Winterreise - Winter Journey (1828)

Composed by Franz Schubert (1797-1828)

Poems by Wilhelm Müller (1794-1827)

Abridged and translated by Daniel Szesiong Todd

Tenor: Daniel Szesiong Todd, Piano: Sue Goessling

Good Night (Gute Nacht)

I came here an outsider,

I leave an outsider.

May was filled

with bunches of flowers –

the girl spoke of love,

her mother even spoke of marriage –

now the world is dismal,

and the path is covered in snow.

I cannot choose

the time of my departure.

I have to find my own path

through this darkness.

A moon-shadow slinks along

as my companion,

and through the white meadows

I look for deer tracks.

Why should I hang around here,

waiting for someone to kick me out? Let mad dogs howl outside their master’s house!

Love loves to wander, God made it that way.

From one to another, sweet darling, good night.

I don’t want to disturb your dreams

for it would ruin your rest,

you shouldn’t hear my footsteps

as I gently close the doors.

As I pass by your door,

I will write on it: “Good Night”,

so that you might see

that I thought of you.

The Weather Vane (Die Wetterfahne)

The wind plays with the weather vane

on my beautiful darling’s house.

In my delusion I thought

it was screeching at this poor refugee!

He should have noticed it earlier –

the sign stuck to the house –

then he would never have sought

the image of a faithful woman here.

The wind plays inside me, with my heart,

like on the roof, but not so loud.

Why would they ask about my pain?

Their child is a rich bride!

Frozen Tears (Gefrorne Tränen)

Frozen tears fall

from my cheeks

How did I not notice

I’ve been crying?

Oh tears, my tears,

are you so luke-warm

that you could freeze into ice-blocks

like the cold dew of morning?

You force yourselves up, burning,

from the hot well in my chest –

as if you want to melt away

all the winter’s ice.

Numbness (Erstarrung)

Pointlessly, I search in the snow

for a trace of her footprints,

where we walked arm in arm

through the green fields.

I want to kiss the ground,

force myself through ice and snow

with hot tears till I see the earth.

Where are the flowers?

Where is the green grass?

The flowers are dead,

the lawns look pale.

Should I then take

no memento from here?

If my pain is silent,

who will speak to me of her?

My heart is frozen,

her image, frozen within it;

If my heart ever thaws

her image will melt away too.

The Linden Tree (Der Lindenbaum)

At the well, by the gate

stands a linden tree,

I dreamed in its shadows

so many beautiful dreams.

I carved into its bark

so many words of love;

it always drew me in

in times of joy and sadness.

Today I must walk by

in deepest night.

In the darkness

I closed my eyes

And its branches rustled

as if calling to me:

“Come to me, friend,

you’ll find rest here.”

The cold wind blew

straight into my face,

my hat flew off my head;

I didn’t turn back.

Now it’s been a few hours

since I passed that place,

but I can still hear, rustling,

“You’ll find rest here.”

On the River (Auf dem Flusse)

You, who babbled so cheerfully,

you bright, wild river,

how silent you have become,

not even saying goodbye!

You’ve covered yourself over

with a hard, rigid rind,

lying cold and unmoving,

stretched out on the sand.

On your surface I scratch out

with a sharp stone

the name of my beloved,

and the hour, and the day...

The day we first met,

the day I left.

Around the name and numbers –

a broken ring.

My heart – in this river,

do you recognize yourself?

Beneath this hard outer rind,

isn’t there also a roaring current?

Turn back (Rückblick)

Both my feet are burning,

though I walk through ice and snow,

I don’t even want to breathe

till the towers are out of view.

I stubbed my toe on every stone

in my rush to get out of the city,

the crows threw rocks at my head

from every house I passed.

How differently you welcomed me,

you backstabbing city,

in your shining windows, the lark

and nightingale sang in argument.

The robust linden trees bloomed,

clear water rippled through the gutters,

and, oh, a young girl’s eyes glinted –

that’s what sealed your fate, my friend.

When I think about that day,

I want to look back again.

I want to stagger back

and stand silently in front of her house.

Rest (Rast)

Only now I notice how tired I am,

as I lay down to rest.

My wandering kept me spry

over inhospitable paths.

My feet didn’t ask for rest,

it was too cold to stand still.

My back felt no burden,

the storm blew me onwards.

In a charcoal-burner’s tiny hut

I have found shelter;

but I can’t rest my limbs

because their wounds are still burning.

