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The Joffrey Ballet


featuring Rudolph Nureyev
hqdefault.jpg?sqp=-oaymwEXCPYBEIoBSFryq4
L'Apres-midi d'un Faune
choreography by Vaslav Nijinsky
music by Claude Debussy

    From Wikipedia

L'après-midi d'un faune (or "The Afternoon of a Faun") is a poem
by the French author Stéphane Mallarmé. It is his best-known work
and a landmark in the history of symbolism in French literature.
Paul Valéry considered it to be the greatest poem in French literature.

Initial versions of the poem were written between 1865
(the first mention of the poem is found in a letter Mallarmé wrote
to Henri Cazalis in June 1865) and 1867, and the final text was
published in 1876 (see 1876 in poetry). It describes the sensual
experiences of a faun who has just woken up from his afternoon sleep
and discusses his encounters with several nymphs during the morning
in a dreamlike monologue.

Mallarmé's poem formed the inspiration for the orchestral work
Prélude à l'après-midi d'un faune by Claude Debussy and the ballets
Afternoon of a Faun by Vaslav Nijinsky (1912), Jerome Robbins (1953)
and Tim Rushton (2006). The Debussy and Nijinsky works would be
of great significance in the development of modernism in the arts.



L'après-midi d'un faune
Églogve
Le Faune


Ces nymphes, je les veux perpétuer.

Si clair,
Leur incarnat léger, qu’il voltige dans l’air
Assoupi de sommeils touffus.

Aimai-je un rêve ?

Mon doute, amas de nuit ancienne, s’achève
En maint rameau subtil, qui, demeuré les vrais
Bois mêmes, prouve, hélas ! que bien seul je m’offrais
Pour triomphe la faute idéale de roses.

Réfléchissons..

ou si les femmes dont tu gloses
Figurent un souhait de tes sens fabuleux !
Faune, l’illusion s’échappe des yeux bleus
Et froids, comme une source en pleurs, de la plus chaste :
Mais, l’autre tout soupirs, dis-tu qu’elle contraste
Comme brise du jour chaude dans ta toison !
Que non ! par l’immobile et lasse pâmoison
Suffoquant de chaleurs le matin frais s’il lutte,
Ne murmure point d’eau que ne verse ma flûte
Au bosquet arrosé d’accords ; et le seul vent
Hors des deux tuyaux prompt à s’exhaler avant
Qu’il disperse le son dans une pluie aride,
C’est, à l’horizon pas remué d’une ride,
Le visible et serein souffle artificiel
De l’inspiration, qui regagne le ciel.

Ô bords siciliens d’un calme marécage
Qu’à l’envi des soleils ma vanité saccage,

Tacite sous les fleurs d’étincelles, CONTEZ
» Que je coupais ici les creux roseaux domptés
» Par le talent ; quand, sur l’or glauque de lointaines
» Verdures dédiant leur vigne à des fontaines,
» Ondoie une blancheur animale au repos :
» Et qu’au prélude lent où naissent les pipeaux,
» Ce vol de cygnes, non ! de naïades se sauve
» Ou plonge.. »

Inerte, tout brûle dans l’heure fauve
Sans marquer par quel art ensemble détala
Trop d’hymen souhaité de qui cherche le la :
Alors m’éveillerai-je à la ferveur première,
Droit et seul, sous un flot antique de lumière,
Lys ! et l’un de vous tous pour l’ingénuité.

Autre que ce doux rien par leur lèvre ébruité,
Le baiser, qui tout bas des perfides assure,
Mon sein, vierge de preuve, atteste une morsure
Mystérieuse, due à quelque auguste dent ;

Mais, bast ! arcane tel élut pour confident
Le jonc vaste et jumeau dont sous l’azur on joue :
Qui, détournant à soi le trouble de la joue
Rêve, dans un solo long que nous amusions
La beauté d’alentour par des confusions
Fausses entre elle-même et notre chant crédule ;
Et de faire aussi haut que l’amour se module
Évanouir du songe ordinaire de dos
Ou de flanc pur suivis avec mes regards clos,
Une sonore, vaine et monotone ligne.

Tâche donc, instrument des fuites, ô maligne
Syrinx, de refleurir aux lacs où tu m’attends !
Moi, de ma rumeur fier, je vais parler longtemps
Des déesses ; et, par d’idolâtres peintures,
A leur ombre enlever encore des ceintures :
Ainsi, quand des raisins j’ai sucé la clarté,
Pour bannir un regret par ma feinte écarté,

Rieur, j’élève au ciel d’été la grappe vide
Et, soufflant dans ses peaux lumineuses, avide
D’ivresse, jusqu’au soir je regarde au travers.

