WITCHES, BITCHES & WOMEN IN BRITCHES Text & Translations: Naomi O’Connell, 2013 La Belle Dame sans Merci
Charles Villiers Stanford (1852 – 1924)
John Keats (1795 – 1821)
Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
So lone and palely loitering,
The sedge hath wither’d from the lake,
And no birds sing.
Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
So haggard and so woe-begone,
The squirrel’s granary is full,
And the harvest’s done.
I see a lily on thy brow,
With anguish moist and fever-dew,
And on thy cheeks a fading rose
Fast withereth too.
I met a lady in the meads,
Full beautiful, a faery’s child,
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.
I made a garland for her head,
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
She look’d at me as she did love,
And made sweet moan.
I set her on my pacing steed,
And nothing else saw all day long
For sidelong would she bend, and sing
A faery’s song.
She found me roots of relish sweet,
And honey wild and manna dew,
And sure in language strange she said –
‘I love thee true’.
She took me to her elfin grot,
And there she wept and sighed full sore,
And there I shut her wild wild eyes
With kisses four.
And there she lullèd me asleep
And there I dreamed – Ah! woe betide! –
The latest dream I ever dream’d
On the cold hill’s side.
I saw pale kings and princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
They cried – ‘La Belle Dame sans Merci
Hath thee in thrall!’
I saw their starv’d lips in the gloom
With horrid warning gaping wide,
1 WITCHES, BITCHES & WOMEN IN BRITCHES Text & Translations: Naomi O’Connell, 2013 And I awoke and found me here,
On the cold hill’s side!
And this is why I sojourn here
Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is wither’d from the lake,
And no birds sing!
And’res Maienlied (Hexenlied)
Felix Mendelssohn (1809 – 1847)
Ludwig Hölty (1748 – 1776)
Other May Song (Witch’s Song)
Translation: Naomi O’Connell
Die Schwalbe fliegt,
Der Frühling siegt,
Und spendet uns Blumen zum Kranze!
Bald huschen wir
Leis' aus der Tür,
Und fliegen zum prächtigen Tanze!
The swallow flies,
Spring is triumphant,
And offers us flowers for our wreaths!
Soon we will flit
Quietly out the door
And fly to the magnificent dance!
Ein schwarzer Bock,
Ein Besenstock,
Die Ofengabel, der Wocken,
Reißt uns geschwind,
Wie Blitz und Wind,
Durch sausende Lüfte zum Brocken!
A black billy goat,
A broom,
The oven fork, the spindle,
Lets us travel as quickly
As lightning and wind,
Through the howling air to Brocken mountain!
Um Beelzebub
Tanzt unser Trupp
Und küßt ihm die kralligen Hände!
Ein Geisterschwarm
Faßt uns beim Arm
Und schwinget im Tanzen die Brände!
Around Beelzebub
Dances our troupe,
And kisses his taloned hands!
A swarm of ghosts
Take us by the arm
And swings the flames into dance!
Und Beelzebub
Verheißt dem Trupp
Der Tanzenden Gaben auf Gaben:
Sie sollen schön
In Seide geh'n
Und Töpfe voll Goldes sich graben!
And Beelzebub
Promises the troupe of dancers
Gifts upon gifts:
They shall walk arrayed
In beautiful silks
And dig up pots of gold!
Ein Feuerdrach'
Umflieget das Dach,
Und bringet uns Butter und Eier.
Die Nachbarn dann seh'n
Die Funken weh'n,
Und schlagen ein Kreuz vor dem Feuer.
A fiery dragon
Flies around the roof,
And brings us butter and eggs.
The neighbors see
The sparks flying
And cross themselves before the fire.
Die Schwalbe fliegt,
Der Frühling siegt,
Die Blumen erblühen zum Kranze.
Bald huschen wir
Leis' aus der Tür,
Juchheisa zum prächtigen Tanze!
The swallow flies,
Spring is triumphant,
The flowers blossom for our wreaths.
Soon we will flit
Quietly out the door
Hurrah! to the magnificent dance!
2 WITCHES, BITCHES & WOMEN IN BRITCHES Text & Translations: Naomi O’Connell, 2013 Elfe
Hermann Zilcher (1881 – 1948)
Joseph von Eichendorff (1788 – 1857)
Elf
Translation: Naomi O’Connell
Bleib bei uns! Wir haben den Tanzplan im Tal
Bedeckt mit Mondesglanze,
Johanniswürmchen erleuchten den Saal,
Die Heimchen spielen zum Tanze.
Stay with us! We have the decked the valley
With moonlight for the dance,
Fireflies light up the hall,
Crickets play music for the dancing.
Die Freude, das schöne leichtgläubige Kind,
Es wiegt sich in Abendwinden:
Wo Silber auf Zweigen und Büschen rinnt,
Da wirst du die Schönste finden!
Joy, the beautiful, innocent child,
Rocks itself in evening winds;
Where silver lines the branches and bushes,
There you will find the most beautiful girl!
Die Musikantin
Hermann Zilcher (1881 – 1948)
Joseph von Eichendorff (1788 – 1857)
based on a text by Alvaro Fernandez de Almeida
The Musician
Translation: Naomi O’Connell
Schwirrend Tamburin, dich schwing ich,
Doch mein Herz ist weit von hier.
