The Lyrics/Text thread

[greg]

Here we post lyrics/text/libretto of whatever we want!!! 

Schoenberg- 2nd String Quartet


Litanei

Tief is die trauer die mich umdüstert,
Ein tret ich wieder, Herr! in dein haus.
Lang war die reise, matt sind die glieder,
Leer sind die schreine, voll nur die qual.
Durstende zunge darbt nach dem weine.
Hart war gestritten, starr ist mein arm.
Gönne die ruhe schwankenden schritten,
Hungrigem gaume bröckle dein brot!
Schwach ist mein atem rufend dem traume,
Hohl sind die hände, fiebernd der mund.
Leih deine kühle, lösche der brände.
Tilge das hoffen, sende das licht!
Gluten im herzen lodern noch offen,
Innerst im grunde wacht noch ein schrei.
Töte das sehnen, schliesse die wunde!
Nimm mir die liebe, gib mir dein glück!
   Litany

Deep is the sadness that gloomily comes over me,
Again I step, Lord, in your house.
Long was the ride, my limbs are weary,
The shrines are empty, only anguish is full.
My thirsty tongue desires wine.
The battle was hard, my arm is stiff.
Grudge peace to my staggering steps,
for my hungry gums break your bread!
Weak is my breath, bringing the dream,
my hands are hollow, my mouth fevers.
Lend your cool, douse the fires,
rub out hope, send the light!
Fires in my heard still glow, open,
inside my heart a cry wakes.
Kill the longing, close the wound!
Take my love away, give me your joy.
Entrückung

Ich fühle luft von anderem planeten.
Mir blassen durch das dunkel die gesichter
Die freundlich eben noch sich zu mir drehten.
Und bäum und wege die ich liebte fahlen
Dass ich sie kaum mehr kenne und du lichter
Geliebter schatten--rufer meiner qualen--
Bist nun erloschen ganz in tiefern gluten
Um nach dem taumel streitenden getobes
Mit einem frommen schauer anzumuten.
Ich löse mich in tönen, kreisend, webend,
Ungründigen danks und unbenamten lobes
Dem grossen atem wunschlos mich ergebend.
Mich überfährt ein ungestümes wehen
Im rausch der weihe wo inbrünstige schreie
In staub geworfner beterinnen flehen:
Dann seh ich wie sich duftige nebel lüpfen
In einer sonnerfüllten klaren freie
Die nur umfängt auf fernsten bergesschlüpfen.
Der boden schüffert weiss und weich wie molke.
Ich steige über schluchten ungeheuer.
Ich fühle wie ich über letzter wolke
In einem meer kristallnen glanzes schwimme--
Ich bin ein funke nur vom heiligen feuer
Ich bin ein dröhnen nur der heiligen stimme.
   Rapture

I feel wind from other planets.
I faintly through the darkness see faces
Friendly even now, turning toward me.
And trees and paths that I loved fade
So I can scarcely know them and you bright
Beloved shadow--summon my anguish--
Are only extinguish completely in a deep glowing
In the frenzy of the fight
With a pious show of reason.
I lose myself in tones, circling, weaving,
With unfathomable thanks and unnamed love
I happily surrender to the great breath.
A violent wind passes over me
In the sway of commitment where ardent cries
In dust flung by women on the ground:
Then I see a filmy mist rising
In a sun-filled, open expanse
That includes only the farthest mountain hatches.
The land looks white and smooth like whey,
I climb over enormous canyons.
I feel as if above the last cloud
Swimming in a sea of crystal radiance--
I am only a spark of the holy fire
I am only a whisper of the holy voice.

[greg]

Mahler 8

    Original Latin
    Veni, creator spiritus,
    mentes tuorum visita;
    Imple superna gratia,
    quae tu creasti pectora.

    Qui tu Paraclitus diceris,
    donum Dei altissimi,
    fons vivus, ignis, caritas,
    et spiritalis unctio.

    Infirma nostri corporis,
    virtute firmans perpeti.
    Accende lumen sensibus.
    Infunde amorem cordibus.

    Hostem repellas longius,
    pacemque dones protinus;
    ductore sic te praevio
    vitemus omne pessimum.

    Tu septiformis munere,
    digitus paternae dexterae.

    Per te sciamus de Patrem,
    noscamus [atque] Filium,
    [Te utriusque] Spiritum
    credamus omni tempore.

    Veni, creator spiritus
    mentes tuorum visita;
    Imple superna gratia,
    quae tu creasti pectora.