O nymphes, regonflons des SOUVENIRS divers.
» Mon œil, trouant les joncs, dardait chaque encolure
» Immortelle, qui noie en l’onde sa brûlure
» Avec un cri de rage au ciel de la forêt ;
» Et le splendide bain de cheveux disparaît
» Dans les clartés et les frissons, ô pierreries !
» J’accours ; quand, à mes pieds, s’entrejoignent (meurtries
» De la langueur goûtée à ce mal d’être deux)
» Des dormeuses parmi leurs seuls bras hasardeux ;
» Je les ravis, sans les désenlacer, et vole
» A ce massif, haï par l’ombrage frivole,
» De roses tarissant tout parfum au soleil,
» Où notre ébat au jour consumé soit pareil.
Je t’adore, courroux des vierges, ô délice
Farouche du sacré fardeau nu qui se glisse,

Pour fuir ma lèvre en feu buvant, comme un éclair
Tressaille ! la frayeur secrète de la chair :
Des pieds de l’inhumaine au cœur de la timide
Que délaisse à la fois une innocence, humide
De larmes folles ou de moins tristes vapeurs.
» Mon crime, c’est d’avoir, gai de vaincre ces peurs
» Traîtresses, divisé la touffe échevelée
» De baisers que les dieux gardaient si bien mêlée ;
» Car, à peine j’allais cacher un rire ardent
» Sous les replis heureux d’une seule (gardant
» Par un doigt simple, afin que sa candeur de plume
» Se teignît à l’émoi de sa sœur qui s’allume,
» La petite, naïve et ne rougissant pas)
» Que de mes bras, défaits par de vagues trépas,
» Cette proie, à jamais ingrate, se délivre
» Sans pitié du sanglot dont j’étais encore ivre.

Tant pis ! vers le bonheur d’autres m’entraîneront

Par leur tresse nouée aux cornes de mon front :
Tu sais, ma passion, que, pourpre et déjà mûre,
Chaque grenade éclate et d’abeilles murmure ;
Et notre sang, épris de qui le va saisir,
Coule pour tout l’essaim éternel du désir.
À l’heure où ce bois d’or et de cendres se teinte
Une fête s’exalte en la feuillée éteinte :
Etna ! c’est parmi toi visité de Vénus
Sur ta lave posant ses talons ingénus,
Quand tonne un somme triste ou s’épuise la flamme.
Je tiens la reine !

Ô sûr châtiment..

Non, mais l’âme

De paroles vacante et ce corps alourdi
Tard succombent au fier silence de midi :
Sans plus il faut dormir en l’oubli du blasphème,

Sur le sable altéré gisant et comme j’aime
Ouvrir ma bouche à l’astre efficace des vins !

Couple, adieu ; je vais voir l’ombre que tu devins.

-Stéphane Mallarmé


    The Afternoon of a Faun
Eclogue
The Faun


These nymphs, I would perpetuate them.

So bright
Their crimson flesh that hovers there, light
In the air drowsy with dense slumbers.

Did I love a dream?

My doubt, mass of ancient night, ends extreme
In many a subtle branch, that remaining the true
Woods themselves, proves, alas, that I too
Offered myself, alone, as triumph, the false ideal of roses.

Let’s see….

or if those women you note
Reflect your fabulous senses’ desire!
Faun, illusion escapes from the blue eye,
Cold, like a fount of tears, of the most chaste:
But the other, she, all sighs, contrasts you say
Like a breeze of day warm on your fleece?
No! Through the swoon, heavy and motionless
Stifling with heat the cool morning’s struggles
No water, but that which my flute pours, murmurs
To the grove sprinkled with melodies: and the sole breeze
Out of the twin pipes, quick to breathe
Before it scatters the sound in an arid rain,
Is unstirred by any wrinkle of the horizon,
The visible breath, artificial and serene,
Of inspiration returning to heights unseen.

O Sicilian shores of a marshy calm
My vanity plunders vying with the sun,

Silent beneath scintillating flowers, RELATE
‘That I was cutting hollow reeds here tamed
By talent: when, on the green gold of distant
Verdure offering its vine to the fountains,
An animal whiteness undulates to rest:
And as a slow prelude in which the pipes exist
This flight of swans, no, of Naiads cower
Or plunge…’

Inert, all things burn in the tawny hour
Not seeing by what art there fled away together
Too much of hymen desired by one who seeks there
The natural A: then I’ll wake to the primal fever
Erect, alone, beneath the ancient flood, light’s power,
Lily! And the one among you all for artlessness.

Other than this sweet nothing shown by their lip, the kiss
That softly gives assurance of treachery,
My breast, virgin of proof, reveals the mystery
Of the bite from some illustrious tooth planted;

Let that go! Such the arcane chose for confidant,
The great twin reed we play under the azure ceiling,
That turning towards itself the cheek’s quivering,
Dreams, in a long solo, so we might amuse
The beauties round about by false notes that confuse
Between itself and our credulous singing;
And create as far as love can, modulating,
The vanishing, from the common dream of pure flank
Or back followed by my shuttered glances,
Of a sonorous, empty and monotonous line.

Try then, instrument of flights, O malign
Syrinx by the lake where you await me, to flower again!
I, proud of my murmur, intend to speak at length
Of goddesses: and with idolatrous paintings
Remove again from shadow their waists’ bindings:
So that when I’ve sucked the grapes’ brightness
To banish a regret done away with by my pretence,

Laughing, I raise the emptied stem to the summer’s sky
And breathing into those luminous skins, then I,
Desiring drunkenness, gaze through them till evening.