Whirling tambourine, I swing you,
Though my heart is far from here.
Tamburin, ach könntst du's wissen,
Wie mein Herz von Schmerz zerrissen,
Deine Klänge würden müssen
Weinen um mein Leid mit mir.
Tambourine, oh if you could only know,
How my heart is torn with pain,
Your notes would have to
Weep with your pity for me.
Weil das Herz mir will zerspringen,
Laß ich hell die Schellen klingen,
Die Gedanken zu versingen
Aus des Herzens Grunde mir.
Because my heart wishes to shatter,
I let the bright bells ring,
To sing away the thoughts
Out of the depths of my heart.
Schöne Herren, tief im Herzen
Fühl ich immer neu die Schmerzen,
Wie ein Angstruf ist mein Scherzen,
Denn mein Herz ist weit von hier.
Handsome men, deep in my heart,
I always feel the pain anew,
My jesting is like a cry of fear,
Because my heart is far from here.
Das Köhlerweib ist trunken
Hugo Wolf (1860 - 1903)
Gottfried Keller (1819 – 1890)
The charcoal burner’s wife is drunk
Translation: Naomi O’Connell
Das Köhlerweib ist trunken
Und singt im Wald;
Hört, wie die Stimme gellend
Im Grünen hallt!
The charcoal burner’s wife is drunk
And sings in the forest;
Listen, how her piercing voice
Echoes through the greenery!
Sie war die schönste Blume,
Berühmt im Land;
Es warben Reich' und Arme
Um ihre Hand.
She was the most beautiful flower,
The most famous of the land;
Both rich and poor courted her
For her hand in marriage.
Sie trat in Gürtelketten
So stolz einher;
She walked about wearing a chatelaine
And was so full of herself;
3 WITCHES, BITCHES & WOMEN IN BRITCHES Text & Translations: Naomi O’Connell, 2013 Den Bräutigam zu wählen,
Fiel ihr zu schwer.
To pick a bridegroom
Was too difficult for her.
Da hat sie überlistet
Der rote Wein Wie müssen alle Dinge
Vergänglich sein!
Then she was outwitted
By red wine –
As with all things
Nothing lasts forever.
Das Köhlerweib ist trunken
Und singt im Wald;
Wie durch die Dämmrung gellend
Ihr Lied erschallt!
The charcoal burner’s wife is drunk
And sings in the forest;
How bitterly through the twilight,
Echoes her shrill song.
Die Zigeunerin
Hugo Wolf (1860 - 1903)
Josef von Eichendorff (1788 – 1857)
The Gypsy
Translation: Naomi O’Connell
Am Kreuzweg da lausche ich, wenn die Stern'
und die Feuer im Walde verglommen,
und wo der erste Hund bellt von fern,
da wird mein Bräut'gam herkommen.
La, la, la, la.
At the crossroads, I listen, when the stars
And the fires in the forest die down,
And where the first dog barks in the distance,
My bridegroom will come from there.
La, la, la, la.
"Und als der Tag graut', durch das Gehölz
sah ich eine Katze sich schlingen,
ich schoß ihr auf den nußbraunen Pelz,
wie tat die weit überspringen!
Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!"
“And as the day dawns, through the woods
I saw a cat slinking,
I shot at her nut-brown pelt,
How far she leapt!
Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!”
Schad' nur ums Pelzlein, du kriegst mich nit!
mein Schatz muß sein wie die andern:
braun und ein Stutzbart auf ung'rischen Schnitt
und ein fröhliches Herze zum Wandern.
La, la, la, la.
It’s a pity about the pelt, you won’t catch me!
My lover must be like the others:
Brown and a moustache in the Hungarian style
And a merry heart for wandering.
La, la, la, la.
Ich hab in Penna einen Liebsten wohnen
Hugo Wolf (1860 - 1903)
Paul Heyse (1830 – 1914)
I have a lover living in Penna
Translation: Naomi O’Connell
Ich hab in Penna einen Liebsten wohnen,
In der Maremmeneb'ne einen andern,
Einen im schönen Hafen von Ancona,
Zum Vierten muß ich nach Viterbo wandern;
Ein Andrer wohnt in Casentino dort,
Der Nächste lebt mit mir am selben Ort,
Und wieder einen hab' ich in Magione,
Vier in La Fratta, zehn in Castiglione.
I have a lover living in Penna
Another in the Maremma plain,
One in the beautiful harbour of Ancona,
For the fourth I must travel to Viterbo;
Another one lives yonder in Casentino,
The next one lives with me in the same place,
I have yet another in Magione,
Four in La Fratta, ten in Castiglione.
4 WITCHES, BITCHES & WOMEN IN BRITCHES Text & Translations: Naomi O’Connell, 2013 La Dame de Monte Carlo
Francis Poulenc (1899 – 1963)
Jean Cocteau (1889 – 1963)
The Lady Of Monte Carlo
Translation: Naomi O’Connell
Quand on est morte entre les mortes,
Qu’on se traîne chez les vivants,
Lorsque tout vous flanque à la porte
Et la ferme d’un coup de vent,
Ne plus être jeune et aimée...
