Playing (with) the Words

Lied is a small art form with nuanced details and quick changes. The text of a Lied and the way a singer moulds the words can affect the pianist in the development of almost all performance parameters. Thus, the ability to deal with and understand the text on different levels is an essential competence in the Lied pianist’s “toolbox of skills” that is needed to achieve both synchronisation and expressivity in a Lied performance.

Although there are small differences in the practical approach of Lied pianists to poem texts, today, there seems to be a general consensus about their importance for the pianist. According to Moore, “[t]he first thing an accompanist should study when he has to play a new song is the words.  […] The composer did not write the vocal line first and then fill in the piano part afterwards; they were both born in his brain at the same time. Therefore the accompanist and the singer, the one no less than the other, owe all to the words and depend on the words to guide them”.3 Katz remarked similarly: “With vocal music the text is always the guide of how to proceed. How it is pronounced and how it is shaped tell us more than the most complex rhythmic notation could ever capture”.4 Stein and Spillman emphasise the importance of starting with the text in the performance preparation of Romantic Lieder: “[The performers] must study first the poetry, then the performance problems, and then each aspect of the musical structure in turn. By the end of the process, a recombination of the three topics will occur through polished performance, when singer and pianist convey their understanding of the poetry and the music in the magical act of musical expression.”5 At a masterclass at the University of Hull in November 2016, Malcolm Martineau also recommended studying the text before learning the music. However, he agreed with an audience member that each performer must find their individual way of learning and that a simultaneous study of words and music can be an equally valid approach.6

The following general reflections on how the text can affect the pianist, and how he or she plays (with) the words, are both based on my experiences as a Lied pianist and described in the existing literature on the topic.In my view, the pianist must consider the text on three different levels.7 First, words are combinations of sounds and have thus an immense impact on the way the singer’s instrument is perceived. The text’s sound qualities influence aspects of synchronisation and balance but can also have an impact on the pianist’s tone colour. Singers produce a carrying sound on vowels, and therefore it is important for the pianist to play on the singer’s vowels, not before. Playing on the consonants sounds imprecise and causes balance problems as the consonants can be drowned out easily. Also, the singer might feel pushed if he or she gets the impression the pianist is constantly early. German texts, in particular, tend to have accumulations of consonants within words or at word boundaries that require the pianist to adjust his or her timing in small nuances. The singer, on the other hand, should also know that the pianist plays on the vowels and that some words might have to be pronounced early. The pianist can often use the singer’s consonants as indicators of the following vowels. A singer’s shaping of diphthongs can also give clues about his or her inner pulse. Familiarity with the singer and understanding of the text’s figurative and semantic aspects can help the pianist gain a sensitivity for the singer’s varying speed of pronunciation and ways of shaping diction and thus make synchronisation easier. The sound of words is not only a result of the order and combination of vowels and consonants. Words and groups of words also have an intonation, the rise and fall of the voice, which depends both on grammar and content, underlines important elements of the message and conveys the speaker’s emotions. As the composition dictates pitches and rhythms, not all aspects of spoken intonation can be directly transferred to a musical performance. Some composers follow the natural intonation of language in their Lied settings with complex rhythms and melodies that follow speech patterns, whereas others might just write beautiful melodies and leave the shaping of the words and sentences more to the performers, but the intonation of the language should always be considered as without it, the words would sound mechanical and lifeless.8 Even the most detailed score cannot capture all the subtle nuances of intonation that the performers convey through phrasing and rubato, dynamics and tone colour. The pianist needs flexibility and a rich variety of tone colours and dynamics to convey aspects of intonation, which are particularly important when the accompaniment is in (rhythmic) unison with the singer’s part or imitates the singer’s material. When I play with a singer, I negotiate multiple “personalities” at once as I follow the singer’s voice yet make my mind believe that I sing myself while simultaneously following and shaping my own voices. Focussing on the text and its intonation is a huge help in the give and take of the collaboration. The sound of a text also affects the way colours are created. Different vowels have darker or lighter colours, and consonants and consonant combinations can have various qualities, like being harder or softer, voiced or voiceless. Repetitions of sounds can create different moods and contribute to the perception of the form of a poem. Depending on the context, the pianist might try to blend with the singer’s colours or contrast them. The different qualities of certain vowels or consonants also influence their projection and thus the balance between voice and piano.9 A knowledge of the sounds (in connection with the meaning) helps me also to judge the singer’s timing as I know how much and what kind of effort certain words take.

Second, both singer and pianist should consider the figurative level of a text. Poetry often uses images or metaphors which might be reflected in the music, both in the foreground as tone painting or in the larger structure of a work in the form of recurring motivic symbols. The awareness of the poem’s figurative level and the understanding of possible connections between the text and the music influence the performers in their search for an appropriate tempo, articulation or colour. Depending on the context, the pianist, like the singer, might choose to underline or conceal these figurative elements.

Third, the large-scale aspects of the text, its syntax and meaning affect the performers’ decisions. They, together with the music, influence the singer’s points and ways of breathing and thus also the pianist’s timing and phrasing. Katz distinguishes between three categories of situations involving breath. In the first kind of situation, there is no need for the pianist to adjust as the singer can breathe well, sing a phrase and has enough time to take a breath before the next phrase. The second kind of situation, when voice and piano are in rhythmic unison and the singer needs time for a breath, requires the pianist to wait and hold the sound unless the dramatic effect of complete silence is desired. The third kind of situation occurs when the singer needs time to breathe while the pianist plays one or several other voices. Under these circumstances, the pianist must take extra time, though not together with the singer. Instead, the pianist should phrase slightly before the singer and then continue without stopping or slowing down as that would disturb the flow of the music and the singer’s natural way of breathing.10 Although I recognise these types of situations in my own practice, Katz’ descriptions are very generalised. The adjustment of phrasing at breath points is not only important for the singer’s comfort and the flow of the music. Breath is also an expressive means and can reveal the singer’s intentions to the pianist. Its timing and speed are related to the emotional aspects of the text, and therefore even situations of the first type might require subtle adjustments from the pianist. In addition to these considerations, the pianist must be aware that the breath capacity of a singer is limited. In particularly long phrases, the pianist must carry the singer to the next breath and pay attention to balance and tempo. Occasionally, a composer might not respect the sentence structure of the poem and interrupt a sentence with accompaniment material before the singer is allowed to continue. In cases like these, it is often necessary to feel a connection between the phrases instead of phrasing with a sense of closure.

For the pianist, the text’s content also gives important clues for the shaping of introductions, interludes and postludes. Depending on the poem and the song, they can have many functions: they can set the scene, prepare or change a mood, convey or even trigger the speaker’s feelings, relive an experience or continue the story. The content of the poem does not only give hints about the general mood but can affect both players in the shaping of small details. Sometimes, a subtle change of tempo or “perceived” tempo is needed to give more space for a poetic thought or convey the urgency of the emotions that are expressed in the text. If I take into consideration the poem’s textual and emotional aspects, I can find a motivation for the sound I produce. This does not mean that I play “emotionally”. A certain distance is still necessary for making a performance work: I do feel the emotions of the text deeply but not as if they were my own. The poem might contain questions, answers, statements, retorts, suggestions etc. These might be mirrored in the music’s harmonic or melodic progressions, or in changes in register, tempo or dynamics, which I might choose to enhance in my playing. Related to the content of the text is the question of persona. Both the singer and the pianist should ask themselves who the speaker of the words is and if the persona changes over the course of a Lied. In cases when the accompaniment mirrors the persona(e) of the vocal part, subtle variations in speed, articulation, rhythmic vitality, balance between the hands and tone colour including different use of pedal can help depicting their characters. The accompaniment might also have an independent role, adding a subtext or strengthening and continuing or contrasting a previous idea to show irony, for example. The words might also be spoken to a certain degree by the poet, or even, especially if the poem is less narrative and more philosophical or universal, by the composer or the performers. Poetry can often have several layers of meaning. The performers might decide either to highlight a certain layer or to perform in a more ambiguous way. This ambiguity can also be necessary if the text contains a surprise. Even though both performers know the words that are to come the tension has to be just right to convey an unexpected turn of events to the audience without making it illogical. Like in speech, timing is essential in the telling of a joke.

Understanding the implications of the text on all these levels is perhaps the most essential skill of a pianist who works with vocal music. When I work with the text, I usually do not consider the three levels independently from each other in a systematic way. For some of the above-described elements, my approach is internalised and even to a certain degree automatized. For example, I play intuitively on the singer’s vowels. The text is with me all the time, almost like an additional voice, a “wire” to my collaboration partner and a door into the figurative and emotional possibilities of the music. I rely on previous experiences, my knowledge of what works and what I have to do in small nuances to make it work.

The pianist’s intense involvement with and examination of the text creates an affective bond, a sense of ownership of the work that he or she shares with the singer. It can also create a feeling of dependency on the singer, who shapes the text, while the pianist can only inspire and add depth. In a less ideal collaboration, this sense of dependency can cause frustration. Nevertheless, I prefer to work with music that has a text or at least a program as it helps me to make sense of what I do and limits the seemingly endless choices I can make. Katz appropriately compares the text to a pair of glasses through which the performers read the music.11 “The moment text enters the picture […] the options are narrowed, the pictures become clearer, the emotions are more specific. The words tell us almost everything we need to know.”12 While, on the one hand, the text narrows the options, it also helps the performers to access their imagination. As Bos remarks, “[…] it is the opening up of new and hitherto unforeseen vistas which make possible the continuance of one’s artistic development and the attainment of heights which may only be scaled through imaginative flights. The new vista opened up to me revealed the underlying principle in clear perspective, being merely the natural, appropriate treatment expounded in Hamlet’s famous instruction to the layers: ‘Suit the action to the word; the word to the action.’”13 An anecdote from Bos’ practice makes the liberating power of the text discernible: After he had accompanied the premiere of Brahms’ Vier Ernste Gesänge, Brahms came to the artists’ room to thank the artists for their performances, “which had, so he said, perfectly realized his intentions.”14 Two weeks later, Bos accompanied the work in a higher key, again with Brahms present. The singer felt that the final repetition of “die Liebe ist die Grösseste unter ihnen” demanded a climactic effect rather than the reflective diminuendo and piano that Brahms had marked in the score, and he asked Bos to continue this idea in the postlude, ending it triple forte. After the performance, the singer asked Brahms if he minded the climactic ending, and Brahms answered “You sang them magnificently. I did not notice anything wrong.”15 Most performers, myself included, are trained from early on to respect and follow the composer’s markings at all costs. However, this alone does not create art. I believe that the artistic involvement with the poetry can be useful in the development of interpretation as it enriches the “thickening process”16 from the score to the interpretative idea. The text can help both performers to create an artistically meaningful performance, even though it might go against the composer’s markings at times.

Schönberg's View on the Importance of Text for the Performer 

When I started the project I knew little about Schönberg and his music, but I was aware of his controlling attitude towards performance, of which his carefully marked score of Opus 15 gives evidence, and I was familiar with some of his remarks against performing vocal music in a way that is too declamatory and guided by the text instead of the music. Therefore, I had some misgivings about my first approach to Opus 15. Although it seemed natural to start with the poetry as I did in most Lieder I worked with before the project, I was wondering if my attempt to get to know Opus 15 through the words, even though that was just the first of three “access points”, would really help me gain a better understanding. After all, according to Schönberg, if music is to be understood “the performer must be the advocate of the work and of its author. It must be not merely an honour but a pleasure for him to be able to present this music […]”.17 Perhaps it could even be considered an unethical move to approach Schönberg’s work in a way that so clearly seemed to go against the composer’s wishes and intentions?

In his famous essay The Relationship to the Text, Schönberg wrote that he had no idea what happened in the text of some Schubert songs despite knowing them well.18 About his own vocal compositions, he claimed “[…] inspired by the sound of the first words of the text, I had composed many of my songs straight through to the end without troubling myself in the slightest about the continuation of the poetic events […] It then turned out, to my greatest astonishment, that I had never done greater justice to the poet than when, guided by my first direct contact with the sound of the beginning, I divined everything that obviously had to follow this first sound with inevitability. […] So I had completely understood the Schubert songs, together with their poems, from the music alone, and the poems of Stefan George from their sound alone, with a perfection that by analysis and synthesis could hardly have been attained, but certainly not surpassed.”19

After the Berlin premiere of Opus 15 in February 1912, Schönberg wrote in his diary that the soprano’s interpretation was far too dramatic, too much out of the words instead of the music, which made some of the songs essentially incomprehensible.20 In 1913, he advised another singer in a letter about the performance of his songs: “Not too accented pronunciation of the text (“declamation”) but a musical working out of the melodic lines! – So don’t emphasize a word which is not emphasized in my melody, and no “intelligent” caesuras which arise from the text. Where a “comma” is necessary, I have already composed it”.21 In the preface to Pierrot lunaire, he wrote: “It is never the task of performers to recreate the mood and character of the individual pieces on the basis of the meaning of the words, but rather solely on the basis of the music. To the extent that the tone-painting-like rendering of the events and feelings given in the text was important to the author, it is found in the music anyway. Where the performer finds it is lacking, he should abstain from presenting something that was not intended by the author. Otherwise he would be detracting rather than adding.”22

I agree with Schönberg that it is not our subjectively added moods derived solely from the text that should guide our performance decisions. I think, however, that ignorance of the text would make the performance of vocal music meaningless as well. I decided that Schönberg is not necessarily right about everything when it comes to the performance of his music. My experience told me that an approach to Lied through the words could help me create a performance that is “alive” and that could be understood by today’s audience. I decided to consider Schönberg’s remarks not as fixed rules but as warnings against exaggerating the connections between the figurative level of the text and the music (tone-painting) and against adding artificial emotions.