O nymphs, let’s rise again with many memories.
‘My eye, piercing the reeds, speared each immortal
Neck that drowns its burning in the water
With a cry of rage towards the forest sky;
And the splendid bath of hair slipped by
In brightness and shuddering, O jewels!
I rush there: when, at my feet, entwine (bruised
By the languor tasted in their being-two’s evil)
Girls sleeping in each other’s arms’ sole peril:
I seize them without untangling them and run
To this bank of roses wasting in the sun
All perfume, hated by the frivolous shade
Where our frolic should be like a vanished day.’
I adore you, wrath of virgins, O shy
Delight of the nude sacred burden that glides

Away to flee my fiery lip, drinking
The secret terrors of the flesh like quivering
Lightning: from the feet of the heartless one
To the heart of the timid, in a moment abandoned
By innocence wet with wild tears or less sad vapours.
‘Happy at conquering these treacherous fears
My crime’s to have parted the dishevelled tangle
Of kisses that the gods kept so well mingled:
For I’d scarcely begun to hide an ardent laugh
In one girl’s happy depths (holding back
With only a finger, so that her feathery candour
Might be tinted by the passion of her burning sister,
The little one, naïve and not even blushing)
Than from my arms, undone by vague dying,
This prey, forever ungrateful, frees itself and is gone,
Not pitying the sob with which I was still drunk.’

No matter! Others will lead me towards happiness

By the horns on my brow knotted with many a tress:
You know, my passion, how ripe and purple already
Every pomegranate bursts, murmuring with the bees:
And our blood, enamoured of what will seize it,
Flows for all the eternal swarm of desire yet.
At the hour when this wood with gold and ashes heaves
A feast’s excited among the extinguished leaves:
Etna! It’s on your slopes, visited by Venus
Setting in your lava her heels so artless,
When a sad slumber thunders where the flame burns low.
I hold the queen!

O certain punishment…

No, but the soul

Void of words, and this heavy body,
Succumb to noon’s proud silence slowly:
With no more ado, forgetting blasphemy, I

Must sleep, lying on the thirsty sand, and as I
Love, open my mouth to wine’s true constellation!

Farewell to you, both: I go to see the shadow you have become.
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The Joffrey Ballet


featuring Rudolph Nureyev
hqdefault.jpg?sqp=-oaymwEXCPYBEIoBSFryq4
L'Apres-midi d'un Faune
choreography by Vaslav Nijinsky
music by Claude Debussy

    From Wikipedia

L'après-midi d'un faune (or "The Afternoon of a Faun") is a poem
by the French author Stéphane Mallarmé. It is his best-known work
and a landmark in the history of symbolism in French literature.
Paul Valéry considered it to be the greatest poem in French literature.

Initial versions of the poem were written between 1865
(the first mention of the poem is found in a letter Mallarmé wrote
to Henri Cazalis in June 1865) and 1867, and the final text was
published in 1876 (see 1876 in poetry). It describes the sensual
experiences of a faun who has just woken up from his afternoon sleep
and discusses his encounters with several nymphs during the morning
in a dreamlike monologue.

Mallarmé's poem formed the inspiration for the orchestral work
Prélude à l'après-midi d'un faune by Claude Debussy and the ballets
Afternoon of a Faun by Vaslav Nijinsky (1912), Jerome Robbins (1953)
and Tim Rushton (2006). The Debussy and Nijinsky works would be
of great significance in the development of modernism in the arts.



L'après-midi d'un faune
Églogve
Le Faune


Ces nymphes, je les veux perpétuer.

Si clair,
Leur incarnat léger, qu’il voltige dans l’air
Assoupi de sommeils touffus.

Aimai-je un rêve ?

Mon doute, amas de nuit ancienne, s’achève
En maint rameau subtil, qui, demeuré les vrais
Bois mêmes, prouve, hélas ! que bien seul je m’offrais
Pour triomphe la faute idéale de roses.

Réfléchissons..

ou si les femmes dont tu gloses
Figurent un souhait de tes sens fabuleux !
Faune, l’illusion s’échappe des yeux bleus
Et froids, comme une source en pleurs, de la plus chaste :
Mais, l’autre tout soupirs, dis-tu qu’elle contraste
Comme brise du jour chaude dans ta toison !
Que non ! par l’immobile et lasse pâmoison
Suffoquant de chaleurs le matin frais s’il lutte,
Ne murmure point d’eau que ne verse ma flûte
Au bosquet arrosé d’accords ; et le seul vent
Hors des deux tuyaux prompt à s’exhaler avant
Qu’il disperse le son dans une pluie aride,
C’est, à l’horizon pas remué d’une ride,
Le visible et serein souffle artificiel
De l’inspiration, qui regagne le ciel.

Ô bords siciliens d’un calme marécage
Qu’à l’envi des soleils ma vanité saccage,

Tacite sous les fleurs d’étincelles, CONTEZ
» Que je coupais ici les creux roseaux domptés
» Par le talent ; quand, sur l’or glauque de lointaines
» Verdures dédiant leur vigne à des fontaines,
» Ondoie une blancheur animale au repos :
» Et qu’au prélude lent où naissent les pipeaux,
» Ce vol de cygnes, non ! de naïades se sauve
» Ou plonge.. »

Inerte, tout brûle dans l’heure fauve
Sans marquer par quel art ensemble détala
Trop d’hymen souhaité de qui cherche le la :
Alors m’éveillerai-je à la ferveur première,
Droit et seul, sous un flot antique de lumière,
Lys ! et l’un de vous tous pour l’ingénuité.