Derriere une porte fermée
Il reste de se fiche à l’eau
Ou d’acheter un rigolo.
Oui, messieurs, voilà ce qui reste
Pour les lâches et les salauds.
Mais si la frousse de ce geste
S’attache à vous comme un grelot,
Si l’on craint de s’ouvrir les veines,
On peut toujours risquer la veine
D’un voyage a Monte-Carlo.
Monte-Carlo, Monte-Carlo.
When one is dead among the dead,
When you drag yourself among the living,
When everyone has thrown you out the door
And it is slammed shut by a gust of wind,
No longer young and beloved…
Behind a closed door,
All that remains is to drown oneself
Or to buy a gigolo.
Yes, gentlemen, that is what is left
For cowards and bastards.
But if the fear of this gesture
Haunts you like a rattle,
If you are scared to slash your wrists
You can always take the gamble
Of a trip to Monte Carlo.
Monte Carlo, Monte Carlo.
J’ai fini ma journée.
Je veux dormir au fond de l’eau
De la Mediterranée.
Après avoir vendu votre âme
Et mis en gage des bijoux
Que jamais plus on ne réclame,
La roulette est un beau joujou.
C’est joli de dire: “Je joue”.
Cela vous met le feu au joues
Et cela vous allume l’oeil.
Sous les jolis voiles de deuil
On porte un joli nom de veuve.
Un titre donne de l’orgueil!
Et folle, et prête, et toute neuve,
On prende sa carte au casino.
Voyez mes plumes et mes voiles,
Contemplez le strass de l’étoile
Qui me mène à Monte-Carlo
My day is over.
I want to sleep on the seabed
Of the Mediterranean.
After having sold your soul
And pawned jewellery
That you will never again reclaim,
The roulette wheel is a pretty plaything.
It’s nice to say: “I gamble.”
It lends a fire to your cheeks
And it illuminates your eyes.
Under the fine mourning veils
One bears a fine widow’s name.
A title gives pride!
And crazy, up for anything, and completely fresh,
You take out a casino card.
Look at my feathers and my veils,
Admire the sequins of the star
That leads me to Monte Carlo.
La chance est femme.
Elle est jalouse
De ce veuvages solennels.
Sans doute ell’ m’a cru l’épouse
D’un véritable colonel.
J’ai gagné, gagné sur le douze.
Et puis les robes se décousent,
La fourrure perd ses cheveux.
On a beau répéter: “Je veux”,
Dès que la chance vous déteste,
Dès que votre coeur est nerveux,
Vous ne pouvez plus faire un geste,
Pousser un sou sur le tableau
Sans que la chance qui s’écarte
Change les chiffres et les cartes
Des tables de Monte-Carlo.
Luck is a woman.
She is jealous
Of these solemn widowhoods.
No doubt, she believed me to be the wife
Of a real Colonel.
I won, I won on the twelve.
And then the dresses came unstitched
The fur shed its hair.
One may well repeat: “I want”,
Once Luck turns against you,
Once your heart is nervous,
You cannot move a muscle,
Push a coin on the board,
Without Luck stepping aside
Changing numbers and cards
On the tables of Monte Carlo.
5 WITCHES, BITCHES & WOMEN IN BRITCHES Text & Translations: Naomi O’Connell, 2013 Les voyous, les buses, les gales!
Ils m’ont mise dehors... dehors...
Et ils m’accusent d’être sale,
De porter malheur dans leurs salles,
Dans leurs sales salles en stuc.
Moi qui aurais donné mon truc
A l’oeil, au prince, à la princesse,
Au Duc de Westminster, au Duc,
Parfaitement.
Faut que ça cesse,
Qu’ils me criaient, votre boulot!
Votre boulot!...
Ma découverte.
J’en priverai les tables vertes.
C’est bien fait pour Monte-Carlo.
Monte-Carlo.
The hoodlums, the fools, the bad-mouthers!
They threw me out… out…
And they accused me of being dirty
Of bringing bad luck into their rooms,
In their gaming rooms of filthy stucco.
I, who would have given my system
For nothing, to the prince, to the princess,
To the Duke of Westminster,
To the Duke, absolutely.
This has to stop,
They shouted at me, this business.
Your business!...
My discovery.
I’ll deprive the green tables of it.
Too bad for Monte Carlo.
Monte Carlo.
Et maintenant, moi qui vous parle,
Je n’avouerai pas les kilos que
J’ai perdus à Monte-Carle,
Monte-Carle ou Monte-Carlo.
Je suis une ombre de moi-même...
Les martingales, les systèmes
Et les croupiers qui ont le droit
de taper de loin sur vos doigts
Quand on peut faucher une mise.
Et la pension où l’on doit
Et toujours la même chemise
Que l’angoisse trempe dans l’eau.
Ils peuvent courir.
Pas si bête.
Cette nuit je pique une tête
Dans la mer de Monte-Carlo.
Monte-Carlo.
And now, I who speak to you,
I’ll not admit the kilos
I have lost at Monte Carle,
Monte Carle or Monte Carlo.
I am a shadow of myself…
The bluffing of the bets, the rules of the games
And the croupiers who have the right
To rap you on your knuckles from afar
When you’re about to retrieve a bet.
