Berlin, December 2012
The further I am with writing the libretto, the more it becomes substantial that the libretto is foremost a musical form. It is not a literary work – although it resembles one, it has lines full of letters as opposed to music sheets.
Good libretto ignites tension in the music structure, breathes into the orchestra, gives endurance to singers and a single col legno beat of a solo viola. The libretto’s storyline is useless, if it shapes an oddly bent music-density. The libretto has to be written like Beethoven, with the sharpness of sonar structure and a hardhearted solemnity of turning points.
I promise, when I have finished I will hand over to the music a text, which is as slow as sleep, as fragrant as the silver carriage of a ghost.
But the sentences perch on paper, rather asleep – like sheep covered with snow – in the mornings they wake up, baa and shake themselves, long and heartfelt.