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Nikolay Borchev LIVE (2015 and 2016)

Nikolay Borchev <em>LIVE</em>

In this special release from the Music@Menlo LIVE label, internationally acclaimed baritone Nikolay Borchev showcases a selection of unforgettable performances from the 2015 and 2016 Music@Menlo chamber music festivals.

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Selections

Der Wanderer, op. 4, no. 1, D. 489 | Franz Schubert (4:49)

Der Wanderer (The Wanderer), op. 4, no. 1, D. 489

Ich komme vom Gebirge her,
Es dampft das Tal, es braust das Meer.
Ich wandle still, bin wenig froh,
Und immer fragt der Seufzer: wo?

Die Sonne dünkt mich hier so kalt,
Die Blüte welk, das Leben alt,
Und was sie reden, leerer Schall,
Ich bin ein Fremdling überall.

Wo bist du, mein geliebtes Land?
Gesucht, geahnt und nie gekannt!
Das Land, das Land, so hoffnungsgrün,
Das Land, wo meine Rosen blühn,

Wo meine Freunde wandeln gehn,
Wo meine Toten auferstehn,
Das Land, das meine Sprache spricht,
O Land, wo bist du?

Ich wandle still, bin wenig froh,
Und immer fragt der Seufzer: wo?
Im Geisterhauch tönt’s mir zurück:
“Dort, wo du nicht bist, dort ist das Glück!”

Georg Philipp Schmidt von Lübeck (1766–1849)


I come from the mountains;
the valley steams, the ocean roars.
I wander, silent and joyless,
and my sighs forever ask: where?

Here the sun seems so cold,
the blossom faded, life old,
and men’s words mere hollow noise;
I am a stranger everywhere.

Where are you, my beloved land?
Sought, dreamt of, yet never known!
The land so green with hope,
the land where my roses bloom,

Where my friends walk,
where my dead ones rise again,
the land that speaks my tongue,
O land, where are you?

I wander, silent and joyless,
and my sighs forever ask: where?
In a ghostly whisper the answer comes:
“There, where you are not, is happiness!”

English: Richard Wigmore © 2005
  • Nikolay Borchev, Baritone
  • Juho Pohjonen, Piano

Abendstern, D. 806 | Franz Schubert (2:36)

Abendstern (The Evening Star), D. 806
Was weilst du einsam an dem Himmel,
O schöner Stern? und bist so mild;
Warum entfernt das funkelnde Gewimmel
Der Brüder sich von deinem Bild?
“Ich bin der Liebe treuer Stern,
Sie halten sich von Liebe fern.”

So solltest du zu ihnen gehen,
Bist du der Liebe, zaud’re nicht!
Wer möchte denn dir widerstehen?
Du süsses eigensinnig Licht.
“Ich säe, schaue keinen Keim,
Und bleibe trauernd still daheim.”
Johann Mayrhofer (1787–1836)

Why do you linger all alone in the sky,
fair star? For you are so gentle;
why does the host of sparkling brothers
shun your sight?
“I am the faithful star of love;
they keep far away from love.”

If you are love,
you should go to them without delay!
For who could resist you,
sweet, wayward light?
“I sow no seed, I see no shoot,
and remain here, silent and mournful.”
English: Richard Wigmore © 2005
  • Nikolay Borchev, Baritone
  • Juho Pohjonen, Piano

Erlkönig, op. 1, D. 328 | Franz Schubert (4:29)

Erlkönig (The Elf-King), D. 328

Wer reitet so spät durch Nacht und Wind?
Es ist der Vater mit seinem Kind:
Er hat den Knaben wohl in dem Arm,
Er fasst ihn sicher, er hält ihn warm.

“Mein Sohn, was birgst du so bang dein Gesicht?”
“Siehst, Vater, du den Erlkönig nicht?
Den Erlenkönig mit Kron’ und Schweif?”
“Mein Sohn, es ist ein Nebelstreif.”

“Du liebes Kind, komm, geh mit mir!
Gar schöne Spiele spiel’ ich mit dir;
Manch’ bunte Blumen sind an dem Strand,
Meine Mutter hat manch gülden Gewand.”

“Mein Vater, mein Vater, und hörest du nicht,
Was Erlenkönig mir leise verspricht?”
“Sei ruhig, bleibe ruhig, mein Kind:
In dürren Blättern säuselt der Wind.”

“Willst, feiner Knabe, du mit mir gehn?
Meine Töchter sollen dich warten schön;
Meine Töchter führen den nächtlichen Reihn
Und wiegen und tanzen und singen dich ein.”

“Mein Vater, mein Vater, und siehst du nicht
dort Erlkönigs Töchter am düstern Ort?”
“Mein Sohn, mein Sohn, ich seh es genau:
Es scheinen die alten Weiden so grau.”