Autre que ce doux rien par leur lèvre ébruité,
Le baiser, qui tout bas des perfides assure,
Mon sein, vierge de preuve, atteste une morsure
Mystérieuse, due à quelque auguste dent ;

Mais, bast ! arcane tel élut pour confident
Le jonc vaste et jumeau dont sous l’azur on joue :
Qui, détournant à soi le trouble de la joue
Rêve, dans un solo long que nous amusions
La beauté d’alentour par des confusions
Fausses entre elle-même et notre chant crédule ;
Et de faire aussi haut que l’amour se module
Évanouir du songe ordinaire de dos
Ou de flanc pur suivis avec mes regards clos,
Une sonore, vaine et monotone ligne.

Tâche donc, instrument des fuites, ô maligne
Syrinx, de refleurir aux lacs où tu m’attends !
Moi, de ma rumeur fier, je vais parler longtemps
Des déesses ; et, par d’idolâtres peintures,
A leur ombre enlever encore des ceintures :
Ainsi, quand des raisins j’ai sucé la clarté,
Pour bannir un regret par ma feinte écarté,

Rieur, j’élève au ciel d’été la grappe vide
Et, soufflant dans ses peaux lumineuses, avide
D’ivresse, jusqu’au soir je regarde au travers.

O nymphes, regonflons des SOUVENIRS divers.
» Mon œil, trouant les joncs, dardait chaque encolure
» Immortelle, qui noie en l’onde sa brûlure
» Avec un cri de rage au ciel de la forêt ;
» Et le splendide bain de cheveux disparaît
» Dans les clartés et les frissons, ô pierreries !
» J’accours ; quand, à mes pieds, s’entrejoignent (meurtries
» De la langueur goûtée à ce mal d’être deux)
» Des dormeuses parmi leurs seuls bras hasardeux ;
» Je les ravis, sans les désenlacer, et vole
» A ce massif, haï par l’ombrage frivole,
» De roses tarissant tout parfum au soleil,
» Où notre ébat au jour consumé soit pareil.
Je t’adore, courroux des vierges, ô délice
Farouche du sacré fardeau nu qui se glisse,

Pour fuir ma lèvre en feu buvant, comme un éclair
Tressaille ! la frayeur secrète de la chair :
Des pieds de l’inhumaine au cœur de la timide
Que délaisse à la fois une innocence, humide
De larmes folles ou de moins tristes vapeurs.
» Mon crime, c’est d’avoir, gai de vaincre ces peurs
» Traîtresses, divisé la touffe échevelée
» De baisers que les dieux gardaient si bien mêlée ;
» Car, à peine j’allais cacher un rire ardent
» Sous les replis heureux d’une seule (gardant
» Par un doigt simple, afin que sa candeur de plume
» Se teignît à l’émoi de sa sœur qui s’allume,
» La petite, naïve et ne rougissant pas)
» Que de mes bras, défaits par de vagues trépas,
» Cette proie, à jamais ingrate, se délivre
» Sans pitié du sanglot dont j’étais encore ivre.

Tant pis ! vers le bonheur d’autres m’entraîneront

Par leur tresse nouée aux cornes de mon front :
Tu sais, ma passion, que, pourpre et déjà mûre,
Chaque grenade éclate et d’abeilles murmure ;
Et notre sang, épris de qui le va saisir,
Coule pour tout l’essaim éternel du désir.
À l’heure où ce bois d’or et de cendres se teinte
Une fête s’exalte en la feuillée éteinte :
Etna ! c’est parmi toi visité de Vénus
Sur ta lave posant ses talons ingénus,
Quand tonne un somme triste ou s’épuise la flamme.
Je tiens la reine !

Ô sûr châtiment..

Non, mais l’âme

De paroles vacante et ce corps alourdi
Tard succombent au fier silence de midi :
Sans plus il faut dormir en l’oubli du blasphème,

Sur le sable altéré gisant et comme j’aime
Ouvrir ma bouche à l’astre efficace des vins !

Couple, adieu ; je vais voir l’ombre que tu devins.

-Stéphane Mallarmé


    The Afternoon of a Faun
Eclogue
The Faun


These nymphs, I would perpetuate them.

So bright
Their crimson flesh that hovers there, light
In the air drowsy with dense slumbers.

Did I love a dream?

My doubt, mass of ancient night, ends extreme
In many a subtle branch, that remaining the true
Woods themselves, proves, alas, that I too
Offered myself, alone, as triumph, the false ideal of roses.

Let’s see….

or if those women you note
Reflect your fabulous senses’ desire!
Faun, illusion escapes from the blue eye,
Cold, like a fount of tears, of the most chaste:
But the other, she, all sighs, contrasts you say
Like a breeze of day warm on your fleece?
No! Through the swoon, heavy and motionless
Stifling with heat the cool morning’s struggles
No water, but that which my flute pours, murmurs
To the grove sprinkled with melodies: and the sole breeze
Out of the twin pipes, quick to breathe
Before it scatters the sound in an arid rain,
Is unstirred by any wrinkle of the horizon,
The visible breath, artificial and serene,
Of inspiration returning to heights unseen.

O Sicilian shores of a marshy calm
My vanity plunders vying with the sun,

Silent beneath scintillating flowers, RELATE
‘That I was cutting hollow reeds here tamed
By talent: when, on the green gold of distant
Verdure offering its vine to the fountains,
An animal whiteness undulates to rest:
And as a slow prelude in which the pipes exist
This flight of swans, no, of Naiads cower
Or plunge…’

Inert, all things burn in the tawny hour
Not seeing by what art there fled away together
Too much of hymen desired by one who seeks there
The natural A: then I’ll wake to the primal fever
Erect, alone, beneath the ancient flood, light’s power,
Lily! And the one among you all for artlessness.