And the board I owe at the guesthouse
And always the same nightdress
Drenched in anguish.
They can sing for it.
I’m not that stupid.
Tonight I will dive headfirst
Into the sea of Monte Carlo.
Monte Carlo.
Trois Chansons de la petite Sirène
Arthur Honegger (1892 – 1955)
René Morax (1973 – 1963)
After text by Hans Christian Andersen
Translation: Naomi O’Connell
Chansons des Sirènes
Songs of the Mermaids
Dans le vent et dans le flot
dissous toi fragile écume
Dissous toi dans un sanglot
pauvre coeur rempli d'amertume
In the wind and in the waves
dissolve yourself, fragile foam
Dissolve yourself in a sob
Poor heart filled with bitterness
Prends ton vol dans le ciel bleu
vois la mort n'est pas cruelle.
Tu auras la paix de Dieu
viens à nous âme immortelle...
Take your flight in the blue sky
Look, death is not cruel.
You will have the peace of God
Come to us, immortal soul…
6 WITCHES, BITCHES & WOMEN IN BRITCHES Text & Translations: Naomi O’Connell, 2013 Berceuse de la Sirène
Lullaby of the Mermaid
Danse avec nous dans le bel Océan
le matin ou le soir sous la lune d'argent.
Plonge avec nous dans le flot transparent,
chante au soleil dans l'écume et le vent.
Mer berce nous dans tes bras caressant
Mer berce nous sur ton coeur frémissant.
Dance with us in the beautiful Ocean
Morning or evening under the silver moon
Dive with us into the transparent waves,
Sing to the sun in the foam and the wind.
Sea, lull us in your caressing arms
Sea, rock us on your trembling heart.
Chanson de la Poire
Song of the Pear
C'est l'histoire
d'une poire
on la cueille
dans les feuilles
on la tape
tant et tant,
qu'elle en claque
en trois temps
d'une attaque
Il faut boire
à la poire
un bon coup.
Il faut boire
et c'est tout.
This is the story
Of a pear
That one plucks
In the leaves
That one hits
So much so,
That it falls
The third time
It is attacked
One must drink
To the pear
A good glass.
One must drink
And that is all.
Dirty Work
Havelock Nelson (1917 – 1996)
John o’the North (1887 – 1973)
There was once an old woman who wet a pot of tay,
She made it out of turnip tops and ivy leaves and bay
And the yellow flower’d charlock that grows among the corn
And docken leaves and crawfoot, as sure as you were born.
And fitches and chickweed were tumbled in the pot
And puddock stools and monkshood,
The whole damn lot!
She invited in the neighbours and gave them all a sup
And they all said, “It’s grand stuff, it’s grand stuff, it’s grand stuff,
We’ll have another cup.”
And says one to the other, “Whatever be the way,
It always took Maria Jane to make a cup of tay.”
And Maria Jane laughed as she watched them drink it down
And now they’re in the churchyard that lies below the town.
7 WITCHES, BITCHES & WOMEN IN BRITCHES Text & Translations: Naomi O’Connell, 2013 Song to the Seals
Granville Bantock (1868 – 1946)
Harold Boulton (1859 – 1935)
A sea maid sings on yonder reef
The spellbound seals draw near;
Her lilt that lures beyond belief
Mortals enchanted hear.
Hoiran, oiran, oiran, oiro,
Hoiran, oiran, oiran, eero,
Hoiran, oiran, oiran, eelaleuran,
Hoiran, oiran, oiran, eero.
The wond’ring ploughman halts his plough,
The maid her milking stays,
While sheep on hillside, birds on bough
Pause and listen in amaze.
Hoiran, oiran, oiran, oiro,
Hoiran, oiran, oiran, eero,
Hoiran, oiran, oiran, eelaleuran,
Hoiran, oiran, oiran, eero.
Was it a dream, were all asleep,
Or did she cease her strain?
For the seals with a splash dive into the deep
And the world goes on again,
But lingers the refrain.
Hoiran, oiran, oiran, oiro,
Hoiran, oiran, oiran, eero,
Hoiran, oiran, oiran, eelaleuran,
Hoiran, oiran, oiran, eero, eero.
The Irish Ballad
Tom Lehrer (b. 1928)
About a maid I'll sing a song,
Sing rickety-tickety-tin,
About a maid I'll sing a song
Who didn't have her family long.
Not only did she do them wrong,
She did ev'ryone of them in, them in,
She did ev'ryone of them in.
One morning in a fit of pique,
Sing rickety-tickety-tin,
One morning in a fit of pique,
She drowned her father in the creek.
The water tasted bad for a week,
And we had to make do with gin, with gin,
We had to make do with gin.
8 WITCHES, BITCHES & WOMEN IN BRITCHES Text & Translations: Naomi O’Connell, 2013 Her mother she could never stand,
Sing rickety-tickety-tin,
Her mother she could never stand,
And so a cyanide soup she planned.
The mother died with a spoon in her hand,
And her face in a hideous grin, a grin,
Her face in a hideous grin.
She set her sister's hair on fire,
Sing rickety-tickety-tin,
She set her sister's hair on fire,
And as the smoke and flame rose high'r,
Danced around the funeral pyre,
Playin' a violin, -olin,
Playin' a violin.
