Zimbabwe

Here is something that I enjoy very much.




:)

Leidenschaft

Today, a friend asked me

,,Was ist Leidenschaft in deinen Augen?"

What is passion in your eyes?

The german noun for passion, ,Leidenschaft' , comes from the verb ,leiden', to suffer. I replied

,,Man leidet, weil das, wofür man es tut, einem äußerst wichtig ist."

You suffer, because that for which you do is exceedingly important to you.

,,Das ist Leidenschaft" she answered

Now I'm the lazy poster...

...despite Johnathan's stellar reviews, I'm not up to writing anything respectable at the moment, so you have my silly fragment (which I deleted, then I realised, that everyone will see it on their dashboard, so I restored it), and now another translation. Again from Bertolt Brecht, a love poem.

Ich will mit dem gehen, den ich liebe.
Ich will nicht ausrechnen, was es kostet.
Ich will nicht nachdenken, ob es gut ist.
Ich will nicht wissen, ob er mich liebt.
Ich will mit ihm gehen, den ich liebe.

I want to go with the one I love.
I want not to calculate what it costs.
I want not to think about whether it is good.
I want not to know if he loves me.
I want to go with whom I love.



What do you think about that?

Fragment #1

I wish to remove "interesting" and "nice" from my vocabulary.

Or at least reserve them for matters, for whose mediocrity or for whose lukewarm effect on me I desire to express my disdain.

but it's tuff slipping out of old habits.

More (less depressing) excerpts from ,,Die Leiden des jungen Werthers"

This is for Brandon, to whom I recommended the book.

am 15. Aug.

,,Es ist doch gewiß, daß in der Welt den Menschen nichts nothwendig macht als die Liebe. Ich fühl's an Lotten, daß sie mich ungern verlöhre, und die Kinder haben keine andre Idee, als daß ich immer morgen wiederkommen würde. Heut war ich hinausgegangen, Lottens Clavier zu stimmen, ich konnte aber nicht dazu kommen, denn die Kleinen verfolgten mich um ein Mährgen, und Lotte sagte denn selbst, ich sollte ihnen den Willen thun. Ich schnitt ihnen das Abendbrod, das sie nun fast so gerne von mir als von Lotten annehmen und erzählte ihnen das Hauptstückgen von der Prinzeßinn, die von Händen bedient wird. Ich lerne viel dabey, das versichr' ich dich, und ich bin erstaunt, was es auf sie für Eindrükke macht. Weil ich manchmal einen Inzidenzpunkt erfinden muß, den ich bey'm zweytenmal vergesse, sagen sie gleich, das vorigemal wär's anders gewest, so daß ich mich jezt übe, sie unveränderlich in einem singenden Sylbenfall an einem Schnürgen weg zu rezitiren. Ich habe daraus gelernt wie ein Autor, durch eine zweyte veränderte Auflage seiner Geschichte, und wenn sie noch so poetisch besser geworden wäre, nothwendig seinem Buche schaden muß. Der erste Eindruk findet uns willig, und der Mensch ist so gemacht, daß man ihm das abenteuerlichste überreden kann, das haftet aber auch gleich so fest, und wehe dem, der es wieder auskrazzen und austilgen will."

August 15

It is but certain, that nothing in the world necessitates a person as love does. I feel it with Lotte, that she would be unhappy to lose me, that the children have no other idea, than that I would always come again tomorrow. Today I had gone out, to tune Lotte's piano, yet I couldn't get around to it, for the little ones hounded me for a fairy tale, and Lotte herself said, I should do their will. I cut them their evening bread, which they receive from me almost as happily as from Lotte and told them the main part from the princess, who is served by hands. I learn a lot doing this, of that I assure you, and I am amazed, what impressions it makes on them. Because sometimes I have to invent an incidence point, which the second time I forget, they say, that was different last time, so that I now practice telling them unchanged, in a singing syllable fall to recite them away on one twine. I have learned from this how an author, through a second changed edition of his story, and even if it has become poetically so much better, must necessarily damage his book. The first impression finds us willing, and the human is made in such a way, that one can convince him of the most adventerous thing, which yet immediately takes such a firm hold, and woe to the one who will scratch it out and blot it out.
_________________________________________________________

am 9. Mai

,,...Ich gieng den Fluß hinab, bis an einen gewissen Hof, das war sonst auch mein Weg, und die Pläzgen da wir Knaben uns übten, die meisten Sprünge der flachen Steine im Wasser hervorzubringen. Ich erinnere mich so lebhaft, wenn ich manchmal stand, und dem Wasser nachsah, mit wie wunderbaren Ahndungen ich das verfolgte, wie abenteuerlich ich mir die Gegenden vorstellte, wo es nun hinflösse, und wie ich da so bald Grenzen meiner Vorstellungskraft fand, und doch mußte das weiter gehn, immer weiter, bis ich mich ganz in dem Anschauen einer unsichtbaren Ferne verlohr. Siehe mein Lieber, das ist doch eben das Gefühl der herrlichen Altväter! Wenn Ulyß von dem ungemessenen Meere, und von der unendlichen Erde spricht, ist das nicht wahrer, menschlicher, inniger, als wenn jezzo jeder Schulknabe sich wunder weise dünkt, wenn er nachsagen kann, daß sie rund sey.
Nun bin ich hier auf dem fürstlichen Jagdschlosse. Es läßt sich noch ganz wohl mit dem Herrn leben, er ist ganz wahr, und einfach. Was mir noch manchmal leid thut, ist, daß er oft über Sachen redt, die er nur gehört und gelesen hat, und zwar aus eben dem Gesichtspunkte, wie sie ihm der andere darstellen mochte.
Auch schäzt er meinen Verstand und Talente mehr als dies Herz, das doch mein einziger Stolz ist, das ganz allein die Quelle von allem ist, aller Kraft, aller Seligkeit und alles Elends. Ach was ich weis, kann jeder wissen.- Mein Herz hab ich allein."

