Pierrot Lunaire Translations
Glen Tetley’s Pierrot Lunaire is performed to Arnold Shoenberg’s 1911 score that sets Otto Erich Hartleben’s German adaptation of 21 poems by Albert Giraud to music. The translations below are provided by Magdalena McLean.
1. Moondrunk
The wine our eyes drink in
is poured in waves by the moon.
A spring tide floods
the silent horizon.
Countless desires, both horrid and sweet,
swim through the flood.
The wine our eyes drink in
is poured in waves by the moon.
The poet, enthralled by devotion,
intoxicated by the holy drink,
lifts up his head to heaven in ecstasy
and drunkenly sucks and slurps
the wine our eyes drink in.
2. Colombine
The moonlight's pale blossoms,
the miraculous white roses,
bloom in summer nights –
if I could only pick one!
I search for them by the dark stream
to soothe my suffering.
The moonlight's pale blossoms,
the miraculous white roses.
My desires would be satisfied,
if like in a fairy tale I could
so gentlyscatter
the moonlight's pale blossoms
on your chestnut hair.
3. The Dandy
The moon, with a fantastic beam of light
illuminates the crystal flasks
that sit upon the black, most holy basin
of the speechless dandy of Bergamo.
The fountains gurgle with metallic clangs
in a resonant bronze bowl.
The moon, with a fantastic beam of light,
illuminates the crystal flasks.
Pierrot, with a face of wax, stands deep in thought.
What makeup shall I wear today?
He casts aside the red and green
and paints his face sublimely
with a fantastic beam of light.
4. A pale washerwoman
A pale washerwoman
washes dirty clothes at night.
She stretches her bare, silvery arms
down into the water.
Breezes creep through the clearing
and lightly ripple the stream.
A pale washerwoman
washes dirty clothes at night.
The gentle maid of heaven,
caressed by the branches,
spreads her linen weaved from light
across the dusky meadows –
a pale washerwoman.
5. Valse de Chopin
Like a pale drop of blood
stains the lips of the sick,
so the allure of destruction
resides in this melody.
With wild desire the chords disturb
despair's icy dream
like a pale drop of blood
stains the lips of the sick.
Fiery, exultant, sweet and yearning,
melancholy waltzes
never leave my mind
as they cling to my thoughts
like a pale drop of blood.
6. Madonna
Arise, O Mother of sorrows
on the altar of my poetry.
The sword's fury has drawn blood
from your withered bosom.
Your fresh wounds are eternal,
like eyes, red and open.
Arise, O Mother of sorrows,
on the altar of my poetry.
You hold your son's body
in your bony hands,
offering it to all humankind.
But humankind's gaze turns away
from you, O Mother of sorrows.
7. The Ailing Moon
Nocturnal moon, deathly ill,
lying on heaven's sick bed.
Your feverishly swollen gaze
enchants me like a strange song.
You're suffocated by longing,
dying in the throes of love.
Nocturnal moon, deathly ill,
lying on heaven's sick bed.
Your lover, in ecstasy,
slinks to the union without thought
and is aroused by your playful rays.
Your pale, tormented blood –
nocturnal moon, deathly ill.
8. Night
Darkest black butterflies
annihilate the sun.
The horizon sleeps soundly
like a sealed book of spells.
A scent rises from the abyss,
murdering memory.
Darkest black butterflies
annihilate the sun.
Gliding down from heaven
with lumbering wings
invisible monsters descend
on our human hearts –
darkest black butterflies.
9. Prayer to Pierrot
Pierrot, I have forgotten
my laughter.
The image of splendour
melted away.
I now see the flag
proudly flying black.
Pierrot, I have forgotten
my laughter.
Give it back to me,
horse-doctor of the soul,
snowman of poetry,
your lunar highness,
Pierrot, my laughter.
10. Loot
Royal red rubies,
bloody drops of ancient glory
sleep in coffins
buried deep in crypts.
At night, Pierrot sneaks down
with his followers to steal
royal red rubies,
bloody drops of ancient glory.
But their hair stands on end,
they are frozen stiff with fear.
Eyes stare at them from coffins
through the darkness.
Royal red rubies.
11. Red Mass
In the glittering gold
of flickering candlelight
Pierrot comes to the altar
of the gruesome Eucharist.
