Winterreise Program

WINTERREISE WILLIAM KENTRIDGE AND MATTHIAS GOERNE

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SOUTH AFRICA/GERMANY

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AUSTRALIAN EXCLUSIVE

FREE PROGRAM PROUDLY MADE POSSIBLE BY

WINTERREISE

WILLIAM KENTRIDGE AND MATTHIAS GOERNE | SOUTH AFRICA/ GERMANY | AUSTRALIAN EXCLUSIVE CITY RECITAL HALL 7 & 8 JANUARY 75MINS NO INTERVAL

CONCEPT AND VIDEO William Kentridge BARITONE Matthias Goerne PIANO Markus Hinterhäuser SET DESIGN Sabine Theunissen COSTUME DESIGN Greta Goiris LIGHTING DESIGN Herman Sorgeloos VIDEO EDITOR Snezana Marovic VIDEO OPERATOR Kim Gunning

SCHUBERT Winterreise (1827) Gute Nacht Die Wetterfahne Gefrorne Tränen Erstarrung Der Lindenbaum Wasserflut Auf dem Flusse Rückblick Irrlicht Rast Frühlingstraum Einsamkeit Die Post Der greise Kopf Die Krähe Letzte Hoffnung Im Dorfe Der stürmische Morgen Täuschung Der Wegweiser Das Wirtshaus Mut Die Nebensonnen Der Leiermann

A Festival d’Aix-en-Provence co-production with Wiener Festwochen, Holland Festival, Kunstfestspiele Herrenhausen, Niedersächsische Musiktage, Les Théâtres de la Ville de Luxembourg, Lille Opera and Lincoln Center.

Sydney Festival wishes to thank the following for helping to make this production possible: Andrew Cameron AM & Cathy Cameron, Roslyn & Alex Hunyor, Adam and Vicki Liberman, Nelson Meers Foundation, Penelope Seidler AM and Jenny & Peter Solomon

FESTIVAL DONORS MAKE IT POSSIBLE

ABOUT THE SONG TEXTS

FROM THE DIRECTOR

Winterreise charts the grim winter journey of a solitary protagonist over 24 songs. At the start we learn that in spring he arrived as a stranger in a town where he fell in love with a young girl and there was talk of marriage. It is now winter as he departs, a stranger once again (‘Gute Nacht’/‘Good Night’). He looks back at her house and realises he never was to find love from the wealthy and cold family there (‘Die Wetterfahne’/‘The Weathervane’). He sets out on his journey amidst a snow-covered landscape in which his tears freeze (‘Gefrorne Tränen’/‘Frozen Tears’), and he imagines his beloved’s footsteps beneath the snow (‘Erstarrung’/‘Numbness’). At the town gates he sees the linden tree under which he used to dream of her in happier times (‘Der Lindenbaum’/‘The Linden Tree’) and where his tears will join melting snow in a brook (‘Wasserflut’/‘Flood’) and flow through the town (‘Auf dem Flusse’/‘On the Stream’). He recalls his arrival in spring (‘Rückblick’/‘Backward Glance’) and the illusions of the willo’-the-wisp (‘Irrlicht’/‘Will-o’-the-Wisp’).

In these excerpts from a February lecture at Humboldt University in Berlin, William Kentridge speaks about the origins of his Winterreise project and its connection to childhood memories of Sunday afternoons spent listening to recordings of lieder with his father and, occasionally, his mother.

He seeks some brief respite on the inhospitable road when he finds a small cottage (‘Rast’/‘Rest’) and dreams of springtime love (‘Frühlingstraum’/‘Dream of Spring’). He sets off again, ignored by everyone (‘Einsamkeit’/‘Loneliness’), and vainly hopes that the postman might bring him a letter from his beloved (‘Die Post’/‘The Post’). Frost in his hair makes it appear grey, but unfortunately he is still young (‘Der greise Kopf’/‘The Grey Head’). A crow is the only one following him, flying above waiting for its prey (‘Die Krähe’/‘The Crow’). A single leaf hanging from a tree suggests some hope (‘Letzte Hoffnung’/‘Last Hope’). He enters a village where everyone is asleep (‘Im Dorfe’/‘In the Village’) and presses on into a storm (‘Der stürmische Morgen’/‘The Stormy Morning’). A light dancing lures him forward, although it is only an illusion (‘Täuschung’/‘Illusion’).

He sees a signpost, but always seeks out other routes (‘Der Wegweiser’/‘The Signpost’). He comes to an inn, which is full and thus can offer no comfort (‘Das Wirtshaus’/‘The Inn’), and so continues his journey, the snow in his face (‘Mut’/‘Courage’), seeing three suns in the distant sky (‘Die Nebensonnen’/‘The Mock Suns’). Finally, beyond the village, he comes upon an old organ-grinder, poor and ignored by everyone: “Strange old man, shall I go with you? Will you grind your hurdy-gurdy to my songs?” (‘Der Leiermann’/‘The Organ-Grinder’).

Christopher H. Gibbs

I have been working on a project made around a performance of the song cycle Winterreise by Schubert.

Why Winterreise? It started as a thought of making a cycle of films, like a cycle of songs. To test ideas, I started to look at pieces of film I had already made, whilst listening to different pieces of music. One of the pieces of music I tested was Winterreise, vestigially familiar from childhood.

The affinity between my films and those songs was strong enough to continue the exploration.

Winter Journey The project began with two days of listening to the songs and watching many different films of mine made over the past 25 years, and discovering the affinities between the music and the films. These affinities had to do with rhythm, the tone of image, and associations released by the music and the films.

There are connections in form between that of a song and the animated films that I have made. There is a hint towards meaning, but not a clearly delineated route, both in the music and in the films. The films and the songs shift between the personal and a wider scope, between the domestic and the outdoors. I found in re-looking at the films many of the thematic elements of the songs: a man walking, an interest in landscape, a reflection on the fragility of emotional connection.