May 9th

...I walked down the river, until reaching a certain yard, that was always my path, and the place where we boys practiced bringing forth the most jumps of flat stones in the water. I remember so vividly, how I sometimes stood and observed the water, with what wonderful ideas I followed it, how adventurously I imagined the regions to which it would flow, and how I soon found borders to my power of imagination, and yet it had to go farther, always farther, until I completely lost myself in the viewing of an unseeable, faraway place. See, my dear friend, that is but precisely the feeling of the fathers of old! When Ulysses speaks of the unmeasured sea, and of the endless earth, is that not truer, more human, more innerly profound, than when now every schoolboy considers himself to be wondrously wise, merely because he can recite that she is round.
Now I am here at the princely hunting lodge. It is still quite easy to live with the lord, he is quite true, and simple. What sometimes hurts me, is that he often speaks of things, that he has only heard and read, and at that from the perspective, in which the other one wanted to present them to him.
He also treasures my understanding and talents more than this heart, which is but my only pride, which is quite alone the source of everything, of all power, of all bliss, and of all misery. Ah what I know, everyone can know.- I alone have my heart.

Re: The Moment Jars

The brain is a microcosm creating its own stories. People then live out these stories.
- Kirima Seiichi

If I had to define what a moment is, I would say it is the individual perspective of a specific event of which one has a memory. Maybe that doesn't sound very interesting, yet it is, when one considers how much we experience in our lives and how much we subsequently forget. If something stays with us, this is not without reason. It has somehow affected or impressed us. I suppose this might be different for people with photographic memories, or maybe for everyone- I have long been of the opinion that generalisations generally are dangerous.

I often stop and think about this, even while I'm in a completely ordinary, uninteresting situation. I feel I lose so much. Constantly. I realise that this is inevitable and that troubles me. Yet perhaps it must be so- in order for there to be an extraordinary, there must be an ordinary, and it would seem our life is spent creating this situation.

I remember so little from my childhood. I know it was good. I know my parents, they are good people. I see the photos, the child is always smiling, the child who was I, and yet is a stranger to me.

I am sometimes told by others that I have a great memory. But they are only comparing me to themselves.

In a dining area on a college campus, five, six years ago, I became painfully aware of this evanescence. I stared at a potted plant, more specifically its small green leaves, each one perhaps two inches long... you know what, I don't really know anymore what the plant looked like. The moment wasn't about the probably quite ordinary piece of decoration. It was about my desire to remember. I stared at it and thought, I will remember this moment, I will not let it be devoured by the void of time, I will keep and cherish it, it belongs to me.

I seem to have no choice but to agree with Devon, for it is surely a fact: a moment cannot be recreated. All we have is "the illusion of memories" (Kirima) Photos and videos can be surprisingly ineffectual triggers, nothing more.

I find it difficult to decide which moments are my most cherished. I cherish them all, they make up the the story- my story. Yet if I had to....

I might choose those in which I wept.












A reply to this post

Omaggio a Burri

I just read this in a CD-booklet, I assume it's from the composer, Salvatore Sciarrino, and I thought I would quickly type it here before returning the CD, since it's something I often think about:

The music of today barely touches the wider public. However, it is untrue that the public does not understand it. Maybe the problem is that people perceive immediately just how new it is, and that's why they reject it. If music today has a value, it is that of becoming closer to the thoughts and sounds of our age. But to follow music means to devote one's mind to it. In order to understand the language of music the idea of approaching it purely as a pastime is of no use whatsoever. If, therefore, we can learn how to concentrate on the transformation of sounds, of figures, then music will reveal its secrets to us.

We do not need to expend any great energy: only a moment is required of us. A moment in which it is necessary to empty the mind in order to fill it with something else, as when we observe a cloud scurrying overhead.

covered

Today I visited a cemetary. Crosses. Rocks engraved with names. And resting gently upon them a layer the height of my fist of pure, white frozen water, each particle unique and intricate, whose beauty we so often ignore, for she is too difficult to see.

I followed the procession, slowly advancing, passing people by, one by one... We stopped at a group of stones. His wife and the others followed as Gerald, the son-in-law of the deceased, stepped through the snow between two, turned, passed one, and stopped next to a somewhat newer rock, freshly imparted with photos of the dead man, in his youth, in his middle-age, in his last days. As Gerald began to speak, I swept away the white from a small bench and laid upon it the black which I had been carrying on my shoulder.

I approached the others and listened to the speech of hope and comfort. Darkened glasses obscured my eyes, the beard warmed my jaw, and as soon as Gerald began to pray, the bells of churches around us filled our ears. He spoke louder and finished. He looked to me and followed me to the black box. Now would be a good time, he said quietly. I removed the case's contents and walked again through the earth's snow layer, the height of my head, and stood where Gerald had.

The bells still rang, and as soon as the german Adagio began to pour forth from my instrument, a third voice joined our group, the weeping of the humans around me.

