My wife, Nirmala, was asleep beside me. I was still reading. I had put down one book and took up another, one somewhat less heavy (subject-wise) in the hope I could read myself to sleep. It worked. After reading the first chapter of Per Pettersen's award-winning novel, Out Stealing Horses, I put out the light. The blurb of the book had informed me that I was about to read a story of an old man who isolates himself in a cabin in a remote part of Norway, and reminisces about his long life. The old man, it turns out, is sixty-seven. Younger than me, I thought; it's later than you think... The dream I had that night was very vivid. I was walking up a mountain path; the countryside was beautiful. Each side of the path was flanked by tall oaks and stately maples. Their leaves were in various shades of yellow, red, and gold; although it was autumn, the weather was still very gentle. I was alone. As I walked up the path, I noticed a lovely woman ahead of me, standing uphill next to a huge oak, the trunk of which had been bent and gnarled by many years of difficult weather. As I approached her, she said these exact words: "You think you're still young, but you already have one foot in the grave." She smiled and concluded with, "Don't be afraid!" I looked down and watched a tree sloth inch across the road. If you ever saw a tree sloth moving on the ground, you know how very difficult it is for one to get from A to B. They have to extend one of their very long arms, then use the muscles of that arm to drag their body along. It's a very slow process; it looks ridiculous. Absurd, I suppose, as an old man moving six feet a minute with the aid of a walker. After the sloth had passed, I looked up; the woman was gone. I realized at this time that the apparition was none other than Nature Herself. Leaves began to fall; I didn't feel the wind, but it was driving autumn leaves along the path. It was now dusk. I felt very peaceful, albeit somewhat sad. Winter was coming, no doubt about that. I think Nature "spoke" to me telepathically; the dream was silent until the very end, when, from somewhere and everywhere, music quietly filled my being. It seemed as if the very trees were singing--a very chromatic arrangement of a spiritual, as beautiful as it was sad. Paradoxically, though, I felt happy---or, at least, serene. Something was assuring me that the really good times were about to begin. I only heard the first few notes, before everything disappeared. The next morning I was able to recall the one or two measures I had heard in the dream--(perhaps there had been more, I don't really know.) I spent much of the next day finishing the arrangement which my dream had begun. I didn''t want to forget it, so I had my son record it. You're invited to listen. (Wish I were a better pianist; hope something still comes across.) Soon I Will Be Done
I recently taught a four-week course on Goethe's Faust at the Osher Institute of Towson University. There was so much to cover in so little time! I wanted to play recordings and analyze two Schubert songs with texts by Goethe, but couldn't, due to time constraints. This essay, however, will do just that. It is made available for anyone with an interest in music and in literature.
First Lied: Gretchen am Spinnrade (Gretchen at the Spinning Wheel), by Schubert with a Text by Goethe Let's begin with a few words about the poem. Gretchen recites (or sings) the words while she spins fiber into yarn at a spinning wheel. The intensity of her love for Faust has destroyed her ability to live any longer within the confines she had known all her life. She is young, inexperienced and has fallen, as they say, madly in love. She has not yet had sex with Faust; he will soon give her a sleeping potion for her mother, so he can seduce her at home. (Her mother will never wake up.) The poem is written in Knittelvers; each pair of two lines has four strong beats, with a varying number of syllables occurring before each beat, usually one, two or three. The very regular beats throughout the poem suggest the constant spinning of the wheel. The poem is a masterpiece. I know of no other poem that depicts sexual obsession as eloquently. Gretchen's entire world has been reduced to one man; there is room for nothing else. She is losing her grip on reality and she knows it. Goethe's original version is followed by my translation:
Meine Ruh' ist hin, Mein Herz ist schwer, Ich finde sie nimmer Und nimmermehr.
Wo ich ihn nicht hab Ist mir das Grab, Die ganze Welt Ist mir vergällt.
Mein armer Kopf Ist mir verrückt, Mein armer Sinn Ist mir zerstückt.