These affinities made the project seem possible. The corpus of films I had made, as films, as fragments, as background projections for theatre projects, as demonstrations for lectures, as unused footage that never found its way into films – all of this was there to be used, a landscape of fragments, amongst which we would construct our journey.

Who Needs the Words?

Working on the Winterreise project, making or finding images for the music – the closest I would come to being a musician – is also about reclaiming those Sunday afternoons, the smell of the cherry wood cabinet, with its neatly labelled drawers for records. But it is also an afterthe-fact justification of defence of the ‘half-understood.’

I have the text of all the Winterreise songs, in German, in English. I do know the meaning of each of them. The poetry is not dense, the sense not complex. But still, while working on each song, I find myself back in the old way of listening to lieder—a title, a direction, and then the specifics of each line retreating in a mist of incomprehension. I can and do deliberately lift this mist; but always, as I let it drop, I feel closer to the music, closer to each song. I am aware this is precarious terrain: a celebration of incomprehension. I cannot disguise ignorance, in my case ignorance of the German language, which is a lack.

But I want to redeem that with the imaginative gain this lack produces. I am aware this is a Johannesburg perspective.

A projection onto the given of the work. The record is like a letter from another world. But there is always distancing.

Caspar David Friedrich’s landscapes are depictions of what he saw, but also constructions made from notes made in his notebooks – ‘ice on a leaf’, the particular form of the angle of separation of branches.

Even in the Vienna of Schubert there is a distancing. Müller, the poet, was very affected by Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, and his ongoing theme of the traveller walking to his death in the frozen landscape owes much to the image of Frankenstein’s monster on the ice floes at the end of the novel.

This is obvious with painting or writing. What is less obvious is the way this artifice is the model of how we all go through and apprehend the world.

There is the domestic comfort of the Schubertiade, a place of sanctuary in Metternich’s Vienna, a safe space out of the censorship that controlled and confined public space. The rural life in the songs was even then a view of a life idealised and abandoned.

And then there is the gap between the music and the words – the specific words being necessary but inessential. The precise inarticulateness of the music, the instability being its truth. This is not to claim that music is the unconscious of the song, the truth behind the ostensible meaning of the words, but to make a space for other words and thoughts that the music invokes. To listen to the songs is not to invent lyrics for them, but to enter into a space of specific openness – a precision of meaning one knows is there – the singer had to know the words.

As a listener, one floats between the precision of the piano and words into an area of openness. Not having to visualise a trout in a river, but rather to sense in the music the ripples up and down our own thorax.

In the films I have made over the years, there has always been a movement between drawing and listening. Showing early stages of the films to the composer, and then both of us adjusting our work successively, as the music is written and new images emerge. With Winterreise the process was not so much one of making new drawings, though there are those too, but finding connections rhythmic, textual, iconic – that seemed a good meeting between the songs, written in Vienna in the 1820s and images made in South Africa 180 years later. Not finding (nor looking for) illustrations of the songs drawing a gate when the word gate is heard, or a mountain, or a river – or even directly translating them – a mine dump for a mountain, a storm water drain for a river.

Then what? Finding broader corollaries. Films of walking.

The bleached Highveld landscape for the snow filled white landscape of the songs.

The shock has been to find a Winterreise that was sitting somewhere in me all these years, as if I had been drawing the project for 20 years. Discovering in working on the songs part of what the films had been all along.

William Kentridge

ABOUT THE FILMS A schematic list of visual materials used in the 24 films for Winterreise.

1. Gute Nacht / Good Night New materials but based in part on images from Black Box / Chambre Noire (2005).

Black Box / Chambre Noire, 2005 Miniature theatre with projections and mechanical puppets Editing: Catherine Meyburgh Music: Philip Miller Singers: Alfred Makgalemele, Vevangua Muuondjo Mechanical Design: Jonas Lundquist Programming for Mechanical Objects: Ronald Halgren 2. Die Wetterfahne / The Weather Vane The central images in the film are based on Rebus, a series of bronze sculptures which perform a transformation of one image to another when turned through 90 degrees.

Rebus, 2013 A series of nine sculptures in bronze.

Cast at Workhorse Bronze Foundry, Johannesburg Edition of 12 3. Gefrorne Tränen / Frozen Tears The Refusal of Time, 2012, 30 minutes A collaboration with Philip Miller (music), Catherine Meyburgh (video editing) and Peter Galison (dramaturge).

5-channel video installation with sound, aluminium megaphones and a breathing machine.

4. Erstarrung / Numbness Drawings made with flakes of black paper, confetti animation first used in the film Breathe.

Breathe, Dissolve, Return, 2008,

6 minutes (three films titled individually Breathe, Dissolve, Return) Installation of three video projections, 6 minute loop DVcam and HDV Editing: Catherine Meyburgh Music: Philip Miller Singer: Nokrismesi Skota Construction Collaborator: Gerhard Marx 5. Der Lindenbaum / The Linden Tree Sleeping on Glass, 1999, 8 minutes 11 seconds Animated film using threedimensional objects, a live actor and charcoal drawing Editing: Catherine Meyburgh Music: Monteverdi Madrigali Erotici Sound Design: Wilbert Schübel 6. Wasserflut / Torrent Felix in Exile, 1994, 8 minutes 43 seconds 35mm film transferred to video Editing: Angus Gibson Music: Philip Miller, String Trio for Felix in Exile Musicians: Peta-Ann Holdcroft, Marjan Vonk-Stirling, Jan Pustejovsky); Go Tlapsha Didiba

by Motsumi Makhene (sung by Sibongile Khumalo) Sound: Wilbert Schübel 7. Am dem Flusse / On the River Felix in Exile, 1994, 8 minutes 43 seconds 35mm film transferred to video Editing: Angus Gibson Music: Philip Miller, String Trio for Felix in Exile Musicians: Peta-Ann Holdcroft, Marjan Vonk-Stirling, Jan Pustejovsky); Go Tlapsha Didiba

by Motsumi Makhene (sung by Sibongile Khumalo) Sound: Wilbert Schübel

8. Rückblick / Backward Glance Part of the tango from The Refusal of Time, pages from the flipbook film Anatomy of Melancholy.