With every passing moment my fingers became colder and stiffer. They did not want to make music in the winter air. Stop, they said, please stop moving us! I ignored their pleas and continued to perform with my grand ensemble. The viola became silent. The bells rested. The music continued.

excerpt from Goethe's ,,Die Leiden des jungen Werthers"

am 21. Aug

Umsonst strekke ich meine Arme nach ihr aus, Morgens wenn ich von schweren Träumen aufdämmere, vergebens such ich sie Nachts in meinem Bette, wenn mich ein glüklicher unschuldiger Traum getäuscht hat, als säß ich neben ihr auf der Wiese , und hielte ihre Hand und dekte sie mit tausend Küssen. Ach wenn ich denn noch halb im Taumel des Schlafs nach ihr tappe, und rüber mich ermuntere - Ein Strom von Thränen bricht aus meinem gepreßten Herzen, und ich weine trostlos einer finstern Zukunft entgegen.
______________________________________

August 21

Futilely I stretch my arms out towards her, mornings when I awake from heavy dreams, vainly I search for her at night in my bed, when a happy innocent dream has deceived me, as if I were sitting next to her in the meadow, and holding her hand, and covering her with a thousand kisses. Ah when still half in the tumble of sleep I then grope for her and begin to feel enlivened - A stream of tears breaks forth from my wringed heart, and I weep inconsolably against a dark future.

literary excericise no. 1

window triangle prism melon doubt reflex moment wish fear octogon hope shadow window hope suffering hope melon charisma gigrant ocean melon arrogance abyss flexicon subterfuge elbow dusk wonder abuse freedom fugematon cereal gonoctism pathway fruit cycle peacefullness phantastasm window refussal meadow doubt realcism archway vigilance wish dernacle ice enficitude crander margin pentacle excitement window hope window melon
_______________________________________________

instructions: use only nouns

I was reminded while writing this that many english nouns double as adjectives, verbs, etc. I deliberately tried to avoid such words but am surprised as I read over it at the amount I oversaw. I was aware of "abuse" and "wish", "hope" is also obvious, yet there are also "shadow", "wonder", "fear", "cycle", "elbow" Theoretically, any word in the english language can be used as a verb, yet some words are more resistant to this possibility than others, particularly words with noun-specific endings such as -tude, -ism, -con, or -tion. Even if the word is made up, such an ending will make it appear to be a noun. I also wonder if being surrounded by so many other nouns makes the more ambiguous ones appear more noun-like. Unfortunately, I cannot be objective about that.

Otherwise, I attempted to avoid painting a clear, everyday picture, partially by alternating between objects and more abstract words, and by avoiding chains of clear word-associations. I attempted simultaneously to form connections through repeated words and between certain words regarding their meaning as well as by constructing new words inspired phonically from words already used. reflex- flexicon. triangle- gigrant

,,...einen guten Rutsch'' (...a good slide)

und plötzlich war es Altjahrsabend. Das Zentrum Salzburgs war voller Leute, einschließlich vieler schlampig gekleideter Mädchen, besoffener Jungs, und der obligitarischen Touristen, welche sich auf dem Weg zu einer richtigen Stadtfeier (Budapest ist zum Beispiel nett) verirrt zu haben schienen. Nicht, dass es etwas zu feiern gäbe. Ein neues Jahr war dabei, eingeleitet zu werden, doch nichts war dabei, sich zu verbessern.

Auch die Houn, mit der ich zum Ansehen des Feuerwerks gekommen war, war schon wieder bereit ihr Alkoholproblem zu bestreiten. Ihr Argument war, wenn ich ihr Alter erreiche, werde ich auch soviel wie sie trinken... müssen, hat sie vielleicht gesagt. Allerdings kam ich nicht weiter und gab missgönnend nach, ein Bier mit ihr zu genießen.

Wir trugen unsere Flaschen in die Altstadt und setzten uns an einen Zaun hin, wo die Houn mir über den Anfang ihres Lebens als Komponistin erzählte. Wie sie nach Deutschland ging, und viel Hilfe von ihren Kollegen dort erhielt.

,,Erzählst du diese Geschichte oft?" fragte ich sie
,,Nein... ?"
,,Schön"

Nachher gingen wir an die Salzach. Die Menschen um uns spielten mit Bodenfeuerwerken und machten viel Lärm, aber wir zwei blickten hinauf, uns die künstlichen Himmelsflammen ansehend, über die Vergangenheit sowie die Zukunft sprechend. Themen, die gemischte Gefühle erwecken.

Dass die Erde einen neuen Rundgang um die Sonne beginnt ist wohl belanglos, doch wird der Mensch, wird diesem ein Mittel zum Messen seines Lebens gegeben, die Gelegenheit ergreifen, über dieses und dessen Zukunft nachzusinnen. Johnathan sagt manchmal, dies sei der entscheidende Abschnitt unseres Lebens, der bald sein Ende finden werde. Ich dachte über die zwei letzten Jahre nach, wie viel mir geschehen sei- die erfüllten Träume, die Hindernisse, das Glück und das Leid die ich endlich kennenzulernen begonnen habe.

Auch die Houn, die vielleicht diesen Lebensabschnitt schon hinter sich gebracht haben soll, verriet mir, sie habe es schon vor, nach einem kurzen Aufenthalt in ihrer Heimat, ein ,,Künstlerisches Doktorat" zu beginnen. Sie will noch jung sein, eine Vielzahl aufgeschlossener Türen vor sich sehen... und wer würde es wagen, ihr das wegnehmen zu wollen?

Ich will auch jung bleiben.
Feuer!
Will das nicht jeder?
Farbe!
Diese Welt
Paff!
ist so
Bumm!

