Dustbin, version 2014

Mother´s weeping in the bathroom,
Blow wind blow, and take her tears,
Father´s watching televsion,
Calming down, it seems.

The neigbours don´t come by to ask,
Blow wind blow,
What´s going wrong.
They just turn their TVs louder,
"Angelique" is on.

Quietly she sits and draws
Doesn´t hear them fight again.
She can cut out all the screaming,
Just leaving on the rain. 

Quietly she sits and draws
All the little things she loves:
Kitten, flowers. Baby Jesus, 
Let me grow up fast.

Will I, too, be called these words?
Blow wind, tell me, if you know.
Or will I be loved and wealthy,
Like in that TV show?

If it´s words that bring those tears,
Blow wind blow, take them away,
I will rather never speak
Than to cry away.

Quietly she sits and draws
Doesn´t hear them fight again.
She can cut out all the screaming,
And just leaves the wind and rain. 

Lullaby

Mazurka

Well, the Dancing house is dancing
and the golden lane wants cash
and Jan Hus on his memorial
is shat on by pigeon rats.

At the TV tower in Zizkov,
a rocket waiting to take off,
giant toddlers crawl to heaven
they're fed up with their mom's love.

And the mayor's son takes high risks
as his father's taking bribes.
And I take another last look 
at the town I once called mine.

The Chinese girls are giggling
as the doctor and the Jew
chase the starman and the preacher,
fugitives like me and you.

Over beers and herbal liquors
a ten piece male choir from Bonn
praise the beautiful Rhine valley
as the clock is turning on.

And the mayor's wife takes smart pills
as her husband's taking bribes
and I take another last glimpse
at the town I still call mine.


Another Last Look

When I am dead, my dearest,
         Sing no sad songs for me;
Plant thou no roses at my head,
         Nor shady cypress tree:
Be the green grass above me
         With showers and dewdrops wet;
And if thou wilt, remember,
         And if thou wilt, forget.

I shall not see the shadows,
         I shall not feel the rain;
I shall not hear the nightingale
         Sing on, as if in pain:
And dreaming through the twilight
         That doth not rise nor set,
Haply I may remember,
         And haply may forget. 

When I am dead, my dearest (poem by Christina Rossetti)

Dreamer

City of Hills n1

based on "Der Tantenmörder" by German expressionist poet Frank Wedekind, translated by Dorothea Gotfurt. 

I’ve Murdered Auntie

I have murdered dear Auntie Alice,
My Auntie so old and so frail.
Motivated by greed and malice
I went straight on the treasure trail.

Her little house was simply seething
With banknotes, with shares and with gold.
I heard my Auntie’s heavy breathing
But that left me perfectly cold.

I just followed my intuition,
In the dark I opened her door
And knifed her without inhibition—
My Auntie sighed and breathed no more.

The golden coins were weighing me down,
Her body was heavy as lead,
But I dragged Auntie without a frown
Through the garden and into the shed.

I have murdered dear Auntie Alice,
My Auntie so old and so frail.
I’m young, so young, yet out of malice
They’ve sentenced me to life-long jail.

Frank Wedekind (1864–1918)


Killing Auntie Alice Blues

Lied von der Moldau

Auf dem Friedhof am Montmartre (Biermann)

An early poem by Bertolt Brecht, set to music various times. My version, written in April 2017, is probably the most recent one. David Bowies "Remembering Marie A.", based on Brecht's own musical idea, probably the most famous one. Here is his translation:



It was a day in that blue month september
Silent beneath the plum trees' slender shade
I held her there
My love, so pale and silent
As if she were a dream that must not fade

Above us in the shining summer heaven
There was a cloud my eyes dwelled long upon
It was quite white and very high above us
Then I looked up
And found that it had gone

And since that day, so many moons in silence
Have swum across the sky and gone below
The plum trees surely have been chopped for firewood
And if you ask, how does that love seem now
I must admit, I really can't remember
And yet I know what you are trying to say
But what her face was like, I know no longer
I only know I kissed it on that day

As for the kiss, I long ago forgot it
But for the cloud that floated in the sky
I know that still and shall forever know it
It was quite white and moved in very high
It may be that the plum trees still are blooming
That woman's seventh child may now be there
And yet that cloud had only bloomed for minutes
When I looked up
It vanished on the air

Erinnerung an die Marie A.

Sa-mi canti cobzar batran ceva

Music and words by German poet, singer-songwriter and former political diíssident from the GDR, Wolf Biermann.

Das kann doch nicht alles gewesen sein

Medley of a lullaby-poem by Gabriela Mistral and a love song by Walter Mossmann, music by Mossmann.

Serenada serena

My German version of Fabrizio de André's "Valzer per un amore", based on the music of the "Valzer campestre" (Gino Martinuzzi) and the Pierre de Ronsard's sonnet "Quand vous serez bien vielle". 