The Refusal of Time, 2012, 30 minutes A collaboration with Philip Miller (music), Catherine Meyburgh (video editing) and Peter Galison (dramaturge).

5-channel video installation with sound, aluminium megaphones and a breathing machine.

NO, IT IS, 2012 Triptych of three flipbook films: Workshop Receipts (3min 17sec), The Anatomy of Melancholy (2min 21sec), Practical Enquiries (2min 19 sec) HD video Editing: Melissa Parry 9. Irrlicht / Deceiving Light The Refusal of Time, 2012, 30 minutes A collaboration with Philip Miller (music), Catherine Meyburgh (video editing) and Peter Galison (dramaturge).

5-channel video installation with sound, aluminium megaphones and a breathing machine.

10. Rast / Rest Weighing & Wanting, 1998, 6 minutes 20 seconds 35mm film transferred to video Editing: Angus Gibson and Catherine Meyburgh Music: Philip Miller Musicians: Peta-Ann Holdcroft, Marjan Vonk-Stirling, Ivo Ivanov Sound: Wilbert Schübel 11. Frühlingstraum / Love Reciprocated (A Dream) Automatic Writing, 2003, 6 minutes 35mm animated film transferred to video Music: Philip Miller Editing: Catherine Meyburgh

12. Einsamkeit / Loneliness Medicine Chest, 2001, 5 minutes 50 seconds 35mm film transferred to video, projected within a medicine cabinet Editing: Catherine Meyburgh Music: Philip Miller and Paul Hindemith Sound Design: Wilbert Schübel 13. Die Post / News from Nowhere Sleeping on Glass, 1999, 8 minutes 11 seconds Animated film using threedimensional objects, a live actor and charcoal drawing Editing: Catherine Meyburgh Music: Monteverdi Madrigali Erotici Sound Design: Wilbert Schübel 14 and 15. Der greise Kopf, Die Krähe / The Grey Head, The Crow Other Faces, 2011, 9 minutes 45 seconds 35mm film transferred to video Editing: Catherine Meyburgh Music and Sound Design: Philip Miller Voice: Ann Masina and Bham Ntabeni Sound Mix: Wilbert Schübel and Gavan Eckhart 16. Letzte Hoffnung / Last Hope Medicine Chest, 2001, 5 minutes 50 seconds 35mm film transferred to video, projected within a medicine cabinet Editing: Catherine Meyburgh Music: Philip Miller and Paul Hindemith Sound Design: Wilbert Schübel 17. Im Dorfe / In the Village Memo, 1994, 3 minutes William Kentridge, Robert Hodgins, Deborah Bell Music: Philip Miller 35 mm animated film using charcoal animation and a live actor, transferred to video

18. Die stürmische Morgen / The Stormy Morning Second-hand Reading, 2013, approx. 7 minutes Flipbook film from drawings on single pages of the Shorter Oxford English Dictionary HD video Music and Voice: Neo Muyanga Editing: Snezana Marovic 19. Täuschung / Deception Anti-Mercator, 2011, 9 minutes 45 seconds HD video Editing: Catherine Meyburgh Music and Soundscape: Philip Miller Voice: Bham Ntabeni Dancers: Dada Masilo, Thato Motlhaolwa Sound Editing: Gavan Eckhart 20. Die Wegweiser / The Signpost Zeno Writing, 2002 35mm animated film transferred to video, with charcoal and pastel drawing, footage from theatre performance, archival material from the First World War Music: Kevin Volans Sound Design: Wilbert Schübel Editing: Catherine Meyburgh

Felix in Exile Musicians: Peta-Ann Holdcroft, Marjan Vonk-Stirling, Jan Pustejovsky); Go Tlapsha Didiba

by Motsumi Makhene (sung by Sibongile Khumalo) Sound: Wilbert Schübel 23. Die Nebensonnen / The Mock Suns The Refusal of Time, 2012, 30 minutes A collaboration with Philip Miller (music), Catherine Meyburgh (video editing) and Peter Galison (dramaturge).

5-channel video installation with sound, aluminium megaphones and a breathing machine.

24. Die Leiermann / The Organ-Grinder A silhouette procession using new silhouettes, silhouettes from The Refusal of Time (2012), and earlier images from Shadow Procession in 1999.

The Refusal of Time, 2012, 30 minutes A collaboration with Philip Miller (music), Catherine Meyburgh (video editing) and Peter Galison (dramaturge).

5-channel video installation with sound, aluminium megaphones and a breathing machine.

21. Das Wirtshaus / The Inn Black Box / Chambre Noire, 2005 Miniature theatre with projections and mechanical puppets Editing: Catherine Meyburgh Shadow Procession, 1999, Music: Philip Miller 7 minutes Singers: Alfred Makgalemele, Animated film using torn black Vevangua Muuondjo paper figures, three-dimensional Mechanical Design: Jonas Lundquist objects, shadows, and fragments Programming for Mechanical from the film Ubu Tells the Truth Objects: Ronald Halgren 35mm film transferred to video 22. Mut / Courage and DVD Felix in Exile, 1994, Music: Alfred Makgalemele 8 minutes 43 seconds Editing: Catherine Meyburgh 35mm film transferred to video Sound design: Wilbert Schübel Editing: Angus Gibson Music: Philip Miller, String Trio for

WINTERREISE Text: Wilhelm Müller Gute Nacht Fremd bin ich eingezogen, Fremd zieh’ ich wieder aus.

Der Mai war mir gewogen Mit manchem Blumenstrauß.

Das Mädchen sprach von Liebe, Die Mutter gar von Eh’,— Nun ist die Welt so trübe, Der Weg gehüllt in Schnee.

Ich kann zu meiner Reisen Nicht wählen mit der Zeit, Muß selbst den Weg mir weisen In dieser Dunkelheit.

Es zieht ein Mondenschatten Als mein Gefährte mit, Und auf den weißen Matten Such’ ich des Wildes Tritt.

