Dirtbag Dichterliebe
Happy May, dirtbags.
What if Robert and Clara Schumann were just a couple of teenage dirtbags?
Previously in the Dirtbag Music History series: Dirtbag Wagner. Love to Daniel M. Lavery and The Toast (rip).
CLARA SCHUMANN: more like “dick-terliebe”
HEINRICH HEINE: i wrote a bunch of poems
about how Romanticism is dumb
and why poets are literally the last people we should idolize
ROBERT SCHUMANN: cool i’m going to take a bunch
and set them to achingly simple and capital-R Romantic music
and make it all about a heroic poet
whose life is absolutely destroyed by some bitch
HEINE: wait—
SCHUMANN [skateboarding off with a fistful of poems]: sorry can’t hear youuuuu
I. “Im wunderschönen Monat Mai”
POET: it’s decorative bud season, motherfuckers
all the birds are singing like in a Disney movie
so naturally I took one look at a girl
and threw myself off an emotional cliff for her
[POET takes a huge drag on his bacon-flavored Juul]
this is going to go GREAT for me.
CLARA: hey. so. that opening?
SCHUMANN [sitting on a throne made out of PBR cans]: pretty sick right?
CLARA: super sick
i should know
because you took it from my piano concerto
SCHUMANN: mmmm, did i tho?
CLARA: you literally did
SCHUMANN: okay, but if i did
historians are just going to think it was testament of my love to you
like I’m the guy holding your purse
CLARA: who tf am i about to marry
II. “Aus meinen Tränen sprießen”
POET: I cried and it made the flowers grow,
I sighed and that’s where birds come from.
GIRL: that’s literally not how nature works
POET: if you love me, i’ll fill your house with flowers and birds
GIRL: why are you like this
III. “Die Rose, die Lilie, die Taube, die Sonne”
POET: the flowers? her.
the doves? Her.
the sun? HER.
went outside to touch grass
and literally had an emotional breakdown.
IV. “Wenn ich in deine Augen seh’”
POET: when I look at her my soul fully exits my body
POET’S FRIEND: she just said “hi”
POET [wheezing]: I KNOW, RIGHT?!
CLARA: he says it’s love,
but what he actually means is:
“here are sixteen songs I wrote while crying into my piano,
please tour Europe playing them for strangers,
while also raising eight kids.”
BRAHMS [staring unhingedly at CLARA while his soul fully exits his body]: I KNOW, RIGHT?!
V. “Ich will meine Seele tauche”
POET: i want to bury my soul
in her lily’s chalice
POET’S FRIEND: yeah, i bet you do
POET: NO, THIS IS FOR REAL SOME NEXT-LEVEL SPIRITUAL SHIT
POET’S FRIEND: okay
then
what’s her name?
POET:
POET’S FRIEND [making jerking-off motion]: that’s what I thought
VI. “Im Rhein, im heiligen Strome”
CLARA: so this song.
you seem really obsessed with the river
even though the song is about a church.
kind of seems like he’s going to drown himself in the river.
SCHUMANN: wow. huh.
hadn’t even thought about that
CLARA: should i be worried?
SCHUMANN [kicking swim goggles under the couch]: about what
VII. “Ich grolle nicht”
POET: I just think it’s funny that her heart is completely black and dead
and she broke my fucking heart
but I’m not mad about any it
like
not at all.
totally over it.
anyway, I just punched a hole in some drywall.
VIII. “Und wüßten’s die Blumen, die kleinen”
POET: if nature knew what pain I was in because of her
it would literally cease to exist.
THE FLOWERS: yeah… we know
THE STARS: we just don’t care
THE BIRDS: [shit on the poet’s shoulder]
CLARA SCHUMANN: oh great,
this one’s about how her eyes are stars
and her mouth is wine
and her existence is spiritual rebirth
and now she’s marrying someone else
so now he’s going to put his entire self-worth in a coffin.
cool.
normal.
definitely not projecting.
IX. “Das ist ein Flöten und Geigen”
POET: oh, she’s getting married
that’s cool.
I’m so happy for her.
[pause]
POET: bet the angels are weeping, tho.
[cut to the wedding, “Cha Cha Slide” playing at full blast as the ANGELs dance]
ANGEL 1 [shouting above the music]: Do you think he means us?
ANGEL 2 [also shouting while criss-crossing]: Fuck if I know.
X. “Hör ich das Liedchen klingen”
POET: when I hear the song she used to sing
the pain is like a million dick punches
but to the heart.
GIRL: are you talking about that one time i sang “Call Me Maybe” at karaoke?
POET: [collapses]
SCHUMANN: see at certain points
Heine’s poetry is ironic
because it wants to conceal the pain and the tears
HEINE: no
i’m really just being ironic
SCHUMANN: maybe the friendly hand of a genius
can lift that mask
and turn those wild tears into pearls
HEINE: this entire generation is doomed
XI. “Ein Jüngling liebt ein Mädchen”
POET: do you think Hinge knows
just what’s happening on their app?
you date one girl
she chooses someone else
so you marry someone else
and then that first bitch decides to take the very next man to come her way
JUST TO FUCK WITH THE FIRST GUY
CLARA: wait
so is the poet the first guy, or the guy the girl dates to get back at the first guy
SCHUMANN: does it matter
CLARA: well
to me
yeah
it kinda does
XII. “Am leuchtenden Sommermorgen”
POET: good morning
went for a walk in the park
the flowers were talking about me behind my back
buncha bitches
CLARA SCHUMANN: someone take his phone
XIII. “Ich hab’ im Traum geweinet”
POET: i dreamed that she was dead, and i woke up crying
i dreamed that she was leaving me, and i woke up crying
i dreamed that she still loved me, and i woke up cr—
POET’S FRIEND: dude
you need to block her
CLARA [reading Schumann’s diary]: wept at the sight of a lilac bush
then hallucinated a nun made of mist
also suspect Brahms is in love with you
CLARA [muttering under her breath]: correct, unwell, and also correct
XIV. “Allnächtlich im Traume”
POET: I have another dream about her
where I fall at her feet weeping
and she gives me a wreath of cypress
POET’S FRIEND: isn’t that a symbol for death?
POET: well when I wake up the wreath is gone
POET’S FRIEND: you need so much therapy
BRAHMS: hey clara
hey
hi
hi clara
What if i just
moved in? for a while?
you know, to help with the kids
and your grief
and also your ankles
and also you know romantically
CLARA: my husband just buried himself in a metaphorical coffin
can we not
BRAHMS: what if i was just nearby
forever
platonically
except in lower case italics
XV. “Aus alten Märchen”
POET: remember when i believed in fairy tales?
what a fucking joke
GIRL: remember when i believed in you?
also a fucking joke
CLARA: imagine if I had an hour?
to have my own feelings?
instead of constantly managing everyone else’s?
XVI. “Di alten, bösen Lieder”
POET: i’m taking all my suffering,
my delusions,
my years of catastrophic decision-making and bad poems
and burying them in the biggest coffin i can find
POET’S FRIEND: good
POET: and then i’m climbing in it, too
POET’S FRIEND: wait, n—
GIRL: let him cook
AUDIENCE: wow
she plays with such passion
such servitude to the music
such selflessness!
CLARA: i am playing my husband’s musical breakdown
about a woman who is not me
while wearing a corset
on three hours of sleep
But thanks!
Brava!