English translation of Buch der Lieder - Junge Leiden

by Richard Farber (b. 1945), "Buch der Lieder - Junge Leiden", 2014 [ voice and piano ]

Note: this is a translation of one multi-text setting.

Morgens steh' ich auf und frage:
Kommt feins Liebchen heut?
Abends sink' ich hin und klage:
Aus blieb sie auch heut.
 
In der Nacht mit meinem Kummer
lieg' ich schlaflos, [wach]1;
träumend, wie im halben Schlummer,
träumend wandle ich bei Tag.

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1 Hecht, Schumann: "lieg ich wach"

Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
Es treibt mich hin, es treibt mich her!
Noch wenige Stunden, dann soll ich sie schauen,
sie selber, die schönste der schönen Jungfrauen; -
du [treues]1 Herz, was pochst du so schwer!

Die Stunden sind aber ein faules Volk!
Schleppen [sich]2 behaglich träge,
schleichen gähnend ihre Wege; -
tummle dich, du faules Volk!

Tobende Eile mich treibend erfaßt!
Aber wohl niemals liebten die Horen; -
heimlich [im]3 grausamen Bunde verschworen,
spotten sie tückisch der Liebenden Hast.

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Confirmed with Buch der Lieder von Heinrich Heine, 27. Aufl., Hamburg, 1868.

1 Schumann: "armes"
2 Franz: "sich hin"
3 Franz: "zum"

Research team for this page: Emily Ezust [Administrator] , Johann Winkler 
Ich [wandelte]1 unter den Bäumen
mit meinem Gram allein;
da kam das alte Träumen
und schlich [mir ins Herz]2 hinein.

Wer hat euch dies Wörtlein gelehret,
ihr Vöglein in luftiger Höh'?
Schweigt still! wenn mein Herz es höret,
dann tut es noch einmal so weh.

"Es kam ein Jungfräulein gegangen,
die sang es immerfort,
da haben wir Vöglein gefangen
das hübsche, goldne Wort."

Das sollt ihr mir nicht [mehr]3 erzählen,
Ihr Vöglein [wunderschlau]4;
ihr wollt meinem Kummer mir stehlen,
ich aber niemandem trau'.

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1 Dieren: "wanderte"
2 Fanny Mendelssohn: "ins Herz mir"
3 omitted by Rheinberger and Schumann.
4 Rheinberger: "so wunderschlau"

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Lieb' Liebchen, leg's Händchen [aufs]1 Herze mein; -
Ach, hörst du, wie's [pochet]2 im Kämmerlein?
Da hauset ein Zimmermann schlimm und arg,
Der zimmert mir einen Totensarg.

[Es]3 hämmert und klopfet bei Tag und bei Nacht;
[Es]3 hat mich schon längst um den Schlaf gebracht.
Ach! sputet Euch, Meister Zimmermann,
Damit ich [balde]4 schlafen kann.

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Note: first titled "Der Zimmermann"; later titled "Holzmeyer"
1 Medtner: "auf" [sic]
2 Lange-Müller: "pocht"
3 Lange-Müller: "Er"
4 Lachner: "bald"; Franz: "nun balde"

Research team for this page: Emily Ezust [Administrator] , Grant Hicks [Guest Editor] , Sharon Krebs [Guest Editor] , Garrett Medlock [Guest Editor] 
Schöne Wiege meiner Leiden,
schönes Grabmal meiner Ruh',
schöne Stadt, wir müssen scheiden, -
Lebe wohl! ruf' ich dir zu.

Lebe wohl, du heil'ge Schwelle,
wo da wandelt Liebchen traut;
lebe wohl! du heil'ge Stelle, 
wo ich sie zuerst geschaut.

Hätt' ich dich doch nie [gesehen]1,
schöne Herzenskönigin!
Nimmer wär' es dann geschehen,
daß ich jetzt so elend bin.

Nie wollt' ich dein Herze rühren,
Liebe hab' ich nie erfleht;
nur ein stilles Leben führen
wollt' ich, wo dein Odem weht.

Doch du drängst mich selbst von hinnen,
bittre Worte spricht dein Mund;
Wahnsinn wühlt in meinen Sinnen,
und mein Herz ist krank und wund.

Und die Glieder matt und träge
schlepp' ich fort am Wanderstab,
bis mein müdes Haupt ich lege
ferne in ein kühles Grab.

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1 Schumann: "gesehn"

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Warte, warte, wilder [Schiffsmann]1,
gleich folg' ich zum Hafen dir;
von zwei Jungfraun nehm' ich Abschied,
von Europa und von ihr.

Blutquell, rinn' aus meinen Augen,
Blutquell, brich aus meinem Leib,
daß ich mit dem heißen Blute
meine Schmerzen niederschreib'.

Ei, mein Lieb, warum just heute
[schauderst du]2, mein Blut zu sehn?
Sahst mich bleich und herzeblutend
lange Jahre vor dir [stehn!]3

Kennst du noch das alte Liedchen
von der Schlang' im Paradies,
die durch schlimme Apfelgabe
unsern Ahn ins Elend stieß.