Wenn, gebeutelt von Alter und Enthaltsamkeit,
Dich Phantomlust und Melancholie sticht,
Weil dir einfällt die gute, vergeudete Zeit,
Aus der mittendrin dieses Lied spricht.

Und Du hörst es Dir an
Und Du bist ganz gerührt,
Dass dich tatsächlich einer besungen,
Deine Schönheit derart angebetet hat,
Die nun leider fast völlig verklungen.

Dann helfen keine Tränen mehr und kein gerauftes Haar,
Weil mein diesbezügliches Angebot zeitlich befristet war.
Da helfen keine Vorwürfe, erst recht kein Selbstmitleid,
denn Feste feiert man, wie sie fallen. Alles zu seiner Zeit.

Ja da läuft sie und läuft und läuft, die Zeit.
Vielleicht kommen wir noch auf den Trichter,
Dass die Zeit an und für sich keine Falten kriegt,
Völlig anders als unsere Gesichter.

Und so fleh ich Dich an, appeliere an Dich,
Sei vernünftig, hör auf die Triebe
Und lass mich nicht länger im Regen stehen,
S'ist noch Frühling, Zeit für die Liebe.

Dann helfen keine Tränen mehr und kein gerauftes Haar,
Weil mein diesbezügliches Angebot zeitlich befristet war.
Da helfen keine Vorwürfe, erst recht kein Selbstmitleid,
denn Feste feiert man, wie sie fallen. Alles zu seiner Zeit.

Walzer zur Vermeidung der Melancholie

Solang die Erd' sich weiterdreht,
Solang die Sonne noch scheint, 
Bitte ich Dich, sei großzügig,
Verteil, was du bisher verneint.

Dem Kopfmenschen noch mehr graue Zell'n,
Dem Feigling ein gutes Versteck, 
Lass den Glückspilz von mir aus im Goldregen stehn,
Und mich auch nicht im Dreck.

Solang der Planet sich weiterdreht,
Herr, du hast's in der Hand,
Gib dem unheilbar Machthungrigen, was er begehrt,
Am besten sein eigenes Land.

Lass den Großherzigen ausnahmsweise
Ein paar Stunden in Ruh,
Wasch weg von Kains Stirn den uralten Fleck,
Und mir hör auch manchmal zu.

Ich weiß ja, dass du allwissend bist,
Deiner Weisheit vertraue ich blind.
Wie die als Helden Gefallenen,
Vermutlich im Himmelreich sind.

Wie alles Lebendige felsenfest 
Glaubt, dass, was du sagst auch stimmt,
Wie wir uns ja auch, egal was wir tun
Traumwandlerisch sicher sind.

Mein Gott, mein Herr, Allmächtiger,
Du ewiger tiefgrüner Blick!
Solange die Erde sich weiterdreht
Und kennt doch nicht ihr Geschick,

Solange ihr noch etwas Zeit
Und Tat- und Willensmut bleibt,
Gib jedermann etwas von Dir
Und auch dem, der dies schreibt.

Fürbitte des Francois Villon (Bulat Okudzhava)

On February 11, 2018, set of eight songs (mostly originals) at Sofar Prague.  

Tracklist: 1 Catu-i Maramuresul (tra.), 2 Sister Rosetta Goes Before Us (Sam Phillips), 3 Another Last Look, 4 City of Hills, 5 When I Am Dead, My Dearest (Rossetti/Biermann), 6 Drowning Cloud, 7 Dreamer, 8 Dustbin  


Sofar Sounds - Songs From A Room - hosts tiny concerts in hidden locations in over 350 cities around the world, including Prague.

www.sofarsounds.com

Live set at Sofar Prague

Drowning Cloud

Balanus, draga balane

Lullaby (Demo Mix)

You're washing your eyes with the morning dew,
The pigeons and blackbirds are screaming at you.
A cold spring night's over
And you wish, it's your last.
And you pray for your end
And you pray, it comes fast.
Your hands in the dustbin pass yesterday's news,
Someone has left half a bottle of booze.
But who'd throw away
A brand new tin drum?
And the fogs are lifting,
For a new day has come.

April brings stormy nights,
Maytime brings rain.
And the dusty hot summers
drive lovers insane.
And they're giggling and screaming
And dance in the dark,
Like there was no one else in the park.

Under the bench, there's ten unfinished fags.
The bus always comes, when they light up the next.
And you take them and light one
And take your first sip.
And your ready to go
for your last day's trip.
When they found old Cockroach drowned under the bridge,
The fiddler made off, and the say, he's now rich.
And Danny boy was set on fire,
while fast asleep.
There was no one but you left
To mourn and to weep. 

April brings stormy nights,
Maytime brings rain.
And the dusty hot summers
drive lovers insane.
And a cold spring night's over
And you hope it's your last.
And you pray for your end
And you wish it comes fast.

You're washing your eyes with the morning dew,
The pigeons and blackbirds are screaming at you.
A cold spring night's over
And you wish, it's your last.
And you pray for your end
And you pray, it comes fast.

lumelume

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