    Da gaudiorum praemia,
    da gratiarum munera;
    dissolve litis vincula,
    adstringe pacis foedera.

    Gloria sit Patri Domino,
    Natoque, qui a mortuis
    surrexit, ac Paraclito
    in saeculorum saecula.

   

    In English
    Come, Creator Spirit,
    visit the minds of your people,
    fill with grace from on high
    the hearts which Thou didst create.

    Thou that art called Comforter,
    gift from God most high,
    living fount, fire, love
    and unction of the spirit.

    Endow our weak flesh
    with perpetual strength,
    kindle our senses with light,
    pour Thy love into our hearts.

    Drive the enemy far from us
    grant us lasting peace,
    so that, beneath Thy guidance,
    we may avoid all ill.

    Thou, sevenfold in gifts,
    finger of the Father's right hand.

    Give us to know Father
    and Son through Thee,
    and in Thee, Spirit emanating of both,
    grant that we may always believe.

    Come, Creator Spirit,
    visit the minds of your people,
    fill with grace from on high
    the hearts which Thou didst create.

    Give us joy,
    grant us Thy peace,
    smooth our quarrels,
    preserve us in bonds of peace.

    Glory be to the Father,
    to His Son, who rose from the dead,
    and to our Advocate and Comforter
    for ever and ever.

[BachQ]

I feel wind from other planets.

I don't mean to nitpick, but this is a physical (and astrophysical) impossibility .........  

[greg]

I don't mean to nitpick, but this is a physical (and astrophysical) impossibility ......... 

i think it's an appropriate line for someone who is just starting to venture into atonality, going where no one has gone before 
btw, i just have to say, recently i've been listening to that string quartet and i've totally changed my opinion from before. Before I really didn't think much, but now........ wwooooooowwww 
especially certain moments, like when the singing just starts up in the 3rd movement and also the part around/just past the middle in the 4th movement with all the strings doing arpeggios loudly.

and the parts where the singer gets so intense into the high notes, it feels like she can't get any higher, and then all of a sudden drops down into a low note really fast.

[Symphonien]

The text from the third movement of Berio's Sinfonia, for eight voices and orchestra:

III
IN RUHIG FLIESSENDER BEWEGUNG

[tutti] oh peripeti [T1] nicht eilen, bitte [S1] oh [A1] no [B1] recht gemä... [S2] quatrième symphonie [A2] deuxième symphonie [T2] recht gemä... [S1] deuxième partie [A1] première partie [T1] quatrième partie [B1] troisième partie [T2] gemäche... [B1] In ruhig fliessender Bewegung [T1] sehr gemächlich nicht eilen [B1] keep going [tutti] peripetie [B1] peripetie where? [A1] and now? [B1] nothing more nothing more restful than chamber music [A1] when now? [T1] I, say I

[T1] You are nothing but an academic exercise [B1] no time for chamber music {...} we need to do something [S2] For though the silence here is almost unbroken it is not completely so he emerges as from heavy hangings. Hardly a resurrection [A2] we want that [A1] It seems there are only repeated sounds [T2] what? [A2] who? [T1] I prefer a wake [T2] why? [B1] Something is going to happen. So after a period of immaculate silence there seems to be a violin concerto being played in the other room in three quarters [A2] two violin concertos [S2] in three eights [A1] I am not deaf, of that I am convinced, that is to say half-convinced [T2] Keep going [B2] where now? [T1] With not even a small mountain on the horizon, a man would wonder where his kingdom ended [A1] where? [T1] Keep going [T2] what? [T1] a poem [B2] Keep going [T1] a danced poem, all round, and endless chain, taking turns to talk

[S2] Keep going [T1] This represents at least a thousand words I was not counting on. [A1] three thousand notes [T1] I may well be glad of them {...} But seeing Daphne and Chloé written in red, counting the seconds while nothing has happened but the obsession with the [B1] go on [A2] with the chromatic [S2] and the chromatic again [T2] Where now? [T1] I am in the air, the walls, everything yields, opens, ebbs, flows like the play of waves [S1] Keep going [B2] Yes, I feel the moment has come for us to look back, if we can and take our bearings if we are to go on. [T1] Yes, I feel the moment has come for me to look back. I must not forget this, I have not forgotten it. But I must have said it before, since I say it now. They think I am alive, not in a womb, either... Well, so there is an audience it's a fantastic public performance [B1] and the curtain comes down for the ninth time. [B1] You never noticed you were waiting. You were waiting alone, that is the show. Keep going.

