Attention! Some of this material is not in the public domain.
It is illegal to copy and distribute our copyright-protected material without permission. It is also illegal to reprint copyright texts or translations without the name of the author or translator.
To inquire about permissions and rates, contact Emily Ezust at licenses@email.lieder.example.net
If you wish to reprint translations, please make sure you include the names of the translators in your email. They are below each translation.
Note: You must use the copyright symbol © when you reprint copyright-protected material.
So müd hin schwand es in die Nacht, sein flehendes Lied, sein Bogenstrich, und seufzend bin ich aufgewacht. Wie hat er mich so klargemacht, so sanft und klar, der Traum -- und war doch bis ins Trübste feierlich. Hoch hing der Mond; das Schneegefild lag bleich und öde um uns her, wie meine Seele grauenschwer, Denn neben mir, so starr und wild, so starr und kalt wie meine Not, von mir gerufen voll Begehr Saß starr und wartete der Tod. Da kam es her wie einst so mild, so müd' und sacht aus ferner Nacht, so kummerschwer kam einer Geige Hauch daher, kam dämmernd her des Freundes Bild. Der mich umflochten wie ein Band, daß meine Jugend nicht zerfiel, und daß mein Herz die Sehnsucht fand, die große Sehnsucht ohne Ziel: da stand er nun im öden Land ein Schatten trüb und feierlich und sah nicht auf noch grüßte mich, Nur seine Töne ließ er irr'n und weinen durch die kalte Flur; und mir entgegen starrte nur aus seiner Stirn, als wär's ein Auge hohl und fahl, der tiefen Wunde dunkles Mal. Und trüber quoll das trübe Lied und quoll so heiß, und wuchs, und schwoll, so heiß und voll wie Leben, das nach Liebe glüht, wie Liebe, die nach Leben schreit, nach ungenossner Seligkeit, so wehevoll, so wühlend quoll das strömende Lied und flutete; und leise, leise blutete und strömte mit in's öde Schneefeld rot und fahl der tiefen Wunde dunkles Mal. Und müder glitt die müde Hand, und vor mir stand ein bleicher Tag, ein ferner, bleicher Jugendtag, Da starr im Sand er selber ein Zerfallner lag, da seine Sehnsucht sich vergaß, in ihrer Schwermut Übermaß und ihrer Traurigkeiten müd zum Ziele schritt; und laut aufschrie das weinende Lied, wie Todesschrei, und flutete, und seiner Saiten Klage schnitt, und seine Stirne blutete und weinte mit in meine starre Seelennot, als sollt' ich hören ein Gebot, als müßt ich jubeln, daß ich litt, als möcht er fühlen, was ich litt mitfühlen alles Leidens Schuld und alles Lebens warme Huld -- und weinend, blutend wandt' er sich ins bleiche Dunkel und verblich. Und bebend hört' ich mir entgehn, entfliehn sein Lied. Und wie es zart und zarter ward, der langen Töne fernes Flehn, da fühlt' ich kalt ein Rauschen wehn Und grauenschwer die Luft sich rühren um mich her, und wollte bebend nun ihn sehn, ihn lauschen sehn, der wartend saß bei meiner Not, und wandte mich -- : da lag es kahl, das bleiche Feld, und fern und fahl entwich ins Dunkel auch der Tod. Hoch hing der Mond, und mild und müd hin schwand es in die leere Nacht, das flehende Lied, und schwand und schied, des toten Freundes flehendes Lied; und dankbar bin ich aufgewacht.
Authorship:
- by Richard Fedor Leopold Dehmel (1863 - 1920), "Notturno" [author's text checked 1 time against a primary source]
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):
- by Artur Schnabel (1882 - 1951), "Notturno", 1914. [medium voice and piano] [ sung text not verified ]
Another version of this text exists in the database.
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- ENG English (Sharon Krebs) , "Notturno", copyright © 2014, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- FRE French (Français) (Pierre Mathé) , "Notturno", copyright © 2010, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Researcher for this page: Pierre Mathé [Guest Editor]
This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 87
Word count: 455
So wearily it disappeared into the night, His pleading song, his bow-strokes, And sighing I awakened. How clear it made everything to me, So soft and clear, The dream -- and yet It was solemn to the depths of sorrow. The moon hung high; the snowy expanse Lay pale and desolate about us, Like my soul heavy with dread, For beside me, so rigid and wild, As rigid and cold as my suffering, Called by me full of desire, Death sat stiffly and waited. Then it came wafting over as mildly as in the past, So wearily and gently From distant night, So heavy with sorrow The breath of a violin came, Dimly the image of a friend came. He who had woven himself about me like a ribbon So that my youth did not fall apart, And that my heart found that longing, The great longing without an object: There he stood now in the desolate land, A pale and solemn shadow, And neither looked up nor greeted me, Only his musical sounds did he let drift And weep through the cold meadow; And only staring at me From his brow, As if it were an eye, hollow and pallid, Was the dark mark of a deep wound. And more drearily the dreary song poured forth, And poured forth so fervidly and grew and swelled, As hot and full As life that glows for love, As love that screams for life, And for bliss not savoured, Thus full of pain, Thus raging poured forth The streaming song and surged; And quietly, quietly also bled and flowed Into the desolate snow-field, red and wan, The dark mark of the deep wound. And ever more wearily floated the weary hand, And before me stood A pale day, A distant, pale day of youth, When stiffly in the sand He himself lay, a mouldering ruin, When his yearning forgot itself In the excesses of its depression And tired of its sadness, And strode toward the goal; And the weeping song screamed loudly and suddenly, Like a scream of death, and surged forth, And the lament of his strings cut, And his brow bled And joined in the weeping Into the frozen misery of my soul, As if I should hear a command, As if I should rejoice that I suffer, As if he wanted to feel what I suffered, Feel with empathy all the guilt of my suffering And all the warm benevolence of life -- And weeping, bleeding he turned away Into the pale darkness and perished. And with trembling I heard his song Evading me and fleeing from me. And as it Became delicate and more delicate The distant pleading of the long tones, I felt the blowing of a cold wind And laden with dread I felt the air bestirring itself about me, And trembling, I wanted now to see him, To see him listening, He, who sat waiting during my misery, And I turned -- there lay bleakly The pale field, and distantly and wanly Death too vanished into the darkness. The moon hung high; and gently and wearily It vanished into the empty night, The pleading song, And vanished and departed, The pleading song of my dead friend; And with gratitude I awakened.
Authorship:
- Translation from German (Deutsch) to English copyright © 2014 by Sharon Krebs, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you may ask the copyright-holder(s) directly or ask us; we are authorized to grant permission on their behalf. Please provide the translator's name when contacting us.
Contact: licenses@email.lieder.example.net
Based on:
- a text in German (Deutsch) by Richard Fedor Leopold Dehmel (1863 - 1920), "Notturno"
This text was added to the website: 2014-08-15
Line count: 87
Word count: 543