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Editor’s Note
Dear Reader,
I have the pleasure to welcome you once again to Simplicissimus: The Harvard College
Journal of Germanic Studies. Allow me, dear reader, to stress the words “once again.” Nearly
a year ago, Simplicissimus did not exist. Simplicissimus owes its existence to a wonderful
group of students at Harvard College, and it is only because of these outstanding students our editorial board - that this second issue has reached you. My undying thanks to everyone
on our editorial board - it has truly been a wonderful journey, and we have only just begun.
What you now have before you is our Scandinavian issue. Our inaugural issue focused
on German: its cover art, beautifully done by Benjamin Lopez, was of the Town Musicians
of Bremen. Between us all on the editorial board, we cover roughly six Germanic languages,
German being merely one of them. Of the northern variety, Swedish and Norwegian are
proudly represented. It was thus only fitting that we shifted our focus in this issue away from
Germany to Scandinavia.
I hope that you enjoy this exposition of Scandinavian and Germanic culture at Harvard.
Hunter Jones, whose viking appears boldly on our cover in front of a field of runes, has additionally produced a most stunning piece of Scandinavian art for the journal. Our Head Scandinavian Editor, Michael Thorbjørn Feehly, has translated several poems from Norwegian
and Danish; all but “Et Liv” appear for the first time in English. Amy Robinson translates a
portion of The Questions of Sigewulf from the Old English. Finally, Sarah Amanullah writes
in Swedish of the conflicts between life abroad and her Swedish identity.
In addition, I must also thank especially both the Harvard Undergraduate Council and
the Department of Germanic Languages and Literatures for their financial contributions to
the journal, without which printing this issue would have been a much more daunting feat
for us. I would like to extend my thanks to Martin Reindl for his assistance with German
language pieces, as well as Dr. Alwin Reindl, who offered keen insights into Ludwig Thoma’s
poem “Friede” that greatly influenced our translation. I would like to thank Ms. Elsje Zwart
for assisting me with my own piece written in Dutch. Further, Spencer Jay Horne and Ruan
Coetzer provided invaluable assistance with the journal’s first ever piece in Afrikaans. Lastly, I must make special mention that Rick Wolthusen provided Simplicissimus indescribably
helpful commentary on our German language pieces.
What follows is a celebration of all things Germanic at Harvard College. I hope you
enjoy.
Until the next issue,
Cody Dales,
Editor-in-Chief
1
Simplicissimus
........................................
The Harvard College Journal of Germanic Studies
The Fall 2013 Editorial Board
Cody Dales
Danielle Lussi
Michael Thorbjørn Feehly
Ernest J. Doherty
Dilia Zwart
Benjamin Lopez
Julie MacDonell
Sarah Amanullah
Lane Erickson
Kevin Hong
Hunter Jones
Frederic Hua
Max Zacher
Editor-in-Chief
Deputy Editor-in-Chief
Scandinavian Editor
German Editor & Treasurer
Dutch Editor
Design Chief
German Editor
Scandinavian Editor
Editor
Translator
Illustrator
Illustrator
Webmaster
Simplicissimus: The Harvard College Journal of Germanic Studies reviews undergraduate essays, poetry, prose, and art on Germanic topics from Harvard College. Simplicissimus publishes both a print and online edition biannually for review by the greater Germanic community
at Harvard and other universities.
Simplicissimus will review all submissions anonymously. All submissions and other inquiries
may be sent to [email protected]. Submissions and inquiries may also be mailed
to: Simplicissimus: The Harvard College Journal of Germanic Studies, Student Organization
Center at Hilles, Box 77, 59 Shepard Street, Cambridge, MA 02138.
Additonal information may be found online at www.hcs.harvard.edu/simplicissimus.
The opinions expressed are those of the contributors and are not necessarily shared by the editorial board. No part of this journal may be reproduced without the express consent of Simplicissimus. The Harvard name is a trademark of the President and Fellows of Harvard College
and is used by permission of Harvard University. Simplicissimus: The Harvard College Journal
of Germanic Studies is a registered and official student group at Harvard College. Printed in
the Dutch Mediaeval typeface, licensed through Canada Type. Planewalker typeface by Neale
Davidson.
Simplicissimus: The Harvard College Journal of Germanic Studies
Volume 1, Issue 2 | Boston: Boston Business Printing, December 2013
ISSN 2332-4783 (Print) | ISSN 2332-4791 (Online)
2
Contents
Netherlands
5
The Bloody Butcher
Haley Bowen
12Carmine
17
Cody Dales
The Simple Life
Wilson Kuhnel
German
19
Vine and Horizon
Julian Lucas
22
Attempt to Escape
Emily Reese
27
Pina’s Pedigree
35
Superfluous Thoughts
41
Germanic Influence on Japanese Pop Culture
46
Translation of Ludwig Thoma’s “Friede”
Michelle Luo
Patrick Lauppe
Josh Speagle
Kevin Hong & Cody Dales
48Wallerstein
Danielle Lussi
Scandinavian
53
All the King’s Men
62
Translation of The Questions of Sigewulf
66
Josefine and I
68
New and Forgotten Poems
Samantha Wesener
Amy Robinson
Sarah Amanullah
Michael Thorbjørn Feehly
Cover Art & Viking Spread: Hunter Jones
Illustrations: Frederic Hua | Interior Design: Benjamin Lopez
3
4
Netherlands
Haley Bowen
The Bloody
Butcher
The most striking feature of David Teniers the
Younger’s painting The Butcher Shop is the
massive carcass of the ox hanging by its hind
legs from the rafters of the large, dirt-floored
room. Bulbous clumps of fat dangle inside the
rib cage, and a small dog laps up the blood
dripping into the basin placed beneath the
truncated neck. To the left of the carcass, a
young woman is slicing the ox meat; she pauses in her labor to stare across the room to the
shaved and bloody head of the animal, which
is resting on a small wooden table. The room
is puzzlingly sparse; it lacks the lavish displays of household items, the overabundance
of symbols, and even the anthropomorphized
monkeys that characterize many of Teniers’
early peasant interiors, such as his 1642 Kitchen Interior. Even the location itself is am-
biguous; though the scene appears to be a
butcher shop, there does not seem to be much
commercial activity or many products available for sale, and the hearth in the background
might seem to indicate that the area is in fact
a kitchen. In such a comparatively plain, open
scene, the viewer is left to interpret little more
than a few scattered vegetables and pans, the
carcass, and the young woman herself.
