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Lieder aus „The Gardener“
Translations © by Bertram Kottmann
Song Cycle by Ann Marie Callaway (b. 1949)
View original-language texts alone: Songs From the Gardener
If you would be busy and fill your pitcher, come, O come to my lake. The water will cling round your feet and babble its secret. The shadow of the coming rain is on the sands, and the clouds hang low upon the blue lines of the trees like the heavy hair above your eyebrows. I know well the rhythm of your steps, they are beating in my heart. Come, O come to my lake, if you must fill your pitcher. If you would be idle and sit listless and let your pitcher float on the water, come, O come to my lake. The grassy slope is green, and the wild flowers beyond number. Your thoughts will stray out of your dark eyes like birds from their nests. Your veil will drop to your feet. Come, O come to my lake if you must sit idle. If you would leave off your play and dive in the water, come, O come to my lake. Let your blue mantle lie on the shore; the blue water will cover you and hide you. The waves will stand a-tiptoe to kiss your neck and whisper in your ears. Come, O come to my lake, if you would dive in the water. If you must be mad and leap to your death, come, O come to my lake. It is cool and fathomlessly deep. It is dark like a sleep that is dreamless. There in its depths nights and days are one, and songs are silence. Come, O come to my lake, if you would plunge to your death.
Text Authorship:
- by Rabindranath Tagore (1861 - 1941), no title, appears in The Gardener, no. 12, first published 1913
Based on:
- a text in Bangla (Bengali) by Rabindranath Tagore (1861 - 1941) [text unavailable]
See other settings of this text.
Wärst du in Eile, deinen Krug zu füllen, dann komme, komm’ an meinen See. Das Wasser wird deine Füße umschmiegen und dir sein Geheimnis murmeln. Der Regen wirft schon seinen Schatten auf den Sand voraus, und das Gewölk hängt tief auf einem blau umriss’nen Blätterdach, so wie dein Haar wallt über deinen Brauen. Den Rhythmus deiner Schritte kenne ich genau, da sie in meinem Herzen pochen. Komme, komm’ an meinen See, wenn deinen Krug du füllen musst. Wärst müßig du und säßest matt und ließest deinen Krug dann auf dem Wasser treiben, so komme, komm’ an meinen See. Sein Uferhang ist grün und übersät von wilden Blumen ohne Zahl. Aus deinen dunkeln Augen wird Gedanke um Gedanke schweifen, wie Vögel aus dem Nest. Dein Schleier wird hinab zu deinen Füßen gleiten. Komme, komm’ an meinen See, wenn du Ruhe suchen musst . Und stelltest du das Spiel des Lebens ein und tauchtest ein ins Wasser, so komme, komm’ an meinen See. Leg deinen blauen Umhang ab am Ufer; das blaue Wasser wird dich hüllend decken. Die Wellen werden auf den Zehenspitzen stehen, um deinen Nacken zu liebkosen und dir ins Ohr zu wispern. Komme, komm’ an meinen See, wenn du einst tauchst ins Wasser. Und musst du irre werden und in den Tod springen, dann komme, komm’ an meinen See. mein See ist kühl und unermesslich tief. Er ist so dunkel wie ein Schlafen ohne Traum. In seinen Tiefen sind Nacht und Tag eins geworden und alle Lieder sind verstummt. Komme, komm’ an meinen See, wenn einst in den Tod du tauchst.
Text Authorship:
- Translation from English to German (Deutsch) copyright © 2015 by Bertram Kottmann, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you must ask the copyright-holder(s) directly for permission. If you receive no response, you must consider it a refusal.
Bertram Kottmann.  Contact: BKottmann (AT) t-online.de
If you wish to commission a new translation, please contact: licenses@email.lieder.example.net
Based on:
- a text in English by Rabindranath Tagore (1861 - 1941), no title, appears in The Gardener, no. 12, first published 1913
Based on:
- a text in Bangla (Bengali) by Rabindranath Tagore (1861 - 1941) [text unavailable]
Go to the general single-text view
Translation of title "Come to my lake" = "Komm' an meinen See"This text was added to the website: 2015-10-27
Line count: 32
Word count: 262
My heart, the bird of the wilderness, has found its sky in your eyes: They are the cradle of the morning, they are the kingdom of the stars; My songs are lost in their depths. Let me but soar in that sky, in its lonely immensity! Let me but cleave its clouds and spread wings in its sunshine.