“Ich liebe dich, mich reizt deine schöne Gestalt;
Und bist du nicht willig, so brauch ich Gewalt.”
“Mein Vater, mein Vater, jetzt fasst er mich an!
Erlkönig hat mir ein Leids getan!”

Dem Vater grausets, er reitet geschwind,
Er hält in Armen das ächzende Kind,
Erreicht den Hof mit Mühe und Not:
In seinen Armen das Kind war tot.

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749–1832)


Who rides so late through the night and wind?
It is the father with his child.
He has the boy in his arms;
he holds him safely, he keeps him warm.

“My son, why do you hide your face in fear?”
“Father, can you not see the Elf-King?
The Elf-King with his crown and tail?”
“My son, it is a streak of mist.”

“Sweet child, come with me.
I’ll play wonderful games with you.
Many a pretty flower grows on the shore;
my mother has many a golden robe.”

“Father, father, do you not hear
what the Elf-King softly promises me?”
“Calm, be calm, my child:
the wind is rustling in the withered leaves.”

“Won’t you come with me, my fine lad?
My daughters shall wait upon you;
my daughters lead the nightly dance
and will rock you and dance, and sing you to sleep.”

“Father, father, can you not see
Elf-King ’s daughters there in the darkness?”
“My son, my son, I can see clearly:
it is the old gray willows gleaming.”

“I love you, your fair form allures me,
and if you don’t come willingly, I’ll use force.”
“Father, father, now he’s seizing me!
The Elf-King has hurt me!”

The father shudders, he rides swiftly,
he holds the moaning child in his arms;
with one last effort he reaches home;
the child lay dead in his arms.

English: Richard Wigmore © 2005
  • Nikolay Borchev, Baritone
  • Hyeyeon Park, Piano

Der Jüngling und der Tod, D. 545 | Franz Schubert (4:29)

Der Jüngling:
Die Sonne sinkt, o könnt ich mit ihr
scheiden,
Mit ihrem letzten Strahl entfliehen!
Ach diese namenlosen Qualen meiden
Und weit in schönre Welten ziehn!
O komme, Tod, und löse diese Bande!
Ich lächle dir, o Knochenmann,
Entführe mich leicht in geträumte Lande!
O komm und rühre mich doch an!
Der Tod:
Es ruht sich kühl und sanft in meinen Armen,
Du rufst, ich will mich deiner Qual erbarmen.

—Josef von Spaun (1788–1865)
The Youth
The sun is sinking; O that I might depart
with it,
flee with its last ray:
escape these nameless torments
and journey far away to fairer worlds!
O come, Death, and loose these bonds!
I smile upon you, skeleton;
lead me gently to the land of dreams!
O come and touch me, come!
Death:
In my arms you will find cool, gentle rest;
you call, I will take pity on your suffering.

—English: Richard Wigmore © 2005
  • Nikolay Borchev, Baritone
  • Gilles Vonsattel, Piano

Die Götter Griechenlands, D. 667 | Franz Schubert (3:53)

Die Götter Griechenlands (The Gods of Greece), D. 677
Schöne Welt, wo bist du? Kehre wieder
Holdes Blütenalter der Natur!
Ach, nur in dem Feenland der Lieder
Lebt noch deine fabelhafte Spur.
Ausgestorben trauert das Gefilde,
Keine Gottheit zeigt sich meinem Blick,
Ach, von jenem lebenwarmen Bilde
Blieb der Schatten nur zurück.
Friedrich von Schiller (1759–1805)

Fair world, where are you? Return again,
sweet springtime of nature!
Alas, only in the magic land of song
does your fabled memory live on.
The deserted fields mourn,
no god reveals himself to me;
of that warm, living image
only a shadow has remained.
English: Richard Wigmore © 2005
  • Nikolay Borchev, Baritone
  • Gilbert Kalish, Piano

Dass sie hier gewesen, op. 59, no. 2, D. 775 | Franz Schubert (3:10)

Dass sie hier gewesen (That She Has Been Here), op. 59, no. 2, D. 775
Dass der Ostwind Düfte
Hauchet in die Lüfte,
Dadurch tut er kund,
Dass du hier gewesen.

Dass hier Tränen rinnen,
Dadurch wirst du innen,
Wär’s dir sonst nicht kund,
Dass ich hier gewesen.

Schönheit oder Liebe,
Ob versteckt sie bliebe?
Düfte tun es und Tränen kund,
Dass sie hier gewesen.

Friedrich Rückert (1788–1866)

The east wind
breathes fragrance into the air,
and so doing it makes known
that you have been here!

Since tears flow here
you will know,
though you are otherwise unaware,
that I have been here!