She weighted her brother down with stones,
Sing rickety-tickety-tin,
She weighted her brother down with stones,
And sent him off to Davy Jones.
All they ever found were some bones,
And occasional pieces of skin, of skin,
Occasional pieces of skin.
One day when she had nothing to do,
Sing rickety-tickety-tin,
One day when she had nothing to do,
She cut her baby brother in two,
And served him up as an Irish stew,
And invited the neighbors in, -bors in,
Invited the neighbors in.
And when at last the police came by,
Sing rickety-tickety-tin,
And when at last the police came by,
Her little pranks she did not deny,
To do so she would have had to lie,
And lying, she knew, was a sin, a sin,
Lying, she knew, was a sin.
My tragic tale, I won't prolong,
Sing rickety-tickety-tin,
My tragic tale I won't prolong,
And if you do not enjoy my song,
You've yourselves to blame if it's too long,
You should never have let me begin, begin,
You should never have let me begin.
9 WITCHES, BITCHES & WOMEN IN BRITCHES Text & Translations: Naomi O’Connell, 2013 ‘Saints or Witches’
A Song Cycle by Chris Berg
Her Kind
Chris Berg (b. 1949)
Anne Sexton (1928 – 1974)
I have gone out, a possessed witch,
haunting the black air, braver at night;
dreaming evil, I have done my hitch
over the plain houses, light by light:
lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind.
A woman like that is not a woman, quite.
I have been her kind.
I have found the warm caves in the woods,
filled them with skillets, carvings, shelves,
closets, silks, innumerable goods;
fixed the suppers for the worms and the elves:
whining, rearranging the disaligned.
A woman like that is misunderstood.
I have been her kind.
I have ridden in your cart, driver,
waved my nude arms at villages going by,
learning the last bright routes, survivor
where your flames still bite my thigh
and my ribs crack where your wheels wind.
A woman like that is not ashamed to die.
I have been her kind.
Can I Fly Too?
Chris Berg (b. 1949)
Philip Hobsbaum (1932 - 2005)
You are a witch.
You taught me
To hear in the slurping of mud
The cry of the Ban Shee
To see in the life cycle of the caterpillar
The struggle of the soul
Towards immortality.
Take me.
You alone could turn the weight of years
Into release, ecstasy.
10 WITCHES, BITCHES & WOMEN IN BRITCHES Text & Translations: Naomi O’Connell, 2013 Introducing that Most Marvellous Human Freak, the Bearded Lady Miss Lupin
Chris Berg (b. 1949)
Clare Pollard (b. 1978)
So here you are, sir,
in the shadow of the tilt,
the tented dark,
done with the stick and rag show:
the dizzying plinky-plonk galloper tunes,
the popcorn, piranhas & pin-heads,
the Half-Woman – a bust on her pedestal –
the mule-face who brays in his booth,
the Aethiop savage girl white as your wife,
and here I am,
wonder of wonders!
You look nervous, sir.
Is it the mewl of the tyger?
He’s harmless, toothless.
So come on, closer:
trace the fur of my face,
moist at the mouth, pink lips,
the string-of-pearls teeth it’s softer than sawdust,
softer than wolves,
a tangle to tug.
I have watched many times
how desire contorts men –
how they tattoo my name down their spines,
how they flail on their nail-beds,
gulp fire, swallow swords;
how they make those sounds that are not words.
How I’ll make the suit and snuff,
the ledgers and the way you pass the port –
all your life – feel like a ghost walk.
Some say we are clairvoyant,
saints or witches.
I say we make you want what you most fear –
if he is she, if wrong feels right,
then what are you, sir?
My fellow freak, come kiss this beard. Here.
11 WITCHES, BITCHES & WOMEN IN BRITCHES Text & Translations: Naomi O’Connell, 2013 Don’t Say I Said
Chris Berg (b. 1949)
Sophie Hannah (b. 1971)
Next time you speak to you-know-who
I’ve got a message for him.
Tell him that I have lost a stone
Since the last time I saw him.
Tell him that I’ve got three new books
Coming out soon, but play it
Cool, make it sound spontaneous.
Don’t say I said to say it.
He might ask if I’ve mentioned him.
Say I have once, in passing.
Memorize everything he says
And, no, it won’t be grassing
When you repeat his words to me –
It’s the only way to play it.
Tell him I’m toned and tanned and fine.
Don’t say I said to say it.
Say that serenity and grace
Have taken root inside me.
My top-note is frivolity
But beneath, dark passions guide me.
Tell him I’m radiant and replete
And add that everyday it
Seems I am harder to resist.
Don’t say I said to say it.
Tell him that all my ancient faults
Have been eradicated.
I do not carp or analyse
As I might have when we dated.
Say I’m not bossy any more
Or, better still, convey it
Subtly, but get the point across.
Don’t say I said to say it.
Die Kleptomanin
Friedrich Hollaender (1896 – 1976)
The Kleptomaniac
Translation: Guelcin Koerpe & Naomi O’Connell
Schon als Mädel war ich immer so erregt,
lag was da, was einer achtlos hingelegt,
immer gab's mir durch den Körper einen Riss,
Und dann stahl ich einmal das und einmal diss;
ach, ich stahl schon meinem Vater das Gebiss.