[B1] I shall say my old lessons now, if I can remember it [T2] then I shall have lived they think I am alive, not in a womb, either, even that takes time.

[A1] it is [T2] keep going [A1] is it? [B1] keep going [T1] it is as if we were rooted, that's bonds if you like – the earth would have to quake. It isn't the earth, one doesn't know what it is [A1] But you all know that they will bring me to the surface one day or another and there will be a brief dialogue in the dunes [T1] maybe a kind of competition on the stage, with just eight female dancers and words falling. You don't know where, where now [A1] under the sun [T1] who now? But now I shall say my old lessons if I can remember it. I most not forget this. But I must have said it before, since I say it now.

I am listening. Well, I prefer, that, I must say I prefer that [A2] that what who you [T1] oh you know, oh you, oh I suppose the audience, well well, so there is an audience, it's a public show, you buy your seat and you wait, perhaps it's free, a free show, you take your seat and you wait for it to begin, or perhaps it's compulsory, a compulsory show...

You wait for the compulsory show to begin, it takes time, you hear a voice, perhaps it is a recitation, that is the show, someone reciting, selected passages, old favourites, or someone improvising, you can barely hear him, that's the show, you can't leave, you are afraid to leave, you make the best of it, you try to be reasonable, you came too early, here we'd need latin, it's only the beginning, it hasn't begun, he'll appear any moment, he'll begin any moment [A1] He is only preluding, clearing his throat, alone in his dressing room, or it's the stage-manager giving his instructions, his last recommendations before the curtain rises [tutti] that is the show [T1] that's the show waiting for the show, to the sound of a murmur, you try to be reasonable, perhaps it is not a voice at all, perhaps it's the air, ascending, descending, flowing, eddying, seeking exit, finding none, and the spectators, where are they, you didn't notice, in the anguish of waiting, never noticed you were waiting alone, that is the show, for the fools, in the palace, waiting [B1] the brightest star [T1] waiting alone that is the show [tutti] that is the show [T1] waiting alone in the restless air, for it to begin, while every now and then a familiar passacaglia [T2] (etwas zurükhaltend) [B1] not really [T1] filters through the other noises waiting, for something to begin, for there to be something else but you, for the power to rise, the courage to leave, picking your way through the crossed colours, seeking the cause, losing it again, seeking no longer. We shall overcome the incessant noise, for as Henri says, if this noise would stop there'd be nothing more to say. You try and be reasonable, perhaps you are blind, probably deaf, the show is over, all is over, but where then is the hand, the helping hand, or merely charitable, or the hired hand, it's a long time coming, to take yours and draw you away, that is the show, free, gratis, and for nothing, waiting alone, blind, deaf, you don't know where, you don't know for what, for a hand to come and draw you away, somewhere else, where perhaps it's worse. [S1+2] It's a real pleasure upon my word it is to be unable to drown under such conditions in a lake full of colours far from my walls [T1] where now? [A1] who now? [B1] keep going now [T1] when now? [G1] blood [A1] Just a small murder [T1] keep going [B2] hardly worth it, yet what can you expect [T1] they don't know who they are either [B1] did you hear? [T1] keep going [S2] Did you hear? [T2] stop [B2] stop [A1] do you hear? [T1] keep going [B1] Hören Sie? [T2] Dort! [B2] Heavens! There was a sound! [T1] yes, there! [B1] Ja, dort! [T2] Jesus! Das war ein Ton!

I am here so little, I see it, I feel it round me it enfolds me, it covers me, if only this voice would stop, for a second, [T1+2] it would seem long to me, a second of silence I would listen, [T2] I'd know if it was going to start again or if it was stilled for ever what would I know it with, I'd know. And I'd keep on listening [T1] I'd know if it was going to start again it's late now, and he is still talking incessantly, any old thing, repetition after repetition, talking unceasingly, in yourself, outside yourself

It's late now, he shall never hear again the lowing cattle, the rush of the stream. In a chamber, dimensions unknown, I do not move and never shall again on long road or short. But the fact is I trouble no one. But I did. And after each group disintegration, the name of Mayakovsky hangs in the clean air.

And when they ask, why all this, it is not easy to find an answer. [S2] la mer, la mer toujours recommencée [T1] For when we find ourselves, face to face, now, here, and they remind us all this can't stop the wars, can't make the old younger or lower the price of bread [A1] say it again, louder! [T1] it can't stop the wars, can't make the old younger or lower the price of bread, can't erase solitude or dull the tread outside the door, we can only nod, yes, it's true, but no need to remind, to point, for it is all with us, always, except, perhaps at certain moments, here among these rows of balconies, in a crowd or out of it, perhaps waiting to enter, watching. And tomorrow we'll read that ................ [mentions composer and title of a work included in the same program] made tulips grow in my garden and altered the flow of the ocean currents. We must believe it's true. There must be something else. Otherwise it would be quite hopeless. But it is quite hopeless. Unquestioning. But it can't go on. It, say it, not knowing what.