Alles Unheil brachten Äpfel!
Eva bracht' damit den Tod,
Eris brachte Trojas Flammen,
du brachst'st beides, Flamm' und Tod.

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1 Schumann: "Schiffmann"
2 Schumann: "schaudert's dich"
3 Schumann: "stehn! Oh!"

Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
Berg' und Burgen schaun herunter
in den spiegelhellen Rhein,
und mein Schiffchen segelt munter,
rings umglänzt von Sonnenschein.

Ruhig seh' ich zu dem Spiele
goldner Wellen, kraus bewegt;
still erwachen die Gefühle,
die ich tief im Busen hegt'.

Freundlich grüssend und verheißend
lockt hinab des Stromes Pracht;
doch ich kenn' ihn, oben gleißend,
birgt sein Innres Tod und Nacht.

Oben Lust, im Busen Tücken,
Strom, du bist der Liebsten Bild!
Die kann auch so freundlich nicken,
lächelt auch so fromm und mild.

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Anfangs wollt' ich fast verzagen,
und ich glaubt', ich trüg' es nie;
und ich hab' es doch getragen -
aber fragt mich nur nicht, wie?

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Poem headed with An Carl v. U Ins Stammbuch

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[Mit Myrten und Rosen, lieblich und hold,
mit duft'gen Zypressen und Flittergold,
möcht' ich zieren dieß Buch wie 'nen Totenschrein]1,
Und sargen meine Lieder hinein.

O könnt' ich die Liebe sargen hinzu!
[Auf dem]2 Grabe der Liebe wächst Blümlein der Ruh',
da blüht es hervor, da pflückt man es ab, -
doch mir blüht's nur, wenn ich selber im Grab.

Hier sind nun die Lieder, die einst so wild,
wie ein Lavastrom, der dem Ätna entquillt,
Hervorgestürtzt aus dem tiefsten Gemüt,
und rings viel blitzende Funken versprüht!

Nun liegen sie stumm und totengleich,
nun starren sie kalt und nebelbleich,
doch aufs neu die alte Glut sie belebt,
wenn der Liebe Geist einst über sie schwebt.

Und es wird mir im Herzen viel Ahnung laut:
der Liebe Geist einst über sie taut;
einst kommt dies Buch in deine Hand,
du süßes Lieb im fernen Land.

Dann löst sich des Liedes Zauberbann,
die blaßen Buchstaben schaun dich an,
sie schauen dir flehend ins schöne Aug',
und flüstern mit Wehmut und Liebeshauch.

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1 Crabtree and Ehrenstein use a different version of this poem that has the following first three lines: 
Mit Rosen, Zypressen und Flittergold
Möcht ich verzieren, lieblich und hold,
Dies Buch wie einen Totenschrein
2 Schumann: "Am"

Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
Author(s): Heinrich Heine (1797 - 1856)
 Every morning I awake and ask:
 Will my sweetheart come today?
 Every evening I sink down and lament:
 She stayed away again today.
 
 All night with my grief
 I lie sleepless, waking;
 dreaming, as if half asleep,
 dreaming, I pass the day.

Text Authorship:

  • Translation from German (Deutsch) to English copyright © by Emily Ezust

    Emily Ezust permits her translations to be reproduced without prior permission for printed (not online) programs to free-admission concerts only, provided the following credit is given:

    Translation copyright © by Emily Ezust,
    from the LiederNet Archive

    For any other purpose, please write to the e-mail address below to request permission and discuss possible fees.


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 I'm driven here, I'm driven there!
 In only a few more hours I will see her,
 she herself, the fairest of fair young women; -
 you true heart, how heavily you pound!
 
 But the hours are lazy people!
 They drag themselves comfortably and sluggishly,
 creeping with yawns along their paths; -
 rouse yourself, you lazy fool!
 
 A charging hurry seizes and drives me!
 But the Hours have never been in love;
 sworn secretly to cruel conspiracy,
 they mock treacherously the lover's haste.

Text Authorship:

  • Translation from German (Deutsch) to English copyright © by Emily Ezust

    Emily Ezust permits her translations to be reproduced without prior permission for printed (not online) programs to free-admission concerts only, provided the following credit is given:

    Translation copyright © by Emily Ezust,
    from the LiederNet Archive

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 I wandered among the trees,
 alone with my suffering;
 along came that old dream
 and crept into my heart.
 
 Who taught you this little word,
 you tiny birds in the airy heights?
 Be quiet! if my heart hears it,
 then all my pain will return.
 
 "It came from a young woman,
 who sang it again and again;
 that is how we tiny birds captured
 this pretty, golden word."
 
 You should not explain this to me now,
 you tiny, cunning birds;
 you wanted to steal my grief from me,
 but I trust no one.

Text Authorship:

  • Translation from German (Deutsch) to English copyright © by Emily Ezust

    Emily Ezust permits her translations to be reproduced without prior permission for printed (not online) programs to free-admission concerts only, provided the following credit is given:

    Translation copyright © by Emily Ezust,
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 Dear sweetheart, lay your hand on my heart; -
 ah, do you hear the hammering inside?
 inside there lives a carpenter, wicked and evil:
 he's building my coffin.
 
