A tapestry of performance and art
Suite de Lorca
Einojuhani Rautavaara
Canción de jinete​
Cordoba,
Lejana y sola.
Jaca negra, luna grande,
y aceitunas en mi alforja.
Aunque sepa los caminos,
yo nunca llegaré a Córdoba.
Por el llano,
Por el viento,
Jaca negra, luna roja.
La muerte me está
mirando desde las torres
de Córdoba.
¡Ay qué camino tan largo!
¡Ay mi jaca valerosa!
Ay que la muerte me espera,
antes de llegar a Córdoba!
-Federíco García Lorca​
Canción de jinete​
Cordoba,
So distant and lonely
Black pony, enormous moon,
my saddle bags full of the ripest olives.
even though the road is so well-known,
I shall never reach my Cordoba.
Over the prairie,
through a windstorm,
Black pony, crimson moon.
My death waits for me,
watching from the towers
of my Cordoba.
O, the road is never ending!
O, my black mare, so brave and gallant!
O, Death is awaiting me
before I reach my Cordoba!
Suite de Lorca
Einojuhani Rautavaara
El Grito
El eclipse de un grito
vade monte a monte.
Desde los olivos será
un arco iris negro
sobre la noche azul.
Como un arco de viola
el grito ha hecho vibrar largas
cuerdas del viento.
Las gentes de las cuevas
asoman sus velones.
-Federíco García Lorca​
El Grito
The eclipse of a scream
echoes mountain to mountain.
Rising from the olive trees
is a rainbow black as darkness
over a night of deep blue.
Like the bow of a viola,
the scream has drawn out vibrations
of the wind.
The people of the caves
will now put on their long veils.
Suite de Lorca
Einojuhani Rautavaara
La luna asoma
Cuando sale la luna,
se pierden las campanas;
y aparecen las
sendas impenetrable.
Cuando sale la luna,
el mar cubre la tierra,
el corazón se siente
isla en el infinito.
Nadie come naranjas
bajo la luna llena.
Es preciso comer
fruta verde y helada.
Cuando sale la luna,
de cien rostros iguales,
la moneda de plata
solloza en el bolsillo.
-Federíco García Lorca
La luna asoma
When the moon rises,
the fields are quickly lost;
and impenetrable
paths appear.
When the moon rises,
the sea covers the earth,
the heart is like
an island in infinity.
No one is eating oranges
under the moonlight.
Now, one must eat
ice cold, green fruit.
When the moon rises,
it shows its hundred equal faces,
the coin turns to silver
and softly sobs in its pouch.
Suite de Lorca
Einojuhani Rautavaara
Malagueña
La muerte entra
y sale de la taberna.
Pasan caballos negros
y gente siniestra
por los hondos
de la guitarra.
Y hay un olor
a sangre de hembra
en los nardos febriles
de la marina.
La muerte entra
y sale,
y sale,
y entra,
de la taberna.
-Federíco García Lorca
Malagueña
Death enters
and leaves from the tavern.
Passing are black horses
and sinister people
moving with the soul
of the guitar.
And there is an odor
of women’s blood
blended with the feverish spikenards
of the swamp.
Death enters
and leaves,
and enters,
and leaves,
from the tavern.
My Song in the Night
Mack Wilberg
O Jesus, my Savior,
my song in the night,
Come to us with Thy tender love,
my soul’s delight,
Unto Thee, O Lord,
in affliction I call,
My comfort by day
and my song in the night.
O why should I wander
an alien from Thee,
Or cry in the desert
Thy face to see,
My comfort and joy,
my soul’s delight,
O Jesus, my Savior,
my song in the night.
Cover Me with the Night
Andrea Ramsey
Come, Lord!
and cover me with the night.
Spread your grace over us,
when the night is cold and dark.
Your promises are more
than the stars in the sky.
Your mercy
is deeper than the night.
Lord, we wait for you.
Day and night,
we wait for you.
Come, Lord!
-Traditional Prayer from Ghana
Lost in the Night
Kyle Haugen
Lost in the night
do the people yet languish,
Longing for morning
the darkness to vanquish,
Plaintively heaving a sigh full of anguish.
Will not day come soon?
Must we be vainly awaiting the morrow?
Shall those who have light let us borrow?
Giving no heed to our burden of sorrow?
Will you help us soon?
​
Sorrowing wanderers in darkness yet dwelling,
dawned has the day of a radiance excelling,
Death’s dreaded darkness forever dispelling.
Christ is coming soon!
-Olav Lee
Song to the Moon
Z. Randall Stroope
La Luna,
Your light sees through endless time,
Tell, o tell me where my love lies.
O moon e’er you pass,
Wake my dreaming lover,
I am waiting, I am calling,
Tell him come,
Tell him, O moon.
Tell him.
Light his place.
Moon, help him remember
and dream of me,
Tell him who is waiting,
who is longing!
I am waiting,
Longing!
Tell him come,
Tell him, O moon.
​
Help to remember our laughter and tears,
memories of summer nights.
Help him remember our triumphs and fears,
May this remembrance waken him!
Tell him that I am holding firm
for at least a while.
Moon, o moon
don’t disappear,
O moon, silver moon
in the deep, dark sky,
Your light sees through endless time,
Tell, o tell me
where my love lies.
-Jaroslov Kvapil
August Moonrise
Blake R. Henson
The sun was gone, and the moon was coming
Over the blue Connecticut hills;
The west was rosy, the east was flushed,
And over my head the swallows rushed
This way and that, with changeful wills.
​
I heard them twitter and watched them dart
Now together and now apart
Like dark petals blown from a tree;
The maples stamped against the west
Were black and stately and full of rest,
​
And the hazy orange moon grew up
And slowly changed to yellow gold
While the hills were darkened, fold on fold
To a deeper blue than a flower could hold.
​
Down the hill I went, and then
I forgot the way of men,
For night-scents, heady, and damp and cool
Wakened ecstasy in me
On the brink of a shining pool.
​
O Beauty, out of many a cup
You have made me drunk and wild
Ever since I was a child,
But when have I been sure as now
That no bitterness can bend
​
And no sorrow wholly bow
One who loves you to the end?
And though I must give my breath
And my laughter all to death,
And my eyes through which joy came,
​
And my heart, a wavering flame;
If all must leave me and go back
Along a blind and fearful track
So that you can make anew,
Fusing with intenser fire,
Something nearer your desire;
​
If my soul must go alone
Through a cold infinity,
Or even if it vanish, too,
Beauty, I have worshipped you.
Let this single hour atone
For the theft of all of me.
-Sara Teasdale
By Night
Elaine Hagenberg
She leaned out into the midnight,
And the summer wind went by,
The scent of the rose on its silken wing
And a song its sigh.
And, in depths below, the waters
Answered some mystic height,
As a star stooped out of the depths above
With its lance of light.
Deep in the tarn the mountain
A mighty phantom gleamed,
Shadow and silver and floating cloud
Over it streamed.
​
And she thought, in the dark and the fragrance,
How vast was the wonder wrought
If the sweet world were but the beauty born
In its Maker’s thought.
-Harriet Prescott Spofford