Ruth Schonthal was born in Hamburg, Germany in 1924. She was the youngest student ever accepted at the Stern Conservatory in Berlin, but she was Jewish in Nazi Germany, and in 1935, she was banned from further study. The family went into exile to escape Nazi persecution, fleeing to Sweden, where Ruth was accepted into the Royal Academy of Music in Stockholm. Her first piano sonatina was published in 1940, but the political situation in Stockholm grew dangerous, and the family was forced to flee again the following year. They ended up in Mexico City, where Ruth resumed her studies with Manuel Ponce. Later, she met the composer Paul Hindemith, who recognized her extraordinary talent and brought her to Yale to study on a full scholarship. She spent the rest of her life living, teaching, and composing in New York. Ruth was just fifteen years old when she began writing the Early Songs, yet they exhibit a similar wisdom, passion, and fervor that would be portrayed throughout her compositional and personal life. The compositional structure of the group also symbolizes and foreshadows Ruth’s prolific and incredible life as a composer-- they exhibit a fantastic variety of colors woven into an intense tapestry of harmonic intrigue and textural complexity.

Early Songs (1939-1944) Texts by Rainer Maria Rilke (1875-1926) Translation by Ruth Schonthal Noch ahnst du nichts vom Herbst des Haines Noch ahnst du nichts vom Herbst des Haines, drin lichte Mädchen lachend gehn; nur manchmal küßt wie fernes, feines Erinnern dich der Duft des Weines,- sie lauschen, und es singt wohl eines ein wehes Lied vom Wiedersehn. In leiser Luft die Ranken schwanken, wie wenn wer Abschied winkt. -Am Pfad stehn allen Rosen in Gedanken; sie sehen ihren Sommer kranken, und seine hellen Hände sanken leise von seiner reifen Tat.

As you are not aware of Fall coloring the woods As you are not aware of Fall coloring the woods Wherein laughing maidens stroll; Only sometimes the scent of wine Kisses you like a faint, fine memory. They listen, and one of them perhaps Sings a melancholy song of reuniting. In the gentle air, bushes rustle Like someone waving farewell. On the path All the roses stand in thought. They watch their summer sicken, And the bright hands of summer sink Softly after their ripe deed.