Haugtussa (Grieg)

This performance is from Grieg's "Haugtussa, op 67 (The Mountain Maid), 8 songs in Norwegian. Swedish mezzo, Anne Sofie von Otter singing, Bengt Forsberg, piano.

It's a repeat of an earlier post, but it bears repeating because Scandinavian music is also somewhat neglected by singers in America, perhaps due to the fact that Norwegian and Swedish aren't part of the standard German, French and Italian taught at conservatories.

Haugtussa is a beautiful song cycle to poems by Arne Garborg (1851-1924). "Grieg himself maintained that the 'Haugtussa' songs were the best he ever composed. The cycle is a richly varied poetic work which nonetheless possesses a high degree of unity. The poems are centred around Veslemoey, a visionary young herd girl from a wilderness area in southwestern Norway. Rejected by her lover, she tries to escape life's harsh realities and the indifference of those around her. In her visions she comes into contact with nature itself and the powers of the underworld."

This the fourth song in the cycle:
Møte, n°4 (The Enounter)
text in Norwegian (Nynorsk)

Ho sit ein Sundag lengtande i Li;
det strøymer på med desse søte Tankar,
og Hjarta fullt og tungt i Barmen bankar,
og Draumen vaknar, bivrande og blid.
Då gjeng det som ei Hildring yver Nuten;
ho raudner heit; - der kjem den vene Guten.

Burt vil ho gøyma seg i Ørska brå,
men stoggar tryllt og Augo mot han vender;
dei tek einannan i dei varme Hender
og stend so der og veit seg inkje Råd.
Då bryt ho ut i dette Undringsord:
"Men snille deg då, at du er så stor!"

Og som det lid til svale Kveldings Stund,
alt meir og meir i Lengt dei saman søkjer,
og brådt um Hals den unge Arm seg krøkjer
og øre skjelv dei saman Munn mot Munn.
Alt svimrar burt. Og der i Kvelden varm
i heite Sæle søv ho i hans Arm.


English Translation

One Sunday she sits pensive on the hillside,
while sweet thoughts flow over her,
and her heart beats full and heavy in her breast,
and a shy dream wakens within her.
Suddenly, enchantment steals along the hilltop.
She blushes red; there he comes, the boy she loves.

She wants to hide in her confusion,
but timidly she raises her eyes to him;
their warm hands reach out for one another,
and they stand there, neither knowing what to say.
Then she bursts out in admiration:
"My, how tall you are!"

And as the day moves softly into evening,
they turn to each other full of longing,
their young arms wind around each other's necks,
and trembling mouth meets mouth.
Everything shimmers away, and in the warm evening
She falls blissfully asleep in his arms.



This is Lynni Treekrem singing a beautiful composition by Ketil Bjørnstad, a composer I came across it by chance. It's actually hard to pin the style, straddling folk and a more modern idiom. I thought it would be interesting to hear what this rich poetry would sound like in the hands of a contemporary composer.

This is the prologue of the Haugtussa, Text: Arne Garborg (1851-1924) Unfortunately, I wasn't able to find a translation.

Til deg, du Hei og bleike Myr
med Bukkeblad,
der Hegre stig og Heilo flyr,
eg gjev mitt Kvad.

Til deg, du visne Lyng um Haug,
der Draumar sviv,
eg gjev min Song um Dimd og Draug
og dulde Liv.

Eg kjenner deg, du Trollheim graa,
du Skugge-Natt!
Eg rømde rædd; men stundom maa
eg sjaa deg att.

Eg kjenner deg, du Havsens Marm,
med Galdre-Song;
du gauv meg Gru i rædde Barm
so mang ein Gong.

Eg kjenner Striden tung og sein
mot Trolldoms Vald.
Gud hjelpe oss for brotne Bein
og Mannefall!

Eg kjenner deg, - eg kjenner deg,
som ikkje vann! --
Eg saag din Strid, eg veit din Veg
i Skugge-Land.

Eg røynde sjølv den Striden stygg
i mange Aar,
med ville Mot, med bøygde Rygg,
med svære Saar.

Du um meg sviv, du hjaa meg sit,
du arme Aand!
I meg du enno riv og slit
i dine Baand.

Eg veit det væl: dei sterke Troll,
den Vilje rik;
ein Baat i Foss, eit Kvad i Moll,
sløkkt i eit Skrik. ­--

Men Lerka stig fraa gløymde Grav
med Sigers Ljod;
og Vinden stryker inn av Hav
so frisk og god.

Og um me kjenner Graat og Gru
og Saknad saar,
so maa me Lerkesongen tru,
som lovar Vaar.

Norway: Grieg's "En Svane" and selections from "Haugtussa"

Edward Grieg (1843- 1907)
Swedish baritone,Håkan Hagegård, baritone, Warren Jones, piano
"En Svane" (A Swan) Poem: Henryk Ibsen
The text and translations are in the video. It is in Norwegian.



