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From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia.

Wilhelm Müller (October 7, 1794 - September 30, 1827), German lyric poet, was born at Dessau, the son of a shoemaker.

He was educated at the gymnasium of his native town and at the university of Berlin, where he devoted himself to philological and historical studies. In 1813-1814 he took part, as a volunteer, in the national rising against Napoleon. In 1817 he visited Italy, and in 1820 published his impressions in Rom, Römer und Römerinnen. In 1818 he was appointed teacher of classics in the Dessau school, and in 1820 librarian to the ducal library.

Müller's earliest lyrics are contained in a volume of poems, Bundesbluten, by several friends, which was published in 1816. His literary reputation was made by the Gedichte aus den hinterlassenen Papieren eines reisenden Waldhornisten (2vols., 1821-1824), and the Lieder der Griechen (1821-1824). The latter collection was Germany's chief tribute of sympathy to the Greeks in their struggle against the Turkish yoke, a theme which inspired many poets of the time. Two volumes of Neugriechische Volkslieder, and Lyrische Reisen und epigrammatische Spaziergänge, followed in 1825 and 1827. Müller also wrote a book on the Homerische Vorschule (1824; 2nd. ed., 1836), translated Marlowe's Faustus, and edited a Bibliothek der Dichtungen des 17 Jahrhunderts (1825-1827; 10 vols.).

Müller and Schubert
Müller is not considered a major figure of German literature, and his work would probably be known only to specialists today, were it not that the celebrated composer Franz Schubert discovered his poems and set them to music. In particular, Schubert's two great song cycles, Die schöne Müllerin and Winterreise, are both based on collections by Müller. Although the poetry in these works is hardly of the highest order, many feel there was something in Müller's writing that spurred Schubert to his highest level of inspiration, and that much of the success of these works should indeed be attributed to Müller.

Editions
Wilhelm Müller's Gedichte were first collected in 1837 (4th ed., 1858); edited by his son, Friedrich Max Müller (1868); there are also numerous more recent editions, notably one in Reclam's Universalbibliothek (1894); critical edition by JT Hatfield (7906). Müller's Vermischte Schriften were edited with a biography by G Schwab (3 vols., 1830). See F Max Müller's article in the Allgemeine deutsche Biographie; O Franck, "Zur Biographie des Dichters W. Müller" (Mittellungen des Vereins fur anhaltische Geschichte, 1887); JT Hatfield, "W. Müllers unveröffentlichtes Tagebuch und seine ungedruckten Briefe" (Deutsche Rundschau, 1902).

I will post two of the songs from Winterreise in the following post.

From Franz Schubert "Winterreise"
Sang by Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau
Piano-Jörg Demus

It is supposed to be the best interpretation of Winterreise. I have not heard all the different versions, but I do love this one very much.

Wilhelm Müller, 1822 (1794-1827)

Der Lindenbaum

Am Brunnen vor dem Tore
Da steht ein Lindenbaum
Ich träumt in seinem Schatten
So manchen süßen Traum
Ich schnitt in seine Rinde
so manches liebes Wort
Es zog in Freud und Leide
Zu ihm mich immer fort

Ich mußt auch heute wandern
Vorbei in tiefer Nacht
Da hab ich noch im Dunkel
Die Augen zugemacht
Und seine Zweige rauschten
Als riefen sie mir zu:
"Komm her zu mir, Geselle
Hier findst du deine Ruh

Die kalten Winde bliesen
Mir grad ins Angesicht
Der Hut flog mir vom Kopfe
Ich wendete mich nicht
Nun bin ich manche Stunde
Entfernt von diesem Ort
Und immer hör ich's rauschen:
"Du fändest Ruhe dort


The Lime Tree

By the fountain at the gate
there stands a lime tree:
in its shadow I have dreamed
many a sweet dream.

On its bark I have carved
many a loving word.
In joy and sorrow it drew
me to it continually.

Today again I had to walk
past it at dead of night,
and even in the darkness I
closed my eyes.

And its branches rustled
as if they called to me:
"Come here to me, friend,
here you will find your rest".

The chill wind blew
straight in my face:
my hat flew off my head.
I did not turn back.

Now I am many hours
away from that place;
yet still I hear the rustle:
"There you would have found rest".

Der Leiermann

Drüben hinterm Dorfe
Steht ein Leiermann
Und mit starren Fingern
Dreht er was er kann.

Barfuß auf dem Eise
Wankt er hin und her
Und sein kleiner Teller
Bleibt ihm immer leer.

Keiner mag ihn hìren,
Keiner sieht ihn an,
Und die Hunde knurren
Um den alten Mann.

Und er läßt es gehen,
Alles wie es will,
Dreht, und seine Leier
Steht ihm nimmer still.

Wunderlicher Alter!
Soll ich mit dir geh'n?
Willst zu meinen Liedern
Deine Leier dreh'n?