It's getting late. Where now? When now? I have a present for you. Keep going, page after page. Keep going, going on, call that going, call that on. But wait. He is barely moving, now, almost still. Should I make my introductions? {This voice introduces to the public the other seven singers.} But now it's done, it's over, we've had our chance. There was even, for a second, hope of resurrection, or almost, Mein junges Leben hat ein End. We must collect our thoughts, for the unexpected is always upon us, in our rooms, in the street, at the door, on a stage. Thank you, Mr. {full name of the conductor}

[Mozart]

Papageno's act 2 aria from Branaghs flute The scene is genius!

Anything else I need?

I need a fluffy chiiickeen
or little turtle dove
o how my heart is stricken
with unrequited love.

What pleasure to bill to coo is
a treasure far greater than rubies
a girl for this poor lonely boy
would bring me such rapturous joy


A housewife or a maiden
bring papagenos way
my hope of love is fading
with every passing day

No word have I heard to inspire me
Im certain no bird can desire me
I might as well take my own life
if no one will be my dear wife

A beauty or a dragon its all the same to me
just hitch her to my wagon
how cheerful we could be
how blissful it would be
how joyful we would be


This desserts not pleasant im thirsting
im thrashing with passion im bursting
im asking for what i am owed
without it I swear ill explode
im asking for what i am owed
please bring me the joy i am owed.

[beclemund]

The narration from Maya Beiser's recent release, Almost Human is Henri Michaux's From a Far-Off Country. It sounds much better from her lips than on the your computer screen though.   

Section 1

Here, we have only one sun a month, and for just a little while. We rub our eyes days ahead. But in vain. Inexorable time! Sunlight arrives only at its own hour. Then we have a world of things to do, as long as there is light, in fact we hardly have time to look at one another a bit. The trouble for us is that we must work during the night, and we really must work: dwarves are born continually.

Section 2

When you walk in the countryside, you may encounter substantial masses in your path. These are mountains, and sooner or later you'll have to bend your knee to them. Resisting will do no good. You could go no further, even if you were to hurt yourself. I do not say this in order to wound. I could say other things if I really wanted to wound.

Section 3

The dawn is gray here. It wasn't always like this. We do not know whom to accuse. In the night the cattle send out a great lowing, long and flute-like at the end. We feel compassion, but what can we do? The scent of eucalyptus surrounds us: a kindness, serenity, but it can't protect us from everything. Or do you think that it really can protect us from everything?

Section 4

I am adding another word for you, a question rather. Does water flow in your country too? (I don't remember if you've told me) and it gives you chills too, if it is the real thing. Do I love it? I don't know. One feels so alone when it's cold. But quite otherwise when it's warm. Well then? How can I decide? How do you others decide, tell me, when you speak of it without disguise, with an open heart?

Section 5

I am writing to you from the end of the world. You must realize this. Often the trees tremble. We collect the leaves. They have a ridiculous number of veins. What for? There's nothing between the leaves and the tree any more, and we go off, troubled. Could life not continue on earth without wind? Or must everything tremble, always, always? There are also subterranean disturbances, and in the house as well, like rages which might confront you, like stern beings who would like to extract confessions. We see nothing, except what is of so little import to see. Nothing. And yet we tremble. Why?

Section 6

All of us women here live with tightened throats. Do you know, although I am very young, in other times I was younger still, and my companions were also. What does that mean? There is surely something horrible in it. And in other times when, as I have already told you, we were younger still, we were afraid. Someone might have taken advantage of our confusion. Someone might have said to us, "Look, we're going to bury you. The moment has arrived." We were thinking, "It's true, we could just as well be buried this evening, if it is definitely stated that this is the moment." And we didn't dare run too much: out of breath, at the end of a race, to arrive in front of a ditch all prepared, and no time to say a word, not a breath. Tell me, just what is the secret about this?

Section 7

There are lions in the village all the time, who walk about without any constraints. On the condition that we pay no attention to them, they pay no attention to us. But if they see a young woman running in front of them, they have no desire to apologize for her anxiety. No! They devour her at once. Isn't it obvious that this is why they constantly promenade around the village, where they have nothing to do. They could just as well yawn somewhere else, right?