Beauty or love:
can they remain concealed?
Fragrant scents and tears proclaim
that she has been here!

English: Richard Wigmore © 2005
  • Nikolay Borchev, Baritone
  • Gilbert Kalish, Piano

An Sylvia, op. 106, no. 4, D. 891 | Franz Schubert (2:28)

An Sylvia (To Sylvia), op. 106, no. 4, D. 891
Was ist Sylvia, saget an,
Dass sie die weite Flur preist?
Schön und zart seh’ ich sie nah’n,
Auf Himmels Gunst und Spur weist,
Dass ihr alles untertan.

Ist sie schön und gut dazu?
Reiz labt wie milde Kindheit;
Ihrem Aug’ eilt Amor zu,
Dort heilt er seine Blindheit,
Und verweilt in süsser Ruh’.

Darum Sylvia, tön’, o Sang,
Der holden Sylvia Ehren;
Jeden Reiz besiegt sie lang,
Den Erde kann gewähren:
Kränze ihr und Saitenklang!

German: Eduard von Bauernfeld

What is Sylvia, tell me,
that the wide meadows laud her?
I see her draw near, fair and tender,
it is a mark of heaven’s favour
that all are subject to her.

Is she fair and kind as well?
Her charms refresh with child-like gentleness;
Cupid hastens to her eyes,
there he cures his blindness
and lingers in sweet peace.

Then to Sylvia let our song resound,
to fair Sylvia’s glory!
She has long acquired every charm
that this earth can grant:
bring her garlands, and the music of strings!

William Shakespeare (1564–1616)
  • Nikolay Borchev, Baritone
  • Gilbert Kalish, Piano

Ständchen, D. 889 | Franz Schubert (3:50)

Ständchen (Serenade), D. 889
Horch, horch! die Lerch’ im Ätherblau;
Und Phöbus, neu erweckt,
Tränkt seine Rosse mit dem Tau,
Der Blumenkelche deckt;
Der Ringelblume Knospe schleusst
Die goldnen Äuglein auf;
Mit allem, was da reizend ist,
Du süsse Maid, steh auf!
Steh auf; steh auf!

German: August Wilhelm von Schlegel

Hark, hark! the lark at heaven’s gate sings,
And Phoebus ’gins arise,
His steeds to water at those springs
On chalic’d flowers that lies;
And winking Mary-buds begin
To ope their golden eyes;
With everything that pretty is,
My lady sweet, arise;
Arise, arise!

William Shakespeare (1564–1616)
  • Nikolay Borchev, Baritone
  • Gilbert Kalish, Piano

Auf dem Strom, op. posth. 119, D. 943 | Franz Schubert (8:31)

Auf dem Strom (On the River), op. posth. 119, D. 943
Nimm die letzten Abschiedsküsse,
Und die wehenden, die Grüsse,
Die ich noch ans Ufer sende,
Eh’ Dein Fuss sich scheidend wende!
Schon wird von des Stromes Wogen
Rasch der Nachen fortgezogen,
Doch den tränendunklen Blick
Zieht die Sehnsucht stets zurück!

Und so trägt mich denn die Welle
Fort mit unerflehter Schnelle.
Ach, schon ist die Flur verschwunden,
Wo ich selig Sie gefunden!
Ewig hin, ihr Wonnetage!
Hoffnungsleer verhallt die Klage
Um das schöne Heimatland,
Wo ich ihre Liebe fand.

Sieh, wie flieht der Strand vorüber,
Und wie drängt es mich hinüber,
Zieht mit unnennbaren Banden,
An der Hütte dort zu landen,
In der Laube dort zu weilen;
Doch des Stromes Wellen eilen
Weiter ohne Rast und Ruh,
Führen mich dem Weltmeer zu!

Ach, vor jener dunklen Wüste,
Fern von jeder heitern Küste,
Wo kein Eiland zu erschauen,
O, wie fasst mich zitternd Grauen!
Wehmutstränen sanft zu bringen,
Kann kein Lied vom Ufer dringen;
Nur der Sturm weht kalt daher
Durch das grau gehobne Meer!

Kann des Auges sehnend Schweifen
Keine Ufer mehr ergreifen,
Nun so schau’ ich zu den Sternen
Auf in jenen heil’gen Fernen!
Ach, bei ihrem milden Scheine
Nannt’ ich sie zuerst die Meine;
Dort vielleicht, o tröstend Glück!
Dort begegn’ ich ihrem Blick.

Ludwig Rellstab (1799–1860)

Take these last farewell kisses,
and the wafted greetings
that I send to the shore,
before your foot turns to leave.
Already the boat is pulled away
by the waves’ rapid current;
but longing forever draws back
my gaze, clouded with tears.