Meine Ruh' ist hin, Mein Herz ist schwer, Ich finde sie nimmer Und nimmermehr. Nach ihm nur schau ich Zum Fenster hinaus, Nach ihm nur geh ich Aus dem Haus. Sein hoher Gang, Sine edle Gestalt, Seines Mundes Lächeln, Seiner Augen Gewalt, Und seiner Rede Zauberfluss, Sein Händedruck, Und ach! sein Kuss-- Meine Ruh' ist hin, Mein Herz ist schwer, Ich finde sie nimmer Und nimmermehr. Mein Busen drängt sich Nach ihm hin, Ach, dürft ich fassen Und halten ihn, Und küssen ihn, Ganz wie ich wollt, An seinen Küssen Vergehen sollt!
Prose translation:
My peace is gone,
My heart is sore,
I'll never have peace,
Again, nevermore.
It's like a grave
When I'm not with him;
The entire world
Is spoiled for me.
My poor head
Is going mad;
My poor mind
Has gone to pieces.
My peace is gone,
My heart is sore,
I'll never have peace
Again, nevermore.
When I look out the window
I'm looking for him;
To find him is the sole reason
I'd leave my house;
His noble gait,
His noble form,
The way he laughs,
The power of his eyes,
And the magical flow
Of his speech--
The touch of his hand,
And ah! his kiss--
My peace is gone,
My heart is sore,
I'll never have peace
Again, nevermore.
My heart is yearning,
Yearning for him--
Oh if I could embrace
And hold onto him
And kiss him
As much as I'd like--
From his kisses
To fade from sight!
Schubert put the poem to music in 1814; it is his Opus 2 and his first successful lied. He was only sixteen years old at the time! The song is a miracle. It depicts Gretchen's distress and sexual obsession brilliantly and poignantly. What other composer or writer has ever begun his career fully mature at such a young age? Schubert went on to write many great compositions, some of which equal this one, but none surpassed it. In comparison, Mozart, the very paradigm of prodigy, only began writing masterpieces in his early twenties.
The accompaniment is ingenious. Schubert uses a pedal tone and two eighth notes followed by an eighth note rest in the bass to indicate Gretchen's foot on the pedal as it drives the wheel. The constant spinning of the wheel is beautifully depicted by groups of sixteenth notes, 12 per measure, in the treble. (The composition, as one might expect, is an a minor key.) The meter is 6/8, which is heard by the ear as two strong beats per measure of 6 sixteenth notes each, thus indicating the monotony of the endless spinning.
Schubert's music is, however, never monotonous. He changes the dynamics and the harmony to fit the increasing emotional intensity. The poem was well suited for the composer. The constant rhythmic pattern of the piece anchored Schubert's mind, as it were, which had the tendency to float away in any direction his invention decided to take him. (We will hear an example of this in Prometheus.)
The key very effectively turns--albeit briefly--to major as she thinks of Faust's handsome qualities. The true touch of genius, however, is the high point of the piece, where Gretchen imagines Faust kissing her. She is so moved that she takes her foot off the pedal and the spinning stops, to great effect.
After this, the spinning begins with the return of the rondo-like stanza of "My peace is gone." But it is really gone now--A crescendo begins, evoking increasing emotional distress, which culminates in an almost unbearable intensity with the repetition of "Oh if I could embrace..." The poem ends at this point, but the music would seem very incomplete if it ended here Schubert wisely has Gretchen return to her quiet spinning wheel-despair with a repeat of the rondo stanza. Even if Schubert had been older at the time of this composition, the only proper reaction to this lied is awe Now let's turn to a recording:
This is a recording of the lied sung by Kiri Te Kanawa, accompanied by Richard Amner on the piano. I begin with this since it provides the musical notation. Te Kanawa has a beautiful voice and does indeed sing in a very pleasing manner. But this text demands a lot more than beautiful singing. It is a rather bloodless and passionless performance. The pianist's performance is too perfunctory. Neither of them understand the text, or at the very least, choose not to understand it.
Now let's turn to another performance of this lied, sung by Renee Fleming accompanied by Christoph Eschenbach:
What a masterful performance by both singer and pianist! Both performers give a highly emotional rendering--without ever overdoing it--just as the text demands. You can hear the anxiety in Fleming's voice from the very beginning. The performance by Eschenbach is every bit as impressive--what a team! I'm going to emphasize only one thing--the high point of the piece, the G natural above middle C of "Kuss" ("Kiss") Te Kanawa sings the note beautifully and gently, with an operatic fade in dynamics at the end. Beautiful, but totally inappropriate, in my opinion. In contrast, Fleming attacks the G with force, indicating the height of Gretchen's distress--it is quite riveting. I think Schubert would have loved this performance.