Over the span of his career, David Teniers the
Younger (1610-1690) created over two thousand paintings and enjoyed immense commercial success as a depicter of peasant life.1
Teniers was heavily influenced by the work
of Adriaen Brouwer, who specialized in a
tonality that was more subdued and sfumato-like than other contemporary painters like
5
Butcher Shop; David Teniers II, The Younger; 1642. Oil on panel. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.
Brueghel. Teniers continued the new realism
traditions of Brouwer in The Butcher Shop,
using small groups of figures who inhabit their
environment fully and convincingly.2 Like his
predecessor, Teniers often used his human
characters as amusing “metaphor(s) of human
sin and folly,” but in the particular case of
The Butcher Shop the final message is a more
positive one.3 After an exploration of several
standout details of the painting, including the
ox carcass, the sieve, and the young woman’s
labor, it is possible to ascribe the same moralizing intent to this decidedly more ambiguous
creation of Teniers. Through his depiction of
the need for industrious labor and awareness
of death, Teniers counsels his viewers to exercise prudence, a valued quality in the Dutch
Golden Age.
The ox carcass is undoubtedly the most striking aspect of the scene in David Tenier’s Butcher Shop for modern viewers, but for Tenier’s
contemporaries the scene would have been
more familiar. Dead animals, including hares,
birds, fish, pigs, and oxen, were not uncommon objects of moralization within Dutch art
of the seventeenth century; typically, carcasses served as references to gluttony, excess,
or death itself. Rembrandt himself created
two paintings of slaughtered oxen, one in the
late 1630s and one in 1655, that both feature
prominent ox carcasses strung up on wooden
beams in the same style as Teniers’ Butcher
Shop.4 Though Rembrandt’s paintings contain
female figures, these are obscured in shadow;
instead, enormous beams of light fall directly
on the carcasses themselves, which occupy al6
most the entire span of the canvas. Rembrandt
painted the oxen carrion with extraordinarily
thick brushstrokes that emphasize the weight
of the animal and recall the messy, violent
way in which it was killed and drained. Unsurprisingly, most of the literature surrounding
these two paintings characterizes the slaughtered animals as symbolic representations of
death.5 The carcasses, which are nailed and
tied to the wooden beam, also seem to recall
the Christian to acts of martyrdom. Some art
historians have even gone so far as to compare the carcasses to the body of Christ: In
the disguise of an animal sacrificed for the
sustenance of the body, it might seem to hang,
like Christ on the cross, as a reminder of His
sacrifice which is the sustenance of the soul.6
expressive strokes of red and white indicate
the deft work of the knife that sliced the ox.
The heavy brushwork of the carcass stands in
sharp contrast to the meticulously delineated
wrinkles and folds of the white linen cloth that
drapes down in the interior of the body. In
fact, the ox body and head are the only objects in the painting that are depicted so wildly and are built upon several layers of paint,
rather than flush with the surface of the canvas. Teniers’ intense realism is most focused
in his depiction of the most gruesome details,
such as the trails of blood running from the
ox’s cranium down the animal’s snout. Even
the texture of the meat is unique; while the
pots and glasses in the scene only glow dully,
the chunks of meat that the woman cuts are
highlighted with white dabs of paint, causing
the fresh cuts to glisten wetly in the sunlight.
Under this interpretation, the carcass serves
not only as a reference to common subsistence
but also to spiritual food, which is only received through the martyrdom of Jesus Christ.
Alternatively, the motif of the slaughtered animal is also common in Biblical descriptions
of celebrations and feast days; in the Parable
of the Prodigal Son in the New Testament,
for example, a calf is slaughtered in order to
celebrate the return of a son to his father.7
Slaughtering therefore took on connotations
of holiness through the sacrifice of either human or animal meat. When performed without
the proper piety, however, the act of killing
was easily linked to the excesses of gluttony.
Depictions of sacrificed animals and elaborate displays of vegetables and meat products
were used with such an intended moral effect
by Dutch artists of the Golden Age, including
Teniers.8
Spanning almost the entire height of the painting, the carcass impedes the viewer’s access to
the shop entrance in the background, where
two butchers and their wives or assistants
are idling by the hearth. Situated just to the
left of center, the ox carcass must be visually
traversed before the eye can reach the background scene, forcing the viewer to remain
aware of the butcher’s trade. Unlike both
Rembrandts, however, the ox carcass is not a
focal point in itself but instead leads the eye to
the true vanishing point of the painting, which
is the open door of the butcher shop. The
pole within the carcass tilts upward toward
this door, falling into parallel with the light
that streams in from the entrance towards the
dish and the ox hide, which are situated on
the same angle. Indeed, the carcass serves as
more of a backdrop along this line than anything else. The true source of tension in the
painting is instead found in the young woman’s
gaze toward the shaved and bloodied head of
the ox. Though her body falls along the line
of perspective to the shop entrance, her gaze
cuts across it to reach the ox head. Although
the body of the ox is a main feature of The
There are immediate similarities between
Rembrandt’s paintings and Teniers’ depiction
in The Butcher Shop. Teniers’ brushstrokes
themselves betray the inherent violence and
immediacy of animal slaughter; the ribs are
outlined in broad, unexacting lines of paint,
and near the front quarters equally hasty and
7
is enforced by the presence of a black iron
sieve on the left wall, directly to the side of
the hanging carcass.