And so the waves bear me away
with relentless speed.
Ah, already the meadows
where, overjoyed, I found her have disappeared.
Days of bliss, you are gone forever!
Hopelessly my lament echoes
round the fair homeland
where I found her love.

See how the shore flies past,
and how mysterious ties
draw me across
to a land by yonder cottage,
to linger in yonder arbor.
But the river’s waves rush onwards,
without respite,
bearing me on towards the ocean.

Ah, how I tremble with dread
at that dark wilderness,
far from every cheerful shore,
where no island can be seen!
No song can reach me from the shore
to bring forth tears of gentle sadness;
only the tempest blows cold
across the gray, angry sea.

If my wistful, roaming eyes
can no longer descry the shore,
I shall look up to the stars
there in the sacred distance.
Ah! By their gentle radiance
I first called her mine;
there, perhaps, O consoling fate,
there I shall meet her gaze.

English: Richard Wigmore © 2005
  • Nikolay Borchev, Baritone
  • Kevin Rivard, Horn
  • Wu Han, Piano

Die Allmacht, op. 79, no. 2, D. 852 | Franz Schubert (4:36)

Die Allmacht (The Almighty), op. 79, no. 2, D. 852
Gross ist Jehova, der Herr! Denn Himmel
Und Erde verkünden seine Macht.
Du hörst sie im brausenden Sturm,
In des Waldstroms laut aufrauschendem Ruf;
Du hörst sie in des grünenden Waldes Gesäusel,
Siehst sie in wogender Saaten Gold,
In lieblicher Blumen glühendem Schmelz,
Im Glanz des sternebesäten Himmels,
Furchtbar tönt sie im Donnergeroll
Und flammt in des Blitzes schnell hinzuckendem Flug.
Doch kündet das pochende Herz dir fühlbarer noch
Jehovas Macht, des ewigen Gottes,
Blickst du flehend empor
Und hoffst auf Huld und Erbarmen.
Johann Ladislaus Pyrker (1772-1847)

Great is Jehovah, the Lord! For heaven
and earth proclaim his might.
You hear it in the roaring storm,
in the loud, surging cry of the forest stream;
you hear it in the rustling of the greenwood;
you see it in the golden, waving corn,
in the glowing luster of the lovely flowers,
in the sparkling, star-strewn heavens;
it echoes terrifyingly in the rolling thunder
and flames in the lightning’s swiftly flickering flight.
But your beating heart will reveal still more palpably
the power of Jehovah, the eternal God,
if you gaze up in prayer
and hope for grace and mercy.
English: Richard Wigmore © 2005
  • Nikolay Borchev, Baritone
  • Gilbert Kalish, Piano

Pesni i plyaski smerti (Songs and Dances of Death) for Voice and Piano | Modest Mussorgsky (20:56)

Pesni i plyaski smerti (Songs and Dances of Death)
By A. A. Golenishchev-Kutusov (1848–1913)
Translation by Cori Ellison © 2016
Titles are bold

Kolïbel’naya
Stonet rebionok. Svecha dagaraya,
Tusklo mertzayet krugom.
Tzeluyu noch’, kolybel’ ku kachaya,
Mat’ ne zabylasya snom.

Ranhym raniokhon’ ko v dver’, ostorozhno,
Smert’ serdobol’ naya stuk!
Vzdrognula mat’, oglyanulas’ trevozhno…
“Polno pugat’ sya, moi drug!

Blednoye utro uzh smotrit v okoshko.
Placha, toskuya, lyubya
Ty utomilas’. Vzdremni ka nemnozhka,
Ya posizhu za tebya.

Ugomonit’ ty ditya ne sumela,
Slatsche tebya ya spoyu.”
“Tishe! Rebionok moi mechetsya, b’iotsya,
Dushu terzayet moyu!”

“Nu, da so mnoyu on skoro uimiotsya,
Bayushki, bayu, bayu.”
“Tschechki bledneyut, slabeyet dykhan’ ye…
Da zamolchi-zhe, molyu!”

“Dobroye znamen’ ye: stihnet stradan’ ye.
Bayushki, bayu, bayu.”
“Proch’ ty proklyataya!
Laskoi svoyeyu sgubish’ ty radost’ moyu.”

“Net, mirnyi son ya mladentzu naveyu;
Bayushki, bayu, bayu.”
“Szhal’ sya, pozhdi dopevat’ hot’ mgnoven’ ye,
Strashnuyu pesnyu tvoyu!”

“Vidish’, usnul on pod tikhoye pen’ ye.
Bayushki, bayu, bayu!”





Lullaby
A child moans. A candle, burning low,
Casts a dim light.
All night, rocking the cradle,
The mother has not slept.

Very early, carefully,
Death, the heartbreaker, knocked.
The mother shivered and looked around anxiously.
“Fear no more, my friend!