One more recording, Evgeny Kissen playing the Schubert/Liszt piano transcription. If you want to hear great technique, exquisite phrasing along with intensely emotional playing, Kissen is the pianist for you. His Gretchen begins with a more quiet despair than Fleming's does; the emotion, however, increases and increases--and increases. He understands the text perfectly; he knows how to build up the emotion until a climax which leaves one almost breathless. What can I say? This performance makes my hair stand on end, it is that intense. Kissen performed this when he was about 18!--Now I can understand the sixteen year old Schubert a little better--but only a little!
Note: For those of you who are aficianados of this type of music, I suggest that you listen to Yuja Wang's interpretation of the same piece, the Schubert/Liszt Gretchen am Spinnrade, which is available on YouTube. In which version does Gretchen's personality become passionately and musically alive? Although Wang is an accomplished pianist, compared to Kissen, she is just playing notes. One might want to read my essay, Wanderers Nachtlied ll (by googling that title and adding Thomasdorsett) in which I compare the Wanderers Nachtlied by Schubert with the lied by Carl Loewe (1796-1869), to the same text, perhaps the most famous of all Goethe's poems. Although Loewe was much less gifted than Schubert, I contend that he understood this text better and composed a very effective lied. I also invite you to listen to his Gretchen am Spinnrade, sung by Brigitte Fassbaender, which is available on YouTube. Notice that Loewe composes "Nach ihm nur geh' ich aus dem Haus" in a major key, as if it were something positive that Gretchen enjoyed doing--the feeling of an all-inclusive obsession is lacking totally. Not so in Schubert's vastly superior version, in which Gretchen's angst is readily apparent. Second Lied: Prometheus, by Schubert with a Text by Goethe
I have analyzed this poem (google: Thomasdorsett Goethe's Prometheus) and invite readers to refer to it. Here I will only present the poem and my English translation:
PROMETHEUS Bedecke deinen Himmel, Zeus, Mit Wolkendunst Und übe, dem Knaben gleich, Der Disteln köpft, An Eichen dich und Bergeshöhn; Musst mir meine Erde Doch lassen stehn Und meine Hütte, die du nicht gebaut, Und meinen Herd, Um dessen Glut Du mich beneidest. Ich kenne nichts Ärmeres Unter der Sonn als euch, Götter! Ihr nähret kümmerlich Von Opfersteuern Und Gebetshauch Eure Majestät Und darbtet, wären Nicht Kinder und Bettler Hoffnungsvolle Toren. Da ich ein Kind war, Nicht wusste, wo aus noch ein, Kehrt ich mein verirrtes Auge Zur Sonne, als wenn drüber wär Ein Ohr, zu hören meine Klage, Ein Herz wie meins, Sich des Bedrängten zu erbarmen. Wer half mir Wider der Titanen Übermut? Wer rettete vom Tode mich, Von Sklaverei? Hast du nicht alles selbst vollendet, Heilig glühend Herz? Und glühtest jung und gut, Betrogen, Rettungsdank Dem Schlafenden da droben? Ich dich ehren? Wofür? Hast du die Schmerzen gelindert Je des Beladenen? Hast du die Tränen gestillet Je des Geängsteten? Hat nicht mich zum Manne geschmiedet Die allmächtige Zeit Und das ewige Schicksal, Meine Herrn und deine? Wähntest du etwa, Ich sollte das Leben hassen, In Wüsten fliehen, Weil nicht alle Blütenträume reiften? Hier sitz ich, forme Menschen Nach meinem Bilde, Ein Geschlecht, das mir gleich sei, Zu leiden, zu weinen, Zu geniessen und zu freuen sich, Und dein nicht zu achten, Wie ich!
