Tuesdays @ Monk Space presents

Vicki Ray and Richard Valitutto present New Song

May 30, 2017

8:00 pm

New Song teases out the edges of exploratory art song in the 21st century. The evening will feature new adventures in lieder composition with singers Timur, Justine Aronson, Elissa Johnston, Stephanie Aston, and pianists Richard Valitutto and Vicki Ray.

Texts

kennen schon nicht mehr – poems by Rainer Maria Rilke

1. Wir wissen nich, was wir verbringen: siehe,
Benanntes ist vorbei und jedes Sein
Erfindet sic him letzten Augenblick
Und will nichts hören / Wink von Zeichen, kaum
Ein Blatt verkehrts: wir aber sind schon anders,
Verleugnen, lächeln, kennen schon nicht mehr,
Was gestern Glück war. Und die Gowttin selbst
Schwankt über uns.

We don’t know what we spend:
All that’s named is past and each being
Invents itself at the last second
And will hear nothing / Hint of signals,
One leaf barely turned; but by now we’ve changed,
We disavow, smile, already lack all sense
Of yesterday’s good fortune. And the goddess herself
Sways over us.

2. Nun wachen wir mit den Erinnerungen
Und halten das Gesicht an das, was war;
Flüsternde Suwse, die uns einst durchdrungen,
Sitzt schweigend neben mit gelöstem Haar

Now we wake up with our memory
And fix our gazes on that which was;
Whispering sweetness, which once coursed through us,
Sits silently beside us with loosened hair

FAQs

How does it work?
When am I charged?
How will I get my perks?
Is this secure?
Where does my money go?
What if the project fails?

Jakob – Dorothea Lasky

I am sick of feeling
I never eat or sleep
I just sit here and let the words burn into me
I know you love her
And don’t love me
No, I don’t think you love her
I know there are clouds that are very pretty
I know there are clouds that trundle round the globe
I take anything I can to get to love
Live things are what the world is made of
Live things are black
Black in that they forgot where they came from
I have not forgotten, however I choose not to feel
Those places that have burned into me
There is too much burning here, I’m afraid
Readers, you read flat words
Inside here are many moments
In which I have screamed in pain
As the flames ate me

Everyone keeps me – Dorothea Lasky

Everyone keeps me from my destiny
Keeps me from it
And keeps me locked away from beauty
And they can’t feel my beauty
In me reaching out
Like glass into itself
And then into glass
And everyone keeps me from myself
Cause the self they had imagined
Was flesh and bone
And this flesh I am is glass
And everyone keeps me from my genius
Because genius is not human
And everyone wants me to be human
And I am not human
And everyone expects me to be something they are, which is human
And I can’t be anything they are which is human
Because I am not human
And they are
and I am not human

These poems are from Black Life and Thunderbird, Copyright 2010 & 2012 by
Dorothea Lasky. Used with permission of the author and Wave Books.

GOT LOST

Text 1

Kein Pfad mehr! Abgrund rings und Todtenstille!
So wolltest dus! Vom Pfade wich dein Wille!
Nun, Wandrer, gilts! Nun blicke kalt und klar!
Verloren bist du, glaubst du an Gefahr.

“No longer path! Abyss and silence chilling!”
Thy fault! To leave the path thou wast too willing!
Now comes the test! Keep cool – eyes bright and clear!
Thou’rt lost for sure, if thou permittest – fear.

(by Friedrich Nietzsche: The Wanderer, Translation: Thomas Common)

Text 2

Todas as cartas de amor são All letters of love are
Ridículas. Ridiculous.
Não seriam cartas de amor se não fossem They wouldn’t be love letters if they were not
Ridículas. Ridiculous.

Também escrevi em meu tempo cartas de amor, In my days I too wrote letters of love,
Como as outras, Like others,
Ridículas. Ridiculous.

As cartas de amor, se há amor, Love letters, if there’s love,
Têm de ser Have to be
Ridículas. Ridiculous.

Mas, afinal, But at the end
Só as criaturas que nunca escreveram Only those who never wrote
Cartas de amor letters of love
É que são are really
Ridículas. Ridiculous.

Quem me dera no tempo em que escrevia I wish I were in the times
Sem dar por iso When I wrote love letters
Cartas de amor Not thinking how
Ridículas. Ridiculous.

A verdade é que hoje But today the truth is
As minhas memórias My memories of those love letters
Dessas cartas de amor Are the ones that are
É que são
Ridículas. Ridiculous.

(Todas as palavras esdrúxulas, (All the strange words,
Como os sentimentos esdrúxulos, Like the strange feelings,
São naturalmente Are naturally
Ridículas) Ridiculous.)

Fernando Pessoa [using the alias Álvaro de Campos]

Text 3

Today my laundry basket got lost.
It was last seen standing in front of the dryer.
Since it is pretty difficult to carry the laundry without it I’d be most happy to get it back.

(Notice in the elevator of the Villa Walther in Berlin-Grunewald, 2001/02?)