Text Authorship:
- by Rabindranath Tagore (1861 - 1941), no title, appears in The Gardener, no. 31, first published 1913
Based on:
- a text in Bangla (Bengali) by Rabindranath Tagore (1861 - 1941) [text unavailable]
See other settings of this text.
Mein Herz, ein wilder Vogel, - in deinen Augen hat es seinen Himmel wohl gefunden. Sie sind's, in denen sich der Morgen wiegt, sie sind der Sterne Königreich; in ihren Tiefen haben meine Lieder sich verloren. Ach lass' in diesen Himmel mich entschweben, in seine einsame Unendlichkeit. Ach lass mich teilen sein Gewölk, in seinem Sonnenlicht die Flügel breiten.
Text Authorship:
- Translation from English to German (Deutsch) copyright © 2015 by Bertram Kottmann, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you must ask the copyright-holder(s) directly for permission. If you receive no response, you must consider it a refusal.
Bertram Kottmann.  Contact: BKottmann (AT) t-online.de
If you wish to commission a new translation, please contact: licenses@email.lieder.example.net
Based on:
- a text in English by Rabindranath Tagore (1861 - 1941), no title, appears in The Gardener, no. 31, first published 1913
Based on:
- a text in Bangla (Bengali) by Rabindranath Tagore (1861 - 1941) [text unavailable]
Go to the general single-text view
This text was added to the website: 2015-06-28
Line count: 9
Word count: 58
In the morning I cast my net into the sea. I dragged up from the dark abyss things of strange aspect and strange beauty -- some shone like a smile, some glistened like tears, and some were flushed like the cheeks of a bride. When with the day's burden I went home, my love was sitting in the garden idly tearing the leaves of a flower. I hesitated for a moment, and then placed at her feet all that I had dragged up, and stood silent. She glanced at them and said, "What strange things are these? I know not of what use they are!" I bowed my head in shame and thought, "I have not fought for these, I did not buy them in the market; they are not fit gifts for her." Then the whole night through I flung them one by one into the street. In the morning travellers came; they picked them up and carried them into far countries.
Text Authorship:
- by Rabindranath Tagore (1861 - 1941), no title, appears in The Gardener, no. 3
Based on:
- a text in Bangla (Bengali) by Rabindranath Tagore (1861 - 1941) [text unavailable]
Go to the general single-text view
Am Morgen warf’ ich meine Netze aus ins Meer. Aus abgrundtiefem Dunkel zog ich Seltsames herauf und Schönes. Manch eines strahlte wie ein Lächeln, manch eines glitzerte wie Tränen, und manches war errötet wie die Wangen einer Braut. Als ich heimkam mit des Tages schwerem Fang, traf ich die Liebste an im Garten. Träge riss sie an Blättern einer Blume. Ich zauderte im ersten Augenblick. Dann legt' ich ihr zu Füßen, was ich hochgezogen, und schwieg. Flüchtigen Blicks sah sie es an und fragte: „Was ist das Seltsames? Weiß wirklich nicht, wofür es gut sein soll!“ Beschämt senkt’ ich den Kopf und dachte: „Ich habe nicht darum gekämpft, ich hab’s nicht auf dem Markt erstanden; es ist kein passendes Geschenk für sie.“ Dann warf ich es, eins nach dem andern, die ganze Nacht lang auf die Straße. Am Morgen kamen Reisende; sie hoben die Geschenke auf und brachten sie in ferne Länder.
Text Authorship:
- Translation from English to German (Deutsch) copyright © 2016 by Bertram Kottmann, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you must ask the copyright-holder(s) directly for permission. If you receive no response, you must consider it a refusal.
Bertram Kottmann.  Contact: BKottmann (AT) t-online.de
If you wish to commission a new translation, please contact: licenses@email.lieder.example.net
Based on:
- a text in English by Rabindranath Tagore (1861 - 1941), no title, appears in The Gardener, no. 3
Based on:
- a text in Bangla (Bengali) by Rabindranath Tagore (1861 - 1941) [text unavailable]
Go to the general single-text view
Translation of title "Unspoken things" = "Unausgesprochenes"This text was added to the website: 2016-03-13
Line count: 18
Word count: 152
Speak to me, my love! Tell me in words what you sang. The night is dark. The stars are lost in clouds. The wind is sighing through the leaves. I will let loose my hair. My blue cloak will cling round me like [night]1. I will clasp your head to my bosom; And there in the sweet loneliness murmur on your heart. I will shut my eyes and listen. I will not look in your face. When your words are ended, we will sit still and silent. Only the trees will whisper in the dark. The night will pale. The day will dawn. We shall look at each other's eyes and go on our different paths. Speak to me, my love! Tell me in words what you sang.
