by Johann Baptist Mayrhofer (1787 - 1836)
Translation © by Emily Ezust

Philoktet
Language: German (Deutsch) 
Available translation(s): CAT DUT ENG FRE ITA
Da sitz' ich ohne Bogen
Und starre in den Sand.
Was that ich dir, Ulysses?
Daß du sie mir entwandt

Die Waffe, die [dem Feinde]1
Des Todes Bothe war;
Die auf der wüsten Insel
Mir Unterhalt gebar.

Es rauschen Vögelschwärme
Mir [übers greise]2 Haupt;
Ich greife nach dem Bogen -
Umsonst - er ist geraubt.

Aus dichtem Busche raschelt
Der braune Hirsch hervor:
Ich strecke leere Arme
Zur Nemesis empor.

Du schlauer König scheue
Der Göttin Rächerblick!
Erbarme dich - und stelle
Den Bogen mir zurück.

View original text (without footnotes)

Confirmed with Gedichte von Johann Mayrhofer. Wien. Bey Friedrich Volke. 1824, pages 152-153.

1 Schubert: "den Trojern"
2 Schubert: "über'm greisen"

Authorship

Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)

Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):

  • CAT Catalan (Català) (Salvador Pila) , "Filoctetes", copyright © 2017, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
  • DUT Dutch (Nederlands) [singable] (Lau Kanen) , "Philoctetes", copyright © 2008, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
  • ENG English (Emily Ezust) , "Philoctetes", copyright ©
  • FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , "Philoctète", copyright © 2010, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
  • ITA Italian (Italiano) (Amelia Maria Imbarrato) , "Filottete", copyright © 2008, (re)printed on this website with kind permission


Research team for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator] , Peter Rastl [Guest Editor]

Text added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Last modified: 2019-09-13 21:39:55
Line count: 20
Word count: 86

Philoctetes
Language: English  after the German (Deutsch) 
I sit here without my bow 
and stare into the sand.
What did I do to you, Ulysses,
that you would steal from me?

The weapon that was the harbinger 
of death to the Trojans -
it gave me, on this desolate island, 
my only means of sustenance.

Flocks of birds 
speed over my grey head;
I reach for my bow in vain, 
for it has been stolen!

From the thick bush 
rushes the brown stag:
I stretch my empty arms 
up to Nemesis.

You crafty king, 
fear the Goddess's vengeful gaze!
Take pity 
and give me back my bow.

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 -- https://www.lieder.net/

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


Based on

 

Text added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Last modified: 2017-08-23 16:10:12
Line count: 20
Word count: 100