The sieve was a common symbol for the classical allegorical figure Sapentia, Wisdom or
Prudence, who is traditionally capable of
separating good from evil. The fact that the
sieve is placed so prominently next to the carcass seems to indicate that the two are symbolically linked to the concept of good household management and preparation. Attention
to prudence is certainly present in other aspects of the painting as well; the room and the
clothing of the woman are meticulously clean
and plain, and there is little to indicate excess.
Butcher Shop, the fact that it does not occupy
the central focus of the painting undercuts its
religious tones in a way that does not occur in
Rembrant’s works. Despite its size, the carcass
is not the subject of any human attention in
the painting; the blood of the ox is, however,
lapped up by a small dog, an action which
further moves against a Christ-like interpretation of the dead ox.
For an alternative explanation of this dramatic depiction, it is helpful to look at the role
of food within Dutch life during this time period. The superabundance of food was an
important theme in the art of the Netherlands
that hearkened back to the medieval guild
feasts of Flanders. The Dutch were often
ridiculed by foreigners for being ‘guzzlers and
sozzlers;’ in other words, for being a healthy,
broad, and hearty people.9 The humanist ideal of the seventeenth century, however, was
to navigate successfully between excess and
privation, and this philosophy extended to
the management of household resources, for
which women often took sole responsibility.10
Women were often responsible for securing
provisions for the household over the winter,
including meat, which was a regular part of
the diet of the middle and upper classes in the
Netherlands.11
Another painting by Teniers, his Kitchen Interior with Still Life and Slaughtered Ox,
provides an appropriate comparison. In this
purely domestic image, a women is occupied
at the hearth in the background while her
husband, a farmer, looks on. A slaughtered
ox hangs from the kitchen rafters slightly to
their right, but the main focus of the painting is the elaborate still life in the foreground,
which contains a jumbled collection of kitchen
tools, pots, barrels, and stacks of vegetables.
Here, too, a sieve is present on the left wall,
a blatant reference to the figure of Prudence.
These objects show, through example, the importance of gathering and storing provisions
like onions and turnips for the winter months;
interestingly enough, the piles of food and
the pots are interspersed with symbols of
transience, including mussels and a burntout candle. This would seem to indicate the
prudence and preparation is related to understanding one’s mortality; indeed, in the artistic
symbolism of Bruegel, the figure of Prudence
was depicted with a coffin in hand, to serve as
a reminder of death. It is only once one has
true awareness of death that one is capable of
separating wise actions from foolish ones.14 In
this particular scene, the ox carcass is clearly
just one piece of a larger lesson of household
One aspect of female household duties was
to smoke and preserve game after it was hung
and aged by the butcher; the use of oxen in
particular, during the month of October and
November, was regarded as an especially prudent preparation for the winter months.12 Images of housewives engaged in the slaughter
of animals were common in the seventeenth
century and so the young woman in Tenier’s
butcher shop is not an artistic aberration.13
Rather, she is engaged in a rather precautionary and useful action. It is probable that
instead of indicating gluttony, the ox carcass
serves as a reminder of the virtue of preparation and, above all, prudence. This view
8
management. The two carcasses of Teniers
from the Butcher Shop and the Kitchen Interior with Still Life are nearly identical; they are
hung at similar angles and even have the same
linen cloth draped across the interior of the
carcass. Obviously, The Butcher Shop lacks
the elaborate still life surroundings that much
more clearly indicate the moralizing intent of
Teniers in his Kitchen Interior with Still Life
and Slaughtered Ox.
young girl in the foreground. Instead, they
are engaged in fleeting conversation and interaction with each other.
In the foreground a much more dramatic scene
is occurring. Positioned in the lower right
corner of the canvas, a young woman leans
over a table piled high with meat from the
slaughtered carcass. She grasps a bone firmly
with her fist and holds a knife aloft, apparently preparing to cut into the joint and separate
it from the rest of the flesh; unlike the main
figures behind her, she is engaged in a task
of some utility. However, something else has
distracted her from her labor. Paused in her
work, the young woman stands twisted to her
left, locked into a glance with the skinned and
bloodied head of the oxen, whose black eyes
face her from a small table. She is clearly the
intended focus of the viewer’s attention; she
is the only character whose form and face are
crisply and cleanly delineated, and she stands,
as if on display, in the beam of light emanating from an unseen window in the upper left
hand side of the canvas. Yet given that she
is so distracted, it is difficult to conceive how
she might fit into the ideal of prudence that
Teniers has hinted at elsewhere in the painting, and if she is indeed prudent, how that
prudence might be conceived of in a commercial as opposed to in a domestic environment.
