By Thomas Köck
Translated by Marc Silberman
By Thomas Köck
By Franz Carl Hiemer
Translated by Mark Herman and Ronnie Apter
Fill the flowing bowl with wine,
fill the bowl with flowing wine.
Reviewed by Rick Davis
My own modest proposal for its dissemination would be to find a way to place a copy on the desk of every opera house management, on the office chair of every Conservatory dean, opera director, and voice teacher in the UK and USA, and of course in the hands of anyone who is brave enough to engage in the traitorous act of opera translation.
By Ernst Toller
Translated by Peter Worstman
There are certain merciless works of dramatic art that dispense with cultural niceties and strike the spectator/reader where it hurts most, leaving you staggering and gasping for air.
By Bernhard Studlar
Translated by Henning Bochert
One hundred ‘apps’ (like the numbers in Greenaway’s film) throughout the play lead from nowhere to nowhere (but not to anyone being drowned), there are no characters doing anything, and no meaning coagulates around any plot. Even the narrator disappears, and all that remains – as the playwright points out in his preface – is text.
By Carl Sternheim
Adapted by David Copelin and John Van Burek
From a literal translation by Lascelle Wingate
One night last month took care of that. We were alone. He was my universe; I was happy, and full of desire. If he’d said one word, made one gesture, I’d have given myself to him. But the idiot just sat there, his big calf’s eyes bugging out of his head.