Δεν μου ανήκει.. Είναι το τρίτο μέρος του έργου "Sinfonia" του Luciano Berio. Παρ' όλα αυτά, ακούστε το...
Δυστυχώς το βίντεο είναι σε δύο μέρη.
Nicht eilen, bitte — Les jeux de vagues – recht gemae… — Quatrieme/deuxieme symphonie – gemae… — Deuxieme/premiere/quatrieme/troiseme partie — In ruhig fliessender bewegung — sehr gemaechlich nicht eilen — where now? And now? (keep going)— peripetie — peripetie, where? — And now? — nothing more restful than chamber music (who now?) — than flute (when now?) – than two flutes
You are nothing more than an academic exercise
no time for chamber music
we want that
For though the silence here is almost unbroken it is not completely so
It seems there are only repeated sounds
we need to do something
I prefer a wake
Something is going to happen.
He emerges as from heavy hangings. Hardly a resurrection
I am not deaf, of that I am convinced, that is to say half-convinced
With not even a small mountain on the horizon, a man would wonder where his kingdom ended
So after a period of immaculate silence there seemed to be a violin concerto being played in the other room, in 3/4
Two violin concertos.
A danced poem, all round, an endless chain, taking turns to talk. (Keep going)
This represents at least a thousand words (three thousand notes) I was not counting on… I may well be glad of them. (Keep going) But seeing Daphne et Chloé written in red, counting the seconds while nothing has happened but the obsession with (go on) — with the chromatic – and the chromatic again (where now?). I am in the air, the walls, everything yields, opens, ebbs, flows like the play of waves (Keep going). Yes, I feel the moment has come for us to look back, if we can and take our bearings if we are to go on. I feel the moment has come for me to look back. I must not forget this, I have not forgotten it. But I must have said this before, since I say it now. They think I am alive, not in a womb, either… Well, so there is an audience it’s a fantastic public performance — and the curtain comes down for the ninth time. You never noticed you were waiting. You were waiting alone, that is the show. Keep going.
I shall say my old lesson now, if I can remember it – then I shall have lived — they think I am alive, not in a womb, either, even that takes time.
Keep going! It is as if we were rooted, that’s bonds if you like – the earth would have to quake, it isn’t earth, one doesn’t know what it is (But you all know that they will bring me to the surface one day or another and there will be a brief dialogue in the dunes) maybe a kind of competition on the stage, with just eight female dancers and words falling. You don’t know where, where now (under the sun) who now? But now I shall say my old lessons if I can remember it. I must not forget this, I have not forgotten it. But I must have said this before, since I say it now.
I am listening. Well, I prefer that, I must say I prefer that– that what– oh you know, (who you) oh you, oh I suppose the audience, well well, so there is an audience, it’s a public show, you buy your seat and you wait, perhaps it’s free, a free show, you take your seat and you wait for it to begin, or perhaps it’s compulsory, a compulsory show —
— you wait for the compulsory show to begin, it takes time, you hear a voice, perhaps it is a recitation, that is the show, someone reciting selected passages, old favourites, or someone improvising, you can barely hear him, that’s the show, you can’t leave, you’re afraid to leave, you make the best of it, you try and be reasonable, you came too early, here we’d need latin, it’s only the beginning, it hasn’t begun, he’ll appear any moment, he’ll begin any moment. (He is only preluding, clearing his throat, alone in his dressing room, or it’s the stage-manager giving his instructions, his last recommendations, before the curtain rises.) (That is the show.) That’s the show waiting for the show, to the sound of a murmur, you try to be reasonable, perhaps it is not a voice at all, perhaps it’s the air, ascending, descending, flowing, eddying, seeking exit, finding none, and the spectators, where are they, you didn’t notice, in the anguish of waiting, never noticed that you were waiting alone, that is the show, for the fools, in the palace, waiting, (the brightest star) waiting alone… that is the show (that is the show) — waiting alone, in the restless air, for it to begin, while every now and then a familiar passacaglia (etwas zurueckhaltend) (not really) filters through the other noises, waiting, for something to begin, for there to be something else but you, for the power to rise, the courage to leave, picking your way through the crossed colors, seeking the cause, losing it again, seeking no longer. We shall overcome the incessant noise, for as Henri says, if this noise would stop there’d be nothing more to say. You try and be reasonable, perhaps you are blind, probably deaf, the show is over, all is over, but where then is the hand, the helping hand, or merely charitable, or the hired hand, it’s a long time coming, to take yours and draw you away, that is the show, free, gratis and for nothing, waiting alone, blind, deaf, you don’t know where, you don’t know for what, for a hand to come and draw you away, somewhere else, where perhaps it’s worse. (It’s a real pleasure, upon my word it is, to be unable to drown under such conditions in a lake full of colors far from my walls.) Where now? Who now? Keep going. When now? Now.
Just a small murder. Keep going. (Hardly worth it, yet, what can you expect.) They don’t know who they are either — Did you hear — Keep going — Did you hear? Stop – Stop — do you hear — Keep going — Hoeren Sie? Dort! Heavens! There was a sound! Yes, there! (Ja, dort!) Jesus! Das war ein Ton!
I am here so little, I see it, I feel it round me it enfolds me, it covers me, if only this voice would stop, for a second, it would seem long to me, a second of silence. I would listen, I’d know if it was going to start again (going to start again, or if it was stilled forever, what would I know it with, I’d know. And I’d keep on listening) – it’s late now, and he is still talking incessantly, any old thing, repetition after repetition, talking unceasingly, in yourself, outside yourself — it’s late now, he shall never hear again the lowing cattle, the rush of the stream. In a chamber, dimensions unknown, I do not move and never shall again on long road or short. But the fact is I trouble no one. But I did. And after each group disintegration, the name of Majakowsky hangs in the clean air.
And when they ask (la mer, la mer, toujours recommencée), why all this, it is not easy to find an answer. For when we find ourselves, face to face, now, here, and they remind us that all this can’t stop the wars, can’t make the old younger or lower the price of bread – say it again, louder! – it can’t stop the wars, can’t make the old younger or lower the price of bread, can’t erase solitude or dull the tread outside the door, we can only nod, yes, it’s true, but no need to remind, to point, for all is with us, always, except, perhaps at certain moments, here among these rows of balconies, in a crowd or out of it, perhaps waiting to enter, watching. And tomorrow we’ll read that made tulips grow in my garden and altered the flow of the ocean currents. We must believe it’s true. There must be something else. Otherwise it would be quite hopeless. But it is quite hopeless. Unquestioning. But it can’t go on. It, say it, not knowing what. It’s getting late. Where now? When now? I have a present for you. Keep going, page after page. Keep going, going on, call that going, call that on. But wait. He is barely moving, now, almost still. Should I make my introductions?
But now it’s done, it’s over, we’ve had our chance. There was even, for a second, hope of resurrection, or almost. Mein junges Leben hat ein End. We must collect our thoughts, for the unexpected is always upon us, in our rooms, in the street, at the door, on a stage.