To determine if the same theme of prudence
found in the Interior with Still Life can truly be extended to Teniers’ Butcher Shop, the
human figures must also be examined. The
ox in the Butcher Shop essentially divides the
canvas into two planes, both of which contain entirely human figures of entirely different
dispositions. In the back room, the butcher
and a woman, possibly his wife, are talking
with easy familiarity, the butcher’s ax thrown
casually over his shoulder. It is possible,
peering between the space between the couple, to distinguish a third figure whose bonnet
is only barely visible: a woman who is bent
over, clearly engaged in some small task. The
faces of the couple are only half-distinguishable and seem to have been crudely painted
deliberately, in direct contrast to the delicate
features of the young girl in the foreground
of the painting. They are both at rest: the
wife or servant holds the jug she was carrying
down at her side, and the butcher drinks from
a glass of beer. His action is mimicked in the
drawing of the male figure on the right-hand
wall, who is also drinking; such caricatures
were a common feature in Teniers’ painting
after his 1641 work Artist in His Studio.15 Beside the drawing another male butcher, identifiable by his apron, is stepping out into the
street. Everyone present is of lower-middle
class, as evidenced by their coarse clothing,
causal demeanor, and the tools of manual labor which they carry. They ignore the sight
of the carcass and are completely oblivious to
the most important figure in the painting, the
It is important to note that the young girl is
not particularly wealthy; she is a member of
the laboring class, and her task, by all standards, is a humble one. Her position is not
characterized, exaggerated, or ridiculed by
Teniers, however; instead, he gives the young
woman a quiet and solitary sense of industry,
which is evident from her calm face and clean,
neat appearance. The emphasis on the virtue of industriousness in Dutch culture had its
origins in Calvinism; a good servant of God,
according to Christian theology, was one
who labored at his talent. The Dutch recognized and praised this quality within their
9
own community. The ideal Dutch woman was
industrious, house-proud and chaste, and her
husband was equally hard-working, frugal
and “punctilious in honoring contractual obligations;” in other words, the pair subscribed
to the “familiar catalogue of homely virtues.”16
These ideals transferred readily into the artistic world. In satirical works artists like Teniers
condemned sloth and drunkenness and praised
those who were “never idle, capable of strenuous exertion and ardent seekers of work.”17
Diligence and labor, as opposed to inheriting
money or engaging in schemes, were seen as
the only acceptable route to prosperity for the
middle class.18
a tribute to his wife’s positive qualities as the
head of a household.24 The decorated swan
with the pearl hanging from its mouth, for example, is one clear symbol the woman’s purity. Although the apples that she peels typically reference temptation and sin, the woman’s
attention strays from them and the excesses
around her; she gazes off into the distance as
she peels them, more concerned with the inner product than the outer appearance of the
fruit.25 This action and other objects around
her display her positive properties as a wife
and bride: purity, faithfulness, and good conduct of the household.26
The young woman in The Butcher Shop is
similarly diligent and pure, though since we
are unaware of her marriage status her actions
cannot immediately be connected to household virtue in the same way that is possible
with the Kitchen Interior. She still, however,
exemplifies the untarnished virtue of the ideal
Dutch woman in her useful activity.27 Here,
too, Teniers blatantly discards outer appearances and temptations in favor of the inner; he
has depicted the soft, woolly hide of the ox
in a discarded pile on the floor of the butcher
shop, below the carcass. The ox has been
stripped of its skin just like the apple; it has
been transformed, through human intervention, into an instrument of pure utility. This
theme of discarded exteriors can be extended
to human virtue; the excellent human being is
one who turns his whole activity to function,
rather than to vanity.
The increase in the production of labor imagery coincided with a real-life increase in trade
and industry, and by the sixteenth century, the
Italian tendency to connect work to the notion
of honor had gained popularity in the Dutch
Republic.19 It was around this time that images of labor began to appear in a solely secular context.20 Women were an important part
of these images: in real life, they sometimes
made up to thirty percent of the work force of
the Dutch cities.21 The typical Dutch housewife was expected to organize her household,
which often included servants and possibly
apprentices, and aided in the day-to-day operations of their husband’s business. Mothers,
in particular, were seen not only as the true
protectors of the household, but also as industrious, laboring additions to it.22
This is particularly evident in another painting of Teniers’, his Kitchen Interior of 1644,
in which the central figure exemplifies many
of the same qualities as the young woman in
The Butcher Shop. In this depiction of what
appears to be a wedding preparation, Teniers’
wife and first son are peeling apples, surrounded by rather lavish displays of food.23 At the
time of the painting’s creation, David Teniers
had been married to his wife, Anna Brueghel,
for seven years; the painting is often read as
To become truly virtuous, however, a special
kind of understanding was needed. As was
evident in the Kitchen Interior with Still Life,
where symbolic preparation was interspersed
with references to transience, Teniers, like
Brueghel, believed that prudence was dependent on an awareness of mortality. When the
young woman pauses in her labor to gaze into
the eyes of the ox, she cannot be conceived of
as neglecting or disregarding her labor. Rath10
er, she is establishing contact with a powerful
visual reminder of death.
ularly for the artist’s own career. The scene
does not attempt to teach through satire, as
many of Teniers’ works do, nor does it seek to
impose virtues on the viewer through an overabundance of symbolic foods, utensils, and
burning candles. In this aspect The Butcher
Shop is both refreshing and challenging. Yet
the hints that Teniers places throughout the
work, especially when illuminated through
comparison to other contemporary paintings,
provide suitable evidence of moral intent. The
painting’s rendering of labor and mortality is
highly reflective of the ideals of the Dutch
Golden Age: the importance of industry, appropriate respect for death, and adherence to
the demands of prudence. For this singularly dramatic work, Brueghel’s caption for his
engraving Prudentia provides an appropriate
summary: “Si prudens esse cupis, in futurum
prospectum ostende; if you wish to be prudent, think always of the future.”
The ox, deprived of its hide, is revealed to be
little more than flesh and bone, and the violence of its death is present everywhere: in the
fierce brushstrokes that make up the carcass,
in the hacked back side of the skull, and in the
drops of blood that are greedily drunk by the
little dog. The young woman is necessarily
prudent because she, unlike her companions,
is the only one who is facing death; she alone
has been granted the sight and the knowledge
that enables her to decide that her labor is
proper, and her idleness is sinful. Caught up in
the dramatic movement of her gaze, the viewer might come to similar conclusions about
the value of prudence.
Tenier’s Butcher Shop shares its moral premise in a way that was rather atypical, partic-
11
Netherlands
Cody Dales
Dutch
Karmijn
Zijn ogen keken naar de horizon. Het vermoeide gezicht naast hem keek op naar de hemel.
Voor een moment weerspiegelden de ogen van
de man het immense gewicht van de zonsondergang, maar draaiden gauw weer naar de aarde.