Bumm!
___________________________________________
to the title: in Austria, people wish one another "einen guten Rutsch", a good slide, into the new year. Don't ask me why.

and suddenly it was old year evening. The center of Salzburg was full of people, including many sluttily dressed girls, drunken boys, and the obligiatory tourists, who seemed to have misdirected themselves on the way to a real city celebration (Budapest, for example, is nice). Not that there would be anything to celebrate. A new year was being ushered in, yet nothing was changing for the better.

Even Houn, with whom I had come to watch the fireworks, was once again prepared to dispute her drinking problem. Her argument was, that when I reach her age, I will also drink as much as she... that I will need to, she might have said. In any case, I was making no progress and begrudgingly gave in to enjoying a beer with her.

We carried our bottles into the Altstadt (old city) and sat down against a fence, where Houn told me of the beginning of her life as a composer. How she went to Germany, and received so much help from her colleagues there.

"Do you tell this story often?" I asked her
"No... ?"
"That's nice"

Afterward we went up to the Salzach. The people around us played with ground fireworks and made a lot of noise, but the two of us gazed upward, looking at the artificial heavenly flames, speaking about the past as well as the future. Subjects that awaken mixed feelings.

The earth's beginning of a new circuit around the sun is probably meaningless, but a person, when given a means to measure his life, will sieze the opportunity to meditate on it and its future. Johnathan says sometimes, this is the determining time period of our life, a period that will soon have its end. I thought about the last two years, how much has happened to me- the fulfilled dreams, the hindrances, the happiness and the sorrow whose acquaintance I have finally begun to make.

Even Houn, who should perhaps already have brought this time period behind her, confided to me that she is already planning, after a short stay in her homeland, to begin an "artistic doctorate". She wants to still be young, to see a plethora of open doors before her... and who would dare wish to take this away from her?

I want to stay young as well.
fire!
Does not everyone?
color!
This world
bang!
is so
boom!

boom!

Houn (revised)

(english translation below)

Ein Festmahl... ein ziemlich armes für einen Vegetarier. Mit Brot, Gemüse, und etwas Brie habe ich das Verhungern abgewehrt während ich einen Rotwein genoß... der anständig war. Die Menschen um mich standen an Tischen unter dem hellgelben Licht des Empfangsraumes, redend und lachend, essend und trinkend; Musiker, Musikliebhaber, die dann vom Abteilungsleiter unterbrochen wurden, als dieser das Verleihen eines Preises an einen seiner Schüler verkündete. Alle klatschen und setzten ihre Belustigung fort.

Und dann kam Houn. So nenne ich sie wenigstens jetzt. Halb so groß wie ich. Asiatisch. Zart und schwankend wie eine Puppe aus Stroh- doch sie war kein Kind. Das verrieten die vielen kleinen Falter um ihre schmallen, schwarzen Augen; sowie die nicht mehr so frische Haut ihres Gesichts, und dazu behauptete sie immer, sie sei ,,über 30" (ob das noch gilt, weiß ich nicht). Sie war schon lange Studentin, schon lange in Salzburg, und schon lange einsam und unglücklich.

Diese schlüpfte ihren Arm durch den meinen und verlangte von mir Wasser- obwohl ich offensichtlich keins zu verschenken hatte. Ich fragte sie, ob sie betrunken sei, was sie anfangs leugnete, worauf sie dann aber gleich zugab, etwas Bier zuhause, und hier zwei Gläser Sekt, und noch etwas Wein getrunken zu haben.

,,na, dann nur angetrunken" lautete meine Antwort, von einem Halblächeln begleitet.

Sie hing verzweifelt an meinem Arm. Der Fritz (so nenne ich ihn jetzt) ging an uns vorbei, lächelnd, so tuend, als schösse er ein Photo von uns.

,,Sehen wir etwa nach einem Paar aus?" fragte ich ihn
,,Ein bisschen" lächelte er

Der Fritz weiß, wie die Houn ist- hielten andere etwas davon, war es mir wurscht, also gönnte ich mir ein stoffliches Lachen... doch die Houn krallte sich noch fester an mich. Ihr Kopf fiel ein Stückchen herab, ihr Gesicht unsichtbar machend, und von unter ihrem Pagenschnitt her entwich eine Stimme.

,,Ich will eine bedeutende Komponistin werden"
,,Das will jeder von uns" war meine kalte Antwort
Sie wiederholte sich, damit sie der Fritz, noch bei uns, höre
,,Das bist du schon!" lautete seine fröhliche
Er hat sie aber nicht überzeugt.

Nach einigen Minuten entchloß ich, mich nach Hause zu verziehen. Ich versuchte, der Houn einen schönen Abend noch zu wünschen, doch sie bestand darauf, mich bis zur Haltestelle zu begleiten. Ich musste einen langen Weg zu Fuß noch gehen, da mein Bus um die Uhrzeit nicht mehr auf der Seite der Salzach fuhr.

Als wir zum Markatplatz und dann über den Makartsteg gingen, Houn immer noch an mir hängend, vielleicht damit sie der Wind nicht hinwegwehe; fragte ich sie, wie lange sie noch in Salzburg bleibe. Sie hat letzten Monat absolviert.

,,Ich bin so unglücklich" sagte sie auf einmal
,,das bist du immer" erwiderte ich
,,das will ich nicht sein... und wie ist es für dich? Bist du immer glücklich?"
,,...nein. Bei mir ändert sich das ständig"
,,Du bist noch jung..."
,,Warst du in meinem Alter glücklicher?"
,,Nein! Ich war zu zurückhalte n d..."