Schönberg’s remarks also have to be understood both in light of how he perceived his compositional process and the performance practice of the time. In 1931, Schönberg wrote a self-analysis of his compositional process for psychologist Julius Bahle, in which he described several composing stages with only the last one being the thorough drafting of the composition. One might refer his comments from The Relationship to the Text to this final stage.23 The performance practice of vocal music at the time was influenced by Wagner, who wanted his opera texts to be understood. Friedrich Schmitt established a new school of German singing, training singers from the viewpoint of speech. Gradually, the declamation of texts became natural in singing and went towards what would later be regarded as exaggerated and tasteless.24 Schönberg referred to this performance practice in singing in an essay from 1926: “Think how, in the days when Wagner was new, singers used to declaim rather than sing, whereas now everyone tries even in Wagner to fulfil the demands of bel canto.”25 He also slightly amended his earlier statements on the insignificance of text in his 1949 essay This is my Fault, where he wrote that vocal music would not exist if the music would not heighten the expression of the text.26 And already in his 1932 lecture about the Orchestral Songs Op. 22, he said, “if a performer speaks of a passionate sea in a different tone of voice than he might use for a calm sea, my music does nothing else than to provide him with an opportunity to do so, and to support him.”27

The gap between Schönberg’s and my view on the role of text in the performance of vocal music turned out not to be as huge as I thought it was when I started the project. He might have thought it the lesser of two evils when he asked to ignore the text rather than to overemphasise it. Throughout the project, I realised on many different levels, be it the relationship between poetry and music, the give and take between the singer and me, or the negotiation between tradition and originality, that it is crucial to scrutinise automatisms and preconceptions and to discover the right balance anew every time in every context. I still believe it is important for me to know what the composer wants from the performer so that I can make informed decisions. However, I must not be afraid to respectfully disagree with him when my experience as a performer tells me to do so. I decided that starting with the words was worth a try.

Playing Lieder with Texts by Stefan George - Contextualisation I

Kerrigan, who explored Opus 15 from the singer’s perspective, wrote that it is essential for the performers to understand the artistic movements of the time and to know about the work and life of Stefan George. Even for native German speakers, his poetry is difficult to comprehend.28 I agree with her assessment and found it helpful to learn more about George’s work to get “behind” the poetry to the third level of the text I described above. Finding out more about George and his way of writing also felt like building up a more personal relationship to the material. Insights into the background of a poet or composer can help to shed a light on the genesis of a work and thus lead to an interpretation that carries conviction. I believe that, although this kind of knowledge is not directly transferred to the audience, the performer’s intoxication and euphoria of feeling a deeper connection to the work and its author will be perceived by them. I also found that this affective bond seemed to influence my memory positively, as I was able to recall the poetry after a surprisingly short time.

George claimed to renew poetry. His early works were influenced by French symbolists according to whom poetry should have an autonomous value. Poems should evoke aesthetic truths rather than describe them directly. George translated the slogan “L’art pour l’art” (Art for art’s sake) and adopted it for his literary programme.29 Sound and form guide the order and choice of words in George's poems, and the resulting complicated sentence structures and certain vagueness make them often difficult to understand. George’s friend, the graphic artist Melchior Lechter reported about the genesis of Traurige Tänze (Mournful Dances), a collection of poems in Das Jahr der Seele, from which Webern took the text to one of his songs Op. 4: “For days he hummed melodies for the Mournful Dances for himself, which were often quite simple. First then, a poem emerged. Thus, for him, a rhythmic sound preceded the poem. Because I heard these melodies at that time, I can read out aloud these poems the best.”30

George’s spelling was also influenced by his aural perception of poetry. As there is no difference in pronunciation, George did not use capital letters apart from marking the start of a sentence or verse, both in his correspondence and in his poetry.31 He also tried to convey the exact sound of words by removing unnecessary consonants.32 He used a particular handwriting in manuscripts from 1897 and special fonts for printed editions from about 1904.33 This individual style of both orthography and typography made his poems, on the one hand, appear very exclusive and unique, but it was also supposed to convey simplicity. The reader should concentrate entirely on the recitation without being distracted by unnecessary signs. Moreover, George intended to make silent reading and immediate understanding more challenging, as to him, poetry was supposed to be recited like music should be performed and not just studied in a score. The listener of these recitations was not meant to search for the poem’s content and rather just experience the impact of the performance, the magic power of the sound of the not yet understood word.34 To give the audience an experience of this aspect of the poetry, I used a redesign of George’s font in the program to the first concert. George’s own recitations were described as extremely expressive, but without pathos, quivering from emotion and yet hard and resounding. He read as if the poem was a magic incantation. His voice changed its pitch only rarely and was then kept strictly almost as if singing a single note. He did not change it at the end of a poem either, so the poem appeared to be without start and end as if it were a part of something bigger.35

Considering the nature and genesis of George’s poems, Schönberg’s claim he understood them from the sound alone made much more sense to me. I thought a performance of Opus 15 might benefit from us trying to convey the poems’ ambiguity and keeping the multilayeredness instead of presenting it in a one-dimensional way and smoothing out the difficulties to make it easier to understand. However, I had to realise that “hypnotising” the listeners the way George did is not something that works for today’s audience. For several reasons, among them this “inspiration” to keep the interpretation deliberately ambiguous, I felt we did not really reach the audience in the first concert. The performance became somewhat stiff, intellectual and boring, which is the reason why I started to think more about reception, my relationship to the audience and what I could do to make them see the beauty and richness of this repertoire. I realised that an audience of non-German speakers requires a different kind of communication during a performance than an audience of German speakers.

When I started my project, I decided to contextualise Opus 15 with other Lieder with texts by George to explore if there is a particular “performative feel” to songs with his poetry. Although works by other poets were more popular at the time, like Richard Dehmel’s poems that had been set to music in over 550 Lieder by 1913,36 both contemporary and later composers turned to George’s writings. From the many possibilities of settings of George’s poetry, I chose Lieder by Conrad Ansorge and Anton von Webern, as both of them have connections to Schönberg. As a result of my project, Ansorge’s Opus 14 might have been performed for the first time in Norway. Schönberg knew at least parts of Ansorge’s George-Lieder as they were presented together with some of his own works in a concert in February 1904.37 They might have inspired him to write his Opp. 14 and 15 to poems by George. Schönberg’s George-Lieder in turn probably inspired his student Anton von Webern to write his settings of George’s poetry in 1908 and 1909.

First, I explored all texts independently from the music, starting with the poems of Opus 15. I assumed that if I first read the poems on their own, my understanding of them would not be coloured by the music. It was difficult for me not to start practising or even to look at the music, but I wanted it to have minimal influence on my view of the text during this time. I thought this way I might later discover if the composer understood the poem differently, and I might be able to observe which aspects of a text were important to him. I worked with the original poems for all the repertoire of this project, as sometimes a composer selects just a few stanzas out of a larger work, or makes changes to the original.I also decided to study the poems more in-depth than I had done in my previous work with Lieder. One could assume that knowing the meaning of each word and how it is pronounced would be enough, but I thought that a more profound analysis could be helpful in the process of getting a feeling for a poem and later for how it “translates into”, interacts with and is transcended by the music. I also thought this kind of work might benefit my understanding of George’s complex poetry. I reflected on how the texts were written and what about them fascinates and inspires me. I read them aloud and analysed them in detail, not for transferring the analysis directly to my work with the music but as an exercise to start thinking deeper. In the process of reflecting on the poems, I unintentionally learned them by heart. This benefitted my work with the singer as it was easier for me to anticipate what she would do. I do not enjoy making mistakes, yet a good performance involves risk-taking. Through the initial analysis of the poems, I created a “safety net” while simultaneously developing a bond to the material and making it mine.

It is incredibly satisfying to get “behind a poem”, to experience a moment when a new way of understanding suddenly opens up. Such an experience of sudden discovery creates a bond to the work. For me, the work with George’s poems resembled focusing the lens through which I saw them. First, I only had a few impressions, but during my preparation of the first concert and later as well, the poems got clearer contours, richer colours and more nuances. One might think that I as a native speaker understand a German poem when I read it for the first or maybe the second time. That is true to a certain extent, but there is always something left to discover, which makes the work with poetry and music so interesting. I got fascinated by how closely form and image work together in George’s poetry and how strict the poetical form is without appearing overconstructed. In addition, the language is extremely colourful and almost synesthetic. However, despite its expressive power, the texts did not have a particular “performative feel”. Although I perceived similarities in the poetry of the different Lieder I worked with towards the first concert, the first contextualisation did not seem to help me much as a performer.

The peculiarities of George’s writing became more obvious to me when I played Opus 15 in the context of Lieder with other poetry. In the first concert, it seemed like the effect of each of the poems was overshadowed by the context of the others. For this reason, among several others, on which I will elaborate in "Turning Point Reception", the first performance of Opus 15 felt rather heavy and long. Despite the affective bond created by my intense involvement with the poetry, I was not able to “translate” my new understanding of and love for the texts as well as in the later concerts due to my unfamiliarity with Schönberg’s and Webern’s sound worlds. I nevertheless think that my later performances benefitted immensely from the work I did before the first concert as it set in motion a process of discovery of nuances of meaning, triggered my reflections on the communication with the audience and led to a constant re-evaluation of the balance between text and music, in which the words surprisingly got more space when the focus was no longer on them. Therefore, I think that approaching Opus 15 through the poetry did not only work, albeit only in the long run, but was essential for the more successful later performances. Schönberg’s views became a concern for me once again in the final few months of the project when I started to wonder if our interpretation got too declamatory. The next time I perform the work, I will have to evaluate anew if the balance between words and music works.

In hindsight, I think I might have gotten more out of this contextualisation of Opus 15 with other George-Lieder at a later stage of the project. As understanding the text is my first working step anyway, it seemed sensible to start with the text context, but I had not considered that I might not immediately understand the music or that it might take a lot of energy to sort out collaboration issues due to the complexity of Opus 15. Despite being able to read and learn most of the repertoire rather fast, I needed time to hear and understand it better, and I lacked the experience of having performed Opus 15 once. Perhaps my background of working as a collaborative pianist had blinded me to the true difficulties of this repertoire. I often have to learn music fast, and occasionally I have to play repertoire I am less comfortable with, but I am used to disregarding my discomfort for the sake of making it work. During a performance, there is no space for doubt, so it is sometimes easier to ignore difficulties.

Translation

“There is only one question: do you sing it in the original German, or in English? I am most fond of having it presented in English, so that the audience can understand really every word without being distracted by looking at an extract in the printed program.”38 Schönberg’s question to Rose Bampton, who sang Opus 15 in New York in December 1949, appears strange in the context of his statements in The Relationship to the Text and the importance of sound in George’s poetry. Schönberg acknowledged the audience’s need to follow and understand the text as he named the sung and the printed translations as the only alternatives. He wanted the audience’s complete attention on the music and did not seem to realise that a translation of the poems would change the whole work. Bampton performed Opus 15 in the original German version39 as most performers do. However, in one of the earliest recordings of the work, a French radio broadcast from 1949, the cycle was sung in a French translation.40 Although it is difficult to imagine, a singable translation might not be such an “impossible idea”41 if the translation is well written. It might be a rewarding topic for further research on the performance of Opus 15 to explore how different languages affect the performers’ understanding and shaping of the work.

As my language skills are not sufficient to write good singable translations, I decided to perform Opus 15 in German but to give the audience written translations of the poetry in Norwegian and English. Although it might take away some of the attention from the music and even disturb the performance occasionally through noisy page turning, I found I could create a connection to the audience through these translations. Translating the poems into English and Norwegian was, on the one hand, a challenge. On the other hand, it gave me the opportunity to get even deeper into the poetry through my recreation of it. I reflected on what makes a good translation. How close should it be to the original? For the rehearsal with my first singer, who is Swedish but lives in Norway, I had to know each word’s possible meaning. For the audience, I wanted to create a translation that makes sense and is consistent without losing too many aspects of the original. I think that the way the text is presented to the audience influences the way they perceive the performance. I quickly gave up on the idea to transfer the original sound. Even though it is crucial in George’s poetry, I figured that aspects of sound could be perceived from the original poem and I did not think my translating skills would be sufficient to include sound features in a meaningful way. I do not believe it is possible to translate all the ways in which a poem affects a listener. Therefore, I concentrated on translating images and meaning. I tried to stay close to the word order of the original poems when that made sense so that the audience would experience my translations like subtitles in a film. For my second concert, I kept the English translations of Opus 15 almost entirely, but changed some elements in the Norwegian translations, going further away from a more literal translation towards a more poetic tone and a less complicated rendering. Although I used the same translation in the programs of the second, third and final concert, this translation is not necessarily definitive. One of the mistakes I see many non-native speakers, especially younger students, make, is that they assume there is nothing more to a poem than what the translation conveys.

Figure 1: Sign at Bergen Airport, Flesland (22.11.2016).

Figure 2: Sign at Bergen Airport, Flesland (22.11.2016).

