Winter Travel Easter
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
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I can not always listen. I have to have been sufficiently strong, stable, to do so.
never sing, of course. Not because it is for man's voice, that it is, otherwise it sounds, in addition to the texts speak at times of his beloved. No. I could with it.
is, I think, one of the toughest psychologically cycles go.
such introspection is a bleak analysis of the individual that is not easy to tackle.
The author, composer, in this case as directed and choose the texts of Müller as he wants, runs cold paths of the absolute loneliness of man-song.
The reason he gives us is a lack of love, a failure that leads to the sentimental poet, singer, roads, towns, desolate, empty, on a cold winter vital. It begins with a farewell
foreshadowing perhaps "suicide?
Walk.
No one comes to meet, nobody sees, but a weasel, dogs ...
lied in the past is an organ. A seedy character, abandoned by all, no coins on his plate, barking dogs ...
lied The last stanza is illuminating. A strophic lied, repeated as the topic of organ playing the piano, until he asks the organ "Put your music to my song?
No response. And that's the answer: solitude.
The absolute and perpetual loneliness of man.
And stay alive ...
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