Denn ich stahl ohne Wahl, ganz egal.
Ja, ich stahl und stahl, und war es selbst aus Stahl.
Ob ich’s brauchen konnte, fiel nicht ins Gewicht;
ich stahl auch Busenhalter, was ja für mich spricht,
denn damals hatte ich noch keinen Busen nicht!
Und das macht mir ein Gefühl, ich kann’s nicht sagen...
im Magen, im Magen, im Magen.
Even as a little girl I would always get excited
If something’s carelessly left lying there shortsighted,
My whole body it would shudder and would freeze
And then I stole all those things and then stole these,
Ah sure, I even stole my father’s false teeth.
Because I stole with no goal on the whole,
Yes, I’d steal and steal, even if it was made of steel!
If I needed it or not, had no authority,
I even stole bras, which rather speaks for me,
Because back then I had no bust, no siree!
And it gives me such a feeling, I can’t describe it…
In my belly, in my belly, in my belly.
12 WITCHES, BITCHES & WOMEN IN BRITCHES Text & Translations: Naomi O’Connell, 2013 Ach, wie mich das aufregt!
Ach, wie mich das aufregt!
Ach, ich kann's nicht sehn, wenn wo was steht:
Ich muß es haben, haben, haben, haben,
haben, haben, haben, haben!
Ach, und was ich mause,
kaum hab ich's zu Hause,
wird mein Kopf so dumpf und schwer,
ich bin gar nicht sinnlich mehr,
Und ich schmeiß' den ganzen Dreck weg, weg, weg!
Oh, how it excites me!
Oh, how it excites me!
Oh, I can’t bear to see it, if something’s there,
I have to have it, have it, have it, have it,
have it, have it, have it, have it!
Oh! And what I pilfer,
as soon as I get it home, sir,
My head becomes so empty and dull,
I’m not aroused anymore at all
And I throw the lot of rubbish out, out, out!
Kurz, es treibt mich, was zu klauen mit Gewalt.
Selbst vor Bechstein-Flügeln mache ich nicht halt!
Ach, wie süß, wenn ich erwischt werd' mittenmang!
Und ich brauch auch nicht zur Angeklagtenbank;
denn ich bin ja verrückt, Gott sei Dank!
Nach jeder Zuckerzange, die mir nicht gehört,
werde ich von blinder Leidenschaft verzehrt.
Geht 'ne Frau wo und es hängt ein Gatte dran,
sag ich gleich: Gnädige Frau, ich fleh' Sie an,
ach, verstecken Sie, ach, verstecken Sie ihren Mann!
Denn mir zuckt’s schon wieder, na, wie soll ich sagen...
Im Magen, im Magen, im Magen.
In short, something drives me to this powerful urge to steal,
Even nicking grand pianos wouldn’t ever stop me!
Oh, how sweet, if I were caught running amok,
And they wouldn’t even put me in the dock,
Because I’m crazy loop-the-loop, thanks be to God!
For every pair of sugar tongs that isn’t mine
With an all-consuming passion I do pine.
If I see a woman with a husband in her company,
I say: “My dearest woman, I implore you earnestly,
Oh, please, just hide that precious hubbie away from me.”
Because I already feel a twitching, well, how shall I put it?
In my belly, in my belly, in my belly.
Ach, wie der mich aufregt!
Ach, wie der mich aufregt!
Ach, ich kann's nicht sehn, wenn wo was steht:
Ich muß es haben, haben, haben, haben,
haben, haben, haben, haben!
Ach, und was ich mause,
kaum hab ich's zu Hause,
wird mein Kopf so dumpf und schwer,
ich bin gar nicht sinnlich mehr,
Und ich schmeiß' den ganzen Dreck weg, weg, weg!
Oh, how he excites me!
Oh, how he excites me!
Oh, I can’t bear to see it, if something’s there,
I have to have it, have it, have it, have it,
have it, have it, have it, have it!
Oh! And what I pilfer,
as soon as I get it home, sir,
My head becomes so empty and dull,
I’m not aroused anymore at all
And I throw the lot of rubbish out, out, out!
Die Dame von der alten Schule
Rudolf Nelson (1878 - 1960)
Hans Zerlett (1892 -1949)
The Lady of the Old School
Translation: Naomi O’Connell
Bei uns zu Hause da sind aus Plüsch die Möbel
und Häkeldeckchen liegen stets darauf
An der einer Wand da hängen Ehrensäbel
und an der andern häng ich mich bald auf
Bei uns zu Haus verachtet man das Heute
wir leben einzig in der Tradition
Wir sind stinkfeine angesehene Leute
bei uns herrscht noch der gute alte Ton
At our house, the sofa is made of finest plush,
And lace doilies must always lie thereon,
On one wall, hang mounted swords,
And on the other, I’ll soon hang myself upon.
At our house, we scorn the modern day,
We live only in the most traditional way,
We are filthy-rich, respectable people
At our house, good old-fashioned manners still prevail.
