Here is a link to watch the entire performance of my Galgenlieder for Sax Quartet and Womens Choir during Philomelas 30th anniversary concert in Helsinki with the Rascher Saxophone Quartet. The text is the humorous poetry with a subtle metaphysical streak by Christian Morgenstern. Below is a wonderful English translation by Max Knight. *The Aesthetic Weasel* A weasel perched on an easel within a patch of teasel. But why and how? The Moon Cow whispered her reply one time: The sopheest- icated beest did it just for the rhyme. *The Sigh* A sigh went a-skating on ice in the night, Of love and of joy he was dreaming. The scene was the town wall, and snow white The town wall’s mansions were gleaming. The sigh, he thought of a maiden fair, And a-glowing he stopped on the scene. That melted the ice below him there And he sank – and was nevermore seen. *Birth of Philosophy* The heath sheep glares at me with frightened awe as though I were the first of men it saw. Contagious glare! We stand as though asleep; it seems the first time that I see a sheep. The Snail’s Monologue (Hamlet’s Dilemma) Shall I dwell in my shell? Shall I not dwell in my shell? Dwell in shell? Rather not dwell? Shall I not dwell? Shall I dwell, dwell in shell, shall I shell, shallIshhIsallIshellIshallI...? (The snail gets so entangled with his thoughts, or, rather, the thoughts run away with him so that he must postpone the decision.) *Fishs Night Song (Theme and Variations)* Theme (Fish’s Song) Var. 1. Fishs Song in Translation Var. 2. With Very Deep Feeling Var. 3. Fishs Song Amplified Var. 4. Fishs Song Emerged Var. 5. Fishy Dances Var. 6. Abridged Fishs Song for Listeners with a Short Attention Span *The Gallows Childs Lullaby* Sleep, baby, sleep, There’s in the sky a sheep; the sheep is made of cloud and dew and fights life’s battle just like you. Sleep, baby, sleep. Sleep, baby, sleep, the sun eats up the sheep, he laps it from the azure ground with tongue extended like a hound. Sleep, baby, sleep, Sleep, baby, sleep, Now it is gone, the sheep. The moon appears and starts to chide her mate who runs, the sheep inside. Sleep, baby, sleep, *The Tortoitoise* I am a thousand seasons old and getting on in age; The Gothic ruler Theobold confined me in a cage. A lot has happened since that day, but what, I do not know. At present I am on display for money, in a show. All talk of death I can ignore as so much idle noise I am the tor-, I am the tor- I am the tor-toi-toise.” *The Does’ Prayer* The does, as the hour grows late, med-it-ate; med-it-nine; med-i-ten; med-eleven; med-twelve; med-night! The does, as the hour grows late, meditate. They fold their little toesies, the doesies. *Desire for a Monument* Set a monument for me, built of sugar, in the sea. It will melt, of course, and make briefly a sweet-water lake; meanwhile, fishes by the score take surprised a sip or more. They, in various ports, will then be consumed, in turn, by men. This way I will join the chain of humanity again, while, were I of stone or steel, just some pigeon ungenteel, or perhaps a Ph.D. would discharge his wit on me. *Das Wasser* Ohne Wort, ohne Wort rinnt das Wasser immerfort; andernfalls, andernfalls sprach es doch nichts andres als: Bier und Brot, Lieb und Treu,- und das wäre auch nicht neu. Dieses zeigt, dieses zeigt, dass das Wasser besser schweigt. *The Stream* Not a word, not a word from the flowing stream is heard. Otherwise, otherwise it would just soliloquize : “Beer and bread, love so true . . .” and this would be nothing new. All this will, all this will show the stream had best kept still.
Posted on: Thu, 10 Apr 2014 18:50:47 +0000