Pale morning already peers in the window.
You’re weary
From weeping, grieving, and loving.
I’ll keep watch for you.

You failed to calm your child.
But I’ll sing more sweetly than you.”
“Quiet! My child is tossing restlessly,
Torturing my soul.

“Well, he will soon rest with me.
Hush-a-bye, sleep.”
“His cheeks grow pale, his breathing weakens...
Be quiet, I beg you!”

“It’s a good sign—his suffering will end.
Hush-a-bye, sleep.”
“Away, evil one!
Your caress will kill my joy.”

“No, I’ll bring your child peaceful dreams.
Hush-a-bye, sleep.”
“Have pity! If just for a moment, stop singing
Your terrifying song!”

“See, he’s been lulled by my quiet song.
Hush-a-bye, sleep.”

Serenada
Nega volshebnaya, noch’ golubaya,
Trepetnyi sumrak vesny…
Vnemlet, poniknuv golovkoi bol’ naya
Shopot nochnoi tishiny.

Son ne smykayet blestyashchiye ochi,
Zhizn’ k naslazhden’ yu zoviot;
A pod okoshkom v molchan’ i polnochi
Smert’ serenadu poiot:

“V mrake nevoli surovoi i tesnoi,
Molodost’ vyanet tvoya.
Rytsar’ nevedomyi, siloi chudesnoi
Osvobozhu ya tebya.

Vstan’, posmotri na sebya: krasotoyu
Lik tvoi prozrachnyi blestit,
Tschioki rumyany, volnistoi kosoyu
Stan tvoi, kak tuchei obvit;

Pristal’ nyh glaz goluboye siyan’ ye,
Yarche nebes i ognya;
Znoyem poludennym veyet dykhan’ ye,
Ty obol’ stila menya.

Sluh tvoi plenilsya moyei serenadoi,
Rytsarya shopot tvoi zval.
Rytsar’ prishol za poslednei nagradoi.
Chas upoyen’ ya nastal.

Nezhen tvoi stan, upoitelen trepet.
O zadushu ya tebya
V krepkih ob’ yat’ yah; lyubovnyi moi lepet
Slushai…molchi…ty moya!”

Serenade
Magical rapture, deep-blue night,
Rustling shadow of spring...
With head bowed, the ailing girl listens
To the quiet nocturnal whisper.

Sleep does not veil her glowing eyes.
Life beckons her toward pleasure.
And beneath the window, in the night’s silence
Death sings a serenade:

“In the darkness of cruel bondage
Your youth is fading.
I, a mysterious knight,
Will free you with miraculous power.

Arise, look at yourself—
Your transparent face glows with beauty.
Your flushed cheeks, your wavy braids,
Your figure seem wrapped in a cloud.

The blue gleam of your keen eyes
Is brighter than heaven or fire.
Your breath is full of noonday heat.
You have seduced me.

My serenade enflamed your ears.
Summoned by your whisper,
The knight has come for his final reward.
The hour of bliss has arrived.

Your figure is soft, your trembling enchanting.
I will stifle you
In my strong embrace. Hear my murmurs of love—
Be still...you are mine!”

Trepak
Les, da polyany, bezlyud’ ye krugom;
V’yuga u plachet i stonet;
Chuyetsya, budto vo mrake nochnom,
Zlaya kovo to khoronit.

Glyan’! Tak i yest’! V temnote muzhika
Smert’ obnimayet, laskayet;
S p’ yanen’ kim plyachet vdvoiom trepaka,
Na uho pesn’ napevayet:

“Okh muzhichok, starichok ubogoi,
P’ yan napilsya, poplelsya domoi;
A myatel’ to, ved’ ma, podnyalas’, vzygrala,
S polya v les dremuchiy nevznachay zagnala.

Gorem, toskoy, da nuzhdoy tomimyi!
Lyag, prikorni, da usni rodimyi.
Ya tebya, golubchik moi, snezhkom sogreyu,
Vkrug tebya velikuyu igru zateyu.

Vzbei ka postel’, ty myatel’ lebyodka,
Gei, nachinay, zapevay, pogodka;
Skazku, da takuyu, chtob vsyu noch’ tyanulas’,
Chtob p’yanchuge krepko pod neyo zasnulos’.

Oi, vy lesa, nebesa, da tuchi,
Tem’, veterok, da snezhok letuchii,
Sveites’ pelenoyu, snezhnoy pukhovoyu
Yeyu, kak mladentsa, starichka prikroyu.

Spi, moi druzhok, muzhichok tschastlivyi,
Leto prishlo, rastsvelo! Nad nivoy
Solnyshko smeyotsa, da serpy gulyayut;
Pesenka nesyotsya, golubki letayut.”