Pieter stond op, zijn ogen nog op de gloeiende
woes-tijnhemel gericht. Vanuit de kleine stad ver
beneden waren de donkere silhouetten van de
twee mannen op de heuvel helemaal versmolten
met het brandende rood van de avondzon. Aan
de overkant van de heuvel waren een paar mannen bezig om dozen in de wagons van een trein
te laden.
achter zich. Hij luisterde naar de vallende steen
en vroeg, “Wil jij nog gaan?”
“Nee.”
Jan tilde zijn hoofd op en keek vanaf de heuvel
naar de trein. De trein scheen mooi helder rood
in de avondzon en er kwam nog rook uit de
schoorsteen.
“Nou,” zei Jan, “Ik weet niet waar hij heen gaat.
Ik denk, dat hij niet veel langer hier zal blijven.
Ga jij?”
Pieter draaide zich naar de man naast hem en
vroeg, “Weet jij waar de trein heen gaat, Jan?”
Pieter zei niets. Vanuit zijn ooghoeken kon hij
een paar gebouwen zien. Hij draaide zich om.
De heuvel begon, een lange schaduw over de
De man keek nog naar de aarde. Hij bleef stil, stad te werpen en er waren een paar zwakke
alsof hij niets hoorde. Hij raapte een steen op, lichten in de ramen. Er waren alleen nog een
be-keek hem even in zijn hand en gooide hem paar bedelaars in de straat. Jan stond op en
12
Cody Dales
Carmine
His eyes were watching the horizon. The tired
face beside him looked up toward the sky.
For a moment, the man’s eyes bore the immense weight of the sunset in their reflection,
but quickly turned again toward the dirt. Peter
stood up, his eyes still watching the glowing
desert sky. From the small town far below, the
dark silhouettes of the two men on the hill
were completely consumed by the burning red
of the evening sun. On the other side of the
hill, a few men were busy loading boxes into
the freight cars of a train.
listened to the rock fall and asked, “Do you
still want to go?”
“No.”
John raised up his head and looked down
the hill at the train. The train shone a bright,
beautiful red in the evening light, and smoke
was still coming out of the chimney.
“Well,” John said, “I don’t know where it’s
going. I can only say that it isn’t going to stay
here much longer. Are you going?”
Peter turned to the man beside him and asked,
“Where do you think the train is going, John?”
The man was still looking at the ground.
remained still as if he had heard nothing.
picked up a rock, examined it in his hand
a moment, and tossed it behind his back.
Peter said nothing. In the corner of his eye he
could see a few buildings. He turned. The hill
was beginning to cast a long shadow over the
town, and there were a few dim lights in the
windows. Only a few beggars were left in the
street. John stood up and dusted off his worn
He
He
for
He
13
stofte zijn versle-ten tuinbroek af. De twee
waren stil, keken scherp naar de mannen beneden.
Pieter zei niets.
Jan draaide zich niet om. Zijn ogen keken naar
de horizon. Hij zuchtte en begon de heuvel
af te lopen. De heuvel was steil en stof vloog
om hem heen terwijl hij liep. De trein bulderde
harder en er was niemand te zien. Hij opende
de houten deur van de achterste wagon en wierp zijn tas onder de dozen in de duisternis.
Hij keek om. De zon scheen nog fel tussen de
verspreide wol-ken.
“Het is niets,” zei Jan. “Kijk eens, die mannen
zijn bijna klaar. We springen in de eerste lege
wa-gon, die we vinden, en dat is dat. Het is
niets.”
“Het is niets,” zei Pieter tegen zichzelf.
“En niemand zal ons vinden. We zullen rond
zonsopgang honderden mijlen hiervandaan
zijn.”
Pieter stond nog bovenaan de heuvel. Door
het stof kon Jan de donkere omlijning van de
man zien. Boven de zon leek het rood van de
heuvel te veranderen, als was hij het laatste
deel van een twijg, verzwolgen in een groeiend
vuur.
“Wij en al die dozen.”
“Dat maakt toch niet uit?”
“Jawel. Zij zijn belangrijk voor iemand. De
enige reden waarom ze ingepakt en in de trein
zijn, is omdat de mensen zelf niet zo ver weg
konden gaan.”
De trein zette zich in beweging.
Pieters ogen bewogen langs het spoor. Het
spoor leidde tussen twee heuvelruggen, die
aan de horizon verdwenen. Er waren geen
bochten. Er stond niets in de weg. Hij zag
maar twee heldere spiegelingen in de vuurzee,
twee lijnen van ijzer, die uit het zicht in een
eeuwig punt samenko-men.
De trein bulderde en een verse rookpluim begon, in de lucht te zweven.
“Waarom zouden we zo ver weg moeten
gaan, Jan?”
Toen zag hij de trein.
“Ik heb al heel lang niets gegeten. Er is niets
meer voor ons hier. Het verandert niet.”
Rook gutste de lucht in. Hij zag niets dan het
doorborende licht van de woestijnhemel. Hij
kon de stad niet langer zien. Strepen licht flitsten langs het zwarte ijzer van de trein. De
wielen draai-de langzaam - en daar stond Jan
uit de goederenwagon te kijken.
“Het verandert, Jan.” Pieter wees naar de stad.
“Bovendien,” zei hij, “is iedereen, die we kennen, beneden.”
“Zeker. Goede mensen ook, ook al is er geen
werk. Met sommige mensen is het best fijn,
maar mijn leven is moeilijk.” Jan wierp zijn tas
over zijn schouder en keek naar de trein. “Ik
weet niet waar de trein heen gaat. Ik ken niemand, die al is vertrokken. Ik weet niet, hoe
lang er geen werk zal zijn. Ik weet helemaal
niets, behalve dat ik niet hier kan blijven. Ga
jij?”
Pieter zuchtte, “Weet je waar de trein heen
gaat, Jan?” Hij wierp zijn tas over zijn schouder en begon van de heuvel af te rennen. Het
stof was overal en hij kon niets zien. De lucht
brandde. De trein brulde. Er was niets behalve
de smeulende duisternis van het stof.