Section 8

For a long time, a really long time, we have been contending with the sea. In the rare times she is blue, soft, we'd believe her to be happy. But it wouldn't last. Her smell tells us so, a smell of rot (if not her bitterness...) Here I should explain this business of waves. It is insanely complicated, and the sea... I beg you, trust me. Would I want to mislead you? She, the sea, is not only a word. She is not only a fear. She exists, I swear it to you; we see her all the time. Who? We, we see her. She comes from far away to baffle and frighten us. When you come, you'll see for yourself, you will be astonished. "Hold up," you'll say, because she is bewildering. We'll look at her together. I am sure I will no longer be afraid. Tell me, will this time never come?

Section 9

I cannot leave you with a doubt. [said with a lack of confidence] I would like to speak with you again about the sea. But the obstacle remains. Brooks, streams, go forward; but not she. Listen, don't be offended, I swear it to you, I wouldn't dream of misleading you. She is like that. No matter how agitated she gets, she will halt before a little sand. She's a great falterer. She would certainly like to go forward, but there it is. Later on, maybe, one day, she will go forward.

Section 10

We are more than ever surrounded by ants. They push the dust uneasily at top speed. They take no interest in us. Not one raises its head. This is the most tightly closed society that could exist, although outdoors they constantly spread out in all directions. It doesn't matter, to realize their projects, their preoccupations... they are among themselves... everywhere. And until this moment, not one has raised its head towards us. It would rather be crushed.

Section 11

You cannot imagine all that there is in the sky, you would have to see it to believe it. So now, the... but I'm not going to tell you the name right away. In spite of their air of weighing a great deal and of occupying almost all of the sky, they have no weight, huge as they are, they don't weigh as much as a newborn baby. We call them: clouds. It is true that water comes out of them, but not by compressing them, or by Pulverizing them. It would be useless, they have so little. But by reason of their occupying lengths and lengths, widths and widths, depths also and depths, and of puffing themselves up, they succeed at last in letting a few droplets of water fall, yes, of water. And we are good and wet. We run off furious at having been caught; because nobody knows the moment when they are going to let go their drops; sometimes they remain for days without letting them go. And you would stay home in vain waiting for them.

Section 12

The education regarding chills is not handled well in this country. We are ignorant of the true rules. And when the event appears, we are left unequipped. It is Time, of course. (Is it the same where you are?) It's necessary to arrive a little before it does; you see what I'm saying, just a tiny little bit ahead. You know the story of the flea in the drawer? Yes, of course. And how true it is, don't you think? I don't know what more to say. When are we going to see each other at last?

[Scriptavolant]

Thus the ever Grateful Spring, from Henry Purcell's "The Fairy Queen".

Thus the ever Grateful Spring,
Does her yearly Tribute bring;
All your Sweets before him lay,
Then round his Altar Sing, and Play.

For life I had never cared greatly, Gerald Finzi's Song after Thomas Hardy.

For Life I had never cared greatly,
As worth a man's while;
Peradventures unsought,
Peradventures that finished in nought,
Had kept me from youth and through manhood till lately
Unwon by its style.

In earliest years–why I know not -
I viewed it askance;
Conditions of doubt,
Conditions that leaked slowly out,
May haply have bent me to stand and to show not
Much zest for its dance.

With symphonies soft and sweet colour
It courted me then,
Till evasions seemed wrong,
Till evasions gave in to its song,
And I warmed, until living aloofly loomed duller
Than life among men.

Anew I found nought to set eyes on,
When, lifting its hand,
It uncloaked a star,
Uncloaked it from fog-damps afar,
And showed its beams burning from pole to horizon
As bright as a brand.

And so, the rough highway forgetting,
I pace hill and dale
Regarding the sky,
Regarding the vision on high,
And thus re-illumed have no humour for letting
My pilgrimage fail.

[Kullervo]

Good thread. It's like having a poetry party.

[beclemund]

Another favorite is a poem by Clemens Maria Brentano put to music by Arvo Pärt for coutertenor voice, Es sang vor langen Jahren

Es sang vor langen Jahren
Wohl auch die Nachtigall;
Das war wohl süßer Schall,
Da wir zusammen waren.

Ich sing und kann nicht weinen
Und spinne so allein
Den Faden klar und rein,
Solang der Mond wird scheinen.

Da wir zusammen waren,
Da sang die Nachtigall;
Nun mahnet mich ihr Schall,
Daß du von mir gefahren.