Trepak
Forest and fields, desolation all around
The storm weeps and moans.
It seems like the Devil is burying someone
In the nighttime darkness.

And behold—it is so! In the darkness, there’s a peasant.
Death embraces him, caresses him.
Dancing a double trepak with the drunk,
She sings a song into his ear.

“Poor old peasant,
You drank yourself blind and took to the road.
But an old witch of a blizzard blustered up
Suddenly driving you from field to deep forest.

Though dogged by grief, suffering, and poverty
Lie down, take cover, fall asleep.
I’ll warm you with snow, my sweet,
I’ll strike up nice games around you.

Fluff your mattress, lovely snowstorm!
Hey, let’s go, sing on, blizzard!
Tell a tale that will last all night,
So that our drunken friend can sleep soundly.

O, forests, skies, and clouds,
Darkness, wind, and drifting snow,
Wave a mantle of soft down,
And I’ll cover the old man like a baby.

Sleep, my friend, happy peasant!
Summer has arrived, all is blooming. Over the grove,
The sun laughs, and sickles are humming.
A song rises, doves are flying.”

Polkovodets
Grokhochet bitva, bletschut broni,
Orud’ ya mednyye revut,
Begut polki, nesutsa koni
I reki krasnyye tekut.

Pylayet polden’, lyudi b’ yutsya!
Sklonilos’ solntze, boy sil’ nei!
Zakat bledneyet, no derutsya
Vragi vsio yarostney i zley!

I pala noch’ na pole brani.
Druzhiny v mrake razoshlis’…
Vsyo stihlo i v nochnom tumane
Stenan’ ya k nebu podnyalis’.

Togda ozarena lunoyu,
Na boyevom svoyom kone,
Kostey sverkaya beliznoyu,
Yavilas’ smert’ i v tishine,

Vnimaya vopli i molitvy
Dovol’ stva gordova polna,
Kak polkovodets, mesto bitvy
Krugom ob’ yekhala ona.

Na holm podnyavshis’ oglyanulas’,
Ostanovilas’, ulybnylas’,
I nad ravninoi boyevoy
Pronessya golos rokovoi:

“Konchena bitva! Ya vsekh pobedila!
Vse predo mnoy vy smirilis’ boitsy!
Zhizn’ vas possorila, ya pomirila,
Druzhno vstavaite na smotr, mertvetsy!

Marschem torzchestvennym mimo proidite,
Voiska moye ya khochu soschitat’.
Vzemlyu potom, svoi kosti slozhite,
Sladko ot zhizni v zemle otdykhat’!

Gody nezrimo proidut za godami,
V lyudyah itscheznet i pamyat’ o vas.
Ya ne zabudu! I gromko nad vami
Pir budu pravit’ v polunochnyi chas!

Plyaskoy, tyazholoyu, zemlyu syruyu
Ya pritopchu, chtoby sen’ grobovuyu
Kosti pokinut’ vo vek ne mogli,
Chtob nikogda vam ne vstat’ iz zemli!”

The Field Marshal
The battle rages, armor flashes,
And clanging weapons roar.
Regiments run, horses gallop,
And red rivers flow.

The midday sun glares. Men fight.
The sun descends. But the battle escalates.
Though twilight fades,
The enemies attack ever more fiercely and angrily.

Night has fallen on the battlefield.
The armies have dispersed in the gloom.
All is silent. And in the nocturnal fog,
Moans have risen to the sky.

Then, lit by the moon
On his battle steed,
His white bones glittering,
Death appeared. And in the silence,

Hearing the groans and prayers
With proud satisfaction
Like a field marshal,
Death rode through the battlefield.

Climbing to the hilltop, he gazed about,
He stopped and smiled.
And over the battlefield,
His fatal voice sounded—

“The battle is over! I have conquered all!
You have all made peace before me, warriors!
Life made you enemies,
but I have united you!

Pass by in a solemn march
I want to count my troops.
Then lay your bones in the earth, and in the ground,
Rest sweetly from life.

Year after year will pass unseen,
And people will forget you.
But I won’t forget! And I will lead a loud
Feast over you at midnight!

Dancing, I’ll stamp so heavily
On the damp earth
That your bones will never escape your grave.
And you will never rise from the earth!”
  • Nikolay Borchev, Baritone
  • Wu Qian, Piano

Ispanskiye pesni (Spanish Songs) for Voice and Piano, op. 100 | Dmitry Shostakovich (13:56)

English translations by Dimitri Atapine

Proshchaj, Grenada!
Proshchaj, Grenada, moja Grenada,
S toboj naveki mne rasstat’sja nado!
Proshchaj, ljubimyj kraj, ochej uslada,
Navek proshchaj! Akh!
Budet pamat’ o tebe moej
Edinstvennoj otradoj
Moj ljubimyj, moj rodimyj kraj!

