clouds, Tem, veterok da snezhok letuchy, Darkness, breeze and sweeping snow, Sveytes pelenoyu snezhnoy pukhovoyu, Wrap him in a shroud of softest snow, Yeyu kak mladentsa starichka prikroyu. And in it like a babe the old man I'll shelter. Spi, moy druzhok, muzhichok schastlivy, Sleep, my friend, my peasant so happy, Leto prishlo, rastsvelo! Summer has come, and all is in bloom! Nad nivoy solnyshko smeyotsa da serpy gulyayut, O'er the cornfields the sun doth smile and the sickles are swinging, Pesenka nesyotsa, golubki letayut!... " The song rises up, and the doves are flying!... " Composed 17 February 1875 in St. Petersburg, dedicated to Ossip A. Petrov, a famous bass 4. Polkovodets 4. The Field‐Marshal Grokhochet bitva, bleshchut broni, The battle thunders, the armour flashes, Orud'ya mednyye revut, The cannons of bronze do roar, Begut polki, nesutsa koni, The regiments charge, the horses rush by, I reki krasnyye tekut, And red rivers of blood do flow. Pylayet polden, lyudi bytusa! Noon burns fierce, the people fight on! Sklonilos sontse, boy sil'ney! When the sun has sunk low, the battle rages fiercer! Zakat bledneyet, no derutsa Sunset pales, yet the enemies fight on Vragi vsyo yarostney i zley! More furiously still and savagely! I pala noch na pole brani, And night doth fall on the field of battle. Druzhiny v mrake razoshlis... In the gloom the legions disperse... Vsyo stikhlo, i v nochnom tumane All is quiet, and in the darkness of night Stenan'ya k nebu podnyalis. Groans rise up to the sky, Togda, ozarena lunoyu, Then, illumined by the light of the moon, Na boevom svoyom kone, On his battle horse astride, Kostey sverkaya beliznoyu, His white bones gleaming in the pale light, Yavilos smert'. I v tishine, Comes the figure of Death. And in the quiet, Vnimaya vopli i molitvy, He hears the groans and prayers, Dovol'stva gordovo polna, And filled with pride and satisfaction, Kak polkovodets, mesto bitvy Like a warrior chief, he circles around Krugom ob'yekhala ona. The place of battle. Na kholm podnyavshis, oglyanulas, Up to a hill he climbs, and looks about, Ostanovilos, ulybnulas... Stops, and gives a smile... I nad ravninoy boyevoy And o'er the battle plain Pronyossya golos rokovoy: The voice of doom is heard: "Konchena bitva! Ya vsekh pobedila! "The fight is ended! I have conquered all! 94928 Mussorgsky: Songs 2 Vse predo mnoy vy smirilis, boytsy! Before me you have yielded, warriors all! Zhizn vas possorila, ya pomirila! Life set you at odds, but I joined you in peace! Druzhno vstavayte na smotr, mertvetsy! Rise up together for the roll‐call of Death! Marshem torzhestvennym mimo proydite, March in a solemn file all of you before me, Voysko moyo ya khochu soschitat'. My troops I do wish to record. V zemlyu potom svoi kosti slozhite, Then later your bones in the earth you may lay, Sladko ot zhizni v zemle otdykhat'! Sweetly to rest from life's toils in the earth! Gody nezrimo proydut za godami, Year after year will pass by unheeded, V lyudyakh ischeznet i pamyat' O vas. And amongst men no memory of you shall remain. Ya ne zabudu! I gromko nad vami But I'll not forget! And over your bones here Pir budu pravit' v polunochny chas! I'll have a loud feast at midnight's hour! Plyaskoy tyazholoyu zemlyu syruyu In the dance's heavy tread upon the damp earth Ya pritopchu, shtoby sen grobovuyu I'll stamp, so the shades of the grave Kosti pokinut' vovek ne smogli, Your bones will never, no never escape, Shtob nikogda vam ne vstat' iz zemli!" And you'll never rise out of the earth again!" Composed 5 June 1877 in Tsarskoye‐Syelo, dedicated to Prince Arsenyi Golenistchev‐Kutosov.