Was soll ich länger weilen, Daß man mich trieb hinaus?

Laß irre Hunde heulen Vor ihres Herren Haus; Die Liebe liebt das Wandern— Gott hat sie so gemacht— Von einem zu dem andern.

Fein Liebchen, gute Nacht!

Will dich im Traum nicht stören, Wär Schad’ um deine Ruh’, Sollst meinen Tritt nicht hören— Sacht, sacht die Türe zu!

Schreib’ im Vorübergehen Ans Tor dir: Gute Nacht, Damit du mögest sehen, An dich hab’ ich gedacht.

Die Wetterfahne Der Wind spielt mit der Wetterfahne Auf meines schönen Liebchens Haus.

Da dacht ich schon in meinem Wahne, Sie pfiff den armen Flüchtling aus.

Er hätt’ es eher bemerken sollen, Des Hauses aufgestecktes Schild, So hätt’ er nimmer suchen wollen Im Hause ein treues Frauenbild.

Der Wind spielt drinnen mit den Herzen, Wie auf dem Dach, nur nicht so laut.

Was fragen sie nach meinen Schmerzen?

Ihr Kind ist eine reiche Braut.

Gefrorne Tränen Gefrorne Tropfen fallen Von meinen Wangen ab: Ob es mir denn entgangen, Daß ich geweinet hab’?

Ei Tränen, meine Tränen, Und seid ihr gar so lau, Daß ihr erstarrt zu Eise, Wie kühler Morgentau?

Und dringt doch aus der Quelle Der Brust so glühend heiß, Als wolltet ihr zerschmelzen Des ganzen Winters Eis. Erstarrung Ich such’ im Schnee vergebens Nach ihrer Tritte Spur, Wo sie an meinem Arme Durchstrich die grüne Flur.

Ich will den Boden küssen, Durchdringen Eis und Schnee Mit meinen heißen Tränen,

Bis ich die Erde seh’.

Wo find’ ich eine Blüte?

Wo find’ ich grünes Gras?

Die Blumen sind erstorben, Der Rasen sieht so blaß.

Soll denn kein Angedenken Ich nehmen mit von hier?

Wenn meine Schmerzen schweigen, Wer sagt mir dann von ihr?

Mein Herz ist wie erstorben, Kalt starrt ihr Bild darin; Schmilzt je das Herz mir wieder, Fließt auch ihr Bild dahin.

Der Lindenbaum Am Brunnen vor dem Tore Da steht ein Lindenbaum; Ich träumt’ in seinem Schatten So manchen süßen Traum.

Ich schnitt in seine Rinde So manches liebe Wort; Es zog in Freud’ und Leide Zu ihm mich immer fort.

Ich mußt’ auch heute wandern Vorbei in tiefer Nacht, Da hab’ ich noch im Dunkeln Die Augen zugemacht.

Und seine Zweige rauschten, Als riefen sie mir zu: Komm her zu mir, Geselle, Hier find’st du deine Ruh’!

Die kalten Winde bliesen Mir grad ins Angesicht; Der Hut flog mir vom Kopfe, Ich wendete mich nicht.

Nun bin ich manche Stunde Entfernt von jenem Ort, Und immer hör’ ich’s rauschen: Du fändest Ruhe dort!

Wasserflut Manche Trän’ aus meinen Augen Ist gefallen in den Schnee; Seine kalten Flocken saugen Durstig ein das heiße Weh. Wenn die Gräser sprossen wollen, Weht daher ein lauer Wind, Und das Eis zerspringt in Schollen Und der weiche Schnee zerrinnt.

Schnee, du weißt von meinem Sehnen; Sag’, wohin doch geht dein Lauf?

Folge nach nur meinen Tränen, Nimmt dich bald das Bächlein auf.

Wirst mit ihm die Stadt durchziehen, Munt’re Straßen ein und aus; Fühlst du meine Tränen glühen, Da ist meiner Liebsten Haus.

Auf dem Flusse Der du so lustig rauschtest, Du heller, wilder Fluß, Wie still bist du geworden, Gibst keinen Scheidegruß.

Mit harter, starrer Rinde Hast du dich überdeckt, Liegst kalt und unbeweglich Im Sande ausgestreckt.

In deine Decke grab’ ich Mit einem spitzen Stein Den Namen meiner Liebsten Und Stund’ und Tag hinein: Den Tag des ersten Grußes, Den Tag, an dem ich ging; Um Nam’ und Zahlen windet

WINTER JOURNEY Trans.: Richard Wigmore Good Night I arrived a stranger, a stranger I depart.

May blessed me with many a bouquet of flowers.

The girl spoke of love, her mother even of marriage— now the world is so desolate, the path concealed beneath snow.

I cannot choose the time for my journey; I must find my own way in this darkness.

A shadow thrown by the moon: is my companion, and on the white meadows I seek the tracks of deer.

Why should I tarry longer and be driven out?

Let stray dogs howl before their master’s house.

Love delights in wandering— God made it so— from one to another, beloved, good night!

I will not disturb you as you dream, it would be a shame to spoil your rest, you shall not hear my footsteps; softly, softly the door is closed.

As I pass, I write “Good night” on your gate, so that you might see that I thought of you.

The Weathervane The wind is playing with the weathervane on my fair sweetheart’s house.

In my delusion I thought it was whistling to mock the poor fugitive.

He should have noticed it sooner, this sign fixed upon the house; then he would never have sought a faithful woman within that house.

Inside the wind is playing with hearts, as on the roof, only less loudly.

Why should they care about my grief?

Their child is a rich bride.

Frozen Tears Frozen drops fall from my cheeks; have I, then, not noticed that I have been weeping?

Ah tears, my tears, are you so tepid that you turn to ice, like the cold morning dew?

And yet you well up, so scaldingly hot, from your source within my heart, as if you would melt all the ice of winter.

Numbness In vain I seek her footprints in the snow, where she walked on my arm through the green meadows.

I want to kiss the ground, and pierce ice and snow with my burning tears,

until I see the earth.

