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Nosferatu
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Nosferatu,
an opera libretto
was written for music by neo-romantic composer Alva
Henderson. Based on F.W. Murnau's classic 1922 vampire film,
the opera retells the Dracula story from the perspective of
a gifted woman in a tragedy she cannot prevent. New from Graywolf
Press, 2001.
A
showcase of highlights from Nosferatu was performed to
a standing ovation in June 2001 in West Chester, Pennsylvannia.
Click here
to visit the Rimrock Opera Company's Nosferatu page, with photos
from the Montana production.
"Gioia's
mythic material is not only alive with all the meanings of the
Dracula legend: it is in addition an emblem of opera itself.
To put it another way, the libretto is vibrant with the poet's
active self-conciousness. Like the writer who decides to read
his work aloud — to 'perform' it — Nosferatu
gives 'voice' to what was initially utterly silent. One could
easily write a separate essay on the implications of Gioia's
use of the libretto as a form of 'performance poetry.'"
—
Jack Foley, The
Alsop Review
(read the full review here)
Read
Lequita Vance-Watkins's interview
with Dana Gioia about writing Nosferatu, or an excerpt
from Gioia's essay Sotto
Voce: The Libretto as Literary Form.
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Nosferatu's
Serenade
(aria from Act II of Nosferatu)
I
am the image that darkens your glass,
The shadow that falls wherever you pass.
I am the dream you cannot forget,
The face you remember without having met.
I
am the truth that must not be spoken,
The midnight vow that cannot be broken.
I am the bell that tolls out the hours.
I am the fire that warms and devours.
I
am the hunger that you have denied,
The ache of desire piercing your side.
I am the sin you have never confessed,
The forbidden hand caressing your breast.
You've
heard me inside you speak in your dreams,
Sigh in the ocean, whisper in streams.
I am the future you crave and you fear.
You know what I bring. Now I am here.
I
came to a table set for a feast,
Decked with silver and delicate lace.
The crystal shimmered in candlelight.
A long-stemmed rose adorned each place.
But the lace was torn and stained with rust,
The roses broken and bent askew.
The plates were empty. The room was cold,
And the only guest was you.
I
heard the hush of a captured bird,
The twisted wings, the pounding heart.
I saw a fisherman take a knife
And carve his gleaming catch apart.
I watched the spider weave its web.
It sparkled in the beaded dew.
But when the moth lay in its trap,
I saw the prey was you.
I
came down a stair to a bolted door.
I touched the lock, and it fell away.
I found a vast and sunless room.
I wanted to leave but had to stay.
The room a chapel lit by candles,
But the cross had been broken in two.
The priest held a chalice of blood in his hands,
And on the altar was you.
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