So oft der Mond mag scheinen,
Gedenk ich dein allein;
Mein Herz ist klar und rein,
Gott wolle uns vereinen!

Seit du von mir gefahren,
Singt stets die Nachtigall;
Ich denk bei ihrem Schall,
Wie wir zusammen waren.

Gott wolle uns vereinen,
Hier spinn ich so allein;
Der Mond scheint klar und rein,
Ich sing und möchte weinen!

[greg]

The text from the third movement of Berio's Sinfonia, for eight voices and orchestra:

III
IN RUHIG FLIESSENDER BEWEGUNG

[tutti] oh peripeti [T1] nicht eilen, bitte [S1] oh [A1] no [B1] recht gemä... [S2] quatrième symphonie [A2] deuxième symphonie [T2] recht gemä... [S1] deuxième partie [A1] première partie [T1] quatrième partie [B1] troisième partie [T2] gemäche... [B1] In ruhig fliessender Bewegung [T1] sehr gemächlich nicht eilen [B1] keep going [tutti] peripetie [B1] peripetie where? [A1] and now? [B1] nothing more nothing more restful than chamber music [A1] when now? [T1] I, say I

[T1] You are nothing but an academic exercise [B1] no time for chamber music {...} we need to do something [S2] For though the silence here is almost unbroken it is not completely so he emerges as from heavy hangings. Hardly a resurrection [A2] we want that [A1] It seems there are only repeated sounds [T2] what? [A2] who? [T1] I prefer a wake [T2] why? [B1] Something is going to happen. So after a period of immaculate silence there seems to be a violin concerto being played in the other room in three quarters [A2] two violin concertos [S2] in three eights [A1] I am not deaf, of that I am convinced, that is to say half-convinced [T2] Keep going [B2] where now? [T1] With not even a small mountain on the horizon, a man would wonder where his kingdom ended [A1] where? [T1] Keep going [T2] what? [T1] a poem [B2] Keep going [T1] a danced poem, all round, and endless chain, taking turns to talk

[S2] Keep going [T1] This represents at least a thousand words I was not counting on. [A1] three thousand notes [T1] I may well be glad of them {...} But seeing Daphne and Chloé written in red, counting the seconds while nothing has happened but the obsession with the [B1] go on [A2] with the chromatic [S2] and the chromatic again [T2] Where now? [T1] I am in the air, the walls, everything yields, opens, ebbs, flows like the play of waves [S1] Keep going [B2] Yes, I feel the moment has come for us to look back, if we can and take our bearings if we are to go on. [T1] Yes, I feel the moment has come for me to look back. I must not forget this, I have not forgotten it. But I must have said it before, since I say it now. They think I am alive, not in a womb, either... Well, so there is an audience it's a fantastic public performance [B1] and the curtain comes down for the ninth time. [B1] You never noticed you were waiting. You were waiting alone, that is the show. Keep going.

[B1] I shall say my old lessons now, if I can remember it [T2] then I shall have lived they think I am alive, not in a womb, either, even that takes time.

[A1] it is [T2] keep going [A1] is it? [B1] keep going [T1] it is as if we were rooted, that's bonds if you like – the earth would have to quake. It isn't the earth, one doesn't know what it is [A1] But you all know that they will bring me to the surface one day or another and there will be a brief dialogue in the dunes [T1] maybe a kind of competition on the stage, with just eight female dancers and words falling. You don't know where, where now [A1] under the sun [T1] who now? But now I shall say my old lessons if I can remember it. I most not forget this. But I must have said it before, since I say it now.

I am listening. Well, I prefer, that, I must say I prefer that [A2] that what who you [T1] oh you know, oh you, oh I suppose the audience, well well, so there is an audience, it's a public show, you buy your seat and you wait, perhaps it's free, a free show, you take your seat and you wait for it to begin, or perhaps it's compulsory, a compulsory show...