Where shall I find a flower?

Where shall I find green grass?

The flowers have died, the grass looks so pale.

Shall I, then, take no memento from here?

When my sorrows are stilled, who will speak to me of her?

My heart is as if dead, her image coldly rigid within it; if my heart ever melts again her image too will flow away.

The Linden Tree By the fountain at the gate stands a linden tree, in whose shade I dreamt so many a sweet dream.

In whose bark I carved so many a word of love; in joy and sorrow I was drawn to it again and again.

Today, too, I had to pass it, at dead of night, and though it was dark I closed my eyes.

And its boughs rustled, as if calling: “Come, friend, here to me, here you shall find peace.”

Chill blasts blew full into my face, my hat flew from my head, I did not turn.

Now, many an hour from that place, still I hear it rustling: “There would you find peace!”

Flood Many a tear has fallen from my eyes into the snow; its cold flakes eagerly suck in my burning grief.

When the grass is about to shoot forth, a mild breeze blows; the ice breaks up into pieces and the soft snow melts away.

Snow, you know of my longing; tell me, where does your path lead?

If you but follow my tears the brook will soon absorb you.

With it you will flow through the town, in and out of bustling streets; when you feel my tears glow, there will be my sweetheart’s house.

On the Stream You who rushed along so merrily, you clear, wild stream, how quiet you have become, you offer no parting words.

With a hard, solid crust you have clothed yourself.

You lie cold and motionless stretched out in the sand.

On your surface I carve with a sharp stone the name of my beloved and the hour and the day: the day of our first meeting, the day I went away, name and numbers entwined

Sich ein zerbroch’ner Ring.

Mein Herz, in diesem Bache Erkennst du nun dein Bild?

Ob’s unter seiner Rinde Wohl auch so reißend schwillt?

Rückblick Es brennt mir unter beiden Sohlen, Tret’ ich auch schon auf Eis und Schnee, Ich möcht’ nicht wieder Atem holen, Bis ich nicht mehr die Türme seh’.

Hab’ mich an jeden Stein gestoßen, So eilt’ ich zu der Stadt hinaus; Die Krähen warfen Bäll’ und Schloßen Auf meinen Hut von jedem Haus.

Wie anders hast du mich empfangen, Du Stadt der Unbeständigkeit!

An deinen blanken Fenstern sangen Die Lerch’ und Nachtigall im Streit.

Die runden Lindenbäume blühten, Die klaren Rinnen rauschten hell, Und ach, zwei Mädchenaugen glühten!— Da war’s gescheh’n um dich, Gesell!

Kommt mir der Tag in die Gedanken, Möcht’ ich noch einmal rückwärts seh’n, Möcht’ ich zurücke wieder wanken, Vor ihrem Hause stille steh’n.

Irrlicht In die tiefsten Felsengründe Lockte mich ein Irrlicht hin: Wie ich einen Ausgang finde Liegt nicht schwer mir in dem Sinn.

Bin gewohnt das Irregehen, ’S führt ja jeder Weg zum Ziel: Uns’re Freuden, uns’re Wehen, Alles eines Irrlichts Spiel!

Durch des Bergstroms trock’ne Rinnen Wind’ ich ruhig mich hinab— Jeder Strom wird’s Meer gewinnen, Jedes Leiden auch sein Grab.

Rast Nun merk’ ich erst, wie müd’ ich bin, Da ich zur Ruh’ mich lege; Das Wandern hielt mich munter hin Auf unwirtbarem Wege.

Die Füße frugen nicht nach Rast, Es war zu kalt zum Stehen; Der Rücken fühlte keine Last, Der Sturm half fort mich wehen.

In eines Köhlers engem Haus Hab’ Obdach ich gefunden; Doch meine Glieder ruh’n nicht aus: So brennen ihre Wunden.

Auch du, mein Herz, in Kampf und Sturm So wild und so verwegen, Fühlst in der Still’ erst deinen Wurm Mit heißem Stich sich regen!

Frühlingstraum Ich träumte von bunten Blumen, So wie sie wohl blühen im Mai; Ich träumte von grünen Wiesen, Von lustigem Vogelgeschrei.

Und als die Hähne krähten Da ward mein Auge wach; Da war es kalt und finster, Es schrien die Raben vom Dach.

Doch an den Fensterscheiben

Wer malte die Blätter da?

Ihr lacht wohl über den Träumer, Der Blumen im Winter sah?

Ich träumte von Lieb’ um Liebe, Von einer schönen Maid, Von Herzen und von Küssen, Von Wonne und Seligkeit.

Und als die Hähne krähten, Da ward mein Herze wach; Nun sitz ich hier alleine Und denke dem Traume nach.

Die Augen schließ’ ich wieder, Noch schlägt das Herz so warm.

Wann grünt ihr Blätter am Fenster?

Wann halt’ ich mein Liebchen im Arm? Einsamkeit Wie eine trübe Wolke Durch heit’re Lüfte geht, Wenn in der Tanne Wipfel Ein mattes Lüftchen weht: So zieh ich meine Straße Dahin mit trägem Fuß, Durch helles, frohes Leben, Einsam und ohne Gruß.

Ach, daß die Luft so ruhig!

Ach, daß die Welt so licht!

Als noch die Stürme tobten, War ich so elend nicht.

Die Post Von der Straße her ein Posthorn klingt.

Was hat es, daß es so hoch aufspringt, Mein Herz?

Die Post bringt keinen Brief für dich.

Was drängst du denn so wunderlich, Mein Herz?

Nun ja, die Post kommt aus der Stadt, Wo ich ein liebes Liebchen hatt’, Mein Herz!

Willst wohl einmal hinüberseh’n, Und fragen, wie es dort mag geh’n, Mein Herz?

Der greise Kopf Der Reif hatt’ einen weißen Schein Mir übers Haar gestreuet.

Da glaubt’ ich schon ein Greis zu sein, Und hab’ mich sehr gefreuet.

