Wie sichs kein Autor hat gedacht

jan
Januar Erstankömmlinge

Dryander mit der Komödiantenbande
Joseph von Eichendorff

Mich brennts an meinen Reiseschuhn,
Fort mit der Zeit zu schreiten –
Was wollen wir agieren nun
Vor so viel klugen Leuten?

Es hebt das Dach sich von dem Haus
Und die Kulissen rühren
Und strecken sich zum Himmel ‚raus,
Strom, Wälder musizieren!

Und aus den Wolken langt es sacht,
Stellt alles durcheinander,
Wie sichs kein Autor hat gedacht:
Volk, Fürsten und Dryander.

Da gehn die einen müde fort,
Die andern nahn behende,
Das alte Stück, man spielts so fort
Und kriegt es nie zu Ende.

Und keiner kennt den letzten Akt
Von allen, die da spielen,
Nur der da droben schlägt den Takt,
Weiß, wo das hin will zielen

eichendorff_gedichte
Husum

Eichendorff

So in den Wochen von jenem und diesem Jahr tauchte dies Gedicht immer wieder im Kopf auf, dabei war es in Gymnasialzeiten, dass ich Eichendorff zuletzt gelesen habe. Je nun, es gefällt mir immer noch, und als ich den Gedichtband vom Husum Verlag überflog, tauchte ich gleich mit dem ersten abgedruckten Gedicht („In einem kühlen Grunde / da geht ein Mühlenrad …“) in die Klänge von den Comedian Harmonists ein, und etwas weiter drang der gute alte Fritz Wunderlich, Gott hab ihn selig, in mein Ohr: „Es zogen zwei muntre Gesellen … “ Natürlich lungert der Taugenichts auch immerzu im Hintergrund herum, wenn ich zwischendurch, ganz selten, mal dazu komme, in „How To Be Idle“ weiterzulesen. Es ist schön wie es in der Romantik üblich war, in die Romane Gedichte und Lieder einzuflechten.

Calligrams

Heute flatterte die Ankündigung ins Haus, dass bei der New York Review of Books Classic Edition eine neue Reihe aus der Taufe gehoben wurde, zusammen mit der Chinese University of Hong Kong Press, und unter der Ägide von Eliot Weinberger, der uns unter anderem dank Berenberg bekannt ist. Es ist da erschienen, in Übersetzung, von Alfred Döblin Die drei Sprünge des Wang-lun, aber der zweite Band lockt mich: eben solch eine Mischung von Prosa und Lyrik: Chinese Rhyme-Prose translated from the Chinese by Burton Watson, und ich werde mich darum bemühen, diesen Band ins Programm zu holen.

Eigentlich wollte ich hier über das schöne Sträußlein Bücher schreiben, dass in den ersten Tagen des neuen Jahres sich hier eingefunden hat, aber das werde ich nun verschieben.

hardy_laodicean
Folio Society Edition / privat
straßburg
Storks of Strassburg, Internet

Thomas Hardy

„A Laodicean“ kept me unwrapped in excitement to the very end, and I was actually sitting on the edge of the seat. Goodness, what a pace of events. I wouldn’t read it up at „a certain online encyclopedia“ (as E* refers to it) but just travel along and get surprised. It would be a great project, however, for „Leo’s Literarische Landkarten„, who had the clever and delightful idea to introduce literature via mapping the plot. This novel never had been published in German and it didn’t make it into the Kindlers Literaturlexikon, neither. But still, I was quite enchanted by the architecture and class and religion aspects, by glimpses of progress („SMS“ by Telegraph, steam on rail and river, tricks in the dark room), and in following the caboodle down to Nizza and on to Genoa, Monte Carlo, Marsaille, Lyon, Baden-Baden, Heidelberg, and down the river Rhine over back to England, again crossing the Channel to the Normandy and back again, with plenty of adventures and encounters in between. Here are two samples from the latter half of the novel, but there are very beautiful passages all over.

Miss Power was reclining on a red velvet couch in the bedroom of an old-fashioned red hotel at Strassburg, and her friend Miss De Stancy was sitting by a window of the same apartment. They were both rather wearied by a long journey of the previous day. The hotel overlooked the large open Kleber Platz, erect in the midst of which the bronze statue of General Kleber received the rays of a warm sun that was powerless to brighten him. The whole square, with its people and vehicles going to and fro as if they had plenty of time, was visible to Charlotte in her chair; but Paula from her horizontal position could see nothing below the level of the many dormered house-tops on the opposite side of the Platz. After watching this upper storey of the city for some time in silence, she asked Charlotte to hand her a binocular lying on the table, through which instrument she quietly regarded the distant roofs.’What strange and philosophical creatures storks are,‘ she said. ‚They give a taciturn, ghostly character to the whole town.‘

The birds were crossing and recrossing the field of the glass in their flight hither and thither between the Strassburg chimneys, their sad grey forms sharply outlined against the sky, and their skinny legs showing beneath like the limbs of dead martyrs in Crivelli’s emaciated imaginings. The indifference of these birds to all that was going on beneath them impressed her: to harmonize with their solemn and silent movements the houses beneath should have been deserted, and grass growing in the streets.

Behind the long roofs thus visible to Paula over the window-sill, with their tiers of dormer-windows, rose the cathedral spire in airy openwork, forming the highest object in the scene; it suggested something which for a long time she appeared unwilling to utter; but natural instinct had its way.

Another charming scene:

The next day they took the steamboat down the Orne, intending to reach Etretat by way of Havre. Just as they were moving off an elderly gentleman under a large white sunshade, and carrying his hat in his hand, was seen leisurely walking down the wharf at some distance, but obviously making for the boat.

‚A gentleman!‘ said the mate.

‚Who is he?‘ said the captain.

‚An English,‘ said Clementine.

Nobody knew more, but as leisure was the order of the day the engines were stopped, on the chance of his being a passenger, and all eyes were bent upon him in conjecture. He disappeared and reappeared from behind a pile of merchandise and approached the boat at an easy pace, whereupon the gangway was replaced, and he came on board, removing his hat to Paula, quietly thanking the captain for stopping, and saying to Mrs. Goodman, ‚I am nicely in time.‘

orne
on the banks of the river Orne Internet

Ahhh. Well, now that I’ve finished, what do I think about Paula. Let’s say, there’s hope.

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