Figure 3: Sign at Oslo Airport, Gardermoen (21.09.2015).

Language is rooted in culture as these images of signs in two languages illustrate. Each word has a history, and its meaning depends on the context. I have to know which word is appropriate to decide if the word “utgang” means “exit” or “gate”. The word “chapel” in the third example seems to have a much more religious meaning than “stille rom” – “quiet room”. Each word has a certain range of meanings that is not identical with the range of meanings of one possible translation. This makes it particularly challenging to translate poetry, where nuances and the way in which something is expressed are important. When dealing with words that are ambiguous in the original, I often had to decide on only one way of reading it for the translation. Play on words or figures of speech were difficult or impossible to translate at all. George used many neologisms, like “Blättergründen” in the first poem of Opus 15, and poetic words which one would not use in everyday language. Translation helped me to get closer to understanding these, as I was forced to explore their possible range of meaning. As neither English nor Norwegian are my first language, I have a limited “active vocabulary”. In my translation work, I started with preliminary sketches that I then edited repeatedly. I looked up each word in a dictionary, found possible translations, and then I looked up the meaning of the translated alternatives to find the most suitable word for each context before I discussed my solutions with native speakers. I worked with four native speakers on the Norwegian translations and was faced with four quite different opinions. These discussions, as well as reading translations by others, made me see how far the original goes, as well as where others have crossed a threshold and where I do not agree with their translation. My analysis work on these poems made me aware of much that goes on regarding sound and images, but I think translation both made me understand the poetry on an even deeper level and create another link to the audience.  Of course, I do not have time to consciously think about all the aspects of the text when playing the music, but my internalised understanding of the text influences how I hear, think and feel during a performance.

Through translation, I did not only develop a deeper understanding of the poetry. My reflection on translation made me also discover parallels to my practice as a performer. Both processes consist of interpretation and recreation, of negotiating and shifting between different modes of understanding. I make something accessible to others while simultaneously adding my own voice to it. The translation shows how I experience the “original”. I start both processes with familiarising myself with what I want to translate, and even though my first attempts are not very artistic, someone who knows the original work or other translations might recognise it. The first rough sketch gets further refined, some elements are rewritten or discarded in the search for something that makes it “just right”. Both “translations” deal with a gap between being true to the “original” and making it work in the new language or mode of expression. The outcome is determined by the translator’s understanding of the original, his or her “transformative creativity” and skill in the target language. “Translating” music is in many ways similar to translating poetry. Both processes are transformative. Through the process, I gain insights I did not have before, which are not possible to obtain through analysis alone. I have to try to discover boundaries through practice. Some places might be straightforward and easy to transfer, in which case analysis might provide similar insights. Places of hermeneutic depth, however, are more difficult to translate. Here, I can choose between several solutions. Out of my understanding and intuition, there is often one that seems to fit best. There might, of course, always be one that fits even better, which I have not yet discovered. Due to the ephemeral nature of performance, the comparison between translation and my practice as a performer has its limits. Nevertheless, it was one of the stimuli during this project that gave me new ways to think about what I do in my practice. Throughout the project, I discovered preconceptions I had, differences between what I thought and said I did and what I actually did. Reflecting on translation helped me to get closer to understanding the necessity for constant reassessment of what I do in each context, getting rid of unnecessary automatisms and finding my voice as an artist.

In the next section, I describe in detail my views on each of the poems of Opus 15. I also include phonetic transcriptions and the translations that I used in the programs of the second to fourth concert.42 Through analysis and translation, I dug deeper into the poems, found new angles of understanding and discovered mistakes in my reading or ambiguities I had not thought of before. Throughout the project, I continued thinking about the texts and developing a kind of script or map of subtexts. The resulting enriched understanding led to gradually more nuanced performances. As it is easy to get blinded or stuck in a certain way of thinking when one works alone, I discussed the poetry with others, mainly my singers, and read others’ translations and discussions of it. Few translations exist, and I realised that even the good ones cannot convey everything. Kerrigan is, to my knowledge, the only author who mentions textual considerations from a performer’s perspective, but she merely gives rough descriptions of each poem in very few sentences.43 I believe therefore that my detailed texts on each of the poems can reveal new insights and convey nuances of meaning a non-native speaker might miss. The texts contain elements from the initial analyses and reflections on how my perception of the poem texts has influenced my way of shaping the music and my interaction with the singer that developed over time. While writing down these reflections, I realised that my real understanding came from the actual work, from trying to get to know every detail, not from reading what others have written. There are no shortcuts in performance. One does not necessarily need three years, but personal experience, the hearing and “grasping” of the material, needs time and is necessary for the “magic” to happen. My texts can also not adequately convey what happens during a performance when there is no time to think consciously about all the details. All the work needs to be internalised. I have a kind of “performative map”, a representation of the total that guides me but leaves room for improvisational freedom. The artistic result is never fixed, and performances, in turn, influence my view of the work and myself. Therefore, it seems strange to fix my view on Opus 15 in written form. Everything submitted to paper seems to become shallow and cannot convey the small nuances as my practice develops further.44 Once, I demonstrated some of my considerations regarding the text in a presentation during which I used prewritten notes and played excerpts of one of the songs on the piano.45 The presentation was well-received, and the audience commented they felt drawn into my practice, yet to me, it seemed as if I was lying as what I said did not seem to make sense without the singer and at that specific moment. The following section should, therefore, not be read as one unchangeable interpretation, but rather as a collection of thought fragments inspired by different moments in time that contributed to how I performed Opus 15 in the final concert.

Schönberg chose 15 central poems from George’s cycle “Das Buch der hängenden Gärten” for his Opus 15. They might continue the story of the previous poems, or they could be meant as an interlude that conveys either the speaker’s memories or dreams, or an experience of someone else. The start of the cycle is exciting and mystical as it invites the listener into a still unknown landscape. The first poem describes just a scenery: Protected by leaves, there is a marble fountain or pond into which gargoyles spout water. The poem’s calm tone, the stars of the second verse, the gentle voices that tell of their suffering and allude to chirping crickets, and the candles, which lighten the bushes and might befireflies, suggest it is evening. The place seems to be devoid of people. Apart from a slightly melancholic, lonely tone, nothing hints at the speaker of the poem. Although the entire poem consists of only one sentence that describes the scenery, an arc of suspense leads towards the last two lines. Something was happening (vv. 7-8) at the place (v.1) where certain things occur at a certain though undesignated moment in time (vv. 2-6). Although this is not the first poem from George's “Das Buch der hängenden Gärten” it seems to prepare the reader or listener for what is yet to come, to create expectations and excitement as if the curtain in a theatre was rising. This is what I have in mind when I shape the piano introduction. Using the suspended rhythm, the friction between the major and minor third and the large expressive leap, I try to make it appear mystical, very soft as if far away, uncertain as if looking around but with a lot of tension.

The poem is very descriptive and addresses various senses. Colourful sounds and pictures help the listener to experience the scenery: The dark vowels in “Unterm schutz von” convey warmth and protection. My single accented note in bar 8 should therefore not be too sharp, also because the singer sings softly in a low register.

Figure 4: Arnold Schönberg: Das Buch der hängenden Gärten, Op. 15, No. I, bars 7-9

In contrast, the light vowels of the second half of the first verse depict the leaves that are further up starting with the very light and due to the /ç/-sound rather airy “dichten” that stands out after the darks u-s and o-s of the beginning. One might even say that the colours of the vowels describe the bent-down curve of the branches, as the light vowels gradually turn into slightly darker vowels: /ɪ/, /ə/, /ɛ/, /ɐ/, /ʏ/, /ə/.50 This image is further illustrated by the falling rhythm of the word “blättergründen” which is like most German words stressed on the first syllable. “Blättergründen” is not a commonly used compound. It consists of “Blätter” meaning leaves, and “Gründe”, the plural of “Grund”, meaning ground, surface or valley. My following interjection in bar 9 should help connect the sentence and prepare for the poetic description of the second verse, which reminds of a fairy-tale and adds another feature to the scenery. Several interpretations of the verse seem plausible. Either, two images are woven into each other to illustrate the quality of the light the speaker perceives. “Flocken” (flakes) and “schneien” (snow) allude to falling snowflakes that indicate the (star) light appears and disappears in slow movements as it filters through the leaves. The verse could also depict the pollen of star-shaped flowers that drifts through the air. In either interpretation, the verse alludes to a soft movement that is also conveyed through the sound of the fricative consonants, whose effect gets enhanced by the symmetrical alliteration “sternen feine flocken schneien”.  I adjust my timing as well as my touch, so it suits the image and sound of "feine Flocken". I prefer to think of it as something very soft, a little dull and thick.

Figure 5: Arnold Schönberg: Das Buch der hängenden Gärten, Op. 15, No. I, bars 9-11

The third verse addresses another sense: The listener is asked to imagine the sound of gentle voices proclaiming their sorrow. There is no other hint of who or what produces the sounds, but one could assume these are noises of crickets or other animals in the trees. A few fricative consonants at the beginning of the verse (sachte stimmen) convey the impression of soft, chirping noises and make the pronunciation rather slow. Despite their gentleness, the personified voices can be heard clearly in their insistent lament. The atmosphere of the entire poem is very peculiar. On the one hand, the scenery contains positive, welcoming features like the protection of the leaves. The third verse, however, adds an element of unease. Schönberg wrote very detailed instructions in the score, but they are still open to different interpretations. The chords in bar 11, marked with both accent and staccato, yet tied and sustained for the length of two quarter notes, obviously require a different touch than the accompaniment of the previous phrase. I think a fast, small and precise upward movement with half right pedal and, depending on the piano, left pedal, with good timing considering the singer’s pronunciation of the fricative consonants, fits best with these words. The chords are followed by an expressive, lamenting melody in the right hand, where I use the chromatic tension to convey the mourning voices. As the line is written in the sixth octave, it can be played very intensely without drowning the singer, as long as I am a little careful with my left hand.

Figure 6: Arnold Schönberg: Das Buch der hängenden Gärten, Op. 15, No. I, bars 11-12

An enjambment connects the next two verses and contributes to the poem’s symmetry. It also depicts the long jets of water coming from the water spouts. The long words “Fabeltiere” and “marmorbecken” support this image. At this place, the text helps me with the phrasing, as I think ahead all the way towards the end of the fifth verse while simultaneously swelling and ebbing. I try to avoid the use of pedal to get a crisper sound that helps to convey the lively quality of the water. The gargoyles that are shaped like mythical creatures are personified and appear almost alive. The diphthong “au”, which consists of an open and a closed vowel, together with the many consonants in “braunen schlünden” makes the pronunciation of this phrase rather intricate, and conveys thus a vivid image of the big brown muzzles that needs just a fraction of time. The brown muzzles make the fountains appear a little dirty and almost decaying. The place seems a little overgrown, like a secret, forgotten entrance to the garden, that obviously has not been looked after for some time. Everything is devoid of humans and not quite as beautiful and well cared for as it was some time ago. The next verse describes the small streams of water flowing out of the marble basins. The amount of water is more modest compared to the big jets coming from the gargoyles as are the words in this verse compared to the previous verse. The gurgling sound of the water is illustrated by the alliteration of “kleinen” and “klagend”, and the personification of the streams makes the image rather vivid. The contradiction of “klagend” and “eilen” might hint at the uneven amount of water floating out of the basins. In one moment, there is a slow, “lamenting” flow of water and then suddenly more water is “rushing” over the basin's edges. I try to depict this in my playing as well by stretching the expressive falling second and giving it a very speaking sound, and playing the following notes in a very light and hasty way, as Schönberg indicates. I think the crescendo towards bar 17 should be huge, which makes it important to start softly. The text helps to make sense of the outburst: In the original poem, there is a colon instead of a comma, which leads the listener’s attention to the last two lines. Now, something is happening. Everything up to that point has to be rather soft.

Figure 7: Arnold Schönberg: Das Buch der hängenden Gärten, Op. 15, No. I, bars 15-17

The images of the last two verses are ambiguous again. In my view, the seventh verse alludes to fireflies that suddenly light up the bushes. The alliteration “Kamen kerzen” followed by the accumulation of fricative and stop consonants in “gesträuch entzünden” conveys the sound of buzzing insects (although fireflies do not make noises). The sound of the alliteration inspires my sound on the marcato sixteenth notes in bar 17, but at this place, I must be careful not to drown the singer with my big chords. My second singer suggested that the verse could also refer to the panicles of chestnut trees as they could be thought of as red or white flames and are colloquially called “Kerzen”. Again, the text helps with the phrasing. It is easy to lose energy after the g sharp is reached for the first time, but the tension of the poem goes towards the next verse.

Figure 8: Arnold Schönberg: Das Buch der hängenden Gärten, Op. 15, No. I, bars 17-19

The white shapes in the water that are described in the final verse appear even more ambiguous and mystical. They might be the reflections of the light that appeared so suddenly in the previous verse. They could also indicate a movement in the water that causes it to foam as illustrated by the fricatives /v/ and /s/, or something, for example white flowers, floats on the water. There is something foreboding about the entire poem. One can sense that it is the beginning of something that does not end well. Although the repeated motif of the falling third appears as a closing gesture in the postlude, the dramatic aspects of the text help me not to lose tension. The postlude must not convey closure but has to stay open for what is to come, like a question.