Doch bald ist er hinweggetaut, Hab’ wieder schwarze Haare, Daß mir’s vor meiner Jugend graut— Wie weit noch bis zur Bahre!

Vom Abendrot zum Morgenlicht Ward mancher Kopf zum Greise.

Wer glaubt’s? Und meiner ward es nicht Auf dieser ganze Reise!

Die Krähe Eine Krähe war mit mir Aus der Stadt gezogen, Ist bis heute für und für Um mein Haupt geflogen.

Krähe, wunderliches Tier, Willst mich nicht verlassen?

Meinst wohl bald als Beute hier Meinen Leib zu fassen?

Nun, es wird nicht weit mehr geh’n An dem Wanderstabe.

Krähe, laß mich endlich seh’n Treue bis zum Grabe!

by a broken ring.

My heart, in this brook do you recognise your own image?

Is there, under your surface, too, a surging torrent?

Backward Glance The soles of my feet are burning, though I walk on ice and snow; I do not wish to draw breath again until I can no longer see the towers.

I tripped on every stone, such was my hurry to leave the town; the crows threw snowballs and hailstones onto my hat from every house.

How differently you received me, town of inconstancy!

At your shining windows lark and nightingale sang in rivalry.

The round linden trees blossomed, the clear fountains splashed brightly, and ah, a maiden’s eyes glowed!— Then, friend, your fate was sealed!

When that day comes to my mind I should like to look back once more, and stumble back to stand before her house.

who saw flowers in winter?

I dreamt of mutual love, of a lovely maiden, of embracing and kissing, of joy and rapture.

And when the cock crowed my heart awoke; now I sit here alone and reflect upon my dream.

I close my eyes again, my heart still beats so warmly.

Leaves on my window, when will you turn green?

When shall I hold my love in my arms?

Loneliness As a dark cloud drifts through clear skies, when a faint breeze blows in the fir-tops: Thus I go on my way, with weary steps, through bright, joyful life, alone, greeted by no one.

Alas, that the air is so calm!

Alas, that the world is so bright!

When the storms were still raging, I was not so wretched.

Will-o’-the-Wisp A will-o’-the-wisp enticed me into the deepest rocky chasms; how I shall find a way out does not trouble my mind.

I am used to straying, every path leads to one goal: our joys, our sorrows all are a will-o’-the-wisp’s game.

Down the dry gullies of the mountain stream I calmly wend my way; every river will reach the sea, every sorrow, too, will reach its grave.

The Post A posthorn sounds from the road.

Why is it that you leap so high, my heart?

The post brings no letter for you.

Why, then, do you surge so strangely, my heart?

But yes, the post comes from town where I once had a beloved sweetheart, my heart!

Do you want to peep out and ask how things are there, my heart?

Rest Only now, as I lie down to rest, do I notice how tired I am; walking kept me cheerful on the inhospitable road.

My feet did not seek rest, it was too cold to stand still; my back felt no burden, the storm helped to blow me onwards.

In a charcoal-burner’s cramped cottage I found shelter; but my limbs cannot rest, their wounds burn so.

You too, my heart, so wild and daring in battle and tempest; in this calm you now feel the stirring of your serpent, with its fierce sting!

The Grey Head The frost has sprinkled a white sheen upon my hair.

I thought I was already an old man, and I rejoiced.

But soon it melted away; once again I have black hair, so that I shudder at my youth— how far it still is to the grave!

Between sunset and the light of morning many a head has turned grey.

Who will believe it? Mine has not done so throughout this whole journey.

Dream of Spring I dreamt of bright flowers that blossomed in May; I dreamt of green meadows and merry bird-calls.

And when the cock crowed I opened my eyes; it was cold and dark, ravens cawed from the roof.

But there, on the window panes, who had painted the leaves?

Are you laughing at the dreamer

The Crow A crow has come with me from the town, and to this day has been flying ceaselessly about my head.

Crow, you strange creature, will you not leave me?

Do you intend soon to seize my body as prey?

Well, I do not have much further to walk with my staff.

Crow, let me at last see faithfulness unto the grave!

Letzte Hoffnung Hier und da ist an den Bäumen Manches bunte Blatt zu seh’n.

Und ich bleibe vor den Bäumen Oftmals in Gedanken steh’n.

Schaue nach dem einen Blatte, Hänge meine Hoffnung dran; Spielt der Wind mit meinem Blatte, Zitt’r’ ich, was ich zittern kann.

Ach, und fällt das Blatt zu Boden, Fällt mit ihm die Hoffnung ab; Fall’ ich selber mit zu Boden, Wein’ auf meiner Hoffnung Grab.

Im Dorfe Es bellen die Hunde, es rasseln die Ketten.

Es schlafen die Menschen in ihren Betten, Träumen sich manches, was sie nicht haben, Tun sich im Guten und Argen erlaben; Und morgen früh ist alles zerflossen.

Je nun, sie haben ihr Teil genossen, Und hoffen, was sie noch übrig ließen, Doch wieder zu finden auf ihren Kissen.

Bellt mich nur fort, ihr wachen Hunde, Laßt mich nicht ruh’n in der Schlummerstunde!

Ich bin zu Ende mit allen Träumen— Was will ich unter den Schläfern säumen?

Der stürmische Morgen Wie hat der Sturm zerrissen Des Himmels graues Kleid!

Die Wolkenfetzen flattern Umher in mattem Streit.

Und rote Feuerflammen Zieh’n zwischen ihnen hin.

Das nenn’ ich einen Morgen So recht nach meinem Sinn!

Mein Herz sieht an dem Himmel Gemalt sein eig’nes Bild— Es ist nichts als der Winter, Der Winter, kalt und wild.

Täuschung Ein Licht tanzt freundlich vor mir her; Ich folg’ ihm nach die Kreuz und Quer; Ich folg’ ihm gern und seh’s ihm an, Daß es verlockt den Wandersmann.

Ach, wer wie ich so elend ist, Gibt gern sich hin der bunten List, Die hinter Eis und Nacht und Graus Ihm weist ein helles, warmes Haus, Und eine liebe Seele drin— Nur Täuschung ist für mich Gewinn!