Aber
Ich möchte gern, ich möchte gern
mal was Gemeines sagen
und seidne Wäsche tragen
Und ich möchte gern, ich möchte gern
mal in die Suppe hauen
But…
I’d really like, I’d really like,
For once, to say something mean,
And wear silk underwear.
I’d really like, I’d really like
To slam my fists into the soup,
13 WITCHES, BITCHES & WOMEN IN BRITCHES Text & Translations: Naomi O’Connell, 2013 den ganzen Tisch versauen
dass alle trifft der Schlag
und noch am selben Tag
Aber ich weiss, dass das nicht geht
ich bin verflucht und zugenäht.
Make a mess of the whole table,
So that they all have heart attacks,
On the very same day.
But I know, that it can’t be,
I am cursed and sewn up tight.
Mein Gatte trägt nur hohe steife Kragen
Ich trag, weil sichs gehört, stets ein Korsett
Des nachts wird nur das lange Hemd getragen
Pyjamas tragen Schweine nur im Bett
Bei uns hat noch meine Gatte mich nicht betrogen
er trat noch niemals in der Ehe fehl
und weil ich ganz genau wie er erzogen
war ich auch ganz genauso ein Kamel
My husband wears stiff collars of quality renown,
While every day into my ribs a corset digs.
At night, one must only wear a long nightgown,
For pajamas are solely worn in bed by pigs!
My husband has never once yet lied to me,
He never cheated or into misdemeanor fell,
And because I was raised as proper as can be,
I behaved just like the camel he is, as well.
Aber
ach ich möchte gern, ich möchte gern
es einmal richtig wissen
und einen Giggolo küssen
Und ich möchte gern, ich möchte gern
die Tauentzien mal ruff gehn
und dann in einen Puff gehn
Pfui Deibel wär das schön
könnt mich mein Mann dort sehn
Aber ich weiss, dass das nicht geht
ich bin verflucht und zugenäht.
But…
I’d really like, I’d really like,
Just one time to really know,
To kiss a gigolo,
I’d really like, I’d really like
To go up the redlight Tauentzin road
And go into a whorehouse,
Oh goodie, wouldn’t that be lovely,
If my husband could see me there.
But I know, that it can’t be,
I am cursed and sewn up tight.
Raus mit den Männern!
Friedrich Hollaender (1896 – 1976)
Chuck all the men out of the Reichstag
Translation: Jeremy Lawrence
Es geht durch die ganze Historie
ein Ruf nach Emanzipation
vom Menschen bis zur Infusorie
überall will das Weib auf den Thron.
Von den Amazonen bis zur Berliner Range
braust ein Ruf wie Donnerhall daher:
Was die Männer können, können wir schon lange
und vielleicht `ne ganze Ecke mehr.
The battle for emancipation's been raging
Since history first began,
Yes, feminists of every nation
Want to chuck off the chains made by man.
Hula girls and housemaids and wives in Maribou
Hear all our voices thunder in protest;
Anything that men do, women can do too
And more that that, we women do it best.
Raus mit den Männern aus dem Reichstag,
und raus mit den Männern aus dem Landtag,
und raus mit den Männern aus dem Herrenhaus,
wir machen draus ein Frauenhaus!
Raus mit den Männern aus dem Dasein,
und raus mit den Männern aus dem Hiersein,
und raus mit den Männern aus dem Dortsein,
sie müßten schon längst fort sein.
Ja: raus mit den Männern aus dem Bau,
und rein in die Dinger mit der Frau!
Chuck all the men out of the Reichstag
And chuck all the men out of the courthouse.
Men are the problem with humanity,
They're blinded by their vanity.
Women have passively embraced them
When we could have easily outpaced them,
Yes we should have long ago replaced them
Or better yet erased them.
If we haven't made our feelings clear,
We women have had it up to here!
Die Männer haben alle Berufe,
sind Schutzmann und sind Philosoph,
sie klettern von Stufe zu Stufe,
in der Küche stehen wir und sind doof.
The men get their pick of professions,
They're policemen or scholars or clerks,
They get rich and acquire possessions
While we wives stay home keeping house for these jerks.
14 WITCHES, BITCHES & WOMEN IN BRITCHES Text & Translations: Naomi O’Connell, 2013 Sie bekommen Orden, wir bekommen Schwielen,
liebe Schwestern, es ist eine Schmach.
Ja sie trauen sich gar, die Politik zu spielen,
aber, na, die ist ja auch danach!
They're ruining the country while we mop up the floor,
They're flushing this whole nation down the drain.
Sisters stand together, let's show these men the door
Before they drive us totally insane!
Raus mit den Männern aus dem Reichstag,
und raus mit den Männern aus dem Landtag,
und raus mit den Männern aus dem Herrenhaus,
wir machen draus ein Frauenhaus!
Raus mit den Männern aus dem Dasein,
und raus mit den Männern aus dem Hiersein,
und raus mit den Männern aus dem Dortsein,
sie müßten schon längst fort sein.
Ja: raus mit den Männern aus dem Bau,
und rein in die Dinger mit der Frau!
Chuck all the men out of the Reichstag
And chuck all the men out of the courthouse.
Men are the problem with humanity,
They're blinded by their vanity.
Women have passively embraced them
When we could have easily outpaced them,
Yes we should have long ago replaced them
Or better yet erased them.