 He hammers and pounds by day and by night;
 it has been a long time since I could sleep.
 Ah, hurry, Mister Carpenter,
 finish so that I can sleep.

Text Authorship:

  • Translation from German (Deutsch) to English copyright © by Emily Ezust

    Emily Ezust permits her translations to be reproduced without prior permission for printed (not online) programs to free-admission concerts only, provided the following credit is given:

    Translation copyright © by Emily Ezust,
    from the LiederNet Archive

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 Pretty cradle of my sorrows,
 pretty tombstone of my rest,
 pretty town - we must part, -
 farewell! I call to you.
 
 Farewell, you holy threshhold,
 across which my darling would tread;
 farewell! you sacred spot
 where I first saw her.
 
 Would that I had never seen you,
 lovely queen of my heart!
 Never would it then have happened,
 that I would now be so wretched.
 
 I never wished to touch your heart,
 I never begged for love;
 all I wished was to lead a quiet life
 where your breath could stir me.
 
 Yet you yourself pushed me away from you,
 with bitter words at your lips;
 Madness filled my senses,
 and my heart is sick and wounded.
 
 And my limbs are heavy and sluggish;
 I'll drag myself forward, leaning on my staff, 
 until I can lay my weary head 
 in a cool and distant grave.

Text Authorship:

  • Translation from German (Deutsch) to English copyright © by Emily Ezust

    Emily Ezust permits her translations to be reproduced without prior permission for printed (not online) programs to free-admission concerts only, provided the following credit is given:

    Translation copyright © by Emily Ezust,
    from the LiederNet Archive

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 Wait, wait, wild boatman,
 soon I'll follow you to the harbor;
 from two maidens I am taking my leave,
 from Europe and from Her.
 
 Stream of blood, run from my eyes,
 stream of blood, burst from my body,
 so that with this hot blood
 I can write down my agonies.
 
 Ah, my dear, why just today
 do you shudder to see my blood?
 You've seen me pale, my heart bleeding,
 standing before you for many years!
 
 Do you know that old song
 about the serpent in Paradise
 who, by wickedly giving an apple,
 threw our ancestors into misery?
 
 Apples have caused every ill!
 Eve brought death through them,
 Eris caused the flames of Troy;
 and you brought both, flame and death.

Text Authorship:

  • Translation from German (Deutsch) to English copyright © by Emily Ezust

    Emily Ezust permits her translations to be reproduced without prior permission for printed (not online) programs to free-admission concerts only, provided the following credit is given:

    Translation copyright © by Emily Ezust,
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 Mountains and castles gaze down
 into the mirror-bright Rhine,
 and my little boat sails merrilly,
 the sunshine glistening around it.
 
 Calmly I watch the play
 of golden, ruffled waves surging;
 silently feelings awaken in me
 that I have kept deep in my heart.
 
 With friendly greetings and promises,
 the river's splendor beckons;
 but I know it - gleaming above
 it conceals within itself Death and Night.
 
 Above, pleasure; at heart, malice;
 O river, you are the very image of my beloved!
 She can nod with just as much friendliness,
 also smiling so devotedly and gently.

Text Authorship:

  • Translation from German (Deutsch) to English copyright © by Emily Ezust

    Emily Ezust permits her translations to be reproduced without prior permission for printed (not online) programs to free-admission concerts only, provided the following credit is given:

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 At first I almost despaired,
 and I thought I would never be able to bear it;
 yet even so, I have borne it -
 but do not ask me how.

Text Authorship:

  • Translation from German (Deutsch) to English copyright © by Emily Ezust

    Emily Ezust permits her translations to be reproduced without prior permission for printed (not online) programs to free-admission concerts only, provided the following credit is given:

    Translation copyright © by Emily Ezust,
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 With myrtle and roses, lovely and pretty,
 with fragrant cypresses and gold tinsel,
 I would decorate this book like a coffin
 and bury my songs inside it.
 
 O if only I could bury my love there as well!
 On the grave of Love grows the blossom of peace;
 it blooms and then is plucked, -
 yet it will bloom for me only when I am myself in the grave.
 
 Here now are the songs which, once so wild,
 like a stream of lava that flowed from Etna,
 burst from the depths of my heart,
 and spray glittering sparks everywhere!
 
 Now they lie mute and death-like,
 now they stare coldly, pale as mist,
 but the old glow will revive them afresh,
 when the spirit of love someday floats above them.
 
 And in my heart the thought grows loud:
 the spirit of love will someday thaw them;
 someday this book will arrive in your hands,
 you, my sweet love in a distant land.
 
 Then shall the songs' magic spell be broken,
 and the white letters shall gaze at you;
 they'll gaze beseechingly into your lovely eyes,
 and whisper with sadness and a breath of love.

Text Authorship:

  • Translation from German (Deutsch) to English copyright © by Emily Ezust

    Emily Ezust permits her translations to be reproduced without prior permission for printed (not online) programs to free-admission concerts only, provided the following credit is given:

    Translation copyright © by Emily Ezust,
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Translation © by Emily Ezust