The second poem describes a new part of the landscape. The garden seems to get more beautiful and cared for towards the middle of the cycle. Both the landscape and the speaker’s feelings become more concrete. After the earthy colours of the previous text, the second poem appears brighter and more alive, and the scene is probably set at daytime. The poem contains enjambments and enumerations that create a slightly faster flow compared to the first poem.We found it necessary to take enough time between the first and second song to make room for this change of atmosphere. Despite the soft dynamics throughout, I decided to avoid the left pedal in this song to bring out the lighter colours.

In the beginning, the speaker’s gaze wanders seemingly aimlessly over woods, flowery meadows and halls with multicoloured tiles. It seems as if his gaze is fixed on the distance before it moves to his immediate surroundings as he describes more and more artificial, human-made structures. The unusual plural “paradises” (v. 1) contributes to the impression that the area of the gardens is enormous. The speaker’s awe is conveyed through the inversion of the first sentence, which is noteworthy as it would have been easy to change the word order without losing the rhyme. I try to convey this awe through the way I play the opening arpeggio, which I think of as relaxed and sensual with a slightly heavy left hand and a slow movement that triggers the singer’s entry. Schönberg’s breath-marks in the following recitative-like phrases have occupied us a lot. It is easy to start the song to slow, getting caught up in a feeling of contemplation. Although I think that Schönberg’s tempo marking is slightly too fast, and it is important not to rush and shorten the last notes before the singer’s breath, we discovered that a sufficiently fast tempo with good breaths seems to convey the atmosphere best. When it works, it sounds as if the speaker pauses naturally to register new sensory impressions. The internal identical rhyme “diesen paradiesen” emphasises the lightness of the beginning, but the vowels get darker throughout the first three verses. In the third verse, only the rhyming word “fliesen” contains the phoneme /iː/, and the flow of the previous verses has disappeared due to the many commas. Again, there seems to be an underlying darkness and foreboding in the text. I try to listen to the slowly ascending left-hand octaves to convey this foreboding through my playing. Because of the singer’s falling line on the quadrisyllabic word “Blütenwiesen” in bar 3, I have to be careful not to accentuate the third beat despite the duration of the chord, the crescendo and the stretch that is necessary to accommodate the singer’s breath.

Figure 9: Arnold Schönberg: Das Buch der hängenden Gärten, Op. 15, No. II, bars 3-4

In the fourth verse of the poem, the speaker’s attention turns from the expanding landscape to his more immediate surroundings. Storks ripple the water of ponds that are full of glittering fish while rows of birds sit on the crooked ridges of the surrounding buildings. The exotic animals, the accumulation of disyllabic words and the vibrant sounds of the language, as in the play with the phonemes /ʃ/ and /ɪ/ that depicts the glittering fishes, contribute to the vividness of the scene. If the initial tempo of the song is not fast enough, the transition to bar 5 does not work. The new tempo, which Schönberg marked “etwas langsamer” (a little slower) does not feel much slower due to the smaller note values. Although the beginning of the verse might be difficult to articulate for the singer because of the alliteration “Schlanker störche schnäbel”, the atmosphere should not turn lyrical. If I feel the sextuplets as one movement, play them clearly with little pedal, bring out the accents and articulate the staccato duro well despite the pianissimo, I can convey the image of the storks’ movement and the rippling rings on the water.

Figure 10: Arnold Schönberg: Das Buch der hängenden Gärten, Op. 15, No. II, bars 5-6

The sixth and seventh verse describe the birds that sing on the roofs. George used the word “Vögel-reihen” instead of “Vogelreihen”, which would be the correct form. It creates a certain verbal tension, at least for someone reading the poem for the first time. Because of the hyphen and the incorrect plural construction, one might read or hear “reihen” almost as a part of a reflexive verb (“birds with dull glow form a line”), which crashes with the real verb “trillern” (to warble). The oxymoron “matten scheines” (dull gleam) creates further tension. Bar 7 is challenging to coordinate with the singer, but if one keeps in mind this tension and does not rush through it, it gets easier.

The eighth verse describes golden rushes blowing in the wind. The singer can bring out the onomatopoeic quality of the word “säuseln” (to whisper), which illustrates the soft sound the rushes make in the wind and which makes the verse slightly melancholic. Because of the conjunction “Und” and the previous long clauses, one expects a continuation of the description, but the sentence is suddenly interrupted by the conjunction “Doch” (but) in the last verse. Finally, the speaker comes to the fore, declaring that his dream pursues only one thing. It seems, he can rejoice in the beauty of the garden only for short moments of time while he is obsessed with this dream. Because of the surprising change after the eighth verse, I find it important not to lose tension during the molto ritardando. I try to “sing” my expressive left-hand octaves until the end of the phrase despite the slow tempo. The following sforzato arpeggios convey the sudden change, but should not be played too harsh, rather like a friendly admonishment not to get lost in the dreamy contemplation of nature and to follow his real dream instead. I realised that I have to pedal carefully and manage the diminuendo on the octaves without losing the marcato quality. Only the chord on “Traum” should be warm and convey the speaker’s longing.

Figure 11: Arnold Schönberg: Das Buch der hängenden Gärten, Op. 15, No. II, bars 9-11

The singer’s final note must be soft, as the word “eines” requires an unstressed second syllable. Despite the tenuto and possible difficulties in coordination, the left-hand octave at this place has to be very soft, so it does not disturb the singer’s word. In bar 13, I try to bring out the longing tenuto sound by using the left hand instead of the right. For me, this longing already has an element of destructiveness. It is on an unconscious level (the dream), but already obsessive.

Figure 12: Arnold Schönberg: Das Buch der hängenden Gärten, Op. 15, No. II, bars 12-14

In the third poem, the speaker addresses the beloved for the first time. He has stepped into new territory and states that he had not known awe or desire before he met her. He begs her to choose him as a servant and to forgive the mistakes he is going to make. Three different images or ideas predominate the poem: a religious aspect, the concept of love as serving and the speaker’s youth and inexperience. After the trochees of the first two poems, the iambic metre of the third poem creates a sense of increased tempo. The focus has turned from a relatively calm contemplation of the scenery to the subjective experience of desire that has been transformed from the dreamlike state of the second poem to a more conscious and concrete longing. Throughout the entire song, the text helps the performers to coordinate the highly flexible tempi and dynamics that convey the intensity of emotions.

The first verse sets the atmosphere for the whole poem as the speaker humbly declares that he has come to new territory. The inversion of the first sentence is striking as it emphasises the speaker’s status as a newcomer while the pronoun “ich” (I) gets an unimportant place, unaccentuated and hidden in the middle of the sentence. The speaker describes himself with the word “Neuling”, which might either convey that he has just entered the garden and has never seen anything like it, or that he is young and inexperienced as a servant or lover. The noun “gehege” is noticeable, as it usually refers to an enclosure for animals in zoos or to an enclosed area in which game is cared for and hunted by huntsmen. The phrase “dein gehege” might allude either to the beloved’s high social rank as indicated by her ownership of such a place or to her imprisonment, the belonging to another man, which will be confirmed in the following poem. The word also implies the crossing of a border, both in the landscape and emotionally.  

The beginning of the song can be challenging to coordinate. Due to the abrupt start and the unison rhythms, it is crucial to agree on the tempo and the quality of the dotted rhythms. The text can help both performers to find the right atmosphere. Kerrigan65 and Lessem66 point out the march-like effect of the dotted notes. My singers and I, however, tried to avoid a march-like character as it would not match the speaker’s eager uncertainty. We instead decided to play and sing more towards the accents and phrase ends instead of emphasising one and one group. The rhythmic energy tempts the performers to be too direct, but the beginning should be soft and searching yet with an underlying tension and very clear. To achieve the right kind of tension, we realised it is helpful not to take too much time after the fermata at the end of the previous song before the start of this song. It is important that the sixteenth notes are not too light, and that the singer consciously uses the consonants. I find that I can convey the speaker’s energy and eagerness on the one hand and his insecurity on the other hand by playing non-legato in the left hand and legato lines that move towards the end of each bar in the right hand. If we manage to feel this start together, the rest of the song will also work well together.

Figure 13: Arnold Schönberg: Das Buch der hängenden Gärten, Op. 15, No. III, bars 1-2

The anaphora “Kein staunen […]/Kein wunsch” in the second and third verse lends emphasis to the word “kein” and underlines the novelty and intensity of the speaker's feelings. The combination of alliteration and pararhyme in “meinen mienen” adds to the intensity of the poetry and requires a nuance of time for the singer to taste the words without losing the underlying energy. The third verse shares the verb with the second verse. Thus, the sentence gets shorter and more emphatic. The phrase “eh ich dich blickte” (before I saw you) is inserted before “rege” instead of added at the end. The important event of seeing the beloved for the first time is thus emphasised. Despite the many voices in the piano and the expressive hairpin dynamics, it is crucial not to get too loud too early, so the tension increases gradually towards that important moment.

While the first three verses speak of the past, the second part of the poem contains the speaker’s plea to the beloved to choose him as a servant at the present moment. In the fourth verse, the image of the folded young hands, a symbol of pleading or prayer, underlines his humility. The interlude prepares the plea. To me, it seems to illustrate how he throws himself on his knees and folds his hands in an urgent gesture. The young and inexperienced speaker asks the beloved to look upon his plea with “Huld”, an old term for benevolence or grace that places her in a socially higher position. The most striking place in the entire poem regarding language is the phrase “denen, die dir dienen”. The alliteration, the pararhyme “denen […] dienen” and the repetition of the bright vowel /i:/ underline the intensity of the speaker’s plea. His highest goal is to serve the beloved. I can use the ritardandi to convey the intensity of the pleading, while I think of the speaker’s youthful eagerness at the places that are in tempo or more flowing. I find it important to always start in piano again before building up the crescendi to illustrate the speaker’s agitation. It feels like he is getting hot and cold in turn. The text’s emotional qualities help against the temptation to get too loud immediately. This way, I can also avoid balance problems when the singer sings in the middle register.

In the sixth verse, the adjective “erbarmender” (merciful) stands out as the rhythm of the poem is softened by the only quadrisyllabic word that conveys the compassion the speaker attributes to the beloved. The plea reaches its climax at the transition from the sixth to the seventh verse. I try to play as intensely as possible, putting weight onto every note. As the singer has trouble hearing the piano when she sings this high and intensely, it is important not to get too broad but rather to feel the connection in the words in this melismatic setting.

In the last verse, the speaker describes himself as someone stumbling on a foreign “Stege”, which is an old word for small path. He seems to picture himself as a wanderer or pilgrim. The irregular metre of the verse illustrates his stumbling. Schönberg’s postlude appears to indicate that he recovers his balance and continues in his eager striving to please the beloved. I think of a gentle insecurity when I shape the final phrase of the song, which I try to keep open, being careful not to lengthen the last chord. 

In the fourth poem, the speaker realises that he has entered another man’s territory. It might still be possible for him to leave, but then he seems to receive a sign from the beloved’s gaze that makes it impossible for him not to stay. Unlike in the previous poem, the speaker does not address the beloved directly but describes his inner strife.

Despite the absent time signature and changing bar lengths, this song poses no major ensemble challenges as it contains few tempo changes and no complicated polyrhythms that need to be coordinated. However, it is again challenging to find the right atmosphere from the beginning of the song. The speaker’s motionless, burning lips (v. 1) convey his state of near-exhaustion, both physical and emotional, which might be a result of the endless pleading described in the previous poem. He has worked himself into a feverish state of obsession and has obviously not cared for himself. When he ceases his plea, he realises for the first time where he is. The phrase “wohin mein fuss geriet” underlines that he did not consciously and purposefully seek out another man’s property, but his foot stumbled into it without his intervention. He seems to be figuratively split as different parts of his body, his lips and his feet, no longer cooperate. His obsession with the beloved has led to his alienation from reality, both on the metaphorical level of the garden as he no longer recognises the part he is in and on the level of morale and reason as his obsession has blinded him to the truth of the beloved belonging to another man. It is not easy to find a good tempo for the beginning. I like to take the first bar a little broader, feeling it in eighth notes rather than in quarter notes to bring out the feverish monotony before continuing in a “thoughtful flow”. However, the necessary tension and resistance can be achieved without resorting to a tempo that is too slow to feel a connection in the sentence. To be convincing, the start must be intense but not too loud and dramatic. Listening actively to the sound of the text helps with the shaping of the unison phrases. When the singer sings the expressive glissandi that need some extra time to bring out the tension, I listen to the consonants to coordinate my playing with her vowels. In bars 4 and 5, I use the subito pianissimo and the way I shape and subtly colour the eighth note phrases as if being pulled by something to convey the speaker’s apprehensive unease when he realises what kind of situation he is in. The way I feel the colon in bar 6 determines my timing and phrasing when I begin the little interlude.