Other than this sweet nothing shown by their lip, the kiss
That softly gives assurance of treachery,
My breast, virgin of proof, reveals the mystery
Of the bite from some illustrious tooth planted;

Let that go! Such the arcane chose for confidant,
The great twin reed we play under the azure ceiling,
That turning towards itself the cheek’s quivering,
Dreams, in a long solo, so we might amuse
The beauties round about by false notes that confuse
Between itself and our credulous singing;
And create as far as love can, modulating,
The vanishing, from the common dream of pure flank
Or back followed by my shuttered glances,
Of a sonorous, empty and monotonous line.

Try then, instrument of flights, O malign
Syrinx by the lake where you await me, to flower again!
I, proud of my murmur, intend to speak at length
Of goddesses: and with idolatrous paintings
Remove again from shadow their waists’ bindings:
So that when I’ve sucked the grapes’ brightness
To banish a regret done away with by my pretence,

Laughing, I raise the emptied stem to the summer’s sky
And breathing into those luminous skins, then I,
Desiring drunkenness, gaze through them till evening.

O nymphs, let’s rise again with many memories.
‘My eye, piercing the reeds, speared each immortal
Neck that drowns its burning in the water
With a cry of rage towards the forest sky;
And the splendid bath of hair slipped by
In brightness and shuddering, O jewels!
I rush there: when, at my feet, entwine (bruised
By the languor tasted in their being-two’s evil)
Girls sleeping in each other’s arms’ sole peril:
I seize them without untangling them and run
To this bank of roses wasting in the sun
All perfume, hated by the frivolous shade
Where our frolic should be like a vanished day.’
I adore you, wrath of virgins, O shy
Delight of the nude sacred burden that glides

Away to flee my fiery lip, drinking
The secret terrors of the flesh like quivering
Lightning: from the feet of the heartless one
To the heart of the timid, in a moment abandoned
By innocence wet with wild tears or less sad vapours.
‘Happy at conquering these treacherous fears
My crime’s to have parted the dishevelled tangle
Of kisses that the gods kept so well mingled:
For I’d scarcely begun to hide an ardent laugh
In one girl’s happy depths (holding back
With only a finger, so that her feathery candour
Might be tinted by the passion of her burning sister,
The little one, naïve and not even blushing)
Than from my arms, undone by vague dying,
This prey, forever ungrateful, frees itself and is gone,
Not pitying the sob with which I was still drunk.’

No matter! Others will lead me towards happiness

By the horns on my brow knotted with many a tress:
You know, my passion, how ripe and purple already
Every pomegranate bursts, murmuring with the bees:
And our blood, enamoured of what will seize it,
Flows for all the eternal swarm of desire yet.
At the hour when this wood with gold and ashes heaves
A feast’s excited among the extinguished leaves:
Etna! It’s on your slopes, visited by Venus
Setting in your lava her heels so artless,
When a sad slumber thunders where the flame burns low.
I hold the queen!

O certain punishment…

No, but the soul

Void of words, and this heavy body,
Succumb to noon’s proud silence slowly:
With no more ado, forgetting blasphemy, I

Must sleep, lying on the thirsty sand, and as I
Love, open my mouth to wine’s true constellation!

Farewell to you, both: I go to see the shadow you have become.

 

:smitten: I love the poetry behind The Afternoon of a Faun! I never knew the poetry came first... or even existed for that matter. Thanks so much for sharing that. The poetry (even though translated) is still so animated, kind of reminds me of Shakespeare and his artistic way of saying words and planting clear visions. And the ballet, though seemingly minimalistic (which in a strange way made it more powerful for me) was quite intriguing, especially after reading the poem. I love Rudolf's movement as the faun, and especially his facial expressions. I love both him and Margot Fonteyn together!

 

I recently came across this... Enjoy!  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gVX0BoXc_Jk

 

Thank you Redevan  :)

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:smitten: I love the poetry behind The Afternoon of a Faun! I never knew the poetry came first... or even existed for that matter. Thanks so much for sharing that. The poetry (even though translated) is still so animated, kind of reminds me of Shakespeare and his artistic way of saying words and planting clear visions. And the ballet, though seemingly minimalistic (which in a strange way made it more powerful for me) was quite intriguing, especially after reading the poem. I love Rudolf's movement as the faun, and especially his facial expressions. I love both him and Margot Fonteyn together!

 

I recently came across this... Enjoy!  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gVX0BoXc_Jk

 

Thank you Redevan  :)

 

Glad you enjoyed it. And thanks for that Khatchaturian vid. It's mesmerizing.

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:smitten: I love the poetry behind The Afternoon of a Faun! I never knew the poetry came first... or even existed for that matter. Thanks so much for sharing that. The poetry (even though translated) is still so animated, kind of reminds me of Shakespeare and his artistic way of saying words and planting clear visions. And the ballet, though seemingly minimalistic (which in a strange way made it more powerful for me) was quite intriguing, especially after reading the poem. I love Rudolf's movement as the faun, and especially his facial expressions. I love both him and Margot Fonteyn together!

