On the way
Foto: Unsplash
The real artist remains cool when entire buildings collapse. But that hairline tear in a white, clean wall – which is shaken. Hair cracks on smooth surfaces are the map of the sensitive. This was always geography for Peter Handke. “Snow from yesterday, snow of tomorrow” is called his latest book, the entitlement: “Becoming the loudness of the one cross-and-crossing time of his respective pause”. The narrator ego, the first-person narrator is again one of those “sole accuracy” between daydream and half sleep, between children’s pig (despite and snot) and old rust (comfort and rust).
Restful, challenging literature is this against cell phone lemurs, flexibility threads, colorful clamotic Kauflandsknechte (“Last War: the war from us healed against you”). So poetry against all the slaves on the everyday target route, on the move and maybe long ago: brought to the route.
Handke has no nerve for how the unfriendliness of the world relationships allows us all. With masks and basic hardness training. Where the mental permeated in the past, the empathetic intruder now occupies the places: the mocker who never read Jean Paul. This is how the text flows, half sensitivity, half the enemy feeling.
What is happening in this book between reality and narrator applies to existence: You are always and an increased only when you feel the look of things on you and let this feel. Once suffered Novalis from wanting to want the unconditional, but only to come across the profane things, so the profane at Handke is the unconditional. Be it an apple, bitten by children’s teeth. Be it “waving a elderberry branch, something different than waving with a fence post”. That is the “overlapping power of the useless”. Each page you open a goodness manifesto. Dedicated to everything that remains unavailable for the access of our banned civilization. A word work against the myriad of the definitions of what a person is and “each wrong, cheeky falsch”.
Wonderful long time! Which is also enrolled by Handkes. Every vocabulary that was in a foreign service is contrary to him, in the service of jealousy of the perspective. Word of word is creation of world here. Without getting caught up in what politics calls themselves or a mandatory or profession or party. In the luggage of mind, the poet is “a few eleventh commandments: no more expression, drag silent through the world rooms”. Wonderful requests: “Never look out again for allies.” Or: “Get back and feed.” Or: “Friend, you have to learn to overlook it!”
All of this frozen and consumed, all the pressingly ordered and threatening lawful of our day – how would we like to tear it out.
Handke puts strong colors against the faded projection surface, art must provide knowledge and be conceptual. “Fear the muses that come with promises.” Political movements? Of course there are the good ones, »but woe, they organize each other. Discuss, good! “The consequence of:” Folk murmurs of an individual. Ideal.”
This is how this gently choleric Kobold-Kerl, who sings romance with his perceptions, speaks and talks and that other courage drinks, and who desperates the world because he longs for her. This is exactly the stimulus: where it attacks, the curse flaneur remains a pleading. Smalled idols – to kneel in front of the shards. Handke’s speaker without a counter -speech lives out of that moment when the extremely need for communication and extreme speechlessness collapse.
When I read, I feel extremely stronger and more open than I am usually. As I said: transformation! An idea of ease, the greatest radicality that can be thought of. If it could only be held, this self -image increased by poetry! It cannot be kept. Because it is not possible to keep it. But so, with the feeling for losses, and only like that, lust stays awake. So one could try to grasp the confessio of this poet: agree to being taken. Of all creature. Even from humans.
Once the word falls from the “over -day blues”. This suggests that the earlier piece of “subtagblues” was thought: there was the anger burned in the metro, but in the end the healing flash of experience: how saving it is to romp from the soul, yes-what if there the soul itself is tapped? This excessive support of hostility all around, all of the frozen and consumed, all the pressingly ordered and threatening law, which lurks during each of our day – how would we like to tear it out of our field of vision.
But be careful! With the salvation of the liberating insult, a new threat is also growing: stire free of everyone and everything – but then stand in pale in one’s own misery. So what may come: In the loneliness sought, it grows a renewed “longing for the most of the crowds”. A contradiction? And whether! Freedom of contradiction? The worst of all dictatorships. Contradictions eat life. And first make it. The eternal overtobil.
It is as if Hamlet recedes with the world – the strangest thing you can imagine. Nice to think exactly this and then read it at Handke: “Strangely lasts.”
Peter Handke: Snow from yesterday, snow of tomorrow. Suhrkamp, 74 pages, Br., € 20.