Figure 14: Arnold Schönberg: Das Buch der hängenden Gärten, Op. 15, No. IV, bars 1-6

As this interlude starts a small canon with the voice, I imagine the singer’s words (“In andrer herren”) when I shape the phrase. The third verse stands out as an incomplete sentence without a verb that seems to convey the speaker’s sudden realisation. He consciously takes in his surroundings, noticing their beauty (“prächtiges”) and realising they belong to someone else. The phrase “andrer herren” is noteworthy as it implies the speaker himself is of a high social rank, although he wants to be a servant to the beloved. It seems odd that George used the plural form “herren”. Although the speaker’s sudden awareness of his situation requires an increase in tempo, it is important not to rush through the sentence. The adjective “prächtiges”, in particular, needs time for the singer to colour and articulate. Different subtexts seem possible for the piano interlude in bars 11 and 12. As the material resembles the one used at the end of the song, when the beloved’s gaze seems to beckon the speaker, one could imagine the repetitive small phrases as siren calls that pull the speaker towards the beloved. However, I think of the emphatic repetition of the same material as the speaker’s disquiet and inner struggle to decide between his obsessive desire and what is morally right. A violation of the other’s territory could lead to war. I try to feel the physical pull of the hairpin phrases of both hands against each other. At the end of the song, when the beloved seems to motion him to stay, his disquiet does not disappear but moves to the background. 

Figure 15: Arnold Schönberg: Das Buch der hängenden Gärten, Op. 15, No. IV, bars 10-13 

In the fourth verse, the speaker claims he might still have been able to turn around were it not for the beloved’s sign. The inversion of the sentence emphasises the adverb “noch” (still) and enhances the tension. The reader or listener knows that the conjunction “but” has to follow, and the qualifying adverb “vielleicht” makes the statement questionable. If the singer decides to sing the phrase like a thought “in brackets”, I have to make sure the still ongoing “struggle” between my hands does not ruin the balance. The singer needs a nuance of time to articulate the alliteration “mir möglich, mich”. The place might tempt the singer to move forward, but she can convey the tension better if the sixteenth notes that feel fast anyway are not rushed. The last three verses describe the speaker's perception of the beloved’s gaze through which he thinks she finally communicates with him. I try to convey the speaker’s excitement by playing the sixteenth notes in the left hand that start in bar 15 very clear and articulated. The high bars in the fifth verse, which remind the reader or listener of the enclosure that was mentioned in the previous poem, hint again at the barrier between the speaker and the beloved. The last three verses are connected through enjambments and form one long sentence, the awareness of which helps to shape the climax. The transition from bar 17 to bar 18, in particular, needs a bit of room, but with enough momentum to continue the sentence after the comma. The quality of the singer’s breath after “Blick”, the most important word of the poem as it depicts the first contact between the lovers, conveys the intensity of the moment as the speaker realises or imagines that his passionate pleading might finally be answered.

Figure 16: Arnold Schönberg: Das Buch der hängenden Gärten, Op. 15, No. IV, bars 13-18 

The speaker’s unceasing kneeling, a reminder of the intense plea from the previous poem that is illustrated through the singer’s expressive glissando on “gekniet”, seems to contradict the statement of the second verse. How can he be on his knees and at the same time wander around seemingly not noticing where he is going? The speaker might be aware that his actions are morally reprehensible, pretends to hesitate, but cannot stop himself.  This might also explain the use of present tense in the first two verses and the use of past tense in the later verses. The speaker’s inner strive does not seem to lead anywhere. There is no “solution” or “arrival” at the end. The music just resolves into nothingness. Keeping in mind the conception of the entire cycle, it is important to find the right balance between tension and stasis in this song, so that it is possible to feel the increasing intensity from the third to the eighth song and further.

The fifth poem takes up the speaker’s submissiveness and eagerness to please the beloved that already became apparent in the third poem. He addresses an unspecified person or group of people and asks them to tell him when the beloved will pass by so that he can fetch delicate silk fabrics for her, pluck roses and violets, and lay down his cheek in front of her to serve as her footstool.

The song is calm and straightforward without any rhythmic challenges and with few tempo changes. The entire poem consists of only one sentence, with the speaker’s request for information in the first two verses, followed by two subordinate clauses that explain this request. While the different images have to be worked out through dynamics, tone colour and timing, we realised it is essential to remember the connection and flow in the sentence, also to convey the speaker’s impatient eagerness. As my second singer wanted a slightly faster tempo, I had to adjust the ritardandi so they would not feel exaggerated and chop up the sentence.

The first verse starts with the request “Saget mir” (tell me) which is very prominent and direct due to its position at the beginning of the poem. It is unclear who the speaker addresses. While the verb form “saget” indicates the subjunctive second-person plural in modern German, in older texts, it can be an imperative that either addresses several people or one person in a polite manner. The inversion in the second verse lends emphasis to the adverb “heute” (today) and conveys thus the speaker’s urgent wish to see the beloved soon. The pronoun “sie” (she) gains weight, too. The subjunctive form “schreite” that is used instead of the present tense “schreitet” underlines the speaker's uncertainty. He does not know if he will see the beloved as she does not come with the purpose to meet him. The verb (to stride) also hints at her high social status and elegance. Despite the soft dynamics throughout the song, we realised it is important to start the song not too carefully, so we would be able to convey the urgency of the speaker’s request. This song is the warmest of the cycle and requires rich and full harmonies and beautiful lines.

The speaker wants to woo the beloved with delicate silk fabrics. “Lade” could be a short form for “Schublade” meaning drawer but refers most likely to a chest. The adjective “reich” could in this context mean either splendid, possibly with a lot of ornaments, or rich and ample. The noun “seidenweben” (silk fabrics) is a poetic construct for “Seidengewebe” or “Seidenstoffe”. The flow of the quadrisyllabic word that is stressed on the first syllable and the silky colour of the voiced fricatives /z/ and /v/ give it an onomatopoeic quality. The song’s basic tempo depends on the singer’s ability to sing the phrase “zarte seidenweben hole” on one breath. Often, the pianist will have to move the phrase subtly forward to support the singer. My first singer, however, was able to sing the phrase very slowly, and as a result, I had difficulties shaping this long line. Playing with the image of small and delicate underlying movements of the fabric in my mind made it a lot easier. While I continue to play rich harmonies, the image requires a softer, more delicate touch even though the place is only marked piano in the piano part. 

Figure 17: Arnold Schönberg: Das Buch der hängenden Gärten, Op. 15, No. V, bars 6-9

In the fifth verse, the speaker states that he wants to pluck roses and violets for the beloved. Roses are usually associated with love and beauty,78 while violets symbolise modesty and faithfulness.79 The flowers’ status and associated character are mirrored in their position in the sentence. The rose is prominently positioned at the beginning of the verse, whereas the violet is placed at the end, even after the verb. It is noteworthy that the singular forms of rose and violet are used. I repeat the phrase “Rose pflücke” and should therefore shape it guided by the text. The last two verses pick up the idea of serving and devotion from the two previous poems and take it to the extreme when the speaker declares that he wants to lay down his cheek so that it can become a footstool under the beloved’s sole. This radical but touching image that might be difficult to comprehend for a modern reader illustrates the speaker’s willingness to submit himself entirely to the beloved. To give her a little pleasure and comfort, he is willing to take on the highest discomfort.

The emotional qualities of the text help me to time the caesura between bars 12 and 13. I imagine it as the speaker’s shivering with pleasure as he thinks of this highest service he can offer the beloved. The following phrase requires the most sensual touch and a gradual increase in tempo and dynamics. I have to listen for the consonant to coordinate “Wange” with the singer after her glissando that needs a nuance of time despite the growing intensity. The noun “Schemel” requires time and a special colour to convey the extremeness of the image. Although the song seems rather simple, it needs a communicative flexibility to convey the speaker’s intense emotions.

Figure 18: Arnold Schönberg: Das Buch der hängenden Gärten, Op. 15, No. V, bars 10-16

In the sixth poem, the speaker declares, that he is henceforth dead to all human endeavour. He only wants to conjure the beloved to his mind and imagine new conversations with her. Nothing else matters to him, and he cries when the images from his dreams disappear in the cold morning. This poem is again addressed to the beloved or the speaker’s dream image of her. The emotional contrasts in the text and the different dynamics and textures in the music facilitate the shaping of this song.

In the first verse, the speaker declares that he cannot enjoy and dedicate himself to anything. Due to the inversion of the sentence and the repeated vowel “e”, the phrase “Jedem werke” stands out. The speaker firmly emphasises that he is oblivious and insensitive to everything. After the first contact has been established in the fourth song, there is no doubt left: his sole future purpose is to serve her. The stressed cadence and the dark vowels at the end of the verse further underline the absoluteness of his statement. After the soft starts of the previous songs, the sixth song opens loudly and directly. We discovered that the beginning works best with little time between the songs. It is important that the singer sings marcato on every note to convey the intensity of the words. I have to ensure that I play my hard, rigid chords on the vowel so that the text can be understood and the timing conveys the finality of the statement.

The mood changes completely in the second verse as the speaker gets caught up in his fantasies of the beloved. Her importance to him is underlined by the prominent position of the word “Dich” (you) at the beginning of the sentence. In the third verse, the pronoun “dir” (you) is emphasised through the varied repetition “mit den […] mit dir”. The lighter vowels, in particular towards the end of the verses, contribute to the atmosphere of delicate sensuality and longing fantasy. The verb “nahzurufen”, which literally means “to call to come close”, hints at the suggestive power of the speaker’s dreams. As if the speaker dwells on his thoughts about the beloved, thinking up (“ausspinnen”) another conversation with her in his head, the subordinate clause does not lead into a main clause. Instead, it gets suddenly interrupted by the fourth verse.

My singers and I tried out various ways of shaping the transition from the speaker’s harsh rejection of everything that is not the beloved to his evocative fantasies of her. We experimented with thinking “tot” quasi fermata or keeping it strictly in tempo. We explored the possibilities of more or less vibrato and diminuendo. We discovered that the transition is most effective when her last “t” gives the impulse for my sixteenth note. Although it is also possible to play the sixteenth note when the singer’s vowel sound has faded, but before she articulates the “t”, the contrast seems to be clearer when her final consonant does not disturb the new phrase. After the rigid opening, bars 3 to 7 need more flexibility to convey the “weaving” of the speaker’s fantasy. I found it important to play all voices clearly but softly, both to convey the fragile, yet sensual quality of the dream and to pre-empt balance issues as the singer sings in a rather low register. At the beginning of my work on Opus 15, I found the coordination of these bars challenging. The breath in bar 5 and the syncopated rhythm “neue” were particularly difficult to coordinate as we wanted all voices to be together without stopping the “weaving”. I repeatedly practised playing and speaking the text myself, so I could feel exactly how the voices fit together. I had to be aware of each singer’s pronunciation speed, phrasing and way of breathing. My first singer needed a little more time before “neue”, so I took a little extra breath before the a sharp in the right hand. My second singer, on the other hand, usually shortened “Sinnen” slightly and used less time to breathe, so she did not need the extra time.

Figure 19: Arnold Schönberg: Das Buch der hängenden Gärten, Op. 15, No. VI, bars 2-6

The fourth verse takes up the idea of serving from the previous poems as it lists its contrasting sides service and reward, permission and prohibition. The simple structure mirrors the speaker’s single-minded determination and obsession that we try to convey by playing and singing strictly in tempo after the previous “weaving” flexibility. The change from trochaic to iambic metre in the fifth verse and the inversion of the clause underline the statement that these are the only things that matter. Almost as an afterthought, the speaker adds crying as another necessary activity in the sixth verse. It is not enough for him to see the beloved in his dreams as the images disappear when he is faced with the harsh reality of the morning. The sixth verse is the longest verse of the poem, and its flowing rhythm might illustrate the speaker’s running tears or the fleeing dream images. Each of the following verses is one syllable shorter as if the images disappear one by one from the speaker's mind. The speaker’s fantasies thrive (“gedeihen”) like flowers in the beautiful darkness of the night that seems warm and inviting due to the dark vowel in “schöner”. In contrast, the cold and threatening atmosphere of the reality of the morning is illustrated by the alliteration “kalte klare” and the repetition of /a/-sounds, beginning with “Wann” (when), an older and less used word for “wenn”.

The transition to the slower tempo in bar 12 can be difficult to shape. The text helps to keep the necessary intensity until “Not”, even with the softer dynamics that are necessary because of the singer’s low register. If “Not” is still intense, the following breath naturally requires some time that helps to convey the contrast. I think the words “und Weinen” with my left hand and go back to the caressing, warm touch and weaving feeling of the fantasy world. The slower basic tempo and thinner texture tempt both performers to get even slower. Keeping in mind the harsh awakening from the dream that follows makes it is easier to stay in tempo despite the flexibility. The entire poem conveys a wide range of emotions connected to the speaker’s inner struggle between self-sacrificing submission on the one hand and selfish desire and feverish longing on the other hand. The text inspires both performers to find a similarly wide range of colours and to enjoy the contrasts the music offers while simultaneously keeping a sense of the whole song.

Figure 20: Arnold Schönberg: Das Buch der hängenden Gärten, Op. 15, No. VI, bars 10-14

The seventh poem describes the speaker's growing emotional imbalance. As a result of his obsessive desire, he is caught between fearful uncertainty and hopeful longing. He cries, he cannot sleep, and he cannot take comfort from anything or anyone. Unlike in the previous poem, the speaker does not address anyone directly. The poem consists of only one sentence. The quick succession of three main clauses followed by four subordinate clauses conveys the speaker’s agitation and anxiety.