Hij rende hoestend uit het stof en het spoor
14
overalls. The two were silent, watching keenly
the men below.
John did not turn around. His eyes were watching the horizon. He sighed and began to walk
down the hill. The hill was steep, and dust flew
around him as he went. The train bellowed
louder and no one was in sight. He opened the
wooden door of the rear car and threw his bag
into the darkness among the boxes. He looked
back. The sun was still glaring down between
the scattered clouds.
“There’s really nothing to it,” John said. “Just
look, the men are almost finished. We jump
into the first empty car we can find and that’s
that. Nothing to it.”
“Nothing to it,” Peter said under his breath.
“And nobody will find us. We’ll be hundreds
of miles away from here at daybreak.”
Peter still stood at the top of the hill. Through
the dust John could see the dark outline of the
man. Atop the sun-changed reds of the hill it
appeared as if he were the last part of a twig
being engulfed in a growing fire.
“We and all of those boxes.”
“That doesn’t matter. Do you know what’s in
them?”
The train began to move.
“Doesn’t really matter, does it?”
Peter’s eyes moved down the tracks. The
tracks led between two ridges, vanishing at the
horizon. There were no turns, nothing in the
way. He saw only two bright reflections in the
conflagration, two lines of iron converging in
some point forever out of sight.
“Sure it does. It’s important to someone. The
only reason they’re all packed up and in the
train is because people couldn’t go that far
away.”
The train bellowed, and a fresh plume of
smoke began to float up into the air.
Then he saw the train.
Smoke gouged the air. He saw nothing but the
piercing light of the desert sky. He could no
longer see the town. Streaks of light flashed
on the black iron of the train. The wheels were
turning slowly - and there stood John looking
out of freight car.
“Why should we go that far, John?”
“I haven’t eaten in long time. There’s nothing
left for us here. It won’t change.”
“Things will change, John.” Peter pointed towards the town. “Besides,” he said, “everyone
we know is in down there.”
Peter sighed, “Where do you think the train is
going, John?” He threw his bag behind his back
and began to run down the hill. The dust was
everywhere, and he could not see. The air was
burning. The train roared. There was nothing
but the smoldering darkness of the dust.
“Definitely. Good people, too, but there’s no
work. Some people have it just fine still, but I, I
struggle.” John threw his bag over his shoulder
and looked at the train. “I don’t know where
the train is going. I don’t know anyone who
has left yet. I know absolutely nothing except
that I can’t stay here. Are you going?”
He ran coughing out of the dust and onto the
tracks. The town was nowhere in sight. The
hill was blinding in the light. He ran nearer to
the train. The freight car was almost before
him.
Peter said nothing.
15
op. De stad was nergens te zien. De heuvel
was ver-blindend in het licht. Hij rende dichter naar de trein. De goederenwagon was bijna vóór hem.
He stretched out his hand for the handle of
the door. His fingers could not yet reach.
A great thunder came from the train and it
moved faster.
Hij strekte zijn hand uit naar het handvat van
de deur. Zijn vingers konden er nog niet bij.
Een grote donder kwam uit de trein en hij
ging sneller.
As he ran, his eyes shifted for a moment to the
setting sun before him. The sky was a terrifying explosion of reds, oranges, and violets cut
by the growing black line of smoke. The town
was somewhere far behind the hill engulfed in
burning carmine.
Terwijl hij rende, verschoven zijn ogen voor
een moment naar de ondergaande zon vóór
hem. De hemel was een verschrikkelijke
ontploffing van roden, oranjes en violetten,
doorsneden door de groeiende zwarte lijn
van rook. De stad was ergens ver achter de
heuvel, verzwolgen in brandend karmijn.
The fire-red sky consumed everything.
De vuurrode hemel verteerde alles.
16
Netherlands
Wilson Kuhnel
Afrikaans
The Simple Life
Ek is lief vir die eenvoudige lewe. Dis hoekom ek so van Suid-Afrika gehou het. Weens my
oorpsprong in die Suidelike gedeelte van die VSA, is die stadige lewe vir my belangrik vir
‘n gesonde verstand. Daar is ook spanning tussen my lewe in die Suide en my lewe by die
universiteit. Hier is ‘n mens haastig. En ek hou ietwat daarvan; “Ek wil nooit middeljarig
seniel in my onderbroek sit en koerant lees nie,” soos André du Toit in sy gedig “In en Uit”
geskryf het.
Daar is ‘n balans natuurlik, en in my lewe hoop ek om die Suid-Afrikaanse manier en Harvard se manier eweredig te aanvaar. Een dag werk ek aan ‘n stel wiskunde vrae en op ‘n
ander dag braai ek ‘n bietjie boerwors. Daar is tyd vir beide.
I love the simple life. That’s why I liked South Africa so much. Because I come from the
southern United States, the slow life is important for me in order to maintain a healthy
state of mind. Therefore there is often tension between my southern life and my life at the
university. Here you are always rushed. And yet I still agree somewhat with the thought of
“I do not want to be middle-aged and senile, sitting in my underwear reading the paper,”
as André du Toit wrote in his poem “In and Out.”
Obviously there is a balance, and I hope to find a midway point in my life between the
South African style and Harvard’s. One day I can be working on a problem set and the
other, grilling up a little boerewors. There is time for both.
17
18
German
Julian Lucas
Vine and
Horizon
Height in the Essays of
Nietzsche and Emerson
Because the concept of height is so central to
both thinkers, it is a critical point in the investigation of their differences. There is a clear
and general resemblance - for both, “height”
of some kind is the fount of spiritual excellence - but this superficial resemblance belies
the more profound difference that emerges
from each thinker’s articulation of this concept. Emerson’s height is an absolute height,
a rising, while Nietzsche’s height is a relative
height - a height that must always build upon
what is low. This fundamental distinction operates not only explicitly, in the maxims and
aphorisms of the two writers, but also implicitly, in the formal and tonal dimensions of
their texts.