Wir kamen an der Haltestelle an, wo ich ihr zu erklären versuchte, dass Alkohol keine Lösung sei, dass der einen nur empfindungslos mache... Zum ersten Male hat sie ihr Problem nicht bestritten. Ich redete ihr zu, sie könne nie stärker werden während sie sich darauf verlasse. Aber das hatte ich wohl alles schonmal gesagt. Ich sagte ihr, sie solle beten... zu Gott. zu Jehova. Doch weiß ich eigentlich nicht, ob er ihr zuhören würde.

Die Lisa hat einmal gesagt, als wir über die Kleine sprachen, dass sie meine, der Mensch könne sich nicht ändern. Ob das stimmt, weiß ich selbst nicht. Wenn dem ist, ist Houn...

Als ich auf deren Gesicht herabblickte, wurde mir klar, dass sie weinte. Mir gingen die Worte aus, und ich wusste nicht mehr was zu tun, außer ihren Kopf gegen meine Brust zu halten, ihr die schwarzen Haare mit der Hand zu streicheln... deren Berührung rau wie Stroh war.

Ich tat das... ich weiß nicht für wie lange- wenigstens 10 Minuten, wenn ich von der Zeitanzeige der Haltestelle ausgehe. Dann kam mein Bus an. Ich sagte, ich müsse gehen, drückte sie sanft von meiner Brust hinweg, und sprach, ihr in die Augen blickend,

,,Versuch etwas stärker zu sein. Ich will dich nicht immer so schwach sehen" Es kann sein, dass sie mir zunickte, ich weiß es nicht mehr.

Nachdem ich ihr die Haare küsste, verließ ich sie in der Kälte stehend und ging auf den Bus zu, ohne zurückzublicken, ohne zu sehen wie sie da noch ein paar Sekunden, vielleicht sogar eine Minute, vielleicht länger allein stand, den Kopf noch nach unten gerichtet, noch weinend, schwankend; diesen Anblick vermeidend, stieg in den Bus ein

wo ich mich so ratlos fühlte.
_________________________________________________
A banquet... a rather poor one for a vegetarian. I fought off starvation with bread, vegetables and a little bit of brie. Meanwhile I enjoyed a red wine... it was decent. The people around me stood at tables under the bright yellow light of the lobby, talking and laughing, eating and drinking; musicians, music lovers, who were then interrupted by the department head, as this one announced the awarding of a prize to one of his students. Everyone clapped and continued their merry-making.

And then came Houn, at least that is what I will call her now. Half my size. Asian. Delicate and wavery like a puppet of straw- yet she was no child. This was betrayed by the many small wrinkles around her her narrow, black eyes; as well as by the no longer so fresh skin of her face, and regarding this, she always claimed to be "over 30" (although I don't know if this is still valid). She had long been a student, long been in Salzburg, and long been lonely and unhappy.

This one slipped her arm through mine and demanded of me water, of which I clearly had none to give. I asked her if she was drunk, which she at first denied, but in response to which she then admitted to having drunk a beer at home, two glasses of champagne, and some wine.

"Well, only tipsy then" sounded my answer, accompanied by a half-smile.

She hung desperately on my arm. Fritz (that's what I will call him now) walked by us, smiling, acting as if he were shooting a photo of us.

"What, do we look like a couple?" I asked him
"A little" he smiled

Fritz knows how Houn is- if others thought something of it, I couldn't have cared less. So I indulged myself in a substantial laugh. Yet Houn clung even more tightly to me. Her head fell a bit downards, making her face invisible, and from beneath her pageboy cut escaped a voice.

"I want to become a significant composer"
"Every one of us wants that" was my cold answer
She repeated herself, so that Fritz, still with us, could hear
"You already are one!" sounded his cheerful response
Yet he did not convince her.

After a few minutes, I decided to withdraw to my residence. I attempted to wish Houn a good evening, but she insisted on accompanying me to the bus stop. I had to go a long way by foot, as at this time my bus no longer drove on this side of the Salzach.

As we walked to Markatplatz and then over the Makart-bridge, Houn still hanging on to me, perhaps so that the wind would not carry her away; I asked her how long she would remain in Salzburg. She had graduated the previous month.

"I'm so unhappy" she said at once
"You always are" I riposted
"I don't want to be... how is it for you? Are you always happy?"
"...no. With me, it changes constantly"
"You are still young..."
"Were you happier at my age?"
"No! I was too withdra w n..."

I tried to explain to her, that alcohol is no solution, that it only makes one numb... For the first time, she did not dispute her problem. I reasoned with her, that she could not become stronger while relying on it. But I had probably said all that before. I told her she should pray... to God. to Jehovah. But I really don't know, if he would listen to her.

Lisa once told me, as we spoke about the little one, that she believes people cannot change themselves. Whether that is true, I do not know. If it is, then Houn...

As I looked downward at this one's face, it became clear to me that she was crying. I ran out of words and knew no more what to do, except to hold her head against my chest, to stroke with my hand her black hairs... whose touch was like straw.

I did this... I know not for how long- at least 10 minutes, if I orientate myself on the time display of the bus stop. Then my bus arrived. I said, I have to go, pushed her gently away from my chest, and spoke, looking her in the eyes,

"Try to be a bit stronger. I don't want to always see you so weak" She might have nodded to me. I don't know anymore.

After kissing her hairs, I left her standing in the cold and and approached the bus, without looking back, without seeing how for a few seconds, perhaps for a minute, perhaps even longer, she still stood there, her head pointed downward, still crying, wavering; avoiding this sight, I boarded the bus

where I felt so at a loss.