The next performance is from "Haugtussa, op 67 (The Mountain Maid), 8 songs in Norwegian.

It is a song cycle to poems by Arne Garborg (1851-1924). "Grieg himself maintained that the 'Haugtussa' songs were the best he ever composed. Grieg's Haugtussa" cycle is a richly varied poetic work which nonetheless possesses a high degree of unity. The poems are centred around Veslemoey, a visionary young herd girl from a wilderness area in southwestern Norway. Rejected by her lover, she tries to escape life's harsh realities and the indiference of those around her. In her visions she comes into contact with nature itself and the powers of the underworld." by FinnBenestad; Cd. "Grieg; Songs Lieder"

ENTIRE HAUGTUSSA SONG CYCLE
Swedish mezzo, Anne Sofie von Otter singing, Bengt Forsberg, piano.

Haugtussa (Op. 67):
1. Det syng 00:00
2. Veslemøy 03:51
3. Blåbaer-li 06:20
4. Møte 09:03
5. Elsk 12:56
6. Killingdans 15:11
7. Vond dag 16:52
8. Ved gjaetle-bekken 19:21

The  fourth song in this beautiful  cycle is  Møte,  (The Enounter)  and can be heard at 09:03

Text is Norwegian (Nynorsk)
Translation below:

Ho sit ein Sundag lengtande i Li;
det strøymer på med desse søte Tankar,
og Hjarta fullt og tungt i Barmen bankar,
og Draumen vaknar, bivrande og blid.
Då gjeng det som ei Hildring yver Nuten;
ho raudner heit; - der kjem den vene Guten.

Burt vil ho gøyma seg i Ørska brå,
men stoggar tryllt og Augo mot han vender;
dei tek einannan i dei varme Hender
og stend so der og veit seg inkje Råd.
Då bryt ho ut i dette Undringsord:
"Men snille deg då, at du er så stor!"

Og som det lid til svale Kveldings Stund,
alt meir og meir i Lengt dei saman søkjer,
og brådt um Hals den unge Arm seg krøkjer
og øre skjelv dei saman Munn mot Munn.
Alt svimrar burt. Og der i Kvelden varm
i heite Sæle søv ho i hans Arm.
*******************************************
Translation:

One Sunday she sits pensive on the hillside,
while sweet thoughts flow over her,
and her heart beats full and heavy in her breast,
and a shy dream wakens within her.
Suddenly, enchantment steals along the hilltop.
She blushes red; there he comes, the boy she loves.

She wants to hide in her confusion,
but timidly she raises her eyes to him;
their warm hands reach out for one another,
and they stand there, neither knowing what to say.
Then she bursts out in admiration:
"My, how tall you are!"

And as the day moves softly into evening,
they turn to each other full of longing,
their young arms wind around each other's necks,
and trembling mouth meets mouth.
Everything shimmers away, and in the warm evening
She falls blissfully asleep in his arms.


Here is something that I found completely by chance. This is Lynni Treekrem singing a beautiful composition by Ketil Bjørnstad, a composer I knew nothing about until today. It's actually hard to pin the style, straddling folk and a more modern idiom. I thought it would be interesting to hear what this rich poetry would sound like in the hands of a contemporary composer.

This is the prologue of the Haugtussa, Text: Arne Garborg (1851-1924) I wasn't able to find a translation.

Til deg, du Hei og bleike Myr
med Bukkeblad,
der Hegre stig og Heilo flyr,
eg gjev mitt Kvad.

Til deg, du visne Lyng um Haug,
der Draumar sviv,
eg gjev min Song um Dimd og Draug
og dulde Liv.

Eg kjenner deg, du Trollheim graa,
du Skugge-Natt!
Eg rømde rædd; men stundom maa
eg sjaa deg att.

Eg kjenner deg, du Havsens Marm,
med Galdre-Song;
du gauv meg Gru i rædde Barm
so mang ein Gong.

Eg kjenner Striden tung og sein
mot Trolldoms Vald.
Gud hjelpe oss for brotne Bein
og Mannefall!

Eg kjenner deg, - eg kjenner deg,
som ikkje vann! --
Eg saag din Strid, eg veit din Veg
i Skugge-Land.

Eg røynde sjølv den Striden stygg
i mange Aar,
med ville Mot, med bøygde Rygg,
med svære Saar.

Du um meg sviv, du hjaa meg sit,
du arme Aand!
I meg du enno riv og slit
i dine Baand.

Eg veit det væl: dei sterke Troll,
den Vilje rik;
ein Baat i Foss, eit Kvad i Moll,
sløkkt i eit Skrik. ­--

Men Lerka stig fraa gløymde Grav
med Sigers Ljod;
og Vinden stryker inn av Hav
so frisk og god.

Og um me kjenner Graat og Gru
og Saknad saar,
so maa me Lerkesongen tru,
som lovar Vaar.