The rhetoric of height is everywhere in the
works of Nietzsche and Emerson. Of their
many affinities as thinkers, it is among the
strongest. As a conceptual framework and a
substratum of images, it saturates their texts;
as far as these two most restless and rhizomatic of philosophers can be said to have a crux
or center, height is most emphatically it. “We
do not yet see that virtue is Height,” writes
Emerson in Self Reliance.1 The noble nature
“knows itself to be at a height,” writes Nietzsche in Beyond Good and Evil.2 These are
only the most plain and explicit examples - the
rhetoric of height extends far up the slopes
of Zarathustra’s glacial solitude, and rises far
along the diameters of Emerson’s ever-expanding circles.
It is in Self Reliance that Emerson writes that
virtue is height. However, in Circles there is a
clearer articulation of what this height might
be. Height, in Circles, is diameter, breadth,
19
and span. A higher thought, or a higher nature, is one which encompasses everything that
came before it - which subsumes and transforms into the first fact of a new series. Height
is a wider horizon, and a broader context that
brings about a reclassification. The man who
views “the same objects from a higher point,”
cannot view a debt in the same way as a broker, because his horizon goes far beyond the
“debt of the money,” and transcends it so as
to rise into the “debt of thought to mankind.”3
Emerson’s account of conversation as a game
of circles is much the same: each interlocutor literally raises and broadens the level of
discourse by a “swift circumscription,” of his
predecessors, a revelatory process that reconfigures the world.4 Attaining a certain height
can be achieved by clambering over others - in
the sense of circumscribing their classifications
within one’s own - but this is not essential to
the transcendental climb. Nor is it hierarchical
or parasitic. Many spiritual pursuits involving
no others can be part of this striving; there
is literature, described as a “platform whence
we may command a view of our present life,
a purchase by which we may move it.”5 This
platform of literature is a pertinent image: Emersonian height is important because it allows
the nature thus elevated to look out. It is a
height that allows for a broader view of the
spiritual, intellectual, and material fields.
Nietzschean height is much more explicitly
premised on the necessary antithesis of lowliness. The most vivid image Nietzsche uses to
this end is that of the sipo matador, one of the
“sun-seeking vines of Java,” which blossoms
only after climbing high over the hapless oak.6
The Emersonian height of rising circumscription is here replaced by the violent and parasitic
climb of the vine. Lower beings must be present as scaffolding for the higher natures; they
must be incomplete to allow the higher natures
to thrive and grow.7 The ultimate ramification
of this very different concept of height is of
the pathos of distance. Distinct from Emer-
son’s height - which is derived purely from the
self-reliant mind - Nietzschean spiritual height
is consubstantial with social and material elevation. Aristocractic and material privilege as well as the downward-gazing contempt that
this privilege allows for - is necessary for “that
other, more mysterious pathos... the craving
for an ever widening of distances within the
soul itself.”8
This concept of height, represented primarily
by the pathos of distance, is not only explicitly asserted, but demonstrated and performed
by the tonal and formal structure of the Nietzschean text. The contemptuous oratorical
bombast so characteristic of Nietzsche enacts,
in writing, the pathos of distance. Across his
writing, rebuke and mockery act as a kind of
scaffold or a trampoline which proceeds and
propels his leaps into the sublime heights of
oracular truth. It is impossible to imagine Nietzsche without these springboards of lighthearted derision. Consider, for instance, the transition between
Aphorisms 228 and 229 in Beyond Good And
Evil. The first aphorism is a “discussion” of the
British Utilitarians which is as dripping with
contempt as anything in Nietzsche’s work. It
begins with a histrionic - even sassy - apology: “May I be forgiven the discovery that
all moral philosophy so far has been boring
and was a soporific.”9 It goes on from there to
compare Jeremy Bentham and his followers to
“ponderous herd animals,” afterward becomes
a diatribe against the mediocrity of the British soul, and ends in an almost inconceivably
foolish rhyme.10 But then comes the leap. The
next aphorism, cutting into the empty air made
by Nietzsche’s contempt, deals with one of his
most surprising and morbid insights: “Almost
everything we call “higher culture” is based on
the spiritualization of cruelty, on its becoming
more profound.”11 Can a greater distance - a
greater height - be imagined than that between
Nietzsche’s caricature Benthamites, and his
20
subsequent invocation of the sublime in masochism, self-mutilation and the auto-da-fe?12
Emerson, also, enacts his concept of height height as the obtaining of a broader view - in
his prose. Where Nietzsche’s writing enacts
height by way of a textual pathos of distance by throwing his foils under him and using them
as springs - Emerson’s writing does the same
by way of circumscription. Fear not the new
generalization - this principle holds in both the
rhetorical and syntactical structures of Emersonian prose.13 This element of Emersonian
form is most evident in the paragraph structure
Circles: there is a certain upswell, a vertiginous rising in marked contrast to the vaulting Nietzschean leap from the depths of spite.
To illustrate this movement, it is sufficient to
examine a few such transitions, and in particular, even the beginnings and endings of paragraphs, almost any of which can be taken as
representative of this upward breadth and generalization. Take, for instance, the meditation
on the degrees of permanence. It begins with
the earthly “You admire this tower of granite,”
then continues to merchants and orchards,
yet sweeps up by its conclusion to the cosmic
“Moons are no more bounds to spiritual power than bat-balls.”14 Another meditation, this
one on the degrees in idealism, begins with toy
magnets and “the heydey of youth and poetry” and follows the same dizzying evaporation
upward, to condense at last in the triumphant
affirmation that the material state of the world
itself is engendered by the ideas of men, and
that “A new degree of culture would instantly
revolutionize the entire system of human pursuits.”15
A final example, this one from Self-Reliance:
“Every mind is a new classification. If it prove
a mind of uncommon activity and power, a
Locke, a Lavoisier, a Hutton, a Bentham, a
Fourier, it imposes its classification on other
men, and lo! A new system.”16 Here, Emerson
rises above and circumscribes social theory,
geology, and even chemistry within his higher, broader principle – that all generalizations
are susceptible to being generalized, and that
“light, unsystematic, indomitable, will break
into any cabin.”17 The example is especially
pertinent when juxtaposed with Nietzsche’s
incredibly different invocation of Jeremy Bentham for the purposes of attaining rhetorical
and spiritual height.
