Winterreise

Werner Ceen äänitaideteos luo uusiksi Schubertin Winterreisen ja maalaa eteemme karun kuvan ihmisiin pettyneen yksinäisestä matkasta läpi lumen ja tuiskun. Ohjelma voitti Prix Italian 2010.

"Tulin tänne muukalaisena ja muukalaisena täältä lähden." Näin alkaa Wilhelm Müllerin runokokoelma Winterreise, jonka Franz Schubert otti vuonna 1827 säveltämänsä samannimisen laulusarjan pohjaksi. Yksinäinen kulkuri vaeltaa läpi talviyön kertoen vastakaiuttomasta rakkaudestaan sekä pettymyksistään pyrkimyksissä poliittisen vapauden saavuttamiseksi.

Saksalainen säveltäjä Werner Cee otti oman radiofonisen musiikkiteoksensa pohjaksi nämä Schubertin sävellykset ja Müllerin tekstit synnyttäen näiden ideoista uudelle tasolle nousevan radiofonisen äänitaideteoksen.

Werner Ceen Winterreise on musiikillisesti vaikuttava teos, jossa monivivahteinen musiikki- ja äänimaailma sekä syvästi eläytyen lausutut runokatkelmat vuorottelevat. Teoksessa käytetään luonnon ääniä konkreettisen musiikin henkeen, prosessoiden niitä muutoin elektroniseen äänimaisemaan sopiviksi. Akustiset äänimaisemat ja lausuttu runous yhdistyvät elektronisten instrumenttien sointeihin synnyttäen aivan erikoislaatuisen äänitaiteellisen kokonaisuuden, joka irtautuu hyvin kauas alkuperäisestä, kunnes taas paikka paikoin esiin nouseva sähköpiano palauttaa mieleen muistumat Schubertin laulusarjasta. Musiikillisessa mielessä teoksessa limittyvät yhteen Schubertin pianomusiikki, konreettinen ja elektroakustinen nykymusiikki sekä progressiivinen rock.

Winterreise voitti ensimmäisen palkinnon musiikkiohjelmien teossarjassa Prix Italia -kilpailussa viime vuonna.

Katkelmat englanninkielisinä käännöksinä niistä Wilhelm Müllerin runoista, jotka ohjelmassa luetaan:

Good Night

I came here a stranger,
as a stranger I depart.
May favored me
with many a bunch of flowers.
The girl spoke of love,
her mother even of marriage -
Now the world is so gloomy,
the road shrouded in snow.

I cannot choose the time
to begin my journey.
Must find my own way
in this darkness.

A shadow of the moon travels
With me as my companion,

Love loves to wander -
god made it that way -
from one to the other,

My dearest,
good night.

Why should I stay here
any longer
so that people
can drive me away ?
Let stray dogs howl
in front of
their master's house;

The Weathervane

The wind plays
with the weathervane
on my lovely darling's house.
And I thought in my delusion,
that it mocked
the poor fugitive.

Will o' the Wisp

Into the deepest
mountain chasms
a will o' the wisp lured me;
how to find a way out
doesn't worry me much.

I'm used to going astray,
and every way
leads to the goal.
Our joys, our sorrows,
are all a will o' the wisp's game !

Numbness

I search the snow in vain
for the trace of her steps.
Where she, arm in arm with me,
Ccossed the green meadow.

I want to kiss the ground,
penetrate ice and snow
with my hot tears,
until I see the soil.

Where will I find a blossom,
where will I find green grass ?
The flowers are all dead,
the turf is so pale.

The Linden Tree

At the well by the gate
there stands a linden tree;
I dreamed in its shadow
many a sweet dream.
I carved in its bark
many a word of love;
in joy and in sorrow
I was always drawn to it.

Again today I had to travel
past it in the depths of night.
There even in the darkness
I closed my eyes.

And its branches rustled,
as if they called to me:
Come here to me, friend,
here you'll find peace !

The cold winds blew
right into my face;
the hat flew off my head,
I didn't turn around.

Courage

If the snow flies in my face,
I shake it off again.
When my heart speaks in my breast,
I sing loudly and gaily.

I don't hear what it says to me,
I have no ears to listen;
I don't feel when it laments,
complaining is for fools.

Happy through the world along,
facing wind and weather !
If there's no God upon the earth,
then we ourselves are Gods !

A Look Backward

It burns under both my feet,
even though I walk on ice and snow;
I don't want to catch my breath
until I can no longer see the spires.

I tripped on every stone,
as I hurried out of the town;
the crows hurled chunks of
snow and ice
on my hat from every house.

How differently you received me,
you town of inconstancy !
At your sparkling windows sang
the lark and nightingale
in competition.

The Sign Post

Why then do I avoid the highways
where the other travelers go,
search out the hidden pathways
through the snowy mountain tops ?

I've committed no crime
that I should hide from other men -
what is the foolish compulsion
that drives me into desolation ?

Signposts stand along the highways
pointing to the cities,
and I wander ever further
without rest and look for rest.

Before me I see a signpost standing,
fixed before my gaze.
I must travel a road
from which no one ever returned.

Dream of Spring

I dreamed of many-colored flowers,
the way they bloom in May;
I dreamed of green meadows,
of merry bird calls.
I close my eyes again.

Solitude

Oh, that the air should be so still!
Oh, that the world
should be so light!
When the storms still raged,
I was not so miserable.

Rest

Now I first notice how tired I am
as I lay myself down to rest;
walking kept me going strong
on the inhospitable road.

My feet didn't ask for rest,
it was too cold to stand still.

My back felt no burden,
the storm helped to blow me onward.

In the Village

The dogs are barking,
the chains are rattling;
the people are sleeping in their beds,
dreaming of things they don't have,
refreshing themselves in good and bad.

And in the morning all will have vanished.
Oh well, they had their share of pleasure
and hope that what they missed
can be found again on their pillows.

Drive me out with your barking,
you vigilant dogs,
don't let me rest
when it's time for slumber.
I am finished with all my dreams.
Why should I linger among the sleepers?

The False Suns

I saw three suns in the sky,
stared at them hard
for a long time;
and they stayed there
so stubbornly
that it seemed
they didn't want to leave me.

Ah, you are not my suns!
Go, look into someone else's face!
Yes, recently I, too, had three
but now the best two
have gone down.
If only the third would also set!
I will feel better in the dark.

The Hurdy-Gurdy Man

Over there beyond the village
stands an organ-grinder,
and with numb fingers
he plays as best he can.

No one listens to him,
no one notices him,
and the dogs growl
around the old man.
And he just lets it happen,
as it will,
plays,
and his hurdy-gurdy
is never still.

Strange old man,
shall I go with you?
Will you play your organ
To my songs?