Der Wegweiser Was vermeid’ ich denn die Wege, Wo die ander’n Wand’rer gehn, Suche mir versteckte Stege Durch verschneite Felsenhöh’n?

Habe ja doch nichts begangen, Daß ich Menschen sollte scheu’n,— Welch ein törichtes Verlangen Treibt mich in die Wüstenei’n?

Weiser stehen auf den Straßen, Weisen auf die Städte zu, Und ich wand’re sonder Maßen Ohne Ruh’ und suche Ruh’.

Einen Weiser seh’ ich stehen

Unverrückt vor meinem Blick; Eine Straße muß ich gehen, Die noch keiner ging zurück.

Das Wirtshaus Auf einen Totenacker Hat mich mein Weg gebracht.

Allhier will ich einkehren: Hab’ ich bei mir gedacht.

Ihr grünen Totenkränze Könnt wohl die Zeichen sein, Die müde Wand’rer laden Ins kühle Wirtshaus ein.

Sind denn in diesem Hause Die Kammern all’ besetzt?

Bin matt zum Niedersinken Bin tödlich schwer verletzt.

O unbarmherz’ge Schenke, Doch weisest du mich ab?

Nun weiter denn, nur weiter, Mein treuer Wanderstab!

Mut Fliegt der Schnee mir ins Gesicht, Schüttl’ ich ihn herunter.

Wenn mein Herz im Busen spricht, Sing’ ich hell und munter.

Höre nicht, was es mir sagt, Habe keine Ohren, Fühle nicht, was es mir klagt, Klagen ist für Toren.

Lustig in die Welt hinein Gegen Wind und Wetter!

Will kein Gott auf Erden sein, Sind wir selber Götter!

Die Nebensonnen Drei Sonnen sah ich am Himmel steh’n, Hab’ lang und fest sie angeseh’n; Und sie auch standen da so stier, Als wollten sie nicht weg von mir.

Ach, meine Sonnen seid ihr nicht!

Schaut ander’n doch ins Angesicht!

Ja, neulich hatt’ ich auch wohl drei, Nun sind hinab die besten zwei.

Ging nur die dritt’ erst hinterdrein!

Im Dunkeln wird mir wohler sein.

Der Leiermann Drüben hinterm Dorfe Steht ein Leiermann, Und mit starren Fingern Dreht er, was er kann.

Barfuß auf dem Eise Wankt er hin und her; Und sein kleiner Teller Bleibt ihm immer leer.

Keiner mag ihn hören, Keiner sieht ihn an, Und die Hunde knurren Um den alten Mann.

Und er läßt es gehen Alles wie es will, Dreht, und seine Leier Steht ihm nimmer still.

Wunderlicher Alter, Soll ich mit dir gehn?

Willst zu meinen Liedern Deine Leier drehn?

Last Hope Here and there on the trees many a coloured leaf can still be seen.

I often stand, lost in thought, before those trees.

I look at one such leaf and hang my hopes upon it; if the wind plays with my leaf I tremble to the depths of my being.

Ah, and if the leaf falls to the ground my hopes fall with it; I, too, fall to the ground and weep on the grave of my hopes.

In the Village Dogs bark, chains rattle; people sleep in their beds, dreaming of many a thing they do not possess, consoling themselves with the good and the bad; and tomorrow morning all will have vanished.

Well, they have enjoyed their portion and hope to find on their pillows what they still have left to savor.

Drive me away with your barking, watchful dogs, allow me no rest in this hour of sleep!

I am finished with all dreams— why should I linger among slumberers?

The Stormy Morning How the storm has torn apart the grey mantle of the sky!

Tattered clouds fly about in weary conflict.

And red flames dart between them.

This is what I call a morning after my own heart!

My heart sees its own image painted in the sky— it is nothing but winter, winter, cold and savage.

Illusion A light dances cheerfully before me, I follow it this way and that; I follow it gladly, knowing that it lures the wanderer.

Ah, a man as wretched as I gladly yields to the beguiling gleam that reveals to him, beyond ice, night and terror, a bright, warm house, and a beloved soul within— even mere illusion is a boon to me!

The Signpost Why do I avoid the ways that other wanderers tread, and seek out hidden paths over snowy, rocky heights?

For I have done no wrong that I should shun men— what foolish craving drives me into desolate places?

On roads stand signposts pointing to towns, and I wander on and on restlessly in search of rest.

One signpost I see standing, immovable, before my gaze; one road I must tread, by which no one has yet returned.

The Inn My journey has brought me to a graveyard.

Here, I thought to myself: I will rest for the night.

Green funeral wreaths, you must be the signs inviting tired travellers into the cool inn.

Are all the rooms in this house taken, then?

I am weary to the point of collapse, I am fatally wounded.

Pitiless tavern, do you nonetheless turn me away?

On, then, press onwards, my trusty staff!

Courage When the snow flies in my face, I shake it off.

When my heart speaks in my breast, I sing loudly and merrily.

I do not hear what it tells me, I have no ears; I do not feel what it laments, lamenting is for fools.

Cheerfully out into the world, against wind and storm!

If there is no God on Earth, then we ourselves are gods!

The Mock Suns I saw three suns in the sky; I gazed at them long and intently; and they, too, stood there so fixedly, as if unwilling to leave me.

Alas, you are not my suns!

Gaze into other people’s faces!

Yes, not long ago I, too, had three suns; now the two best have set.

If only the third would follow, I should feel happier in the dark.

The Organ-Grinder There, beyond the village, stands an organ-grinder; with numb fingers he plays the best he can.

Barefoot on the ice he totters to and fro, and his little plate remains forever empty.

No one wants to listen, no one looks at him, and the dogs growl around the old man.

And he lets everything go on as it will, he plays, and his hurdy-gurdy never stops.

Strange old man, shall I go with you?

Will you grind your hurdy-gurdy to my songs?