Navek mne serdce toska pronzila,
Pogiblo vsjo, chto v zhizni bylo milo,
Moja ljubov’ ushla vo mrak mogily,
I zhizn’ ushla! Akh!
I vokrug mne vsjo postylo,
Zhit’ kak prezhde, net uzh sily
Tam gde junost’ tak byla svetla!

Sergey Bolotin, adapted from a text in Spanish by José Rizal (1861–1896)
Farewell, Granada!
Farewell, Granada, my Granada,
Forever must I part with you!
Farewell, beloved land, sweetness of my eyes,
Farewell forever! Ah!
The memory of you shall be
My only joy
My beloved, my native land!

Forever my heart has been pierced by yearning,
All has perished, what was dear to me in life,
My love has gone into the darkness of the grave,
And life has gone! Ah!
And around me everything is tiresome,
To live as before there is no strength,
There where my youth has been so bright!



Zvjozdochki
Pod kiparisami starymi
serebritsja pribrezhnaja glad’.
K miloj idu ja s gitaroju,
chtoby pesnjam jejo obuchat’.

No uchit’ besplatno mne net okhoty:
Ja beru s nejo poceluj za notu.
Stranno, chto ona k utru uznajot,
vsjo krome not!

Zhal’, chto nachat’ snova pozdno!
Zhal’, chto uzhe svetel vozdukh!
Zhal’, chto i dnjom ne drozhat puglivo
Nad zalivom zvjozdy...

V zvjozdochkakh nebo beskrajnee,
imi znojnaja polnoch polna.
Miloj mojej nazyvaju ja
vsekh beschislennykh zvjozd imena.

Ja poznan’jami dorozhu svoimi
I beru s nejo poceluj za imja.
Stranno, chto urok kazhetsja jej prost—
vsjo krome zvjozd!

T. Sikorsky, adapted from an unattributed Spanish text
Little Stars
Under the old cypresses
The silvery water near the shore is glistening.
I am walking to visit my sweetheart with my guitar,
So I can teach her some songs.

But to teach for free I am not inclined:
I take from her a kiss for every note.
It is strange that in the morning she recognizes
Everything but the notes!

A pity that it is too late to start again!
A pity that the air is already bright!
A pity that in the daytime the stars
Are no longer shyly twinkling above the bay…

Full of little stars is the limitless sky,
The balmy night is full of them.
I tell my sweetheart
All the names of countless stars.

I do value my knowledge
And take from her a kiss for every name.
How strange that the lesson seems to her so simple—
Everything but the stars!



Pervaja vstrecha
Ty u ruch’ja vody mne dala kogdato,
Svezhej vody, kholodnoj,
kak sneg v ushchel’jakh sinikh gor.
Nochi temnej tvoj vzor,
v kosakh aromat lepestkov dikoj mjaty...
Vidish’, opjat’ kruzhit khorovod,
Buben gremit, zvenit i pojot.
Kazhdyj tancor podruzhku vedjot,
smotrit na nikh, ljubujas’, narod.
Bej, moj buben bej, gremi, budto grom!
S miloju mojej my tancujem vdvojom.
Lenta na tebe nebes golubej.
Bej, moj buben, bej! Buben, bej! Buben bej!
Mne ne zabyt’ vovek etoj pervoj vstrechi,
Laskovykh slov i smugloj ruki,
i bleska chjornykh glaz...
Ponjal ja v etot chas,
chto tebja ljublju i ljubit’ budu vechno!

Sergey Bolotin, adapted from an unattributed Spanish text
First meeting
Once near a stream you gave me water,
Fresh water, cold
Like the snow in crevasses of blue mountains.
Your gaze is darker than night,
In your braids the aroma of wild-mint petals…
Look, once again the round dance is turning,
The tambourine thunders, rings, and sings.
Each dancer is leading his partner,
The crowd is looking at them, admiringly.
Beat, my tambourine, beat. Thunder and thunder!
With my sweetheart we are dancing together.
Your ribbon is bluer than the sky.
Beat, my tambourine, beat! Tambourine, beat! Tambourine, beat!
I can never forget this first meeting,
The tender words and tanned hand,
And the brilliance of black eyes…
In that moment I understood,
That I love you and I will love you forever!



