Jean Sibelius (8th Dec 1865 to 20th Sept 1957) was a Finnish composer and Jussi Bjorling's grandmother was also Finnish. This concert was given at New York's Carnegie Hall on the 8th December 1957, exactly 92 years after the date on which Sibelius was born. The New York Philharmonic Orchestra is conducted by Martti Siliä.
The full concert, or at least, the part that was recorded was, of course, all music written by Sibelius and started with the complete symphony No 4 in A minor followed by the five songs on this video then En saga, Op.9 and Finlandia, Op. 26.
The recording was made by the Carnegie Hall administration presumably with the intention of broadcasting it at a later date but, apparently, that never happened. Just to give a flavour of the full concert I have started the video with the conclusion of Sibelius's Symphony No. 4 and ended with his Finlandia. If you you don't want to listen to the orchestral pieces just skip to Jussi's songs that start at 4:48.
The music on the video, all written by Sibelius, is as follows;
0:00 Symphony No. 4 (conclusion)
4:48 Säv, säv, susa, (Reed, reed, rustle)
7:48 Flickan kom ifrån sin älsklings möte (The maiden came from her lover's tryst)
12:00 Var det en dröm? (Was it a dream)
14:54 Svarta rosor (Black roses)
18:06 Demanten på marssnön (The diamond on the March snow)
22:30 Finlandia
Translations to English;
1. Säv, säv, susa, (Gustaf Fröding)
Reed, reed, rustle,
Wave, wave, play,
You tell me where Ingalill,
The young one, may go?
She screamed like a wingbroken duck, when she sank in the lake,
It was, when the last Spring was green.
They spent their wrath on her at Östanlid.
For which she felt ill at ease.
They spent their wrath on her for goods and for gold
And for the sake of her young love.
They stuck a gemstone with a thorn,
They threw dirt in the dew of a lily.
So sing, sing a mournful song,
Ye sorrowful little waves,
Reed, reed, rustle,
Wave, wave, play!
2. Flickan kom ifrån sin älsklings möte (Johan Ludvig Runeberg)
The maiden came from her lover's tryst,
Once she came home with red hands,
Since they had reddened between her lover's hands.
Once she came home with red lips,
Since they reddened under her lover's lips.
Lastly she came home with pale cheeks,
Since they had paled with her lover's unfaithfulness.
Came with red hands. The mother said:
"Whence redden your hands, maiden?"
The maiden said: "I have picked roses
And stung my hands on the thorns."
Again she came from her lover's tryst,
Came with red lips. The Mother said:
"Whence redden your lips, maiden?"
The maiden said: "I have eaten raspberries
And with the juices painted my lips."
Again she came from her lover's tryst,
Came with pale cheeks. Her mother said:
"Whence pale your cheeks, maiden?"
The maiden said: "Make me a grave, o mother!
Hide me there and put a cross on top,
And on the cross carve, what I say:
Once she came home with red hands,
Since they had reddened between her lover's hands.
Once she came home with red lips,
Since they reddened under her lover's lips.
Lastly she came home with pale cheeks,
Since they had paled with her lover's unfaithfulness.
3. Var det en dröm? (Josef Julius Wecksell)
Was it a dream, that once upon a blissful time
I was your heart’s friend?
I remember it like a silent song
Whose melody still lingers on.
I remember you gave me a rose
With a look so shy and tender,
I remember the glistening of a parting tear.
Was it all just a dream?
A dream like a wildflower's life,
So brief in the verdant meadow,
Whose beauty quickly withers away
Within an ocean of new flowers
But on many a night I hear a voice
Through a stream of bitter tears.
Hide this memory deep in your heart
For this was your best dream.
4. Svarta rosor (Black roses) (Ernst Josephson)
Say, why are you so sad today,
You, who are always so happy and glad?
I am sad no more today
Than when I think of you happy and glad;
For sorrow has roses black as night.
In my heart there grows a tree,
Which never grants me rest,
upon its stems hangs thorn after thorn,
it causes me endless suffering and pain;
For sorrow has roses black as night.
But there is a whole treasure of roses,
Some white as death, some red as blood.
It grows and grows. I believe I pale,
in my heart-tree’s roots it tugs and pulls;
For sorrow has roses black as night
.
5. Demanten på marssnön (The diamond on the March snow) (Josef Julius Wecksell)
Upon the driven snow there glitters
a diamond so clear.
Never was a tear, or pearl
That had a greater shine.
Out of a secret longing
she sparkles like the heavens:
she looks up to the sun
the moment it ascends.
At the foot of its beam
Adoringly she stands
and kisses it in passion
and melts it in a tear.
O, fairest fate to love
The highest that life brings,
to glisten in its radiance,
and die, amid its smile.
16 июн 2024
