# 19.On the Art of Presentation

As much as the art of acting, the art of the reciter is also in a bad way. We perceive essentially the same deficiencies in both. Here, as there, it is mostly the effort of the reproducer to "make something" out of the work of art, i.e. to subordinate the poet to himself and the pursuit of success. In the case of the actor this deficiency is understandable to us, for we must admit that even where a drama can dispense with the sharp accentuation by the actor, the coarse-minded audience likes to give a strong success to the actor who puts on the lights. That we encounter the same deficiency in the art of performance is less understandable to us and also seems less excusable. Less excusable because here the pitfalls do not exist which make the task of the reproducer more difficult in drama and in its scenic representation. Less understandable because we are inclined to assume that this art, which is more shameful in all its reproaches and in its task, only attracts disciples to its path who are sufficiently capable of renunciation and have an excellent understanding of its simplicity and delicacy. But practical experience shows us that very few performers have understood that mastery is bound up with artistic modesty. They are mostly still professionally bound to the art of acting with its completely different tasks, they are not always its most subtle representatives and drag their ways of expression and even their shortcomings into the new art as a crime. It is embarrassing and horrifying how they often present us with works that are outstanding in their simplicity and delicate mood, dramatically pointed and materialized or even supported by strong gestures. If a work of art was once really granted the opportunity to appear in this lively manner, to reveal itself to a wider circle, which could perhaps be brought into a relationship with art at this moment, its soul was now strangled with rough hands, beaten to death with knuckles. This manner of performance does not contribute to the establishment of lively, fruitful relations between art and the people, for which both parts are crying out eagerly. Experience tells us that the actor who cannot detach himself sufficiently from the stage devices is the worst interpreter for poems that do not set mimic tasks. I was blessed with indelible impressions through their performance by people who did not pursue this interpretation professionally, subtle imitators or self-creative natures, who sometimes possessed only modest vocal means, insufficient modulation ability and no trained technique, of whom one could well say that they were not "above their task". One sensed that they were still gripped by the mood of the work of art in the lamplight. With a simple, noble, natural and human tone, they performed the parts which thus found their only proper expression, but to which others gave an emphatic characterization. How completely different were the smaller movements that stood out against this calm background, how moving a gentle allusion could be, and what an unheard-of, upwardly swirling intensification this handling of the pathos allowed! Ah, here it was also proved with such infallible certainty that it was not false pain that poet and rhapsode put into their language. The rhapsodist must have been able to laugh heartily and weep bitterly in life, he must have saved his naivety into manhood, he must not have had to arouse too much professional laughter and weeping; the work of art must be his experience, he must be able to weep, tremble and thunder without whining or rumbling, then we willingly follow him to the most unfamiliar places, to the islands of the blissful or to the horrors of the Orcus. Such participation can hardly be expected from a professional interpreter; hurled from one sensation to another, they finally blunt him; it would also take overly strong natures not to be consumed by such unmitigated participation. Only brilliant actors, whose universal spirit makes it easy for them to leave the specific sphere of their profession, simple, amiable mimes, who have their core of humanity together in such a way that a professional marasmus cannot penetrate: these also show themselves suitable to bring a work of art to bear. Every rhapsodist can learn an infinite amount from them. For there are brittle works of art that let our senses pass by unheated, and where it takes an experienced penetrator into the depths to reveal a significant life to us. A single such opportunity has perhaps helped us to be able to face every work of art we encounter with a broader receptivity. There have been poets who first needed such an 'apostle' to gain recognition and thus the conditions for further creation.

Lyric poetry and the finer prose poetry lead an unnoticed existence, and so their creators lack a flashing, higher alluring goal. It is not true that the poet does not need recognition. The talk of "art as an end in itself" is a nonsensical nonsense that should be discarded with the penny-ante, and in general the assertion that poetry can dispense with the more lively mode of expression given by the performance is a nonsensical one. There are few among the people whose imagination would be hurt by the recital; with most people, on the other hand, a sensual devotion to the work of art is made possible in the first place, and form and content come to life for them. Above all, at least on this ground there is a chance for the poet to unite with the people. Every such contact helps the poet from his poverty of blood. For the inbreeding among the intellectually and emotionally creative is pitiful and cannot be attributed in all cases to disgust at our cultural conditions. Every contact will also have a life-giving effect on their future artistic expressions.

Art demands opportunities to express itself vividly through mediating organs. It seems to me that the work for art must become more widespread. Cenralization absorbs forces without bringing them to bear on the outside; the work of the individual in his circle will create a more sensitive audience. We need more rhapsodists, but we also need better rhapsodists than we generally have today. The opportunities to work and to work nobly in the sense of my demands will increase in the way I have indicated. It will provide us with rhapsodes who have the power to captivate a festively assembled people. This path will bring good things for the receiving people, for the artists and for the arts. Healthier interactions will be established.

I myself feel clearly enough that my last sentences are on the field of "ifs and buts". There is no need to pin me down on this. But I think I did my bit when I spoke openly about the misery we all feel. We want a rhapsodic art, a great one if it can be, for the festive needs of our souls, but at any hour we also like a more modest one, if only it is noble and simple. Whether grand or modest: out with the antics!