sei allem Abschied voran / be ahead of all parting / adianta-te ao adeus

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links:

Quinta-feira, 25 de Agosto

1988




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Sometimes people ask me, "What is a Jew?" The answer is the following: a Jew who has anti-Semitic experiences in Berlin in 2008 is different from the Jew who had anti-Semitic experiences in 1940. The Jew of 1940 felt threatened; the Jew of today can think of his own land, of Israel. Today I can say, ''either you learn to deal with me, you anti-Semite, or we go our separate ways, period.''

That makes an existential difference. I am a short-term pessimist about the Middle East, but a long-term optimist. Either we will find a way to live with each other or we will kill each other.

What gives me hope?

Music making.

Because, before a Beethoven symphony,

Mozart's "Don Giovanni"

or

Wagner's "Tristan und Isolde",

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all human beings are equal.

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Träume... Régine Crespin

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23 février 1927 - 5 juillet 2007

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Die Wesendonck-Lieder sind ein Liederzyklus von Richard Wagner nach Gedichten von Mathilde Wesendonck. Die Fünf Gedichte für Frauenstimme und Klavier entstanden in den Jahren 1857 und 1858.


5. Träume
(Studie zu Tristan und lsolde)

Sag', welch' wunderbare Träume
Halten meinen Sinn umfangen,
Daß sie nicht wie leere Schäume
Sind in ödes Nichts vergangen?

Träume, die in jeder Stunde,
Jedem Tage schöner blühn
Und mit ihrer Himmelskunde
Selig durchs Gemüte ziehn!

Träume, die wie hehre Strahlen
In die Seele sich versenken,
Dort ein ewig Bild zu malen:
Allvergessen, Eingedenken!

Träume, wie wenn Frühlingssonne
Aus dem Schnee die Blüten küßt,
Daß zu nie geahnter Wonne
Sie der neue Tag begrüßt,

Daß sie wachsen, daß sie blühen,
Träumend spenden ihren Duft,
Sanft an deiner Brust verglühen,
Und dann sinken in die Gruft.

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Tell me, what kind of wondrous dreams
are embracing my senses,
that have not, like sea-foam,
vanished into desolate Nothingness?

Dreams, that with each passing hour,
each passing day, bloom fairer,
and with their heavenly tidings
pass blissfully through my heart!

Dreams which, like holy rays of light
sink into the soul,
there to paint an eternal image:
forgetting all, thinking of only One.

Dreams which, when the Spring sun
kisses the buds from the snow,
so that into unsuspected bliss
they greet the new day,

so that they grow, so that they bloom,
and dreaming, bestow their fragrance,
these dreams gently glow and fade on your breast,
and then sink into the grave.

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