Im Kölner Dom (in the Cologne Cathedral)

Bianca's latest entry reminded me that I still had some unviewed photos of various trips. These here are from my trip through Germany in February of this year, specifically from my time in Köln (Cologne), more specifically from one of my visits to the Dom. I was so awestruck by its size and grandeur that I visited two or three times... the following photos are from inside the towers themselves:

agh, my legs!

Today, Hannes picked me up to go play football. And by football, I don't mean this ridiculous sport:


rather this one:


I never play sports. I'm not ashamed of my athletic ineptitude at all, for I am generally of the opinion that I have better things to do. Still, it is probably foolish to neglect the body as much as I do. Riding my bicycle to school and back isn't much apparently, and I haven't been even doing that lately, so I thought I would give this a shot... Hannes lent me some sneakers less heavy and restrictive than my water-proof boot-like variety. I have no shorts so I chose to play in jeans. As we arrived and met up with the others, none of whom I knew, I was filled with a little bit of apprehension that I would not be able to pull my weight, and at only understanding about 70% of the salzburger dialect, despite having lived here for 2 1/2 years

I can understand why football is the most popular sport in the world. There is something very charming about the simplicity of it- one runs and kicks a ball freely across a field of green... I never did quite grasp the rules of american football- nor did I want to. Basketball was okay, but I prefer the grassy earth to the asphalt and I really do not enjoy dribbling of any kind.

I made some blunders, right at the beginning I missed a pass... because, well, for no good reason, really. I'm just not used to receiving passes. I soon started to concentrate on defense, which is something even an amateur can do well, especially if the opponent is a man in his 50s. He was still pretty good though.

During the second game the goal tender suggested that we switch and suddenly I felt the weight of the world on my shoulders. "So... much... responsibility" I thought to myself, standing there, not prepared to use my hands, for fear of injury... instead, I blocked my first ball with my face... right in the left eye. I laughed it off and said I had used my head... though to be honest, I had hardly seen the ball coming. The next ball I blocked with my stomache... which wasn't quite tensed up, but alas- The pain subsided both times after a couple of minutes, and was certainly nothing in comparison to that of those hit in the crotch.

I was amazed at how often someone would become injured by another player and get angry about it... I wondered how those who lack the spirit of brotherly love, that these men enjoy, can play this sport without becoming very unhappy. In any case, it is an unavoidable part of the experience and everyone overcame their anger before going home.

All in all I had a good time and, after starting to focus more on offense, I even scored my very first goal near the end... I might even go play again- the others want me to (In which case, I should probably procure gloves and shorts) I can hardly move my legs and imagine it will be even worse tomorrow. My concentration doesn't feel very improved and I'm quite tired, but it's a more satisfying fatigue, since there is a clearly identifiable reason for it. Still, this is probably not what Devon had in mind, as she suggested exercising more...

... and no worries, I promise never to write about sports again. :)

Bertolt Brecht: ,,An die Nachgeborenen" ( to the afterborn ) author reading

I love his voice... maybe you will too, even without understanding German? In any case, I will translate the text.

I

Really, I live in dark times!
The guileless word is foolish. A smooth forehead
purports insensitivity. The laughing one
has only not yet received
the dreadful news.

What kind of times these are, where
a conversation about trees is almost a crime.
Because it in involves keeping silent about so many
misdeeds!
Who there peacefully goes across the street
is likely no longer within reach of his friends,
who are in need?

It is true: I still earn my livelihood
But believe me: that is only a coincidence. Nothing
of that, which I do, gives me the right to eat my fill.
Coincidentally, I have been spared. (when my luck runs out, I am lost)

They say to me: Eat and drink, you! Be happy that you have!
But how can I eat and drink, when
I wrest away what I eat from the starving one and
my glass of water is missing from the thirsting one?
And yet I eat and drink.

I would gladly be wise as well.
In the old books there is written, what is wise:
To keep one's self out of the world and to spend the
short time without fear
also to get by without violence
to repay wicked with good
to not fulfill one's wishes, but to forget them
is counted as wise.
I cannot do any of that:
Really, I live in dark times!

II

I came to the cities in the time of disorder
as hunger ruled.
I came among the people in the time of uproar
and I revolted with them.
So elapsed my time
that was given to me on earth.

I ate my food between the battles
I laid myself to sleep among the murderers
I attended to love carelessly
and without patience I saw nature.
So elapsed my time
that was given to me on earth.

The streets led into the swamp in my time.
Speech betrayed me to the slaughterer.
I was only capable of little. But the rulers
felt more certain without me, this I hoped.
So elapsed my time
that was given to me on earth.

The powers were little. The goal
at a great distance.
It was clearly seen, even if for me
scarcely attainable.
So elapsed my time
that was given to me on earth.

III

You, who will emerge from the flood
in which we have gone down
Remember
When you speak from our weaknesses
the dark time
that you have escaped.

Although we went, changing countries more often than shoes
through the wars of the classes, desperate
if there was only injustice and no revolt.

Yet now we know:
Even hatred against baseness
contorts the features.
Even rage over the injustice
makes the voice hotter. Ah, we
who wanted to sow the seeds of kindness
could ourselves not be kind.

You though, when the time comes
that man helps his fellow man
Remember us
with leniency.

Wolken im eisigen Mondlicht/ Clouds in Icy Moonlight

I don't know what to do. I am constantly tired and sleepy, although I sleep enough and take my vitamins. I want to write more music, but it's difficult. I could practice viola, but it's difficult. I would like to study French, but it's also difficult. So I'm typing here because it's easy... just don't expect anything epic- that would be too difficult.