His emotions have overwhelming physical effects. He feels oppressed and constricted (“beklemmen”, v. 1) by fear and hope and pressed (“bedrängt”, v. 3) by yearning. While it is easy to imagine that the uncertainty and apprehension about his future with the beloved immobilise him, it is noteworthy that hope has the same effect. As the speaker’s feelings change rapidly, the poem employs images of inward, closing and outward, opening movements. The constricting effect of fear and hope is followed by the stretching (“dehnen”, v. 2) of the speaker’s words into sighs. The (inward) oppressive yearning is again an emotion that reaches out as also the colour of the word “Sehnen” with the long, stretched /eː/ illustrates. Both the verb “bedrängt” and the adjective “ungestümes” (wild, violent) express vehemence and urgency. While the previous poems contained descriptions of the gardens or ideas of serving the beloved, the speaker’s subjective suffering is central to this poem. Every verse contains at least one of the pronouns “ich” (I), “mich” or “mir” (me), “mein” or “meine” (my). In the second and third verse, they are further emphasised by their prominent positions at the beginning of the clause. The repeated object pronoun “mich” in the first and third verse underlines the speaker’s lack of control over his emotions. The hopelessness of his situation is emphasised by the anaphora “Dass…” in the fourth to seventh verse. Nothing can get him out of this state, and it is evident that he will soon reach a breaking point where he can endure no more.

The fourth verse consists almost entirely of monosyllables that illustrate the speaker's restlessness. The German phrase “sich an etwas nicht kehren” means to not care about something. The verb “schwemmen” (to flood) hints at the large amount of tears that drench the speaker’s resting place. The last two verses are strikingly symmetric with almost identical vowels and the resembling nouns “freude” (pleasure, happiness) and “freundes” (friend's). Both clauses express a similar sentiment that is underlined by opposite grammatical structures: The speaker does not want any comfort. He refuses every (“jede”, v. 6) pleasure and needs the comfort of no (“keines”, v. 7) friend.

Looking at the score, one immediately notices that the piano part is written only on the staff for the right hand. While some parts might be easier to divide between the hands, because of the text I decided to follow Schönberg’s notation and play everything with the right hand. The physical discomfort that comes both from the effort of playing places like bar 9 as a line and from the missing balance that playing with both hands would provide helps me to bring out the almost unbearable tension of the poem.

Figure 21: Arnold Schönberg: Das Buch der hängenden Gärten, Op. 15, No. VII, bar 9 (piano part)

At first glance, Schönberg’s indication “Nicht zu rasch” (not too quick) and the metronome marking of 80 on the quarter notes seems contradictory. Due to the small note values and the large leaps that make the vocal lines, particularly in the beginning and in bar 9, difficult to sing, the indicated tempo feels very fast. However, the song can turn out “harmless” in this fast tempo if the performers do not feel a certain resistance. For coordination purposes, it might be easier to ignore the changing time signatures of 2/4 and 6/8 and just feel two beats with different rhythmic subdivisions in each bar. However, the “pull” of the speaker’s emotions can be better conveyed if each performer feels the music in the notated time signatures. Although many of the other songs contain phrases where voice and piano are not aligned, here the tension between the phrases seems to be particularly strong. In my playing, I “translate” the text’s emotional quality into a feeling of stretching, a way of phrasing with an immense gravitational force. It is vital that both performers are aware of each other’s timing and phrasing, so they are together despite feeling drawn in different directions. The two major tempo changes are difficult to coordinate, but a feeling for the entire song as one long sentence makes it easier to get a feeling for the proportions. In this song, the performers can easily get caught up in the agitation the text conveys and start the crescendi too early or play too loudly in general. This would reduce the effect of the almost unbearable, overwrought tension that leads towards the climax of the following song. I think of the postlude as conveying the absolute desolation of the speaker’s situation with a seeming glint of hope that is followed by resignation.

In the eighth poem, the speaker’s desire has reached unbearable levels. He has been suffering since his soul belonged to the beloved, whom he asks to judge if he really deserves such pain and to relieve him from his agony. The poem’s division into three sentences is underlined by the rhyme scheme and the shortness of each of the last verses of the two tercets that surround the rhyming couplet.

In the first tercet, the speaker claims that it would destroy him if he could not touch the beloved’s body. The three verses are connected through the alliteration of the first word of each verse (“Wenn”, “Wird”, “Wie”) and the repetition of the sound /zeː/ in “seele”, “sehr” and “sehne”.  The urgency of the speaker’s desire is underlined by the staccato-like beginning “Wenn ich heut nicht” that consists only of monosyllables as the usual form of the adverb “heute” is substituted with the shorter form “heut”. Despite the very fast tempo, it is important that the singer articulates the text clearly, so the intense sounds of the language get conveyed. The image of the taut thread that is in danger of tearing illustrates the unendurable emotional and sexual tension the speaker experiences, which is further underlined by the contrast between “deinen leib” (your body) and “meiner seele” (my soul). The image might allude to the thread of life that is spun and controlled by Moira,103 the personification of fate from Greek mythology, or it might be a thread that connects body and soul. Either way, the speaker implies that he would die if his desire were not satisfied. The third verse compares the soul's thread to a bowstring that will tear and become useless if it is overdrawn.

The fourth and fifth verse are linked together through the rhyme and an almost identical vowel progression. Due to the interchangeability of subject and subject complement, the sentence can be read in two different ways, both of which can be found in existing translations of the poem. “Mourning is the colour which is dear to me who suffer since I belong to thee.”104 is a translation from a Decca record from 1955. Fritsch translated the opposite: “Tokens of love are but signs of mourning to me who suffer since I belong to you.”105 Either, as in Fritsch's translation, the speaker thinks that small signs of recognition or affection are not enough compared to the actual feel of the beloved’s body. Or, as in the Decca translation, mourning bands are dear to the speaker as he is used to suffering. The subjunctive form of the verb “seien” (v. 4) is noteworthy as it usually expresses a wish or a possibility.

The last part of the poem contains the speaker’s appeal to the beloved to relieve him from his suffering. By making her judge if he deserves such pain, he gives her the power to decide over his life or death. He compares his need for her to the relief from sickness and puts her in a position of healer and saviour, when he, in contrast to his previous wish to serve her, now asks her to sprinkle cold water on him to alleviate his fever. He is too weak to stand as he leans shakily against the wall and in a final, desperate attempt appeals to her to let him inside.

Due to its high tempo, this song is one of the most demanding in the cycle regarding ensemble coordination. When I started learning it together with my first singer, we had to practice it slowly for a long time, often with the singer just speaking the text as the large leaps are tiring for the voice. Gradually, the song became more familiar, and we could try it at a faster tempo. We also deconstructed the piano part to facilitate the synchronisation of the tempo changes, starting just with the left hand and the voice part as the right hand made the coordination confusing due to Schönberg’s instruction to emphasise the sixteenth notes before the chords. For most of the cycle, it was enough for me to practise speaking the text and playing my part simultaneously in the early learning stage. This song, however, I practised this way again in the preparation of each of the concerts. I have to know the text with all its nuances to be able to anticipate the singer’s articulation and breathing as there is no time to react. The singer’s phrase that starts in bar 18, for example, can be difficult to coordinate as she might need a hint of extra time for her breath before “der”.

Figure 22: Arnold Schönberg: Das Buch der hängenden Gärten, Op. 15, No. VIII, bars 17-19

The quick succession of rhythmic impulses in the text and the piano part makes it extremely challenging to speak and play simultaneously without disturbing the phrasing. The following sound example is an attempt I made shortly after I rehearsed the song with my second singer for the first time, in which I have not quite gained the independence I wished for.

Audio example 9: Arnold Schönberg: Das Buch der hängenden Gärten, Op. 15, No. VIII, Practice: speaking the text while playing, 24.04.2017

Balance is another ensemble issue in this song. I discovered that the text could be better understood if I played the right hand clearly but not too dominating at the beginning. From bar 18, the singer must articulate as clearly as possible while I try to be alert to possible balance problems and play fortissimo but not too heavy and with clear pedal. At the same time, I think of the unbearable tension of the speaker’s feverish desire.  I play the postlude hard, raw and marked, forgetting about tonal beauty and just “hitting” the keys.

An awareness of the text can help both performers to become more flexible and work out small details instead of just rushing through the song metronomically in an attempt to stay together. At the same time, it helps to shape the song as a whole. Although tempo, register and dynamics change in bar 8 and the singer has to breathe, we try to convey the connection in the sentence. Instead of slowing down on the first beat and waiting for the singer, I breathe before her at the bar line. Here, my first singer needed more time, while my second singer finished her pronunciation of “-flöre” slightly earlier. Occasionally, the text might tempt the performers to exaggerate certain words. The singer might, for example, want to stretch “leidet” or “dir”. While this helps with the ritardando, it is important to keep the rest of the sentence in mind, so it does not get too slow. 

Figure 23: Arnold Schönberg: Das Buch der hängenden Gärten, Op. 15, No. VIII, bars 7-10

After the ever-increasing intensity of the previous songs, the ninth poem contemplates the ephemeral nature of happiness. The speaker asks, what a short kiss could achieve and compares it to the shower of a single raindrop on a desert that still cracks in the heat from lack of water.

The first verse describes fortune as “streng” (harsh) and “spröde” (brittle). The harshness of the two adjectives is underlined by the combination of voiceless fricatives, stops and trill consonants, their prominent positions at the beginning and the end of the verse and the inversion of the sentence. The sound and emotional content of these adjectives inspire my piano introduction. Although it starts with a singing line, I try to add a certain brittleness to the sound. The desire has only temporarily and very slightly receded. First, the eleventh song will be calm and satisfied. Here, there is still an underlying intensity, which can be difficult to feel after the powerful and physically taxing eighth song. However, the desire has transformed through the lovers’ first physical contact. It is stronger yet not that urgent anymore, and perhaps the speaker already feels disillusioned or has an inkling that there is no ultimate satisfaction or happiness. There is a sense of emptiness and desolation that is interrupted by outbursts of longing. Although imagining the singer’s words in the first phrase of the introduction helps with the shaping, when the song was new to me it often resulted in accidentally playing the singer’s rhythm.

The personal pronoun “uns” (v. 1) is noteworthy. It seems unlikely that the speaker uses it to refer just to himself as he has not done so in the previous poems. Though it might be directed at the audience with whom the speaker shares his new insight that happiness is fickle, it most likely addresses the beloved. Now, he thinks of them as a couple and implies that she suffers similarly from unfulfilled desire. After the declarative first verse, the rhetorical question “What did a short kiss achieve?” underlines the speaker’s frustration. The repetition of the stop consonant /k/ and the short vowel /ʊ/ in the alliteration “kurzer kuss” illustrates the shortness of the kiss the lovers share. I further elaborate on how my second singer and I worked on shaping and colouring this place when I reflect on collaborating with different singers.

In the third verse, the kiss is compared to the shower of a raindrop on a desert, a contradicting image that underlines its futility. The image is further enhanced by the accumulation of words that refer to the barren state of the landscape: “Öde” alone means arid, inhospitable land. The adjective “bleich” (pale) conveys sickness, whereas “gesengt” (scorched) implies that nothing could possibly grow there. We discovered that this image is best conveyed with a nuance of time before the chord in bar 13 and during the singer’s phrase, although it is important that the following fifth verse does not get too passive as the way the desert absorbs the raindrop illustrates the magnitude of the speaker’s desire. The personified, greedy desert bolts it down quickly (“schlingt”) without savouring it (“ungenossen”). 

Figure 24: Arnold Schönberg: Das Buch der hängenden Gärten, Op. 15, No. IX, bars 12-17

Due to the desert’s greed, the single raindrop cannot provide any relief. The alliteration “missen muss”, which is especially effective because of the additional repetition of the middle consonants, lends emphasis to the speaker’s renewed desire that is illustrated by the image of the last verse: New heat will cause the land to crack. The end of the verse is almost onomatopoeic as the intensity of the heat is illustrated by the long /uː/ in “gluten” while the breaking sound /ʃpr/ in “springt” conveys the bursting of the soil.

The sense of growing tension that the text provides can help with the shaping of both the accelerando in bar 16 and the postlude. In the postlude, it is important to keep the intensity in the repetitive movement of thirds instead of following the up and down dynamically. Only the final phrase disappears, like the single raindrop on the desert and the ineffective single kiss, into nothingness with a light, nervous touch and just a little pedal at the beginning.

The tenth poem stands out after the depiction of the gradually building tension between the lovers in the previous texts as it once again, like the first and second poem, seems to describe just the scenery. The speaker waits and contemplates a beautiful flower bed, which he portrays in detailed sensual images.

The first verse outlines the situation and conveys the speaker’s calm state of mind. The verb “betracht” implies that he takes a long and close look at the flower bed, which is beautiful (“schön”) to him. The situation is rather intimate as he looks and contemplates for himself (“mir”) while waiting for someone or something. The verb “harren” conveys hope and expectation, but the greedy desire and desperate longing from the previous poems have disappeared. He waits with a purpose and is sure that his expectations will be fulfilled.

In the second to sixth verse, the speaker describes the flower bed in detail as he lets his gaze wander from the outside to the centre. Purple-black thorns surround the bed. Their dark colours and the verb “umzäunt” (fenced in) underline that they protect the chalices, velvety ferns, green, round tufts and white bells that grow inside. The erotic symbol of the chalice116 and the rich and sensual language with seven adjectives that describe the colours, shape and consistency of the flowers hint at the consummation of the lovers’ desire. The most striking compound adjective is perhaps “sammtgefiederte” (velvet-feathered), which refers to both the shape and quality of the material and appears thus almost synaesthetic. The unusual spelling with the double m contributes to the sensuous quality of the poem’s longest word that is used to describe the perhaps tallest plants in the bed. The speaker enthuses over the magnificence of the flower bed. The climactic effect of the anaphora “Und” in the fourth to sixth verse is further enhanced by the description of an even more beautiful plant in each verse until the speaker’s gaze finally reaches the centre with the bell flowers that stand out due to their softness and pure, white colour.