The Organ Grinder
Dedicated to my friend you loves the Organ Grinder.

There beyond the village
stands an organ grinder,
and with numb fingers
he grinds as best he can.

Barefoot on the ice,
he staggers to and fro,
and his little plate
stays ever empty.

No one wants to hear him,
no one gives him a glance,
and the dogs snarl
round the old man.

And he lets it all go by,
as it will do;
he grinds, and his organ
never stands still.

Strange old fellow,
shall I go with you?
Will you grind your organ
to my singing?

 

My goodness, folks. I miss so many contributions. Sorry, Raggedy and Angelique, I was walking in the sands of my mind.

After a brief respite, I shall return to listen and make my comments on the celebs and their influence in our lives here on WA2K radio.

Station break:

This is cyberspace, WA2K radio.

Love Minus Zero/ No Limit

My love she speaks like silence,
Without ideals or violence,
She doesn't have to say she's faithful,
Yet she's true, like ice, like fire.
People carry roses,
Make promises by the hours,
My love she laughs like the flowers,
Valentines can't buy her.

In the dime stores and bus stations,
People talk of situations,
Read books, repeat quotations,
Draw conclusions on the wall.
Some speak of the future,
My love she speaks softly,
She knows there's no success like failure
And that failure's no success at all.

The cloak and dagger dangles,
Madams light the candles.
In ceremonies of the horsemen,
Even the pawn must hold a grudge.
Statues made of match sticks,
Crumble into one another,
My love winks, she does not bother,
She knows too much to argue or to judge.

The bridge at midnight trembles,
The country doctor rambles,
Bankers' nieces seek perfection,
Expecting all the gifts that wise men bring.
The wind howls like a hammer,
The night blows cold and rainy,
My love she's like some raven
At my window with a broken wing.



Copyright © 1965; renewed 1993 Special Rider Music

Space news for those that watch the skies.

http://spaceweather.com/

Thanks to Angelique and edgar for the music, science news, and background of the classicals.

Hmmm. Where, do you suppose, is yitwail? I do hope that he is not among the missing:

Desert Tortoise By DOUG ALDEN, Associated Press Writer
Sat Jul 2, 3:23 AM ET



SALT LAKE CITY - Wildfires burning in the Southwest are threatening federally protected desert tortoises, further stressing a species that already has lost much of its population to drought.



At least two of the animals died this week and more could turn up as biologists search the charred landscape.

"I think these fires are going to put a lot of pressure on local populations and we're going to be faced with some challenges," said Roy Averill-Murray, desert tortoise recovery coordinator for the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service.

The tortoise, which was placed on the federal threatened species list 25 years ago, roams across millions of acres in Arizona, California, Nevada and Utah and is considered an indicator of the health of the desert environment. Tortoise deaths have been linked to invasions of noxious weeds, drought and loss of desert land to development.

A government report three years ago said it was difficult to come up with an accurate number of living tortoises, mainly because the habitat stretches across four states. That also makes it difficult to know if the $100 million-plus spent by the government to help the species make a comeback was working.

But wildfires are definitely not helping.

In Nevada, firefighters on Friday said huge blazes burning in a vast area inhabited by desert tortoise and bighorn sheep were about half contained.

Among the many fires that burned tens of thousands of acres in southwestern Utah in the last week was in the Red Cliffs Desert Reserve.

The 61,000-acre reserve, with its scenic red rock cliffs and lava flows, provides prime habitat for about 1,700 Mojave Desert tortoises, officials for the private reserve said. Just three years ago, before drought took its hold on the state, there were 6,000 to 8,000 tortoises on the reserve.

Bekee Megown, a fire biologist with the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, said Friday two turtles were known to have died in the 3,000-acre fire, but at least three survivors had been found.

"That's very encouraging," she said.

Animals that burrowed deep enough into the ground were probably safe from the fire, but tortoises in shallow burrows or out in the open had little chance of survival.

"The problem is when these big fires start they burn throughout the day," said Bill Mader, administrator of the Red Cliffs Reserve. "They burn real quickly and so if the tortoise is caught in that they're doomed."

Well, folks. We like to joke with the yit about his island, but we do share a concern about any endangered species, right?

Raggedy, Recalling George Sanders. He always sounded so bored when he spoke in the movies; ironic that his suicide note simply stated that he was too bored to go on.

Did anyone notice that autism may be traced to vaccination shots for the young ones? There's always some culprit being exposed after the fact.

My neice always declared that she hated visiting the hospital for any reason, as it always gave her that "vaccination feeling." <smile>

It seems that our lovely Calamity Jane is back from her European vacation and safe in San Francisco. I guess she left her heart there.

good morning, Miss Letty & her listeners. yitwail is safe & sound, his habitat experienced record rainfall last winter. he's actually more concerned with property taxes & earthquakes than wild fires.

that poignant lyric about the organ grinder brought to mind a Donovan oldie, which yitwail heard Donovan perform in person less than a week ago. from his seat, yw couldn't make out Donovan's appearance, but his voice and guitar playing were remarkable for someone in his fifth decade of performing.