A soprano, a very good one, might be willing to perform my song cycle (Schneekreis) on the 14th of January. I should rejoice, but I keep thinking "ach, then I have to practice more" and "ugh, I want to move on already and work on a new piece". My teacher loves the piece, and seems to think it's my best work yet. Maybe he's right, yet I keep thinking about the future...

I am writing a collection of small pieces for viola and piano... It was fairly easy for me to write the first one... I'm happy with it and would love to write 6 more, but my other ideas aren't as clear and simple, or I just don't have enough of them. Do I need peace? time to reflect? to sleep? Or do I need to not waste time and concentrate? to work? The answer is never that simple.

I just listened to ,,Ein Kinderspiel" (child's play) by Helmut Lachenmann, while looking at the score... I think it's a special piece and it's relevant to my work at the moment because of the piano techniques he uses... sometimes I'm a little jealous that I didn't think of some of this first, but to be fair, he wrote the piece in 1981... some things are just so obvious. Did no one really do that before him?

Here is a performance of the piece... but I don't expect you to like it. I find it beautiful, but myself a bit difficult to listen to- and I hear this "type" of music often enough. I use quotation marks, because the only way to categorize this music is by comparing it to pop music or to folk music, or to jazz... it's none of that- although it may at times borrow some elements of these types.

It occurs to me that "art music" is so hidden from the public eye. People go to museums because it is an interesting thing to do, and they expect to find strange work there, that they will not quite "get", but will perhaps for this reason find fascinating. The art is there and they see it, and if they don't like it, they can move on immediately to the next piece, or go home, and then not go to a museum for a while. ( I don't go very often either )

But while visual art is seen as culture, music's role in society is rather seen as that of entertainment. It's not something for the museum (or concert hall), but rather for the car ride to work, for the shower, for sitting around the house. It should have some style (if one is selective), but it should still be easy to understand and digest, it should in some way be ordinary... music is a temporal experience- a piece of music demands time to experience, and most people would rather not bother with these strange sounds when there is something on the radio that they enjoy right away.

I'm not trying to be critical of people- I really like some popular music. Sure, there are close-minded people, but I think most people just don't know much about contemporary art music, and are hardly exposed to it... ( which is probably a reason for said close-mindedness ) I only started paying attention to it when I was 19 because I took a class about it... this class changed my life, but before then I had just played Bach, listened to the Beatles, and knew nothing about Stockhausen, Varèse, or Ligeti. It seems like no one wanted me to know about them, except for the teacher of this class that I took. The world around me would much rather let me know about something which I am more likely to enjoy and to purchase.

So I wonder if that can be changed, if this art form can be presented better to the public, made more accesible to them without compromising artistic integrity. I hear this is better in the big culture cities of Europe like Vienna, Paris, and Berlin. Salzburg on the other hand is a conservative, aesthetically lukewarm location... but perhaps the Biennale is a step in the right direction. The colorful banners advertising it... the mixed presentation of contemporary composers and ethnical music- this is for some a presentational compromise, but I didn't mind the opportunity to hear folk music from Japan... The halls weren't full, but they weren't empty either. It wasn't bad... unfortunately, Salzburg usually tends to disappoint.

So yeah, I'm tired of writing now so this is the end.

P.S. Now I'm watching an interwiew with Lachenmann. When asked about the ideals of "adventure", "willingness" and "curiosity" in new music, Lachenmann answered:

,,Ich beziehe mich immer wieder auf diese ebengenannten Begriffe... Natürlich, wenn man in ein Konzertsaal geht, da ist man nicht zunächst auf ein Abenteuer aus, sondern auf ein déjà-entendu-Erlebnis, dann will seine Wertvorstellung des Schönen, Guten, noch einmal feiern... und... da bewirkt das, was... nicht nur ich, aber auch ich vermitteln möchte, schon etwas wie Irritation."

"I refer again and again to these terms... Of course, when one goes into a concert hall, one is then from the beginning not out for an adventure, rather for a déjà entendu* experience, and wants to celebrate one's moral concept of beauty and goodness one more time... and then that which I... not only I, but I too want to convey, comes across as irritation. "

The rest of what he says sounds a bit preachy (which I hope this post hasn't done), but I found this at least worth sharing.

* déjà vu = already seen déjà entendu = already heard

write

It is Winter in Salzburg, but today the sunshine melts the snow. The Weihnachtsferien afford me two weeks of no classes in which I can do what I wish. I want- I will write music, but I also want to write words. In German. In English. I want to translate between the two and share things I enjoy. I want to explore new ways of expression. Writing words is so much easier than writing music- but writing something good is just as difficult. Such a large output may be overwhelming for all of my readers- all two of them. I don't need any more, I don't do this to gain "followers". So read when you have time to do so in a calm, relaxed state, and only if it corresponds to your heart's desire.

Indigo

I had been sitting in Indigo for hours, having enjoyed the pseudo-asian cuisine and now working in the pseudo-zen atmosphere of the restaurant whose mottos, written in English, read "more than just healthy fast food" and "food like a kiss"- a bit pretentious, but one of the few places in the city where I can relax and work for longer periods of time.

A woman glanced at me. Why did she do that? Was it because she is lonely? Because I opened the door for her in the restroom? I looked away and felt pity toward the woman, as whatever fleeting phantasies of me that may have gone through her head would never be fulfilled.

Cocky bastard.

I heard her and her girlfriend speaking, and thought I heard the words ,,Musik" and ,,Student", as if they were talking about me... but perhaps this was an illusion produced by my ego, apparently unwounded by the bad haircut from a few days earlier.

