A Dionysia, Part 6

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A Dionysia, Part 6 is a music video for Jacques Ibert’s Flute Concerto: Andante, with passages from Friedrich Hölderlin’s Bread and Wine.


Ibert, Jacques. “Flute Concerto: Andante.” Flute Adagios. Performed by Timothy Hutchins and Orchestre symphonique de Montréal. Conducted by Charles Dutoit. Decca, 2009. CD.


painting by Robert Julian Onderdonk: Bluebonnets in Texas (1915)
Robert Julian Onderdonk. Bluebonnets in Texas. 1915.

painting by Claude Monet: Misty Morning on the Seine (1897)
Claude Monet. Misty Morning on the Seine. 1897.

painting by Olga Rozanova: Blue on Tin
Olga Rozanova. Blue on Tin.

painting by Mikalojus Konstantinas Čiurlionis: Hymn (II)
Mikalojus Konstantinas Čiurlionis. Hymn (II).

painting by Claude Monet: Morning by the Sea (1881)
Claude Monet. Morning by the Sea. 1881.

painting by Vincent van Gogh: Wheatfields under Thunderclouds (1890)
Vincent van Gogh. Wheatfields under Thunderclouds. 1890.


Hölderlin, Friedrich. “Bread and Wine.” Translated by Susan Ranson. German Literature. Web. Accessed 25 May 2015. <https://sites.google.com/site/germanliterature/19th-century/hoelderlin/brot-und-wein-bread-and-wine>.

Wondrous, the favour we are vouchsafed by Night the exalted:
No-one knows with what good, and whence, she may prosper us.
Such her pull on the world, on hope in the souls of mortals,
Even the wisest has no cognizance of her works, for so
God in the Highest has willed, loving you – and for this reason
Thought-filled daylight is dearer to you than she.
But at times the clear eye, even, longs for the shadow,
Tasting sleep for its pleasure, well before there is need;
Or a faithful man, too, gladly looks into darkness:
Yes, it is right to dedicate garlands to her, or song,
For to the desperate and the dead she is consecrated,
Though her self-spirit exists fully, eternally free.
But she must grant in her turn that, in the hesitant moment
Or in darkness, some few things remain and endure,
Grant us oblivion, holy inebriation,
Grant the free-flowing word which, like lovers, shall be
Sleepless, and brimming cups, and life to be led more boldly,
Holy remembrance, too, prompting the watch in the night.

Now, too, he thinks to honour the gods, the blessèd, in earnest; 
Truthfully, truly must all things give out their praise.
Nothing shall see the light that does not please the Exalted;
Idle effort consorts ill with the Ethereal.
Thus to be worthy to stand full in this heavenly presence,
Ranked in glorious hierarchies peoples rise up 
One with another, and build the lovely temples and cities;
Strong and noble, they rise high over coast and cliff –
Yes, but where? And the familiar, flowering crowns of the feast-day?
Thebes and Athens, both, wilt. Do weapons no more
Ring in Olympia?  Nor the golden chariots in combat?
And the Corinthian ships: are they now bare of the wreath?
Why are even they silent, the ancient holy theatres?
Why can the sacred dance no more stand up and rejoice?
Why no more does a god set his mark on a man’s forehead,
Print the stamp as before, die-like, on him who is struck?
Or he would come himself and take on human appearance,
Comforter at the end, closing the heavenly feast.