The song opens with one of the longest piano introductions that marks the special place the poem has in the cycle. Despite the very descriptive text, it is not easy to find the right tempo and mood for the beginning. I do not agree with Kerrigan, who describes it as “slow and funereal, establishing the mood of a Grabgebet (prayer to be said at a graveside).”117 The ascending lines that build up tension do not seem to match her description, despite the heavy feeling of the slow alla breve pulse. To me, the music expresses both the speaker’s waiting and contemplation and his anticipation and slowly growing desire that lacks the urgency of the previous songs. To convey the sensual atmosphere of the poem, I think of the forte as rather soft, round and “fleshy”. Imagining the singer’s text at the beginning helps me to start not too heavy but rather to feel the breath before the first chord and a pull towards the second bar and further. The warm sound often tempts me to take the beginning too slowly. Instead, I should start with a gently flowing tempo that allows us to draw out and “taste” the adjectives in the later description of the flowers. Nevertheless, being aware of that, I must not overcompensate and play the beginning too rushed without enjoying the warmth and beauty. The singer’s first entry can be similarly challenging with regard to tempo due to the preceding ritardando.

Figure 25: Arnold Schönberg: Das Buch der hängenden Gärten, Op. 15, No. X, bars 1-3

The descriptive text offers many opportunities for enriching the performance with tone colours and subtle tempo alterations. Until bar 19, the images get more and more delicate. The underlying elegant yet searching little dance in bar 16 might illustrate a gentle movement of the chalices while the sensuality of “sammtgefiederte” needs a very soft and gentle touch, before the intensity increases as the speaker’s gaze moves towards the inviting centrepiece of the flower bed. 

Figure 26: Arnold Schönberg: Das Buch der hängenden Gärten, Op. 15, No. X, bars 16-19

The end of the poem is ambiguous as the possessive pronoun “ihr” (her/their) could either refer to the bellflowers or the beloved. Thus, the verse could either describe the scent or “breath” of the flowers that resembles sweet fruits from heavenly realm or the beloved’s mouth that smells like the flowers and also tastes as sweet as paradisiacal fruits. The long lines of the end can be challenging for the singer if we start the seventh verse too intensely or do not manage to get back in tempo. Imagining the ethereal quality of scent or breath helps me play the right-hand chords not too thick as my left hand follows the singer’s voice while the text draws us towards “Mund”. The lightness of the repeated /ɪ/ in “himlischen gefild” inspires my little postlude, in which I try to continue the fantastic yet soft, gentle and light atmosphere and end with the openness of heavenly sweetness.

Figure 27: Arnold Schönberg: Das Buch der hängenden Gärten, Op. 15, No. X, bars 24-27

The eleventh poem is written in retrospect and elaborates on the speaker’s memories of the short moment of the lover’s togetherness before the fear of discovery and separation threatens the calm intimacy in the following poem. The speaker asks if they were bestowed with the bliss they expected. He remembers that they started shaking and crying as they finally touched each other and that she stayed with him like this for a long time. The song begins again with a lengthy piano introduction, in which I try to convey the fragile intimacy of the text. It is the calmest and softest song of the entire cycle, and after the intensity of the previous songs, it can be challenging to feel the necessary physical calmness and control for the pianissimo start and not be tempted to shorten the long notes, whose sound has to carry to the last seat despite the pianissimo. Due to the thin texture and soft dynamics, each voice feels very exposed and fragile, particularly at the beginning when the right hand and left hand move in different metres.

Figure 28: Arnold Schönberg: Das Buch der hängenden Gärten, Op. 15, No. XI, bars 1-2

The first verse specifies the place of the lover’s encounter as behind the flowery gate, which might also be an erotic metaphor or hint at the shift in the lovers’ relationship. The repetition of the voiced bilabial stop /b/ in “beblümten” adds to the sensual atmosphere, whereas the noun “hauchen” in the following verse conveys fragility and intimacy as it describes a different, softer quality of breath than for example “Atem”. The sparse, fragmented piano part allows the singer to start very softly and intimately in this recitative-like phrase. The sustained notes in the piano, especially the right-hand octave in bar 9 can be difficult to place without disturbing the singer’s calmness as they need to be played loud enough to sound until the middle of the next bar. Good timing is essential as the singer needs to take a breath after “Tore”. 

Figure 29: Arnold Schönberg: Das Buch der hängenden Gärten, Op. 15, No. XI, bars 8-9

The question of the third verse comes as a surprise to the reader since the text so far has been structured like a declarative sentence. The speaker wonders if they were granted the blissful happiness they dreamt about. The question is not urgent, yet it is noteworthy that he asks it at all. Although the speaker's memories seem positive, the retrospect perspective conveys a certain thoughtfulness. The rhythmic instability in the fourth verse, which contains an additional unstressed syllable at “erinnere” (remember), further illustrates the reminiscent mood. The speaker compares the two lovers to frail reeds that tremble when they touch each other gently. The image underlines the intimacy of the encounter and the lovers’ resulting vulnerability. The verb “beben” implies a strong inner agitation, whereas the adverbs “stumm” (silently) and “leis” (quietly) again emphasise the intimacy and gentleness of the encounter.

Bars 13 to 15 are difficult to coordinate due to their rhythmic complexity and the rather slow tempo. Speaking the text while playing can make it easier for the pianist to feel how the parts fit together. The coordination of “Roh-” and the left-hand octave in bar 14 is particularly difficult. Despite the ensemble challenges, my second singer and I tried to convey the reminiscing atmosphere and fragile intimacy of the text, by avoiding a too metronomic pulse or additional impulses on the small notes. In the following sixth verse, I try to play my left-hand fragments as softly as possible, imagining the gentle touch of the lovers.

Figure 30: Arnold Schönberg: Das Buch der hängenden Gärten, Op. 15, No. XI, bars 13-15

The speaker also remembers that they cried, probably because their encounter felt so overwhelming. This might be the reason why the beloved stayed like this with the speaker for a long time. She has not yet started to worry about their possible discovery. It can be challenging to convey the calmness of the final verse. I have to balance the requirements of the text with the singer’s practical needs. As her last entry in bar 21 is difficult to pitch, the preceding piano interlude has to be played clearly despite the very soft dynamics. There is no room to slow down as the final phrase is heavy for her. Although my second singer managed to sing the final sentence in one breath during rehearsals, it seems impossible to do so during a performance. I have to judge her breath capacity from the way she arrives at “lang” and coordinate my part with her breath without sudden movements that disrupt the calmness. 

Figure 31: Arnold Schönberg: Das Buch der hängenden Gärten, Op. 15, No. XI, bars 20-24

In the twelfth poem, the speaker begs the beloved to ignore surrounding threats and to enjoy their time together. The poem consists of only one sentence, the first half of which portrays the moment of intimacy they share while the second half contains the speaker’s request to the beloved to forget about their fear of discovery and separation.

The first verse describes the setting in a slightly ambiguous way as the noun “matten” can mean either mat or mountain meadow. Although the former would fit better with the shadows on the wall (vv. 4-5) in an indoor setting, the adjective “tiefen” is better suited to the latter and implies the lovers lie outside in the tall grass. The two adjectives “heilig” (sacred) and “tief” (deep) underline the absolute quietness and darkness. Although the atmosphere of the beginning is calm and peaceful, it soon becomes obvious that the lovers have to meet in the secrecy and darkness of the night because their relationship is forbidden. The second verse conveys the tenderness and warmth of their movements through the repetition of the vowel /ʊ/, which is emphasised by the inversion of the sentence, and the almost onomatopoeic verb “schmiegen” (to nestle), which conveys an underlying need for protection and tenderness. Like their hands surround each other's temples the two pronouns “unsre” (our) surround the noun “schläfen”. The repetition of the pronoun “uns” or its related forms in the second, third, sixth and eighth verse underlines the lovers’ status as a couple, whereas, the speaker addresses them again as “ich” (I) and “du” (you) in the three final poems. The reverence or adoration (“Verehrung”, v. 3) with which they satisfy each other’s desire implies a deep connection and a tender thoroughness that contrasts their fear of discovery.

The fourth verse provides a sharp contrast to the calm content of the first part as the speaker asks the beloved not to think about the shadows on the wall. He refers to them as “ungestalten” meaning either shapeless or ugly. The threat is vague, but the personification of the shadows and their swaying movement make it more frightening. George’s use of the adverb “unter” instead of the more common “nieder” in the fifth verse further enhances the threatening atmosphere through the dark vowel /ʊ/. The threat becomes more specific in the sixth verse that confirms that the lovers’ relationship is forbidden. The guards are allowed (“dürfen”) to separate them and they would do so quickly (“rasch”) if they discovered them. The repetition of the fricative /ʃ/ in the phrase “rasch uns scheiden” underlines the swiftness of their action. The two last verses describe the ultimate consequence of the couple’s discovery. The personification of the white sand that threatens to swallow their blood conveys in a dramatic way that they would not only be separated but sentenced to death. The verb “schlürfen”, which means to drink something either slowly with relish or greedily, illustrates that there would be no escape. Their “warm blood”, a symbol of their life,131 would just trickle away in the sand. Although the threat of discovery, separation and ultimately death gets stronger and more evident throughout the poem, the speaker implores the beloved repeatedly not to think about it so that they can prolong their moment of shared pleasure and happiness.

It is difficult to find the right tempo and mood for the twelfth song. While the second part contains many strong images that are easy to convey, the contrasting first part is more elusive. The piano introduction starts like the ninth song – the beginning of the lover’s relationship – with two contrasting two-bar phrases. I try to convey the speaker’s desperate need of the beloved and his longing for unobtainable happiness on the one hand and the warmth and calm tenderness of the moment on the other hand. The outer quietness of the night contrasts the inner turmoil of feelings. It is tempting to consider only the “sacred rest” at the beginning of the song, but thinking forward and feeling the connection in the sentence works much better for conveying the couple’s underlying apprehension and their need to feel close to each other. The connection in the sentence also helps me to shape the interlude before the second part of the poem. The entry in bar 16 can be difficult for the singer if the preceding ritardando does not feel organic or gets too slow. If I think of the colon, I manage to shape the interlude in a way that makes the singer’s entry seem inevitable. I lead with the left hand while simultaneously bringing out the tension of the repeated right-hand chord syncopations. I change the dynamics entirely the moment the singer enters with the speaker’s hushed plea not to think of the horrors that might await them by using the pedal and a silent attack to let the sound of the left hand fade immediately.

Figure 32: Arnold Schönberg: Das Buch der hängenden Gärten, Op. 15, No. XII, bars 14-16

In my description of the collaborator’s toolbox of skills, I elaborate on the difficult coordination of the following tempo change that must get calm enough to convey the vivid horror of the poem’s final image without resorting to another ritardando. The singer can articulate the dotted rhythms in bars 24 to 26 clearly to make the last verse more threatening in the very soft dynamics while I try to play the sixteenth note figures in the left hand clearly and gradually softer to bring out Schönberg’s illustration of the sand that slowly swallows the lovers’ blood, before I end the song with a sense of absolute hopelessness and finality.

Figure 33: Arnold Schönberg: Das Buch der hängenden Gärten, Op. 15, No. XII, bars 23-28

The thirteenth poem depicts a static scene as it conveys the impression of a moment that marks the lovers’ separation. The speaker addresses the beloved who leans against a willow at the riverside with an air of defensiveness after she declined to join him in a boat. The poem’s two sections divide the description of her cold distance from his invitation and sad resignation at her refusal.

The beloved is the central character in the first quatrain. The first verse depicts her leaning against a silver willow,141 which might be a symbol of chastity, infertility or death.142 Everything about her seems to reject the speaker. The fan's sharp points surround her head in an uninviting image that is enhanced by the alliteration “starren spitzen” and the onomatopoeic noun “blitzen”. The pronouns “du […] dir” underline that this is not an accidental gesture. As she probably does not have the fan behind her head, she must cover her face entirely from him for the pointy tips to surround her head. By putting something between them, she distances herself from him. The sharp points of the fan and the comparison to bolts of lightning in the third verse underline her defensiveness and might also illustrate that she has the power to hurt the speaker. She appears to be bored or embarrassed as she leans against the willow in a seemingly lazy gesture, plays with her jewellery and ignores the speaker.

While it is easy to convey the image of the pointy fan and the beloved’s cold, defensive attitude through the clear articulation of all staccato notes and metallic accents, it can be surprisingly tricky to find the right mood and tempo at the beginning of the song. Schönberg did not indicate any tempo changes apart from a ritardando in the final bar. It is tempting to choose a faster tempo for the first half to bring out the contrast between the two characters. However, there is a certain cold elegance to the beloved that comes better across if the tempo is not too fast. The almost unmoving image of the two lovers that must be held together and the speaker’s fascination with and bewilderment at the beloved’s behaviour likewise require a rather slow tempo. However, the tempo should not become too slow and laboured either. The singer should, for example, only stress the first syllable in “Silberweide” and not be tempted by the triplets to add too much stress on the third syllable. Unlike the previous songs, this one does not begin with a lengthy piano introduction. I want to convey the sharp, repelling sting of the accent in bar 1, but should not play it too actively as that might invite the singer to start too fast. Therefore, I think of the triplet upbeat as a gentle wave in the water with a slight sting of the suddenly revealed fan on the beat.

