9.9.09

ΤΟ ΠΑΘΟΣ ΤΟΥ KAROL SZYMANOWSKI

Α poem for Boris Kochno
by Karol Szymanowski
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No matter (1919)
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Leave off talking ... Let silence sing
Its stances and romances.
It is the holy singer of lays who follows love
And the nights and the days.
So what if our bodies are alike –
Towards the infinite flow
Our souls
And swoon
In radiant delirium
Of tenderness,
Of caress ...
Sweet Lord!
So what if they'll call us greedy!
Idiots
Are those who trail
Their slavish
Chains!
Shipwrecks of love, beggars for ardor
Who die
Unfulfilled
In pride and disdain!

No matter! I love you, I adore
Your suple body,
The slow caress
Of your quivering mouth,
Delirium, drunkenness,
Divine tenderness,
The giddy abandon,
The dream, infinity ...
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Karol Maciej Szymanowski (Tymoszówka, Ukraine, 3 October 1882 – 28 March 1937, Lausanne, Switzerland) was a Polish composer and pianist.
Life
Szymanowski was born into a wealthy land-owning Polish gentry family (of Korwin/Ślepowron coat-of-arms) in Tymoszówka, then in the Russian Empire, now in Cherkasy Oblast, Ukraine. He studied music privately with his father before going to Gustav Neuhaus' Elizavetgrad School of Music from 1892. From 1901 he attended the State Conservatory in Warsaw, of which he was later director from 1926 until retiring in 1930. Musical opportunities in Russian-occupied Poland being quite limited at the time, he travelled widely throughout Europe, North Africa, the Middle East, and the USA. These travels, especially those to the Mediterranean area, provided much inspiration to the composer and esthete.
The fruits of these trips included not only musical works, but poetry and his novel on pederasty Efebos, parts of which were subsequently lost in a fire in 1939. The central chapter was translated by him into Russian and given as a gift in 1919 to Boris Kochno, who was his beloved at the time. Szymanowski also wrote a number of love poems, in French, to the 15 year old boy. Among these are Ganymède, Baedecker, N'importe, and Vagabond.
Writing about his novel, Szymanowski said, "In it I expressed much, perhaps all that I have to say on this matter, which is for me very important and very beautiful." It remains available in a German translation as Das Gastmahl. Ein Kapitel aus dem verlorenen Roman Ephebos.
Szymanowski maintained a long correspondence with pianist Jan Smeterlin, who was a significant champion of his piano works. Their correspondence was published by Allegro Press in 1969.
Szymanowski died in a sanatorium in Lausanne, Switzerland from tuberculosis.
Influences
Szymanowski was influenced by the music of Richard Wagner, Richard Strauss, Max Reger, Alexander Scriabin and the impressionism of Claude Debussy, and Maurice Ravel. He also drew much influence from his countryman Chopin and from Polish folk music. Like Chopin he wrote a number of mazurkas for piano. He was specifically influenced by folk music from the Polish Highlands [Górale], which he discovered in Zakopane, in the southern Tatra highlands, even writing in an article entitled About Górale Music: "My discovery of the essential beauty of Górale (Polish Highlander) music, dance and architecture is a very personal one; much of this beauty I have absorbed into my innermost soul." (p.97) According to Jim Samson (1977, p.200), it is "played on two fiddles and a string bass," and, "has uniquely 'exotic' characteristics, highly dissonant and with fascinating heterophonic effects." Carefully digesting all these elements, eventually Szymanowski developed a highly individual rhapsodic style and a unique harmonic world of his own.
Works
Among Szymanowski's better known orchestral works are four symphonies (No. 3, Song of the Night with choir and vocal soloists and No. 4, Symphonie Concertante, with piano concertante) and two dream-like violin concertos. His stage works include the ballets Harnasie and Mandragora and the operas Hagith and Król Roger ('King Roger'). He wrote much piano music, including the four Etudes, Op. 4 (of which No. 3 may be his single most popular piece), many mazurkas and the exquisite and highly individual Metopes. Other works include the Three Myths for violin and piano, two masterful string quartets, a sonata for violin and piano, a number of orchestral songs (some to texts by Hafiz and James Joyce) and his Stabat Mater, an acknowledged choral masterpiece.
According to Samson (p.131), "Szymanowski adopted no thorough-going alternatives to tonal organization [...] the harmonic tensions and relaxations and the melodic phraseology have clear origins in tonal procedure, but [...] an underpinning tonal framework has been almost or completely dissolved away."