You wait for the compulsory show to begin, it takes time, you hear a voice, perhaps it is a recitation, that is the show, someone reciting, selected passages, old favourites, or someone improvising, you can barely hear him, that's the show, you can't leave, you are afraid to leave, you make the best of it, you try to be reasonable, you came too early, here we'd need latin, it's only the beginning, it hasn't begun, he'll appear any moment, he'll begin any moment [A1] He is only preluding, clearing his throat, alone in his dressing room, or it's the stage-manager giving his instructions, his last recommendations before the curtain rises [tutti] that is the show [T1] that's the show waiting for the show, to the sound of a murmur, you try to be reasonable, perhaps it is not a voice at all, perhaps it's the air, ascending, descending, flowing, eddying, seeking exit, finding none, and the spectators, where are they, you didn't notice, in the anguish of waiting, never noticed you were waiting alone, that is the show, for the fools, in the palace, waiting [B1] the brightest star [T1] waiting alone that is the show [tutti] that is the show [T1] waiting alone in the restless air, for it to begin, while every now and then a familiar passacaglia [T2] (etwas zurükhaltend) [B1] not really [T1] filters through the other noises waiting, for something to begin, for there to be something else but you, for the power to rise, the courage to leave, picking your way through the crossed colours, seeking the cause, losing it again, seeking no longer. We shall overcome the incessant noise, for as Henri says, if this noise would stop there'd be nothing more to say. You try and be reasonable, perhaps you are blind, probably deaf, the show is over, all is over, but where then is the hand, the helping hand, or merely charitable, or the hired hand, it's a long time coming, to take yours and draw you away, that is the show, free, gratis, and for nothing, waiting alone, blind, deaf, you don't know where, you don't know for what, for a hand to come and draw you away, somewhere else, where perhaps it's worse. [S1+2] It's a real pleasure upon my word it is to be unable to drown under such conditions in a lake full of colours far from my walls [T1] where now? [A1] who now? [B1] keep going now [T1] when now? [G1] blood [A1] Just a small murder [T1] keep going [B2] hardly worth it, yet what can you expect [T1] they don't know who they are either [B1] did you hear? [T1] keep going [S2] Did you hear? [T2] stop [B2] stop [A1] do you hear? [T1] keep going [B1] Hören Sie? [T2] Dort! [B2] Heavens! There was a sound! [T1] yes, there! [B1] Ja, dort! [T2] Jesus! Das war ein Ton!

I am here so little, I see it, I feel it round me it enfolds me, it covers me, if only this voice would stop, for a second, [T1+2] it would seem long to me, a second of silence I would listen, [T2] I'd know if it was going to start again or if it was stilled for ever what would I know it with, I'd know. And I'd keep on listening [T1] I'd know if it was going to start again it's late now, and he is still talking incessantly, any old thing, repetition after repetition, talking unceasingly, in yourself, outside yourself

It's late now, he shall never hear again the lowing cattle, the rush of the stream. In a chamber, dimensions unknown, I do not move and never shall again on long road or short. But the fact is I trouble no one. But I did. And after each group disintegration, the name of Mayakovsky hangs in the clean air.

And when they ask, why all this, it is not easy to find an answer. [S2] la mer, la mer toujours recommencée [T1] For when we find ourselves, face to face, now, here, and they remind us all this can't stop the wars, can't make the old younger or lower the price of bread [A1] say it again, louder! [T1] it can't stop the wars, can't make the old younger or lower the price of bread, can't erase solitude or dull the tread outside the door, we can only nod, yes, it's true, but no need to remind, to point, for it is all with us, always, except, perhaps at certain moments, here among these rows of balconies, in a crowd or out of it, perhaps waiting to enter, watching. And tomorrow we'll read that ................ [mentions composer and title of a work included in the same program] made tulips grow in my garden and altered the flow of the ocean currents. We must believe it's true. There must be something else. Otherwise it would be quite hopeless. But it is quite hopeless. Unquestioning. But it can't go on. It, say it, not knowing what.

It's getting late. Where now? When now? I have a present for you. Keep going, page after page. Keep going, going on, call that going, call that on. But wait. He is barely moving, now, almost still. Should I make my introductions? {This voice introduces to the public the other seven singers.} But now it's done, it's over, we've had our chance. There was even, for a second, hope of resurrection, or almost, Mein junges Leben hat ein End. We must collect our thoughts, for the unexpected is always upon us, in our rooms, in the street, at the door, on a stage. Thank you, Mr. {full name of the conductor}

I love it!!!!!!!!!!!!
i don't have the lyrics to that one, so most of that is actually new to me, i missed most of it or something.

And tomorrow we'll read that ................ [mentions composer and title of a work included in the same program] made tulips grow in my garden and altered the flow of the ocean currents. We must believe it's true. There must be something else. Otherwise it would be quite hopeless. But it is quite hopeless. Unquestioning. But it can't go on. It, say it, not knowing what.

LLLLLLLLOOOOOOOOOOLLLLLLLLLLLL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
this just might be the best part, that's gold.
i'm going to listen to that movement again, see if i can catch that

Thank you, Mr. {full name of the conductor}

in my version it's Mr."Boulez" 
when i first heard it, I was like, "ah...... so you do pronounce it like that. I thought it was Boul-ay".

