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Wir sind durch Not und Freude
Gegangen Hand in Hand:
Vom Wandern ruhen wir beide
Nun überm stillen Land. [Read more…]
Through trouble and joy we have
walked hand in hand:
we can rest from our travels
now, above the quiet country-side.
The valleys fade away around us,
the sky grows dark,
Only two larks still rise
dreaming into the fragrant air.
Come here, and let them fly
Soon comes the time for our rest
and we must not lose our way
in this loneliness.
O broad, quiet peace!
So deep in the evening’s gleam,
How exhausted we are with our travels—
can this perhaps be death?
–Josef von Eichendorff, “Im Abendrot” from Frühling und Liebe (1841) (S.H. transl.)
Listen to Elisabeth Schwarzkopf sing the Richard Strauss setting of Eichendorff’s “Im Abendrot” from Vier letzte Lieder (1946) with George Szell and the Cleveland Symphony Orchestra. In Philip Roth’s Exit Ghost he commends this song with the following words:
For the profundity that is achieved not by complexity but by clarity and simplicity. For the purity of the sentiment about death and parting and loss. For the long melodic line spinning out and the female voice soaring and soaring. For the repose and composure and gracefulness and the intense beauty of the soaring. For the ways one is drawn into the tremendous arc of heartbreak. The composer drops all masks and, at the age of eighty-two, stands before you naked. And you dissolve.
This is without a doubt one of the greatest works of the German art song repertoire, and Elisabeth Schwarzkopf’s performance knows no match.
More from Scott Horton:
Conversation — March 30, 2016, 3:44 pm
Joseph Hickman discusses his new book, The Burn Pits, which tells the story of thousands of U.S. soldiers who, after returning from Iraq and Afghanistan, have developed rare cancers and respiratory diseases.
Freddie Gray’s relatives arrived for the trial in the afternoon, after the prep-school kids had left. By their dress, they seemed to have just gotten off work in the medical and clerical fields. The family did not appear at ease in the courtroom. They winced and dropped their heads as William Porter and his fellow officer Zachary Novak testified to opening the doors of their police van last April and finding Freddie paralyzed, unresponsive, with mucus pooling at his mouth and nose. Four women and one man mournfully listened as the officers described needing to get gloves before they could touch him.
The first of six Baltimore police officers to be brought before the court for their treatment of Freddie Gray, a black twenty-five-year-old whose death in their custody was the immediate cause of the city’s uprising last spring, William Porter is young, black, and on trial. Here in this courtroom, in this city, in this nation, race and the future seem so intertwined as to be the same thing.
Average speed of Heinz ketchup, from the mouth of an upended bottle, in miles per year:
After studying the fall of 64,000 individual raindrops, scientists found that some small raindrops fall faster than they ought to.
The Playboy mansion in California was bought by the heir to the Twinkie fortune, and a New Mexico man set fire to his apartment to protest his neighbors’ loud lovemaking.
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“Matt was happy enough to sustain himself on the detritus of a world he saw as careening toward self-destruction, and equally happy to scam a government he despised. 'I’m glad everyone’s so wasteful,' he told me. 'It supports my lifestyle.'”