Boris Kochno (January 3, 1904, Moscow — December 8, 1990, Paris) was a Russian poet, dancer and librettist. He was a lover of Karol Szymanowski while a schoolboy of fifteen in Elisavetgrad (now Kirovohrad) in 1919,[1] and he received as a gift a Russian translation of the chapter The Symposium from Efebos, the composer's unpublished novel on pederasty. Szymanowski also dedicated four love poems to the youth. In 1920 he became Sergei Diaghilev's secretary, librettist, and eventually main collaborator. They were also briefly lovers. Kochno wrote the libretto of Mavra (1921), the Fâcheux (1924), La Chatte (1927) and of the Fils prodigue (1929). He also had an affair with Cole Porter in 1925, with whom he carried on a lengthy correspondence.
Upon Diaghilev's death he and Serge Lifar tried but failed to hold the Ballets Russes together. The two inherited part of Diaghilev's archives and collections, which Kochno completed and part of which was acquired by the Bibliothèque nationale de France. His later career included a position as Monte Carlo ballet director, where he became an influential figure in post World War II French ballet. In 1933 he co-founded, together with George Balanchine, the short-lived company Les Ballets 1933, which made its debut that summer at the Théâtre des Champs-Élysées. He and Edward James commissioned that year Brecht and Weill's last collaboration, The Seven Deadly Sins, which Balanchine produced, directed and choreographed.
At the end of World War II, Kochno entered into collaboration with Roland Petit, with whom he founded the Ballets des Champs-Élysées. There are a number of published works by him. One, Diaghilev and the Ballets Russes, is a record of the Diaghilev era. The other, Christian Bérard, is a scrapbook of reminiscences about, and art of, his former friend and collaborator. (en.wikipedia.org)

5 σχόλια:

erva_cidreira είπε...

Ganymede (1919)


Petit garçon – Your mysterious savage glance
Takes off into the infinite. – Little angel
Whose eyes are the reflection of heavenly figures
And irised stars soaked in mud.

Your love is bought with pocket change ... and your soul,
Radiant slave whose price I know not,
While your little tender body swoons –
Carefree and chaste, smiles.

Towards which unknown God flies your smile?
For whom the secret flame of your divine ardors?
The skies are mute and deathly sad ...
Beneath my hand I feal the beat of your little heart!

What are you waiting for? The mystery of love
Is known to you. Your wandering glance
Clings cold upon my eyes; by dawn's light
You have read their mystery – the Void!

You leave me. Upon your flowered lips
The ardor of my caresses spends itself.
With you goes your mystery – and oblivion,
You leave me alone – and in distress.

Ganymede (1919)


Petit garçon – Your mysterious savage glance
Takes off into the infinite. – Little angel
Whose eyes are the reflection of heavenly figures
And irised stars soaked in mud.

Your love is bought with pocket change ... and your soul,
Radiant slave whose price I know not,
While your little tender body swoons –
Carefree and chaste, smiles.

Towards which unknown God flies your smile?
For whom the secret flame of your divine ardors?
The skies are mute and deathly sad ...
Beneath my hand I feal the beat of your little heart!

What are you waiting for? The mystery of love
Is known to you. Your wandering glance
Clings cold upon my eyes; by dawn's light
You have read their mystery – the Void!

You leave me. Upon your flowered lips
The ardor of my caresses spends itself.
With you goes your mystery – and oblivion,
You leave me alone – and in distress.

Karol Szymanowski

erva_cidreira είπε...

Baedecker (1919)


You come to me, smiling and moist,
Speaking to me tender words in a tongue I know not,
Your country's tongue. In your limpid gaze
I saw the birth of distant loves.

Tell me – the bursting sun of your skies –
Does it fire the unknown ardors of your senses?
Searing like holy flames before the altar
In love's temples where hearts languish?

Tell me – the lukewarm Night, sly schemer,
Whose bosom quivers with myriad stars,
Does she intoxicate your pure soul with peerless caresses,
Keeps she the troubling secret in her veil?

You speak to me ... The words, like from a blossoming flower,
Fly from your mouth towards the light of day.
I have understood your language – and from your pink lips
I draw, drunk, the poison of love.

Karol Szymanowski

erva_cidreira είπε...

Vagabond (1919)


I seek for love everywhere – ceaselessly
I tread uncertain paths –
Sinister vagabond – and my dream
I find in tatters and in rags.

No matter, my haughty soul draws there
A strong and proud beer.
What we love, we disparage.
O, I am in no way austere!

The loveliest tales of the East
Are bought for a handful of coins.
We must accept with a smile
The gifts bestowed by the stars.

But the blue fantom of love
Wandering through the shantytowns
Seems less showy by day!
– Yes, but the Night changes your eyes,

The Night is a great magician –
Shahrazad - the enchantress –
The hex of her breath
Will grant you rare drunkenness.

Fear not to join up
With this Gigolo who stinks of vice –
Divine Night will transform him
In Ganymede or Dionysus.

It is a young God who in your arms
Will swoon into delirium.
This delight is for you to sample –
A rare treat, that truth is ample.

But I, who am not proud,
I fear not that disappointment.
The morning after – a bitter smile –
That's all. O love, sad vagabond.


Karol Szymanowski

SK είπε...

Δεν την ήξερα την ιστορία, αν και έχω σε CD όλα τα έργα του Szymanowski για πιάνο.

erva_cidreira είπε...

Σου φαίνεται στ' αληθεια παράξενο που αυτή η ιστορία δεν είναι γνωστή;
Και νά 'ταν η μόνη...