Hurdy Gurdy Man

Thrown like a star in my vast sleep
I'm opening my eyes to take a peep
To find that I was by the sea
Gazing with tranquility

'Twas then when the hurdy gurdy man
Came singing songs of love
Then when the hurdy gurdy man
Came singing songs of love

Hurdy gurdy, hurdy gurdy, hurdy gurdy gurdy he sang
Hurdy gurdy, hurdy gurdy, hurdy gurdy gurdy he sang
Hurdy gurdy, hurdy gurdy, hurdy gurdy gurdy he sang

Histories of ages past
Unenlightened shadows cast
Down through all eternity
The crying of humanity

'Tis then when the hurdy gurdy man
Comes singing songs of love
Then when the hurdy gurdy man
Comes singing songs of love

Hurdy gurdy, hurdy gurdy, hurdy gurdy gurdy he sang
Hurdy gurdy, hurdy gurdy, hurdy gurdy, hurdy gurdy hurdy gurd
Hurdy gurdy, hurdy gurdy, hurdy gurdy gurdy he sang

Hurdy gurdy, hurdy gurdy, hurdy gurdy gurdy he sang
Here comes the roly-poly man
He's singing songs of love
Roly poly, roly poly, roly poly poly he sang
Hurdy gurdy, hurdy gurdy, hurdy gurdy gurdy he sang
Hurdy gurdy, hurdy gurdy, hurdy gurdy gurdy he sang
Roly poly, roly poly, roly poly poly he sang

Yitwail, that song is magic. Never in my entire existence have I seen a hurdy gurdy man, but in my imagination he is an Italian with a handlebar mustache, grinding out tunes from a painted box where atop sits a monkey in a little cap who holds a miniature cup.

Remnants of a song come to mind, listeners..hurdy gurdy..man on the streets....hmmm. It won't surface, and I know your concerns about taxes, yitwail. Those things don't take much imagination.

edited to add the s

Loved it yitwail, especially:

"Histories of ages past
Unenlightened shadows cast
Down through all eternity
The crying of humanity"

i've never seen a hurdy gurdy either, but many years ago, on the Las Vegas strip of all places, there was an old chap with a little, dressed up monkey on a leash, and if you held out a quarter, the monkey would come an take it in its hand and carry it back to the old fellow. for a dollar, you could have your picture taken with the monkey, and in hindsight, i wish i had done that. nowadays, the people that mill about on the strip only hand out flyers for "adult entertainment."

My word, Yit. Let's think back, then. I know that many of you here can show us pictures. Is there a chance that we can find a hurdy gurdy man for our listeners?

Minstrel Model of Hurdy-Gurdy

My word, Angel. That is amazing, but the one that I had in mind can be found here: (sans monkey)

http://www.michaeltemlin.com/photogallery/londonparis/Paris-Grinder.jpg

Funny, he doesn't look French. <smile>

I hope you can see the info in the link, I'm not sure.

http://images.google.com/images?q=Hurdy-Gurdy+player+picture&hl=en&lr=&sa=N&tab=wi&sourceid=tipimg

Kewl, I have seen something similar, not as fancy. But, thats and organ grinder.

Well, folks. Now we see that not only are there subtle differences in the language of man, but also in pictures and their captions.

I always considered organ grinder and hurdy gurdy to be one and the same, but with different names.

Speaking of which, Yit's avatar has become another thing. <smile>

I wonder which one Wilhelm Müller wrote about. I would take a guess, and say it's the Hurdy-Gurdy. Does anybody have any idea which one he wrote about?

No, Angel, I can't even hazard a guess, but it wouldn't hurt to do a bit of searching, I suppose.

In the interim, listeners, let's hear a little music:

Elmer's tune
Why are the stars always winkin' and blinkin' above?
What makes a fella' start thinkin' of fallin' in love?
It's not the season. The reason, it's plain as the moon,
It's just Elmer's tune.
What makes a lady of eighty go out on the loose?
Why does a gander meander in search of a goose?
What puts the kick in a chicken, the magic in June?
It's just Elmer's tune.
Listen! Listen! There's a lot you're liable to me missin'.
Sing it! Swing it any ol' way and any ol' time.
The hurdy-gurdies, the birdies, the cop on the beat,
The candy maker, the baker, the man on the street,
The city charmer, the farmer, the Man in the Moon,
All sing Elmer's tune.

Voila!

First I tried looking between the years 1794-1827, and kept coming up with Wilhelm Müller. That by the way is WM birth/death. Then I looked for the year 1800, and this is what came up. So, it looks very much like the Hurdy-Gurdy.


http://www.floraco.com/organs/history/