His consecrated hands
tear at the priest's clothes
at the gruesome Eucharist
in glittering gold.
He makes the sign of the cross
and shows the dripping
red host to suffering souls:
his own heart in his bloody fingers
at the gruesome Eucharist.
12. Song of the Gallows
The skinny whore
with the long neck
will be
his last lover.
The skinny whore
is stuck
in his brain
like a nail.
Skinny as a pine
and plaits down her neck,
she'll embrace the rogue
with swelling lust,
the skinny whore.
13. Decapitation
The moon, a glittering scimitar
on a black silk cushion;
eerily large, it looms over
the dark agony of night.
Pierrot shuffles restlessly
and stares up in deathly fear
at the moon, a glittering scimitar
on a black silk cushion.
His knees give way
as he suddenly faints.
Clear in his mind, he sees it
cleave his neck in punishment,
the moon, a glittering scimitar.
14. The Crosses
Verses are the holy crosses
on which poets bleed in silence.
Struck by ghostly swarms
of fluttering vultures.
Swords have gorged on their bodies,
delighting in the scarlet blood.
Verses are the holy crosses
on which poets bleed in silence.
All dead, with blood-matted hair,
far from the jeering crowd,
the sun slowly sets
like a scarlet crown.
Verses are the holy crosses.
15. Nostalgia
Sweet lamenting, a crystal sigh
resonates from Italy's old pantomime.
Why has Pierrot become so wooden,
so sentimentally modern?
It echoes through his heart's wasteland,
muffled through all his senses.
Sweet lamenting, a crystal sigh
resonates from Italy's old pantomime.
Pierrot forgets his mask of tragedy.
His yearning sails through the pale moonlight,
through the sea-light's tidewaters
up it goes with courage to its heavenly home.
Sweet lamenting, a crystal sigh.
16. Atrocity
Pierrot drills into Cassander's bare head
amid screams of bloody murder.
He drills gently with a trepan,
and with an insincere air.
He stuffs into it with his thumb
genuine Turkish tobacco.
Into Cassander's bare head
amid screams of bloody murder.
He screws a cherry pipe
into the bald spot
and leisurely puffs away
on his genuine Turkish tobacco
from Cassander's bare head.
17. Parody
Knitting needles glint and gleam
in her grey hair.
The governess sits there
mumbling away in her red dress.
She waits in the arbour,
painfully in love with Pierrot.
Knitting needles glint and gleam
in her grey hair.
Listen... a sudden whisper,
a giggling breath of wind.
The evil moon
mocks with his rays.
Knitting needles glint and gleam.
18. The Moonfleck
A white speck from the bright moon
shines on the back of his black dress.
Pierrot sets off one balmy evening
in search of happiness and adventure.
Something bothers him about his suit,
he soon finds what it is.
A white speck from the bright moon
shines on the back of his black dress.
Wait... Could it be a spot of plaster?
He wipes and wipes but can't get it off.
Onwards he goes till the break of day,
increasingly annoyed, rubbing and rubbing
a white speck from the bright moon.
19. Serenade
Pierrot scrapes at his viola
with a grotesquely giant bow.
He plucks a gloomy pizzicato
like a stork on one leg.
Cassander suddenly appears,
furious at the midnight virtuoso.
Pierrot scrapes at his viola
with a grotesquely giant bow.
He tosses the viola aside.
Delicately with his left hand
he grabs baldy by the collar
and dreamily plays on his bare head
with a grotesquely giant bow.
20. Journey Home
A moonbeam is the rudder,
a waterlily the boat.
Thus Pierrot tracks south
on a true wind.
The stream hums deeply
and rocks the delicate craft.
A moonbeam is the rudder,
a waterlily the boat.
Pierrot now returns home
to Bergamo.
The horizon glows green
as dawn faintly breaks.
A moonbeam is the rudder.
21. O perfume from fairy tales of old
O fairy tales of old,
beguile me with your perfume.
A swarm of pranksters
swirl through the breeze.
A happy desire makes me yearn
for joys I have long since denied.
O fairy tales of old,
beguile me with your perfume.
I have renounced all my discontent.
Unburdened, I see the beautiful world
outside my sun-framed window.
and I drift into dreams of blissful expanses.
O perfume from fairy tales of old.