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Wie auf der Bühn' ein schlechter Komödiant, auf's Stichwort kommt er, red' sein Teil und geht, gleichgültig gegen alles andere, stumpf, vom Klang der eigenen Stimme ungerührt, und hohlen Tones andere rührend nicht. So über diese Lebensbühne hin, bin ich gegangen, ohne Kraft und Wert, warum geschah mir das? Warum Du, Tod, musst Du mich lehren erst das Leben sehen, nicht wie durch einen Schleier, wach und ganz, da etwas weckend, so vorübergehen? Warum bemächtigt sich des Kinder Sinn's so hohe Ahnung von den Lebensdingen, daß dann die Dinge, wenn sie wirklich sind, nur schale Schauer des Erinnerns bringen? Warum erklingt uns nicht Dein Geigenspiel aufwühlend die verborgene Geisterwelt die unser Busen heimlich hält, verschüttet, im Bewußtsein so verschwiegen, wie Blumen im Geröll verschüttet liegen. Könnt ich mit Dir sein, wo man Dich nur hört, nicht von verworrener Kleinlichkeit verstörrt. Ich kann's, gewähre was Du mir gedroht. Da Tod mein Leben war, sei Du mein Leben, Tod. Was zwingt mich, der ich beides nicht erkenne, das ich Dich, Tod, und jenes, Leben, nenne? In eine Stunde kannst Du Leben pressen, mehr als das ganze Leben konnte halten, das Schattenhafte will ich ganz vergessen, und weih mich Deinen Wundern und Gewalten. Kann sein dies ist nur sterbendes Besinnen, heraufgewühlt vom tödlich wachen Blut, doch hab ich nie mit allen Lebenssinnen so viel ergriffen, und so nenn ich's gut. Wenn ich jetzt, ausgelöscht, hinsterben soll, mein Hirn von dieser Stunde also voll, dann schwinde alles blasse Leben hin, erst da ich sterbe, spür ich, daß ich bin. Wenn einer träumt, so kann ein Übermass geträumten Fühlens ihn erwachen machen. So wach ich jetzt im Fühlens Übermass vom Lebenstraum wohl auf, im Todeswachen. Claudio sinkt zu den Fuessen des Todes nieder. Der Tod, indem er kopfschuettelnd abgeht: Wie wundervoll sind diese Wesen, die was nicht deutbar, dennoch deuten; was nie geschrieben wurde, dennoch lesen; Verworrenes beherrschend binden, und Wege noch im ewig Dunklen finden.
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Authorship:
- by Hugo Hofmann, Edler von Hofmannsthal (1874 - 1929), "Der Tor und der Tod", first published 1893 [author's text not yet checked 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 Wolfgang Fraenkel (1897 - 1983), "Tor und Tod", published 1910 [ voice and orchestra ] [sung text not yet checked]
- by H. Meyer von Bremen , "Der Tor und der Tod", published c1930 [ piano, voice ] [sung text not yet checked]
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- ENG English (Knut W. Barde) , "Death and the Fool", copyright © 1998, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Researcher for this page: Knut W. Barde
This text was added to the website: 2006-04-07
Line count: 52
Word count: 321
Like a bad actor on a stage, he enters on his cue, says his piece, and exits, uncaring about all else, deadened, unmoved by the sound of his own voice, not moving others with his hollow sounds. Thus across this stage of life I went, without power or worth, why did this happen to me? Why is it you, Death, who must first teach me to see life, not as through a veil, but fully and alert, there waking something, passing away before me? Why does such a glorious sacred feeling about the things of life seize children's reverie, that when those things really come about they bring only stale shudders of memory? Why does your violin not sound for us, Stirring up the hidden world of ghosts that every bosom in secret surely hosts, but buried, and silent to our consciousness as flowers buried in a field of stone. Could I but be with you, where you are all I hear, and not be disturbed by tangled trivialities. I can do it, I do not fear, Grant to me what you have threatened. Since death was my life, Be now you my life, death. What makes me, who doesn't recognize either, name you, death, and that, life? More life into one hour is by you compressed than all of life could hold, The shadow world I'll leave now, and surrender to your marvels and powers. These could be merely ramblings of a dying soul stirred up by a mortal bloody wakefulness, but never have I grasped with all of life's senses as much as I do now, and so I call it good. Extinguished, I am now to pass away, But with my brain held in this hour's sway, may it fade away, all this pale life: It is only as I die, that I feel I am alive. In dreams, excessive dreamed emotions can cause a sudden stark awakening. Now rising with a surfeit of emotions, I leave the dream of life and enter death's awakening. Claudio sinks down at Death's feet. Death, shaking his head as he exits: How wondrous are these creatures, who explain what brooks no explanation; what was never writ still they read; unravel tangled knots with grace and power, and ways yet find in darkness's eternal hour.
Authorship:
- Translation from German (Deutsch) to English copyright © 1998 by Knut W. Barde, (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 Hugo Hofmann, Edler von Hofmannsthal (1874 - 1929), "Der Tor und der Tod", first published 1893
This text was added to the website: 2006-04-07
Line count: 52
Word count: 384