I stood up and walked toward the counter. A man looked at me. Why? Due to my darker hair and skin? Is he a conservative, racist Salzburger, who can't stand the amount of foreigners that has polluted the city? Or was he simply curious about my formal attire? I smiled at him. He did not smile back and instead returned to reading his paper.

I wish people would stop looking at me.

and yet I look at them.

Schneekreis (Snow Circle) texts

These are from a song cycle for soprano and viola, that I started writing earlier this year... during the last winter. The cycle contains 10 songs, 3 of which have no text. The text of the 6th song is not meant to be clearly heard because the singer gargles water while half-pronouncing it, but I will include it nonetheless. The text of the last song is from Kafka, but will be included even though it will probably make mine look bad. I will do my best to preserve the meaning of mine as well as of Kafka's text in the translations ( which will lead to some unusual formulations- but that's nice, right?)

1. Fall

Nichts ist so schön
wie Schnee am Abend,
auch wenn du mir fehlst.

Nothing is as beautiful
as snow at evening,
even when you are missing from me.

2. Mich haben viel' Träume

Mich haben viel' Träume.
Die sind alle schön.
...will die aber nicht.

Many dreams have me.
They are all lovely
...yet I want them not.

3. Den Körper Verlassen Leave the Body

without text

4. Vision

aber eines Tages
erhielt ich eine Vision
von einem Engel
mit zerbrochenen Flügeln.

Die Sterne schienen so hell.
Planeten starben in ihrem Licht,
aber an mir
schwebte sie vorbei...
deine Leiche.

Es war... phantastisch.

but one day
I received a vision
from an angel
with broken wings.

The stars shone so brightly.
Planets died in their light.
but it floated on
past me,
your corpse.

It was... phantastic.

5. Phantastisch

no text

6. Meeresboden

Hier auf dem Meeresboden
will ich dich sehen.

Das ist mein Wunsch,
wenn nur einmal wieder.

Hier ist es kalt,
und schneit kein bisschen.

Wie lange muss ich dich noch suchen...
auf des Meers Boden?

Here at the sea's bottom,
I long to see you.

That is my wish,
if only one more time.

Here it is cold,
and does not snow at all.

How much longer must I search for you...
at the bottom of the sea?

7. Lebensstrahl ( Life Beam )

no text

8. In der Anderen Welt

In der anderen Welt

wachsen Blumen
unwarscheinlicher Größe;
glühen die Himmel
fabelhafter Farben;
erschallen Wasserfälle mit
völlig fremden,
seltsam schönen,
hinreißend neuen Klängen.

Doch

statt Wasserfälle
höre ich dein Gelächter,
welches immer so leise war;
und statt färbiger Himmel
sehe ich deiner Augen Blick,
welcher so oft trüb wirkte;
und statt wachsender Blumen
bewundre ich
die unwarscheinliche
Größe deines Herzens;

obwohl ich mich hier befinde,

in der anderen Welt.

In the other world,

flowers of improbable size
grow.
skies of fabulous colours
glow.
and waterfalls resound with
completely foreign,
oddly beautiful,
ravishingly new sounds.

Yet

instead of waterfalls
I hear your laughter,
which was always so quiet;
instead of colourful heavens
I see the look of your eyes,
which so often appeared murky;
and instead of growing flowers,
I marvel at
the improbable
size of your heart;

although I find myself here,

in the other world.

9. Kalte Nacht

In der Kälte der Nacht,
als ich die Arme um mich schlug,
als meine Augen auf
die finsteren Wolken hinaufblickten,
nach etwas suchend,
das nicht zu finden war,

erschien mir der zerbrechliche Engel.

Ich bat ihn darum,
wegzugehen,
aber er wusste,
dass ich das nicht meinte.

Wie hätte ich das denn meinen können?

Er öffnete den Mund,
und von seinem lieblichen Gesicht,
erhielt ich diesmal
keine Vision.

Dafür aber eine Botschaft.

,,Der Frühling kommt
Der Frühling kommt
und alle Träume
müssen tauen."

Auf einmal war er fort,
und ich stand wieder allein
in der kalten Abendluft.

Ich drehte den Kopf nach oben
als eine einzige,
weiße,
Flocke
mein Gesicht berührte.

In the cold of night;
as I wrapped my arms around me;
as my eyes glanced upward
at the dark clouds,
searching for something
which was not to be found;

the breakable angel appeared to me.

I asked him
to go away.
But he knew
that I did not mean it.

For how could I have meant it?

He opened his mouth,
and from this lovely face,
I received this time
not a vision,

but instead a message.

"Spring is coming
Spring is coming.
And all dreams
must thaw"

At once he was gone,
and I stood alone again
in the cold evening air.

I turned my head upwards,
as a single,
white,
snow flake
touched my face.

10. Die Bäume The Trees (from Franz Kafka)

Denn wir sind wie Baumstämme im Schnee. Scheinbar liegen sie glatt auf, und mit kleinem Anstoß soll man sie wegschieben können. Nein, das kann man nicht, denn sie sind fest mit dem Boden verbunden. Aber sieh, sogar das ist nur scheinbar.

For we are like tree trunks in the snow. Apparently, they are smoothly laid out, and with a small shove, one should be able to push them away. No, one cannot do that, for they are firmly bound to the earth. But see, even that is only apparent.

if you are curious about North Korea....

I watched this film today. All of the filming was authorized by the North Korean government. Fascinating.

NORTH KOREA: A DAY IN THE LIFE 1 OF 3
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