And you, my heart, in struggle and storm,

so wild and foolhardy,

only now, in this silence, you feel

the fierce serpent stinging you.

Dream of Spring (abridged) (Frühlingstraum)

I dreamed of colourful flowers,

the way they bloom in spring,

I dreamed of green meadows

and lusty birdsong.

But when the rooster crowed

my eyes started awake,

it was cold and gloomy,

the ravens cawed from the roof.

But on the windowsill,

who painted the leaves there?

Are you laughing at the dreamer

who saw flowers in winter?

Die Post (The Post)

From out on the street a post horn sounds,

Why do you leap up like that,

my heart?

The postman brings nothing for you,

so why do you surge so strangely inside me,

my heart?

But yes, the postman comes from the city

where I once loved someone so much,

my heart!

Do you want to go check it out,

and ask how things are going there,

my heart?

The Crow (Die Krähe)

A crow has flown with me

from the city,

it’s still with me now,

flying round and round my head.

Crow, you strange creature,

won’t you leave me be?

Do you intend to follow me

till you can eat my body as carrion?

Well, I don’t have much further to go

on this road, with my staff.

Crow, let me finally see what they mean,

when they say “till death do us part.”

Last Hope (Letzte Hoffnung)

Here and there on the trees

you can still see some colourful leaves,

and I often stand there, staring at the trees,

lost in thought.

I stare at one leaf,

and pin all my hopes to it.

The wind plays with my leaf,

d my body shakes all over.

Oh… my leaf falls to the ground,

and with it, all my hope.

So I fall to the ground as well

and cry on my hope’s grave.

In the Village (Im Dorfe)

The dogs bark, the chains rattle,

the people are asleep in their beds,

dreaming of things they don’t have,

consoling themselves with good and bad,

and tomorrow morning, everything melts away.

Oh well, they enjoyed their portion,

and now they hope to find the

there on their pillows.

Drive me away then, you watch dogs!

Don’t allow me rest during the hours of sleep!

I’m done with all dreams anyway.

Why should I hang around these sleeping people?

The Stormy Morning (Der Stürmische Morgen)

How the storm has torn

the sky’s grey cloak,

the ragged clouds flap about

in feeble resistance.

And red tongues of fire

arc from one to the other.

Now that’s what I call

a morning after my own heart.

My heart sees its own image

painted on the sky.

It’s nothing but the winter,

the cold, wild winter.

The Signpost (Der Wegweiser)

Why do I avoid the roads

that other wanderers take,

and search out hidden paths

through snowcapped peaks?

I have done nothing so wrong,

that I should shun human company.

What kind of stupid longing

has driven me into this wasteland?

Signposts stand by the roadside,

signposts pointing towards towns,

and I wander strange routes

without rest, and seeking rest.

A signpost stands before me

I see it, clear as day,

I must walk a path

that no one returns from.

The Inn (Das Wirtshaus) –

My journey has brought me

to a graveyard,

OK, I’ll rest here for the night,

I thought to myself.

Green funeral wreaths -

You must be the signs

inviting tired travellers

into the cool inn.

Are all the rooms in the house

already taken?

I am weary enough to collapse,

my wounds are fatal.

Oh, heartless tavern,

do you still turn me away?

Onward, then, ever onward,

my trusty walking staff.

Courage (Mut)

The snow flies into my face.

I shake it off.

When my heart speaks in my chest,

I sing out, bright and cheerful.

I don’t hear what it says to me,

I have no ears!

I don’t feel what it complains of,

Complaining is for idiots!

Lustily through the world I go,

despite the wind and weather!

If there is no god on earth,

then we will all be gods!

The Mock Suns (Die Nebensonnen)

I saw three suns in the sky,

…stared at them for ages.

And they, too, stood there blankly,

as if they didn’t want to leave me.

Ah, you’re not my suns!

Go stare into someone else’s face!

Ah, not long ago I had all three –

but now the best two are gone.

If only the third would go down,

I would feel much better in the dark.

The Organ-Grinder (Der Leiermann)

Over there, behind the town,

stands an organ-grinder.

With fingers, stiff with cold,

he turns the handle, as best he can.

Barefoot on the ice

he staggers back and forth,

and his little plate

is always empty.

No one wants to hear him,

no one looks at him,

and the local dogs growl

around the old man.

And he lets it happen:

everything as it will.

He turns the handle, and the organ

is never silent.

Wondrous old man,

shall I go with you?

Will you grind your organ

to my songs?