Burkhard Luber

“Shakespeare und Dowland”

(Eine Multi-Mediale Einführung in die Renaissance)

Programm:

Dowland: What if a Day or a Month or a Year

Macbeth: V.Aufzug, 5. Szene “Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow” (Focus: Nihilismus)

Dowland: Fortune

Hamlet: III. Aufzug, 2. Szene (Focus: Freundschaft)

Dowland: Bockington´s Pound

Richard II.: Dritter Aufzug, 2. Szene (Focus: Die Hohlheit der Macht)

Gitarre: “Dowland´s Midnight”

Heinrich IV / Erster Teil, Zweiter Aufzug, 4. Szene (= Bester Shakespeare-Humor)

If music and sweet poetry agree

William Shakespeare (1564-1616)

If music and sweet poetry agree,

As they must needs, the sister and the brother,

Then must the love be great 'twixt thee and me,

Because thou lov'st the one, and I the other.

Dowland to thee is dear, whose heavenly touch

Upon the lute doth ravish human sense;

Spenser to me, whose deep conceit is such

As, passing all conceit, needs no defence.

Thou lov'st to hear the sweet melodious sound

That Phœbus' lute, the queen of music makes;

Whenas himself to singing he betakes.

    One god is god of both, as poets feign;

    One knight loves both, and both in thee remain.

From "The Passionate Pilgrim"

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(Versuch einer Übertragung von Burkhard Luber):

Was wenn auch ein Tag oder ein Monat oder ein Jahr

Krönt deine Freuden mit tausend süßen Augenblicken?

Kann nicht das Schicksal einer Nacht oder Stunde

Zerstören deine Wünsche mit viel traurigem Schmerz?

           Glück, Ehre, Schönheit, Jugend

           Sind nur Blüten, die jetzt schon welken;

           Begehren, Vergnügen, verzehrende Liebe

           Sind nur Schatten wie im Flug.

           Alle unsere Freuden sind nur Glitzer,

           Hohle Gedanken voller Trug;

           Keine haben Macht für nur eine Stunde

           In ihrem begrenzten Leben.

Die Erde ist nur ein Punkt in der Welt und der Mensch

Nur ein Punkt im Laufe der Zeiten;

Ist dann nicht der Punkt eines Punkts so leer

Als dass seine Abenteuer mehr als nur Punkte wär´?

           Alles ist Tollheit, was wir haben,

           Wirklich Festes gibt es nicht;

           Tage der Freude sind nur Bäche,

           Gleiten dahin wie durch die Wiesen.

           Freud und Leid, dahin geht die Zeit,

           Die Zeit dreh sich immer;

           Dunkles Schicksal bestimmt unser Sein,

           In Freude wie in in Trauer.

---------------------------------

Macbeth, V. Aufzug, 5. Szene:

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,

Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,

To the last syllable of recorded time;

And all our yesterdays have lighted fools

The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!

Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,

That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,

And then is heard no more. It is a tale

Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,

Signifying nothing.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Hamlet, III. Aufzug, 2. Szene:

HAMLET

What ho! Horatio!

HORATIO

Here, sweet lord, at your service.

HAMLET

Horatio, thou art e'en as just a man

As e'er my conversation coped withal.

HORATIO

O, my dear lord,--

HAMLET

Nay, do not think I flatter;

For what advancement may I hope from thee

That no revenue hast but thy good spirits,

To feed and clothe thee? Why should the poor be flatter'd?

No, let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp,

And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee

Where thrift may follow fawning. Dost thou hear?

Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice

And could of men distinguish, her election

Hath seal'd thee for herself; for thou hast been

As one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing,

A man that fortune's buffets and rewards

Hast ta'en with equal thanks: and blest are those

Whose blood and judgment are so well commingled,

That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger

To sound what stop she please. Give me that man

That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him

In my heart's core, ay, in my heart of heart,

As I do thee.--Something too much of this.--

----------------------------------------------------------------

Richard II:

For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground

And tell sad stories of the death of kings;

How some have been deposed; some slain in war,

Some haunted by the ghosts they have deposed;

Some poison'd by their wives: some sleeping kill'd;

All murder'd: for within the hollow crown

That rounds the mortal temples of a king

Keeps Death his court and there the antic sits,

Scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp,

Allowing him a breath, a little scene,

To monarchize, be fear'd and kill with looks,

Infusing him with self and vain conceit,

As if this flesh which walls about our life,

Were brass impregnable, and humour'd thus

Comes at the last and with a little pin

Bores through his castle wall, and farewell king!

Cover your heads and mock not flesh and blood

With solemn reverence: throw away respect,

Tradition, form and ceremonious duty,

For you have but mistook me all this while:

I live with bread like you, feel want,

Taste grief, need friends: subjected thus,

How can you say to me, I am a king?