Ronda
Shumit khorovod u nashikh dverej,
vesel’ja pora nastala.
Idi tancevat’ so mnoju skorej,
Gvozdki cvetochek alyj!
lunoj tishine slyshen zvon ruch’ja...
daj ruku mne, devochka moja,
Gvozdiki cvetochek alyj!
Ulica slovno jarki sad.
Shutki zvenjat, glaza blestjat.
Ronda kruzhitsja i pojot,
Svetitsja zvjozdnym serebrom nebosvod,
Mchatsja vesjolye pary...
Eto radostnyj prazdnik pervykh cvetov,
Eto prazdnik nashej ljubvi!
Igrajut v luche luny na okne
Derev’ev mindal’nykh teni...
Kogda zhe sjuda ty vyjdesh’ ko mne,
Moj nezhnyj cvetok vesennij?
Vetku mindalja s dereva sorvi,
Ejo mne daj v znak tvojej ljubvi,
Moj nezhnyj cvetok vesennyj!

T. Sikorsky, adapted from an unattributed Spanish text
The Round Dance
The round dance is noisy near our doors,
Now is the time of celebration.
Come quickly, dance with me,
Scarlet carnation flower!
In moonlit silence the noise of a stream is heard…
Give me your hand, my little girl,
Scarlet carnation flower!
The street is like a bright garden.
Jokes ring out, eyes sparkle.
The round dance is turning and singing,
The sky is shining with starry silver,
Festival pairs race by…
This is a happy holiday of first flowers,
It is the holiday of our love!
In the moon’s ray on the window are playing
The shadows of almond trees…
When will you come out here near me,
My tender spring flower?
Take a branch from an almond tree,
Give it to me as a sign of your love,
My tender spring flower!



Chernookaja
Mat’ dala tebe ochi zvjozdy,
Nezhnyj cvet tvoikh smuglykh shchjok,
Milaja moja!
S bol’ju v serdce noch’ju pozdnej
Bez tebja ja brozhu, odinok,
Milaja moja!
Akh za chto ja nakazan byl sud’boj?
Akh, zachem povstrechalsja ja s toboj?
Ja umru ot ljubvi bezumnoj,
Esli ty ne poljubish’ menja,
Milaja moja!
Mat’ dala tebe stan vysokij,
Chjornyj blesk nepokornykh kudrej,
Milaja moja!
Proklinaju rok zhestokij,
Bol’ i muki dushi mojej.
Milaja moja!
O, zachem zhe tebe symela mat’
Mne nazlo krasotu takuju dat’?
Ja umru ot ljubvi bezumnoj,
Esli ty ne poljubish’ menja,
Milaja moja!

T. Sikorsky, adapted from an unattributed Spanish text
Black-Eyed maiden
Your mother gave you eyes like stars,
The tender color of your dark cheeks,
My darling!
With pain in my heart late at night,
Without you I wander, lonely,
My darling!
Ah, why have I been punished by destiny?
Ah, why have I met you?
I will die from maddening love,
Unless you fall in love with me,
My darling!
Your mother gave you a tall figure,
The black luster of unruly curls,
My darling!
I curse the cruel fate,
The pain and suffering of my soul.
My darling!
Oh, how dared your mother
Give you such beauty to spite me?
I will die from maddening love,
Unless you fall in love with me,
My darling!



Son
Ne znaju, chto eto znachit...
Son chudesnyj prisnilsja mne,
Kak budto v lodke rybach’ej,
Ja plyvu po burnoj volne
Chjoln bez vjosel, ja ikh brosil...
Volny penjatsja, zljatsja i topjat moj chjoln,
No otvazhno mchus’ ja sredi tjomnykh,
Sred’ ogromnykh voln,
Ottogo, chto v rybachej etoj lodke
Po morskoj nepokornoj glubi
Mchish’sja ty, moja gordaja,
mchishsja vmeste so mnoj
I menja ty budto tozhe ljubish’!
O moja golubka! Posmotri zhe,
Kak nesjotsja v svojej lodochke krupkoj po morju
Bednyj paren’, chto tak krepko ljubit tebja!

Anonymous, adapted from an unattributed Spanish text
The Dream
I don’t know what this means…
I had a wondrous dream,
As if in a fishing boat,
I cruise on a stormy wave,
The boat has no oars, I threw them away…
The waves foam in anger and try to sink my boat,
But bravely I race among the dark,
Among the giant waves,
Because in this fishing boat,
Through the unruly blue of the sea,
You are racing, my proud one,
You are racing together with me
And it seems as if you also love me!
Oh, my little dove! Look now,
How through the sea in his little fragile boat
Is racing the poor fellow, who loves you so fully!

  • Nikolay Borchev, Baritone
  • Hyeyeon Park, Piano

Artists

  • Nikolay Borchev, Baritone
  • Gilbert Kalish, Piano
  • Hyeyeon Park, Piano
  • Juho Pohjonen, Piano
  • Kevin Rivard, Horn
  • Gilles Vonsattel, Piano
  • Wu Han, Piano
  • Wu Qian, Piano

Nikolay Borchev <em>LIVE</em> Total Time: 1:17:47
Discs: 1
Price: $17.99
Year Recorded: 2015 and 2016