Text Authorship:
- by Rabindranath Tagore (1861 - 1941), no title, appears in The Gardener, no. 29, first published 1915
Based on:
- a text in Bangla (Bengali) by Rabindranath Tagore (1861 - 1941) [text unavailable]
See other settings of this text.
View original text (without footnotes)1 Bridge: "the night"
Sprich zu mir, mein Freund! Sag' es mit Worten, was du sangst. Schwarz ist die Nacht. Die Sterne im Gewölk versunken. Der Wind, er seufzt im Blätterdach. Mein Haar werde ich lösen. Und wie die Nacht wird dich mein blaues Cape umfangen. Ich werd' dein Haupt an meinem Busen bergen; in dieser wonn'gen Einsamkeit an deinem Herzen raunen. Ich werd' die Augen schließen - lauschen. Mein Blick wird deinem nicht begegnen. Wenn du geendet hast, dann werden wir in Stille sitzen - schweigen. Nur Bäume werden flüstern dann im Dunkel. Die Nacht wird bleich. Der Tag erwacht. Wir werden uns dann in die Augen schauen und unserer Wege ziehen. Sprich zu mir, mein Freund. Sag es mit Worten, was du sangst.
Text Authorship:
- Translation from English to German (Deutsch) copyright © 2011 by Bertram Kottmann, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you must ask the copyright-holder(s) directly for permission. If you receive no response, you must consider it a refusal.
Bertram Kottmann.  Contact: BKottmann (AT) t-online.de
If you wish to commission a new translation, please contact: licenses@email.lieder.example.net
Based on:
- a text in English by Rabindranath Tagore (1861 - 1941), no title, appears in The Gardener, no. 29, first published 1915
Based on:
- a text in Bangla (Bengali) by Rabindranath Tagore (1861 - 1941) [text unavailable]
Go to the general single-text view
This text was added to the website: 2011-09-09
Line count: 21
Word count: 119
You are the evening cloud floating in the sky of my dreams. I paint you and fashion you ever with my love longings. You are my own, my own, Dweller in my endless dreams! Your feet are rosy-red with the glow of my heart's desire, Gleaner of my sunset songs! Your lips are bitter-sweet with the taste of my wine of pain. You are my own, my own, Dweller in my lonesome dreams! With the shadow of my passion have I darkened your eyes, Haunter of the depth of my gaze! I have caught you and wrapt you, my love, in the net of my music. You are my own, my own, Dweller in my deathless dreams!
Text Authorship:
- by Rabindranath Tagore (1861 - 1941), no title, appears in The Gardener, no. 30, first published 1913
Based on:
- a text in Bangla (Bengali) by Rabindranath Tagore (1861 - 1941) [text unavailable]
See other settings of this text.
Du bist die Abendwolke die am Himmel meiner Träume schwebt. Ich lass dich leuchten, form dich stets mit meiner Liebe Sehnen. Mein bist du, mein, verweilst in meinen Träumen ohne End. Deine Füße leuchten rosenrot von meines Herzens Glut, das voll Begehr. Du erntest meine abendlichen Lieder! Deine Lippen, bittersüß, schmecken nach meinem Wein der Pein. Mein bist du, mein, verweilst in meinen Träumen ohne End. Mit dem Schatten meiner Lust hab deine Augen dunkel ich umflort, die meinen tiefen Blicken oft begegnen. Ich hab dich eingefangen und umsponnen, meine Geliebte, mit dem Netz meiner Musik. Mein bist du, mein, verweilst in meinen Träumen ohne End.
Text Authorship:
- Translation from English to German (Deutsch) copyright © 2016 by Bertram Kottmann, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you must ask the copyright-holder(s) directly for permission. If you receive no response, you must consider it a refusal.
Bertram Kottmann.  Contact: BKottmann (AT) t-online.de
If you wish to commission a new translation, please contact: licenses@email.lieder.example.net
Based on:
- a text in English by Rabindranath Tagore (1861 - 1941), no title, appears in The Gardener, no. 30, first published 1913
Based on:
- a text in Bangla (Bengali) by Rabindranath Tagore (1861 - 1941) [text unavailable]
Go to the general single-text view
This text was added to the website: 2016-03-13
Line count: 20
Word count: 106