 

I recently came across this... Enjoy!  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gVX0BoXc_Jk

 

Thank you Redevan  :)

 

Glad you enjoyed it. And thanks for that Khatchaturian vid. It's mesmerizing.

Red I agree with Evan just a mesmerizing piece, I am fairly new to Classical and I also love Ballet, and with Evan's knowledge this thread is one of My Faves. 💖 Peace. :smitten:
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Thanks Redevan for this thread...  :smitten:  Love going back to my roots. I grew up to Classical/Musicals/Opera.

 

BG...  :smitten:  I think it will be one of my faves too! Already is. It's nice to go back to such art in music.

 

This piece here by Rachmaninov, though only a part of the piano concerto is breathtaking. What's really mesmerizing  is the look on the pianists face. You can see her delving deep within and "feeling" the music. Beautiful!

 

 

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  • 2 weeks later...

I want to bump this up so I don't loose track of it. Thanks Redevan for starting it!

 

I went to see the ballet Giselle tonight! It was so delightful! I've never seen Giselle! Love it! It felt so good to surround myself with beauty... and the music cheered my soul so much!

 

This is not Giselle... but it is the dance from one of my favorite movies of all time... The Red Shoes.

 

The story goes that the girl wanted a pair of red shoes... however the red shoes never got tired and danced her to death. It may sound morbid but it's a fairy-tale from Hans Christian Andersen.

 

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  • 2 weeks later...

Something I was thinking about earlier, the

resemblance among these three works.

Do you hear it too?

 

    Morning Mood (Norwegian title: Morgenstemning i ørkenen – Morning mood in the desert), is part of Edvard Grieg's Peer Gynt, Op. 23, written in 1875 as incidental music to Henrik Ibsen's play of the same name, and was also included as the first of four movements in Peer Gynt Suite No. 1, Op. 46. Written in E major, the melody uses the pentatonic scale and alternates between flute and oboe. Unusually, the climax occurs early in the piece at the first forte which signifies the sun breaking through. The time signature is 6/8 and the tempo instruction is Allegretto pastorale. It is orchestrated for flutes, oboes, clarinets, bassoons, horns, trombones, timpani, and string section. A performance takes about four minutes. The piece depicts the rising of the sun during act 4, scene 4, of Ibsen's play, which finds Peer Gynt stranded in the Moroccan desert after his companions took his yacht and abandoned him there while he slept.  - from Wikipedia



    Prélude à l'après-midi d'un faune (L. 86), known in English as Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun, is a symphonic poem for orchestra by Claude Debussy, approximately 10 minutes in duration. It was first performed in Paris on 22 December 1894, conducted by Gustave Doret. The flute solo was played by Georges Barrère. Debussy's work later provided the basis for the ballet Afternoon of a Faun choreographed by Vaslav Nijinsky and a later version by Jerome Robbins. The composition was inspired by the poem L'après-midi d'un faune by Stéphane Mallarmé. It is one of Debussy's most famous works and is considered a turning point in the history of music; Pierre Boulez considered the score to be the beginning of modern music, observing that "the flute of the faun brought new breath to the art of music." - from Wikipedia



    La fille aux cheveux de lin is a musical composition by French composer Claude Debussy. It is the eighth piece in the composer's first book of Préludes, written between late 1909 and early 1910. The title is in French and translates roughly to "The Girl with the Flaxen Hair". The piece is 39 measures long and takes approximately two and a half minutes to play. It is in the key of G♭ major. The piece, named after the eponymous poem by Leconte de Lisle, is known for its musical simplicity, a divergence from Debussy's style at the time. Completed in January 1910, it was published three months later and premiered in June of that same year. The prelude is one of Debussy's most recorded pieces, both in its original version and in subsequent various arrangements. - from Wikipedia
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Something I was thinking about earlier, the

resemblance among these three works.

Do you hear it too?

 

    Morning Mood (Norwegian title: Morgenstemning i ørkenen – Morning mood in the desert), is part of Edvard Grieg's Peer Gynt, Op. 23, written in 1875 as incidental music to Henrik Ibsen's play of the same name, and was also included as the first of four movements in Peer Gynt Suite No. 1, Op. 46. Written in E major, the melody uses the pentatonic scale and alternates between flute and oboe. Unusually, the climax occurs early in the piece at the first forte which signifies the sun breaking through. The time signature is 6/8 and the tempo instruction is Allegretto pastorale. It is orchestrated for flutes, oboes, clarinets, bassoons, horns, trombones, timpani, and string section. A performance takes about four minutes. The piece depicts the rising of the sun during act 4, scene 4, of Ibsen's play, which finds Peer Gynt stranded in the Moroccan desert after his companions took his yacht and abandoned him there while he slept.  - from Wikipedia



    Prélude à l'après-midi d'un faune (L. 86), known in English as Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun, is a symphonic poem for orchestra by Claude Debussy, approximately 10 minutes in duration. It was first performed in Paris on 22 December 1894, conducted by Gustave Doret. The flute solo was played by Georges Barrère. Debussy's work later provided the basis for the ballet Afternoon of a Faun choreographed by Vaslav Nijinsky and a later version by Jerome Robbins. The composition was inspired by the poem L'après-midi d'un faune by Stéphane Mallarmé. It is one of Debussy's most famous works and is considered a turning point in the history of music; Pierre Boulez considered the score to be the beginning of modern music, observing that "the flute of the faun brought new breath to the art of music." - from Wikipedia



