In the poems of Winterreise we often find cinematic images. Not because Wilhelm Müller sought this effect, of course, but because we, having grown up watching films, see the scene in our minds. One of these images, one that moves me especially when I hear it at a recital, appears in Rückblick, which we can translate as "Looking Back."

Some time ago I titled an article about Hanns Sommer “The son of the photographer”. As I explained back then, it was a bit of a liberty, because I was referring to Sommer’s stepfather, the Voigtländer lens and camera maker. And since I allowed myself that liberty then, I can’t use the same title for this article about Franz Schreker, who really was the photographer’s son.

In the 1950s, the Romanian poet Paul Celan had settled in Paris, fleeing the Communist regime. He had not been able to flee Nazism, and had been confined, together with his parents, in the Chernivtsi ghetto. Without being able to do anything to prevent it, his parents were transferred to a concentration camp, where they were killed; he survived after [...]

Poems (and, by extension, songs) that invoke the night and ask it for a restorative sleep are relatively common. Darkness unsettles us and, whether we are awake or asleep, our worries and fears grow larger and weigh us down. Even an insignificant detail from the day, something we barely remember, can turn into a distressing nightmare.

Last week I told you about Korngold’s Nachtwanderer, and I mentioned that I had noted down two other songs composed from the same Eichendorff poem. Since it’s all still fresh in our minds, yours and mine, and I’m short on time this week, I suggest we listen to one of them: the one by Hanns Sommer.