PROMETHEUS Conceal your heaven in mist, Zeus, and practice on oaks and mountaintops like a little boy who beheads thistles; my earth, however, you must leave intact, along with my hut which you didn't build, and my hearth, the flame of which provokes your envy. I know nothing more destitute under the sun than you gods! Your majesty wretchedly gets by with offerings and the breaths of prayer; you would starve to death if beggars and children weren't hopeful fools. When I was an ignorant child, my mistaken eyes turned to the sun, as if there were an ear up there to witness my lament, or a heart like mine to pity those in distress. Who helped me when I opposed the rashness of the Titans? Who saved me from death and slavery? Wasn't it you, my holy, fiery heart, who accomplished it all by yourself? And once, young and decent, didn't you radiate thanks of deliverance toward Him who sleeps above? Why should I honor you? Have you ever eased the pain of the troubled? Have you ever stilled the tears of the anguished? Haven't eternal destiny --your master and mine-- and all-powerful time forged the man I've become? Do you really believe that I should detest life and flee to the wilderness just because many dreams bloom and don't survive? I'm seated here, form human beings according to my image, a race that will follow my lead, to suffer, to cry, to enjoy, to rejoice, and to ignore you completely, just like me. --Translated by Thomas Dorsett
Here is a recording of Schubert's lied, as sung by Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau, accompanied by
This is not one of Schubert's most successful lieder. It is a very angry poem, and the expression of anger was not one of Schubert's strong points. (He excelled in portraying--exquisitely--both youthful despair and youthful exuberance. Beethoven expressed anger very well, of which the "Ha, Welch' ein Augenblick" aria from Fidelio is an outstanding example.) Schubert's attempt at anger here--a rather pompous beginning along with subsequent tremulos in the bass--is not very convincing. Notice that he leaves anger behind beginning with "Ich kenne nichts Aermeres.." ("I know nothing more destitute"), although he returns to this emotion briefly later on in the lied.
The real problem for Schubert here is the irregular, changing meter of the poem As mentioned earlier, Schubert loved regular meters in poetry, which "anchored" him and gave him the opportunity to balance the regularity with astonishing melodies and harmonies. Schubert is best, of course, at melodies--he was one of the greatest melodists in the history of music--he was much less inclined toward dramatic declaration. The non-melodic declarative sections of this lied do not work very well. (This is not to say that Schubert lacked a sense of drama--Many of his lieder are replete with dramatic intensity e.g., Gretchen am Spinnrade, but he is best at moving the drama along via melody. This might be C plus Schubert in comparison with the A plus Schubert of the first lied, but it is still Schubert; Prometheus is not without lovely moments. I think the ending is very beautiful, although the emotion expressed is, I think, very different from the intent of the poem. It is not anger with which the lied terminates, but with a religious solemnity, indicating the grandeur and dignity of mankind standing up on its own without an imagined crutch. As an addendum, I would like to end with a twentieth-century version of this poem by Hugo Wolf. Here melody is subordinated to dramatic intensity; the accompaniment tells the drama, and has an even more important role than the singer--which almost never occurs with Schubert! A fierce anger informs the entire composition (--perhaps a little too much anger?--I leave that up to you!) Since melody is not emphasized here, Wolf has no problem with the changes of rhythm of this free verse-like poem. Prometheus's anger is palpable throughout. Wolf's version is much more in accord with the poem--perhaps it is more angry than Goethe's poem, but it is a very valid interpretation.
I have no objection if you still prefer Schubert's version--Grade C Schubert is still Grade A when compared to most composers! I just wanted to point out why his Prometheus is not among his best lieder. I would like to summarize by stating the obvious: Goethe's poem Gretchen am Spinnrade is a very great poem. Astonishingly, however, a sixteen year old unknown composer wrote a lied to this text that is every bit as great as the poem. What a combination! Addendum: Goethe Essays by Thomas Dorsett (They can be accessed on the Internet by googling the title along with Thomasdorsett.) 1. Goethe's Prometheus 2. Wanderers Nachtlied ll 3. Who Never Ate His Bread in Tears 4. Goethe's Wanderers Nachtlied und ein Einfacheres 5. A Fictional NDE-like Experience from Goethe's Faust Part 2 (to be posted soon.) 6. (An Analysis of Two Schubert/Goethe Lieder)
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