If we haven't made our feelings clear,
We women have had it up to here!
Ich bin von Kopf bis Fuss auf Liebe eingestellt
Friedrich Hollaender (1896 – 1976)
I am from head to toe prepared for love
Translation: Naomi O’Connell
Ein rätselhafter Schimmer,
Ein "je ne sais-pas-quoi"
Liegt in den Augen immer
Bei einer schönen Frau.
Doch wenn sich meine Augen
Bei einem vis-à-vis
Ganz tief in seine saugen
Was sprechen dann sie?:
An enigmatic shimmer,
A ‘je-ne-sais-pas-quoi’
Always lies within the eyes
Of a beautiful woman.
But when my eyes,
Face to face,
Look deeply into his,
What do they say?
Ich bin von Kopf bis Fuß
Auf Liebe eingestellt,
Denn das ist meine Welt.
Und sonst gar nichts.
Das ist, was soll ich machen,
Meine Natur,
Ich kann halt lieben nur
Und sonst gar nichts.
I am from head to toe
Prepared for love
Because this is my world
And besides that, nothing at all.
It is, what can I do,
My nature –
I can only love
And nothing else at all.
Männer umschwirr'n mich,
Wie Motten um das Licht.
Und wenn sie verbrennen,
Ja dafür kann ich nicht.
Ich bin von Kopf bis Fuß
Auf Liebe eingestellt,
Ich kann halt lieben nur
Und sonst gar nichts.
Men swarm around me
Like moths around light
And if they burn up,
Well, I can’t help that.
I am from head to toe
Prepared for love
Because this is my world
And nothing else at all.
Was bebt in meinen Händen,
In ihrem heißen Druck?
Sie möchten sich verschwenden
Sie haben nie genug.
Ihr werdet mir verzeihen,
Ihr müßt' es halt versteh'n,
Es lockt mich stets von neuem.
Ich find' es so schön!
Something trembles in my hands,
In their hot pressure,
They want to live life to the full,
They can never get enough.
You will all forgive me,
You just have to accept it,
It entices me each time anew,
I like it so much.
15 WITCHES, BITCHES & WOMEN IN BRITCHES Text & Translations: Naomi O’Connell, 2013 Animal Passion
Jake Heggie (b. 1961)
Gini Savage
Fierce as a bobcat’s spring
With start-up speeds of sixty miles per hour,
I want a lover to sweep me off my feet
and slide me into the gutter
Without the niceties of small talk, roses or champagne.
I mean business, I want whiskey,
I want to be swallowed whole,
I want tiles to spring off of walls
When we enter hotel rooms
Or afternoon apartments.
I won’t pussyfoot around responsibility,
“shoulds” and “oughts” are out for good.
And I don’t want to be a fat domestic cat,
I want to be frantic, yowls and growls to sound
Like the lion house at feeding time.
I don’t give a damn who hears, I don’t give a damn!
No discreet eavesdroppers coughs can stop us in our frenzy.
Let the voyeurs voient
And let the great cats come.
Make The Man Love Me
From A Tree Grows in Brooklyn
Arthur Schwartz (1900 – 1984)
Dorothy Fields (1905 -1974)
You kissed me once by mistake;
Thought I was somebody else.
I felt that kiss and I envied
That somebody else.
I wanted you for myself.
I guess I was shameless and bold.
But, I made a plan in my heart
I've never breathed, I've never told.
I must try to make the man love me,
Make the man love me now.
Bye and bye, I'll make the man happy;
I know how.
He must see how badly I want him,
Want him just as he is.
May I say that should the man ask me,
I'll be his.
Can I tell the man
Just how dearly blessed we would be?
All the beauty I see so clearly,
Oh, why can't he?
So, I pray to heaven above me,
Pray until day grows dim,
For a way to make the man love me
As I love him.
16 WITCHES, BITCHES & WOMEN IN BRITCHES Text & Translations: Naomi O’Connell, 2013 Modest Maid
Marc Blitzstein (1905 – 1964)
You see before you here displayed
A Victorian and modest maid
With a look in my eye prim and distant.
And if you should explore my mind,
I can promise you that you would find
Such a neatness,
A discreteness,
With but one item not quite consistent:
I love LECHERY
Simple LECHERY.
If there’s one thing is fun, it is lust.
Of a night in the park I am dreaming.
There am I naked stark,
Running steaming and screaming
For LECHERY,
Lovely LECHERY,
And I’ll take nothing else in its stead:
I’ve tried archery,
I’ve tried butchery,
I’ve tried witchery,
And naturally bitchery.
But my modesty falls for,
Propriety calls for,
What’s easier done than said.
Give me LECHERY –
Lovely LECHERY.
If there’s one thing is fun it is…you know.
When the moon’s at the full, I’m a mad one
But don’t call a constabull,
For this mad one has had one.
Now prudery mixed with lewdery
Makes a dish which with flavor is rife.
You take archery if you’re arch,
You take butchery if you’re butch,
Temper witchery with wit,
Make with bitchery a bit.
Though it may be unsound to,
I’m bound to come round to
Just having the time of my life.
So behold a prim and modest maid
In my second Sunday best arrayed
And working hard to get this rampant little maid allayed!
17