WILLIAM KENTRIDGE

MATTHIAS GOERNE

William Kentridge’s work has been seen in museums and galleries around the world since the 1990s, including the Museum of Modern Art, dOCUMENTA in Kassel (Germany), the Albertina Museum in Vienna, and Jeu de Paume and the Musée du Louvre in Paris, where he presented Carnets d’Egypte, a project conceived for the Egyptian Room.

Kentridge’s production of Mozart’s The Magic Flute was presented at La Monnaie in Brussels, Festival d’Aix-en Provence, and Teatro alla Scala in Milan. His production of Shostakovich’s The Nose was seen at the Metropolitan Opera in 2010 and again in 2013, traveling to Festival d’Aix and to Lyon in 2011. The five-channel video and sound installation The Refusal of Time was made for dOCUMENTA (13) in 2012; since then it has been seen at MAXXI in Rome, the Metropolitan Museum in New York, and other cities. A substantial survey exhibition of Kentridge’s work opened in Rio de Janeiro in 2012, and travelled to Porto Alegre, São Paolo, Bogotá, Medellín, and Mexico City. In 2014 his production of Winterreise opened at the Vienna Festival, Festival d’Aix, and Holland Festival before its New York premiere at Lincoln Center.

Matthias Goerne is one of the most internationally soughtafter vocalists and a frequent guest at renowned festivals and concert halls. He has collaborated with leading orchestras all over the world. Conductors of the first rank as well as eminent pianists are among his musical partners.

In 2010, Kentridge received the prestigious Kyoto Prize for his contributions in the category of arts and philosophy.

In 2011 he was elected as an Honorary Member of the American Academy of Arts and Letters and received the degree of Doctor of Literature honoris causa from the University of London. In 2012, Kentridge presented the Charles Eliot Norton Lectures at Harvard University and was elected a member of the American Philosophical Society and the American Academy of Arts and Sciences. He was also awarded the Dan David Prize by Tel Aviv University and named Commandeur des Arts et des Lettres by the French Ministry of Culture and Communication. In 2013 Kentridge was awarded an honorary doctorate in fine arts

by Yale University.

Matthias Goerne has appeared on the world’s principal opera stages, including the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden; Teatro Real in Madrid; Paris National Opera; Vienna State Opera; and the Metropolitan Opera in New York.

His carefully chosen roles range from Wolfram, Amfortas, Kurwenal, Wotan and Orest to the title roles in Alban Berg’s Wozzeck, Béla Bartók’s Duke Bluebeard’s Castle, and Paul Hindemith’s Mathis der Maler.

Goerne’s artistry has been documented on numerous recordings, many of which have received prestigious awards, including four Grammy nominations, an ICMA award, and only recently the Diapason d’or arte. For harmonia mundi, he has recorded a series of selected Schubert on 11 CDs (The Goerne/Schubert Edition).

From 2001 through 2005, Matthias Goerne taught as an honorary professor of song interpretation at the Robert Schumann Academy of Music in Düsseldorf. In 2001, he was appointed an Honorary Member of the Royal Academy of Music in London. A native of Weimar, he studied with Hans Joachim Beyer in Leipzig, and later with Elisabeth Schwarzkopf and Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau.

Highlights in the 2014/15 season include a tour with the Vienna Philharmonic, concerts with the Chicago Symphony, Boston Symphony, Dallas Symphony, Czech Philharmonic, Orchestre de Paris, London Symphony, and the Accademia di Santa Cecilia, as well as song recitals with Piotr Anderszewski, Leif Ove Andsnes and Christoph Eschenbach in London, Vienna, Berlin and at La Scala di Milan. In January 2015, Matthias Goerne made his debut as Wotan in a concert version of Richard Wagner’s Rheingold with the Hong Kong Philharmonic. For August 2015, he has been invited to the prestigious summer festivals in Lucerne, Salzburg, Verbier Edinburgh, Tanglewood, New York (Mostly Mozart), and Japan (Saito Kinen Festival).

MARKUS HINTERHÄUSER Born in La Spezia, Italy, Markus Hinterhäuser studied piano at the University of Music and Performing Arts in Vienna and at the Mozarteum University in Salzburg. He has performed as a soloist and chamber musician in the world’s major concert halls and at internationally renowned festivals, including Carnegie Hall, the Musik - verein in Vienna, the Wiener Konzerthaus, and Teatro alla Scala in Milan. He has appeared at the Salzburg and Lucerne Festivals, Wien Modern, the Festival d’Automne, the Holland Festival, and the Berliner Festspiele. In the field of lieder interpretation, his long standing collaboration with Brigitte Fassbaender is particularly noteworthy.

In recent years Hinterhäuser has focused on the interpretation of contemporary music, particularly works

by Luigi Nono, Karlheinz Stockhausen, Morton Feldman, and György Ligeti. Alongside numerous recordings for radio and television, he has also recorded the complete oeuvre for piano by Arnold Schoenberg, Alban Berg, and Anton von Webern, as well as compositions by Feldman,

Nono, Giacinto Scelsi, Galina Ustvolskaya, and John Cage.

He has participated in music drama productions staged

by Christoph Marthaler, Johan Simons, and Klaus Michael Grüber, including the Wiener Festwochen productions of Christoph Marthaler’s Schutz vor der Zukunft (2005 and 2006) and Klaus Michael Grüber’s production of Janácˇek’s Diary of One Who Disappeared (2005).

Hinterhäuser has won international acclaim as co-founder and artistic director (together with Tomas Zierhofer-Kin) of the Zeitfluss event series presented from 1993 to 2001 at the Salzburg Festival. At Wiener Festwochen, he and Zierhofer-Kin co-founded and co-directed the Zeit-Zone series. From 2006 to 2010 he was responsible for the Salzburg Festival’s concert program, and was tenured as its artistic director for the 2011 season. From 2014 to 2016 he will serve as artistic director of Wiener Festwochen, and will return to his directorial post at the Salzburg Festival in 2017.

All photos: ©P.Bergerartcomart.

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