    La fille aux cheveux de lin is a musical composition by French composer Claude Debussy. It is the eighth piece in the composer's first book of Préludes, written between late 1909 and early 1910. The title is in French and translates roughly to "The Girl with the Flaxen Hair". The piece is 39 measures long and takes approximately two and a half minutes to play. It is in the key of G♭ major. The piece, named after the eponymous poem by Leconte de Lisle, is known for its musical simplicity, a divergence from Debussy's style at the time. Completed in January 1910, it was published three months later and premiered in June of that same year. The prelude is one of Debussy's most recorded pieces, both in its original version and in subsequent various arrangements. - from Wikipedia

Yes Evan, I hear it very uncanny but in a very pleasant way, thanks for adding to this wonderful thread, I love it. 💖 Peace and Healing Hugs. :smitten:
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Something I was thinking about earlier, the

resemblance among these three works.

Do you hear it too?

 

    Morning Mood (Norwegian title: Morgenstemning i ørkenen – Morning mood in the desert), is part of Edvard Grieg's Peer Gynt, Op. 23, written in 1875 as incidental music to Henrik Ibsen's play of the same name, and was also included as the first of four movements in Peer Gynt Suite No. 1, Op. 46. Written in E major, the melody uses the pentatonic scale and alternates between flute and oboe. Unusually, the climax occurs early in the piece at the first forte which signifies the sun breaking through. The time signature is 6/8 and the tempo instruction is Allegretto pastorale. It is orchestrated for flutes, oboes, clarinets, bassoons, horns, trombones, timpani, and string section. A performance takes about four minutes. The piece depicts the rising of the sun during act 4, scene 4, of Ibsen's play, which finds Peer Gynt stranded in the Moroccan desert after his companions took his yacht and abandoned him there while he slept.  - from Wikipedia



    Prélude à l'après-midi d'un faune (L. 86), known in English as Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun, is a symphonic poem for orchestra by Claude Debussy, approximately 10 minutes in duration. It was first performed in Paris on 22 December 1894, conducted by Gustave Doret. The flute solo was played by Georges Barrère. Debussy's work later provided the basis for the ballet Afternoon of a Faun choreographed by Vaslav Nijinsky and a later version by Jerome Robbins. The composition was inspired by the poem L'après-midi d'un faune by Stéphane Mallarmé. It is one of Debussy's most famous works and is considered a turning point in the history of music; Pierre Boulez considered the score to be the beginning of modern music, observing that "the flute of the faun brought new breath to the art of music." - from Wikipedia



    La fille aux cheveux de lin is a musical composition by French composer Claude Debussy. It is the eighth piece in the composer's first book of Préludes, written between late 1909 and early 1910. The title is in French and translates roughly to "The Girl with the Flaxen Hair". The piece is 39 measures long and takes approximately two and a half minutes to play. It is in the key of G♭ major. The piece, named after the eponymous poem by Leconte de Lisle, is known for its musical simplicity, a divergence from Debussy's style at the time. Completed in January 1910, it was published three months later and premiered in June of that same year. The prelude is one of Debussy's most recorded pieces, both in its original version and in subsequent various arrangements. - from Wikipedia

Yes Evan, I hear it very uncanny but in a very pleasant way, thanks for adding to this wonderful thread, I love it. 💖 Peace and Healing Hugs. :smitten:

 

Lovely! I love Claude Debussy! He's my favorite.  :)    And  Edvard Grieg's Peer Gynt...I know it well. My Mother blessed me with beautiful music, and piano lessons.

 

Those three pieces of music go well together. For me they seem to evoke the same kind of pleasant emotion of awe and beauty through music, and also a vision of nature... maybe a Midsummer Night's Dream.

 

Thanks Redevan for this thread. It's so delightful to see that the Cultural Arts still exist in people!  :smitten:

 

 

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  • 1 month later...
[67...]

 

This is absolutely spectacular. I first heard this when I was a teenager, and actively playing the flute and the violin (not a the same time, of course), with the intention of becoming a concert violinist.

 

The first version I heard of Les Pêcheurs de Perles was in a 1950 recording, with Jussi Björling and Robert Merrill, but then I heard many more as an adult.

 

In 1983 I heard Sherrill Milnes and Placido Domingo sing this in a concert of duets at the Met, conducted by James Levine, where Domingo was the tenor. Later he sang it as baritone with Andrea Bocelli, but that was less thrilling.

 

  NYT: Domingo and Milnes in Concert

 

This version surpasses them all, I think – thanks, Evan!

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Glad you liked it, Leslie. The first time I heard Au Fond du Temple Saint was in a Pavarotti Plus broadcast on PBS, back in the early '90s. Tenor Marcello Giordani and baritone Haijng Fu didn't have quite the expressiveness, the feeling, of Alagna and Terfel. But still, they weren't bad. And since it was my first time, it became my measure of all other performances. I'll say this in its favor: they did sustain that last note the way it ought to be sustained. La mort! And the icing on the cake: the conductor was Julius Rudel. I found a clip of that performance on YouTube. I think it's worth a listen:

 

Marcello Giordani - Haijng Fu - Pearlfishers Duet

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Thanks Evan for the beautiful Music, it is so relaxing, and always amazed with the Gift some are so lucky to have. Music has become my best distraction. Be well, and know I am Grateful for all the help you gave me. :) 
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[67...]