[Bonehelm]

Happy birthday to you...happy birthday to you...happy birthday to [insertlameasspersonsnamewhostilllikestheideaofbirthdaypartiesinthe21stcenturyhere], happy birthday to you!

[greg]

[insertlameasspersonsnamewhostilllikestheideaofbirthdaypartiesinthe21stcenturyhere]

that's even longer than most Finnish words 
is happy birthday even classical?...

[Wendell_E]

I love it!!!!!!!!!!!!
i don't have the lyrics to that one, so most of that is actually new to me, i missed most of it or something.

Yep, in the Boulez recording it's Berio's Eindrücke (the other work on the CD) that makes the tuplis grow.  I did catch that, but it's great to have the complete text.  Thanks, Symphonien.

[Kullervo]

is happy birthday even classical?...

Stravinsky quoted it.

[greg]

Yep, in the Boulez recording it's Berio's Eindrücke (the other work on the CD) that makes the tuplis grow.  I did catch that, but it's great to have the complete text.  Thanks, Symphonien.

actually, while listening again, i noticed another line "there's nothing so restful as chamber music" and a few more that didn't fit the text? i wonder if the text is somewhat aleatoric?

Stravinsky quoted it.

aha, so it is classical! 

[Wendell_E]

actually, while listening again, i noticed another line "there's nothing so restful as chamber music" and a few more that didn't fit the text? i wonder if the text is somewhat aleatoric?

Symphonien's text does include "nothing more nothing more restful than chamber music " near the end of the first paragraph.  Of course, that's slightly different from "there's nothing so restful as chamber music".

[greg]

Symphonien's text does include "nothing more nothing more restful than chamber music " near the end of the first paragraph.  Of course, that's slightly different from "there's nothing so restful as chamber music".

lol guess i missed it

[pjme]

Arguably not the greatest poetry - but the combination text/music is very effective and emotive. Beautiful.

ANTON WEBERN (1883-1945)
First Cantata op. 29
for soprano solo, mixed chorus and orchestra
Text: Hildegard Jone

I.
Chorus
The lightning?flash kindling life
struck from the cloud of the Word.
Thunder, the heartbeat, follows after,
untill it ebbs away in peace.

II
Soprano
Little winged mapleseed, you hover in the wind!
Yet you must fall to the darkness of the earth.
But you will rise again to daylight,
to all Spring's scents and its season:
you will rise from your roots into brightness:
soon, too, you will take root in heaven.
You will again put out little wings.
That already carry in themselves your whole
form silently promising life.

III
Chorus
When the blessed strings of Apollo sound,
who calls them Graces?
When he plays his song in the deepening evening,
who thinks of Apollo?
Yet in that sound the earliest names
have all faded away;
yet in that Word the weaker words
have long since died;
and the paler images also
have melted away into the seal of the spectrum.
Soprano
Charis, the gift of the Highest,
the charm of her grace sparkles!
Chorus
She offers herself in the darkness
Soprano
to the burgeoning heart
Chorus
like perfection's
Sopranodew.


I. Kantate op. 29
für Sopran-Solo, gemischten Chor und Orchester
Text: Hildegard Jone

I
Chor
Zündender Lichtblitz des Lebens
schlug ein aus der Wolke des Wortes.
Donner, der Herzschlag, folgt nach,
bis er in Frieden verebbt.

II
Sopran
Kleiner Flügel Ahornsamen schwebst im Winde!
Mußt doch in der Erde Dunkel sinken.
Aber du wirst auferstehn dem Tage,
all den Düften und der Frühlingszeit;
wirst aus Wurzeln in das Helle steigen,
bald im Himmel auch verwurzelt sein.
Wieder wirst aus dir du kleine Flügel senden.
die in sich schon tragen deine ganze
schweigend Leben sagende Gestalt.

III
Chor
Tönen die seligen Saiten Apolls,
wer nennt sie Chariten?
Spielt er sein Lied durch den wachsenden Abend,
wer denket Apollon?
Sind doch im Klange die früheren Namen
alle verklungen;
sind doch im Worte die schwächeren Worte
lange gestorben;
und auch die blasseren Bilder
zum Siegel des Spektrums geschmolzen.
Sopran
Charis, die Gabe des Höchsten:
die Anmut der Gnade erglänzet!
Chor
Schenkt sich im Dunkel
Sopran
dem werdenden Herzen
Chor
als Tau
Sopran
der Vollendung.