I spent four hours today applying myself to producing a literal translation of three poems of Hermann Hesse in preparation for a performance of Vier lezte Lieder, the ethereal song cycle composed by Richard Strauss. Indeed, these were his four last works, and through them he gently prepared for his own final rest at age eighty-four. I've yet to translate the fourth one, Im Abendrot, with text by Joseph Eichendorff. The final song was composed first, with the three Hesse lieder following, all in 1948.

 As Strauss left no instructions for his intentions, his friend and chief editor of the music publishing house Boosey-Hawks, Ernst Roth, assumed matters. It was to Herr Roth that Im Abendrot was dedicated, and he arranged the songs in their present order: Fruehling, September, Beim Schlafengehen and Im Abendrot. You with the sharp eye will note that I cannot produce umlauts with this software, therefore my spelling of Spring.

Why then hours in a day when three clean baskets of laundry lay begging for my affections ("Fold me! Ah..yes!")? Because. Because, you see, I have been raised by a coach of such impeccable standards, that I cannot bring myself to utter a tone before the habitual preparatory process she has instilled in me over the years is complete. I love her dearly for that. Without her nagging and exacting expectations of me, I would be far too ordinary, and much too lazy. I tease her and call her the mad wren, for she is tiny lady of great stature and industry. I cannot bear to displease her.

 So I surround myself with a small library of dictionaries and verb books, wrestling with stems and adjectives, painfully dissecting what Mark Twain referred to in his essay of the same name, The Awful German Language. No, the internet is really not much help, but perhaps I am too cheap and masochistic to cough up fees for a premium site.

Once I produce the literal version, I try to make sense of it and create a poetic translation. Every editor has their own English translation. Actually, the better word is "version." These versions only approximate the literal, and are intended for performance in English. Ach, Gott! It is universally agreed that most of these are trash. And anyway, song literature is always performed in it's original language, unlike opera, which benefits sometimes from a go in the vernacular. But creating a poetic version of one's own is a discipline which informs the singer of a greater understanding of the text, and ultimately results in a performance of authenticity and beauty. It is the foundation of artistry.

 My teacher always told me, "mean the words." To translate that for you is to explain that the magic in a performer, the thing which distinguishes a good singer from an artistic singer, is if she is the obedient servant of the text. The music can rest on it's own merits. Too often, a singer will work at making an effect or producing a color when the secret is much simpler. It is a quality which is unscientific in that it cannot be measured objectively, but the listener knows when it is or is not there. My wise teacher taught me that if I was honest with the words, my emotions and intellect would do the job of coloring and shaping my sound. It is not some witchy thing, and I don't completely understand, but I know.

 That is why all the grunt work must happen before ever phonating (Oh, stop that. It is a silly word, but I have used all the better synonyms by this point.) There is no other way, and no shortcuts. It's done correctly or it is not done at all. I suppose the process can be analogous to something like laboring one's child to birth. It is painful, time consuming, all consuming, and absolutely worth it.

 I'll leave you with my favorite excerpt from the Mark Twain essay. Enjoy!

"Surely there is not another language that is so slipshod and systemless, and so slippery and elusive to the grasp. One is washed about in it, hither and thither, in the most helpless way; and when at last he thinks he has captured a rule which offers firm ground to take a rest on amid the general rage and turmoil of the ten parts of speech, he turns over the page and reads, "Let the pupil make careful note of the following exceptions." He runs his eye down and finds that there are more exceptions to the rule than instances of it. So overboard he goes again, to hunt for another Ararat and find another quicksand.

Such has been, and continues to be, my experience. Every time I think I have got one of these four confusing "cases" where I am master of it, a seemingly insignificant preposition intrudes itself into my sentence, clothed with an awful and unsuspected power, and crumbles the ground from under me. For instance, my book inquires after a certain bird--(it is always inquiring after things which are of no sort of no consequence to anybody): "Where is the bird?" Now the answer to this question--according to the book--is that the bird is waiting in the blacksmith shop on account of the rain. Of course no bird would do that, but then you must stick to the book.

Very well, I begin to cipher out the German for that answer. I begin at the wrong end, necessarily, for that is the German idea. I say to myself, "Regen (rain) is masculine--or maybe it is feminine--or possibly neuter--it is too much trouble to look now. Therefore, it is either der (the) Regen, or die (the) Regen, or das (the) Regen, according to which gender it may turn out to be when I look. In the interest of science, I will cipher it out on the hypothesis that it is masculine.

Very well--then the rain is der Regen, if it is simply in the quiescent state of being mentioned, without enlargement or discussion--Nominative case; but if this rain is lying around, in a kind of a general way on the ground, it is then definitely located, it is doing something--that is, resting (which is one of the German grammar's ideas of doing something), and this throws the rain into the Dative case, and makes it dem Regen. However, this rain is not resting, but is doing something actively,--it is falling--to interfere with the bird, likely--and this indicates movement, which has the effect of sliding it into the Accusative case and changing dem Regen into den Regen."

Having completed the grammatical horoscope of this matter, I answer up confidently and state in German that the bird is staying in the blacksmith shop "wegen (on account of) den Regen." Then the teacher lets me softly down with the remark that whenever the word "wegen" drops into a sentence, it always throws that subject into the genitive case, regardless of consequences--and therefore this bird stayed in the blacksmith shop "wegen des Regens."

N.B.--I was informed, later, by a higher authority, that there was an "exception" which permits one to say "wegen den Regen" in certain peculiar and complex circumstances, but that this exception is not extended to anything but rain."

Mark Twain on Tenors:
"ACH GOTT! a great man! You shall see him. He is so celebrate in all
> Germany--and he has a pension, yes, from the government. He not
> obliged to sing now, only twice every year; but if he not sing twice
> each year they take him his pension away."

And the "mad wren" would be Janet Parlova.... I enjoyed working with for three years in San Francisco, but I liked her even better when I had to drive down to Half Moon Bay. Too bad that so many singers only pay lip service to the idea of translation and meaning. Most have the idea preached at them, but never receive any technique for actually doing it. Diction is the enemy of language!

Hi Sweetie!
Nada in the wren. Janet is the goddess. Marcie Stapp is the mad wren ;-) to whom Janet referred for all the woodshedding. Marcie went with me to Austria. Actually, I call her Mistress Marcie, which makes blush.

Glad you agree. Janet..I miss her. I very much keep her as a role model in my own teaching and living. Zen and the Art of Singing, right? I took time off for babyland, and she ups and retires to the desert! Marcie is still torturing any willing victim.

Glad to hear of your success!

Thanks again for the support.:P

You are so right on about this subject. Janet and Marcie have done a great job with you, so please pass it on to the kids.

Your writing is really descriptive and funny. I look forward to your next installment!
Love you babycakes!
L:P:P:P:P:o;):Po:):P:P:P:):)