This was great, too – impressive Haijng Fu!

 

Glad you liked it, Leslie. The first time I heard Au Fond du Temple Saint was in a Pavarotti Plus broadcast on PBS, back in the early '90s. Tenor Marcello Giordani and baritone Haijng Fu didn't have quite the expressiveness, the feeling, of Alagna and Terfel. But still, they weren't bad. And since it was my first time, it became my measure of all other performances. I'll say this in its favor: they did sustain that last note the way it ought to be sustained. La mort! And the icing on the cake: the conductor was Julius Rudel. I found a clip of that performance on YouTube. I think it's worth a listen:

 

Marcello Giordani - Haijng Fu - Pearlfishers Duet

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  • 5 months later...
  • 3 weeks later...


 

 

I have to continue what Shook began, because the music from Peer Gynt is so incredibly beautiful. I was at work nearly 12 hours today, and that whole time, I couldn't get Solveig's Cradle Song out of my head.

 

For those who aren't familiar with Peer Gynt, here's a summary from Wikipedia:

 

Peer Gynt is a five-act play in verse by the Norwegian dramatist Henrik Ibsen published in 1867. Written in Danish—the common written language of Denmark and Norway in Ibsen's lifetime—it is one of the most widely performed Norwegian plays. Ibsen believed Per Gynt, the Norwegian fairy tale on which the play is loosely based, to be rooted in fact, and several of the characters are modelled after Ibsen's own family, notably his parents Knud Ibsen and Marichen Altenburg. He was also generally inspired by Peter Christen Asbjørnsen's collection of Norwegian fairy tales, published in 1845 (Huldre-Eventyr og Folkesagn).

 

Peer Gynt chronicles the journey of its titular character from the Norwegian mountains to the North African desert. According to Klaus Van Den Berg, "its origins are romantic, but the play also anticipates the fragmentations of emerging modernism" and the "cinematic script blends poetry with social satire and realistic scenes with surreal ones." Peer Gynt has also been described as the story of a life based on procrastination and avoidance.

 

Ibsen asked Norwegian composer Edvard Grieg to write incidental music for the play, and that music has since become very well known. You are certainly familiar with

and
. Together, Ibsen's play with Grieg's music form a unique piece of musical theater.

 

At left is a link to a concert performance of Peer Gynt in its entirety at the Royal Albert Hall during the 2001 Proms. I've started at the Night Scene, about 10 minutes before Solveig's Cradle Song, just to put that song in context and to give you a taste of Peer Gynt. After you've had that little taste, you'll probably want to rewind the vid and watch the whole thing. But what's happening here is that after all his adventures, Peer Gynt, now an old man, has returned home with nothing, and he believes his life has been a meaningless failure. He is haunted by a God-figure called the Button-molder, by the Lean One (the Devil), by his late mother, who pretty much accuses Peer of keeping her out of Heaven, and by a few other strange characters. Peer seeks refuge in the bosom of Solveig, the wife he has more than once abandoned. Solveig forgives him and sings him off to his uncertain fate: for the Button-molder awaits him.

 


Sov, du dyreste Gutten min!
Jeg skal vugge dig, jeg skal våge.

Gutten har siddet på sin Moders Fang.
De to har leget hele Livsdagen lang.

Gutten har hvilet ved sin Moders Bryst
hele Livsdagen lang. Grud signe dig, min Lyst!

Gutten har ligget til mit Hjerte tæt
hele Livsdagen lang. Nu er han så træt.

Sov, du dyreste Gutten min!
Jeg skal vugge dig, jeg skal våge.
      Sleep, you dearest boy of mine!
I will cradle you, I will watch.

The boy has been sitting on his mother's lap.
The two have been playing the live-long day.

The boy has rested by his mother's breast
the live-long day. I begrudge you, my lust!

The boy has been close to my heart
the live-long day. Now he is so tired.

Sleep, my dearest boy!
I will cradle you, I will watch.


 

 

 

 

 

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Thanks redevan. Great performance. Peer Gynt is a favorite and Solveig's Cradle Song has always haunted me...

 

I agree, Shook. It haunts me too. I think the performance you posted is actually better than what I found.

The Proms presentation focused on Grieg's incidental music and omitted a lot of the dialog,

while your post includes dialog from Ibsen's play, just a few words, that add immeasurably to the poignancy

of the music. I don't think there's been a better match between words and music since the Mozart-DaPonte operas.

You hardly need to understand the language at all. The music tells the story.

 

The only complete performance I found of the actual play with music was a radio production from 1946, here:

 

 

It's not bad, but it's old - and it sounds old. Poor audio quality.

Still, you get an idea of how the whole production works.

 

I also found this complete recording of the incidental music,

without the play:

 

 

I think in parts it's a bit slower than it should be,

but overall it's very good listening.

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How about another haunting soprano aria
from a fairytale-folkloric opera? I'll look for
any excuse to post anything by
Lucia Popp

 

I just found the original video. The other

was dubbed from a famous recording.

This was recorded live.

Lucia Popp

 


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Peer Gynt, Act V: Peer Gynt's Homecoming: Solveig's Cradle Song

 

Shook, I agree with Evan, so hauntingly beautiful. This thread is my favorite thread, I never thought I liked Classical...until Evan placed such lovely Music. 💖 Peace and Healing.
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