Figure 34: Arnold Schönberg: Das Buch der hängenden Gärten, Op. 15, No. XIII, bars 1-2

Bar 5 is difficult to coordinate due to the rhythmic complexity of the thirty-second note figures in the piano against the singer’s triplets of eighth notes. The pianist must be aware that the singer might rush towards the end of bar 4 to get more time for the breath on the first beat of bar 5. The word “blitzen” might also tempt the singer to sing faster due to its short vowel. Nevertheless, the place is most effective without a metronomic pulse or accented beats. Because of this flexibility, it can be difficult to coordinate the word “rollst”, which one might expect first on the fourth beat. Speaking the text and playing can again help the pianist to feel how voice and piano go together. 

Figure 35: Arnold Schönberg: Das Buch der hängenden Gärten, Op. 15, No. XIII, bars 4-5

The two parts of the poem begin with the personal pronouns “Du” (you) and “Ich” (I) that mark the separation of the couple. The distance between them gets further enhanced as the speaker is in a boat on the water while the beloved is on land. In contrast to the stiff, pointy shapes of the beginning, the images in the second part contain rounder, softer forms like the arches of foliage. The fifth verse is difficult to understand due to the missing comma after “Boot”, the double meaning of “das”, which can be either an article or a relative pronoun, and the slightly unusual verb “wahren”.  The foliage protects the boat and would thus protect the couple from discovery, but the speaker’s invitation to the beloved to join him was in vain. The sixth verse ends with two dots as if he wants to say more or as if he dwells on his dreams of the past. Bars 8 and 9 can be difficult to coordinate. The crucial point is the singer’s 16^th note on “in”, which is not supposed to be together with my triplet but should not be too late either. It is helpful to think of the gentle sway of the boat on the water to feel the beats together without resolving to a stiff, metronomic counting. 

Figure 36: Arnold Schönberg: Das Buch der hängenden Gärten, Op. 15, No. XIII, bars 8-9

The speaker has to accept the fact that the beloved no longer belongs to him, and the willows on the riverside, a symbol of his sorrow, seem to bend even deeper. He appears to lower his gaze in resignation as he sees scattered flowers drifting on the water, creating an image that might symbolise the transience of life and love. I try to play the postlude very softly and think of the alternating triplets as not too expressive but cradling. As the speaker is just in the process of grasping the situation, we found it important not to get lost in sadness but rather to end in a more contemplative mood.

In the fourteenth poem, the speaker must come to terms with the fact that the relationship is over. He is faced with images of autumnal change and decay but does not want to accept them. The poem features short verses of only three to four syllables that are often connected by enjambments into bigger units of meaning and a concentrated syntactic structure almost without conjunctions. Although George ended the eighth verse with a full stop, the second half does not form a complete sentence but continues the sentence of the first half. The compressed form corresponds to the poem’s images of transience.

As the speaker asks the addressee not to repeatedly speak about the signs of late autumn that he associates with the ended relationship, it seems unlikely he addresses an onlooker like in the fifth poem. He might talk to himself, trying to suppress the painful images, or, most likely, he addresses the beloved, who constantly (“immer”) reminds him of the approaching farewell he is not ready for. In the first three verses, he asks her not to speak about the foliage. While leaves were associated with protection in earlier poems, here, they convey an image of decay that gets enhanced as the personified wind forcibly takes them (v. 3). As if constricted by pain, the speaker phrases the sentence as short as possible without a word that indicates a comparison or equation of the leaves and “wind’s prey”. The fourth and fifth verse employ yet another autumnal image as the speaker asks the beloved not to speak of the quinces that smash on the ground. The ripe quinces that could be a symbol of fertility are wasted and destroyed. The verb “zerschellen” is noteworthy as it usually describes the shattering or breaking of an object into many pieces with a clangorous sound. The third image, the steps of the destroyers in the sixth to eighth verse, is vaguer and seems therefore even more threatening than the previous images. They could be the personification of autumn that approaches with quick steps and destroys the summery beauty of the garden. The image of the trembling dragonflies in thunderstorms evokes associations of death and decay. Their trembling that could be a sign of fear or weakness is also conveyed through the repeated vowel “i".

The accumulative effect of these images that the speaker lists without a break, introducing each of them with either “Von” or “Vom”, illustrates their transitory nature. Paradoxically, he makes them more tangible by speaking about them himself, although he begs the beloved not to mention them. At the end of the poem, he asks her not to speak of the trembling of the lights149 that are characterised by an unsteady, changing glimmer. The noun “flimmer” has undertones of vanity and fickleness. The last verse contains only one word, “changeable”, which closes and summarises the poem. The speaker does not want the change to be real and begs the beloved to ignore it, but he is powerless against the many signs of autumn. His plea is not dramatic or intense but light and melancholic without hope.

This song is perhaps the one in which my perception of tempo and character changed most notably. In the beginning, I was mostly occupied with the trembling, disappearing and harsh images of autumn. Due to their fleeting nature and the thin opening figure in the piano, it seemed natural to me to start the song rather fast. 

Audio example 16: Arnold Schönberg: Das Buch der hängenden Gärten, Op. 15, No. XIV. Felicia Kaijser – soprano, Friederike Wildschütz – piano, Crystal Williams – recording and mixing. Recording from the project's first concert “This Is a Song for You Alone". 30.09.2015, Lille konsertsal Bjergsted, Stavanger. 

In later performances, we tried to convey more of the speaker’s wistful longing, thinking it slower, more lyrical (though still fragile) and a bit like a last waltz. Although the text starts with the speaker’s request “Sprich nicht” that should not be sung too soft, we tried to make his resignation palpable. He knows there is no hope. The new tempo made the shaping of the song more difficult at first. For my second singer, who had sung it faster with another pianist, intonation felt differently, whereas I had to get used to a new feeling for the polyrhythms. Despite the more lyrical character it is possible to work out the harsher images of the text through the clear articulation of the piano part and of the singer’s consonants that often need more time in the slower tempo. Schönberg marked the piano part “ohne Pedal” (without pedal) in bars 1 and 7. Although the repeated marking might indicate he wanted or accepted pedal in-between, I wanted to bring out the fragility and “shimmering” instability of the poetic images and chose, therefore, to play the whole song without pedal, apart from the last bar, where I used pedal to connect the final octaves. Schönberg’s illustrations of the smashing, the steps and the trembling are only possible to convey with clear articulation without pedal.

The singer’s first entry can be difficult to coordinate due to the accumulation of consonants and the grace note in the piano. A lack of synchronisation is very audible as the f sharp in bar 2 must be played not be too soft for it to sound for almost two whole bars before it resolves into the f. The synchronisation of the ensemble is most difficult in the polyrhythms in bars 7 and 8, where the singer must not rush in the quadruplets even though the words tempt her to shorten the vowels.

Figure 37: Arnold Schönberg: Das Buch der hängenden Gärten, Op. 15, No. XIV, bars 1-3

The final poem could be considered an epilogue to the cycle. It gives a short summary of the couple’s time together and states the irrevocable truth that it has come to an end. The decay of autumn that the speaker feared in the previous poem has progressed, and the once beautiful plants turn now against him and chase him out of the disintegrating garden. The fifteenth song is the longest of the cycle and starts with a piano introduction that similarly to the poem reminisces on past events and expresses the speaker’s all-encompassing hopelessness and despair. The text’s emotional qualities inspire my intense, speaking tone at the beginning, the dynamic contrasts and a warm and tender touch for the speaker’s bittersweet recollection of past joys.

In the first three verses, he looks back on the time he spent together with the beloved in the gardens. The verb “bevölkerten” (inhabited) implies that they felt at home. The contrasting images of dusky bowers and light temples, paths and flower beds convey the beauty and sublimity of the place. Her smile might hint at her confidence and high social rank, whereas his whispering indicates his awe and tenderness but also his fear of discovery. The enjambments that connect the three first verses contribute to the reminiscent atmosphere that is interrupted by the harsh fourth verse, which consists almost entirely of monosyllables that underline the finality of the statement. His fears are confirmed: She will go forever. The distance between them is palpable as he no longer addresses her directly. It is noteworthy that according to him she leaves him, although he is the one who literally leaves the gardens.

The singer starts with a quiet, almost unaccompanied line before the piano joins her in the third verse. If the singer does not rush through the longer notes, the small tempo shifts in the following bars are not difficult to coordinate despite the polyrhythms as the text consists of short and contrasting phrases that are easy to follow. The grim realisation of the fourth verse needs time and has to be prepared in the piano. Thinking the word “nun” (now) already on the third beat of bar 17 helps me to convey the tragic inevitability. I discussed the arpeggiated chord in bar 19, one of the very few in the entire cycle, with both my singers and we concluded that it is best to play the bass together with her note rather than starting the arpeggio early and impeding the understanding of the preceding “für”.

Figure 38: Arnold Schönberg: Das Buch der hängenden Gärten, Op. 15, No. XV, bars 16-20

From the fifth verse, the landscape becomes uninviting. The harshness of autumn that has already been hinted at in the smashing of the quinces and the threatening steps of the destroyers in the previous poem has now become real. The once beautiful flowers grow pale and break as they wither like the lovers’ relationship withered. The ponds’ surfaces that are compared to glass, possibly to indicate that a thin layer of ice has covered them, get pale and break as well. The almost direct repetition of the verbs “pale” and “break” is striking as the limited vocabulary mirrors the barrenness of nature while the two different conjunctions “oder” (or) and “und” (and) illustrate the progressing decay.

From the seventh verse, the once paradisiacal environment becomes hostile. The speaker is now a foreigner who does not belong there anymore. First, he missteps on the rotten grass either because it is slippery or because his grief weakens him. Then, the personified palms prick him “with their pointed fingers”, and leaves that are crumbly from age (“mürbe”) make threatening hissing sounds that are illustrated by the onomatopoeic adjective “zischendes” (hissing). The personification of the wind as invisible hands, which move the leaves jerkily (“ruckweis”) as if they want to chase the speaker away, enhances the threatening atmosphere. The eleventh verse indicates that the speaker has left the gardens as he sees them surrounded by pallid walls. The cold, pale nothingness illustrates that the gardens, which have once been a beautiful and inviting place, no longer welcome the speaker as they slowly decay and disintegrate.

The complex piano part and the polyrhythms with the singer make bars 19 to 29 the most challenging to synchronise in the entire cycle. In our early rehearsals, we used checkpoints such as “Glas” (bar 22), “Palmen” (bar 24) and “jagen” (bar 27) to make sure we were still together. Even with repeated practice both with and without a metronome, we were only gradually able to fit our parts together. Playing and speaking the text when I practised alone between the rehearsals with the singer was very useful for feeling how the voices go together as it is sometimes the right hand and sometimes the left hand that should be together with the word. It is imperative that this challenging part is not performed metronomically as the song needs the flexibility to bring out the emotions of the text.

The threatening images can be conveyed through clear articulation of the staccato notes and accents. In bars 19 and 20, a contrasting articulation between the hands – a sharp staccato against a lamenting legato – adds depth to the image. For me, the right-hand chords in bar 21 are too big to play all notes simultaneously. I cannot avoid breaking the first staccato-chord, but I try to play it as crisp as possible as I think of the glassy surface of the ponds. If a sostenuto pedal is available, I can avoid breaking the chord on the fourth beat as I can hold the left-hand e with carefully coordinated pedalling and play the a with the left hand. Towards the later concerts, I realised that I could convey more of the hopelessness and horror of decay if I took risks and tried to get extremely soft despite the clear articulation. 

Figure 39: Arnold Schönberg: Das Buch der hängenden Gärten, Op. 15, No. XV, bars 21-22

In bars 26 and 27, the continuing sentence influences our timing and dynamics as we use the crescendo and a slight accelerando to connect the two bars. In the fast tempo, clear articulation is again important to convey the jerky movements of the leaves.

Figure 40: Arnold Schönberg: Das Buch der hängenden Gärten, Op. 15, No. XV, bars 25-27

The last verse describes the night as clouded and humid. The uncommon term “überwölkt” conveys the sinister image of a sky that is completely covered in clouds, while the adjective “schwül” (sultry) enhances the oppressive atmosphere that even now seems to have erotic undertones. The humid weather contrasts the previous images of autumnal decay and coldness. Perhaps the night appears heavy to the speaker because of his inner turmoil. It is also possible that the paling walls of the gardens illustrate his slowly dissolving dream images as he wakes up hot and sweaty. The sudden iambic metre of the last verse underlines the shift between dream and reality.

The song ends with an extensive and highly expressive postlude that seems to say what remains untold by the words. Together with my second singer, I discovered how effective it is to play it at a very slow tempo. The final image of the oppressive weather hints at a certain laziness that seems to require this slow tempo, which gradually gets even slower with a diminuendo into the inaudible until the sudden thunderstorm-like crescendo that leads into the final recollection of the opening material and an atmosphere of inexpressible anguish. For a convincing performance, it is important not to doubt the tempo but to dare to stay slow until the final outburst. Perhaps even more than the other songs of the cycle, this one has to mature over time both to get the complex textures into the body and to develop emotional depth in the interpretation.