These two articulations of height - the Emersonian breadth of view, and the Nietzschean downward look - stand in vivid contrast.
What does this difference stem from? One interpretation that offers itself is geographic. Nietzschean height looks down on the crowded
mass of Europe which he so disdained; on the
rabble which he saw as the ultimate impediment to nobility and greatness of soul. Emersonian height takes in the breadth and expanse
of the American horizon - unlike Nietzsche’s
noble vine, it can afford to say, “If you are
true, but not in the same truth with me, cleave
to your companions; I will seek my own.”18
21
Emily Reese
German
German
Fluchtversuch
„Hände an die Mauer, Füße auseinander, einen halben Meter Abstand!” gellt eine Stimme
durch die Luft. Wir hielten an, schauten neugierig rundherum. “Wer hatte etwas falsch gemacht?” fragte ich mich, aber ich hörte nur mein
eigenes Atmen und sah nur den vom Wind
aufgewirbelten Staub. Ich bemerkte die zwei
unsicheren Augenpaare, die auf mich gerichtet
waren. Weil alles ganz normal aussah, zuckte
ich mit den Schultern.
gibt es ein Plakat. Vielleicht ist es eine Werbung für eine Kneipe oder so etwas.”
Als wir einen halben Schritt vorwärts machten,
bellte die raue Stimme wieder: „Hände hoch
oder ich schieße!” Genau in diesem Moment
lief es mir kalt über den Rücken. Ich konnte nicht einmal das Atmen meines Freundes
hören, nein, nur das Klopfen meines Herzens.
Wir hielten unsere Hände hoch und bewegten
uns zentimeterweise vorwärts.
„Diese Stimme meint uns nicht. Worauf warten
wir noch? Gehen wir in die Kneipe. David,
weißt du, wohin du gehst? In diesem Niemandsland gibt es bestimmt keine Kneipe.”
„Schneller!” fordert die Stimme, die sich uns
näherte. Ich versuchte, noch schneller zu gehen, aber meine bleischweren Beine konnten
nicht schneller gehen. Plötzlich fühlte ich etwas an meinem Rücken. Es schob mich nach
„Äh, also… ich dachte… Ach so! Da drüben
22
Emily Reese
Attempt to Escape
“Hands on the wall, feet apart, a half meter
between!” yells a voice through the air. We
stopped, looking around curiously. “Who did
something wrong?” I asked myself, but I heard
only my own breathing and saw only the dust
being blown by the wind. I noticed the two
uncertain pairs of eyes that were set on me.
Because everything appeared quite normal, I
simply shrugged my shoulders.
thing.”
As we went forward a half step, the rough voice
snapped again: “Hands up or I’ll shoot!” Exactly in this moment a rush of cold ran across
my back. I couldn’t even hear my friend’s
breath, no, only the beating of my heart. We
held our hands in the air and inched forward.
“Faster!” demanded the voice that came closer. I tried to go faster, but my legs, heavy as
lead, could not. Suddenly I felt something on
my back. It shoved me ahead, so that I finally
tripped on the wall. The soldiers frisked us and
handcuffed us without asking us any questions.
When a hand pushed me into a car, I began to
break out in a sweat. They accused us of “at-
“The voice doesn’t mean us. What are we
waiting for? Let’s go to a bar. David, do you
know where you’re going? In this no man’s
land there certainly isn’t a bar.”
“Oh, well… I thought… well! Over there is a
poster. Maybe it’s an ad for a bar or some23
vorn, sodass ich schließlich an die Mauer
stolperte. Die Soldaten tasteten uns ab und
legten uns Handschellen an, ohne uns irgendeine Fragen zu stellen. Als eine Hand mich
in ein Auto drängte, brach ich in Schweiß
aus. Sie unterstellten uns „Versuchte Republikflucht.”
bestes Stück erklären! Später ging er zum
Abendessen und das war meine Chance, aus
Ostberlin zu entkommen. Mein Herz pochte.
Ich fing an, kalte Füße zu bekommen. Ich erinnerte mich aber an meine Verhaftung sowie
an die Nachrichten von den Flüchtlingen, die
erschossen wurden. Doch ich brachte den
Mut auf.
Wegen unserer Unschuld entließen sie mich
und als ich meine Freunde später wiedersah,
stieß ich einen Seufzer der Erleichterung aus.
„Mensch, trotz unserer Unschuld hätte es
passieren können, dass wir uns nie wieder
gesehen hätten!“ sagte ich.
Ich stieg in den gestohlenen Schützenpanzer. Mit ruhigen Händen ließ ich den Motor an. Er schnurrte als ich roboterhaft vorwärts fuhr. Ich fixierte meinen Blick auf die
Mauer. Mir schlug das Herz bis zum Hals,
aber ich konnte nicht herumdrehen. Jemand
schrie etwas… Aber mein Herzschlag war
lauter als das Schreien und so konnte ich die
Worte nicht hören. Plötzlich gab es einen
Kugelregen… und eine Flut von Gedanken
strömte in meinen Kopf: „Was mache ich?
Ich habe den Verstand verloren! Ich werde
getötet werden! Alles wäre vergebens! Ich
muss…” Dann prallte ich gegen die Mauer.
Ich brachte sie teilweise zum Einsturz, aber
das Loch in dem Stacheldrahtzaun war nicht
groß genug, um dadurch zu krabbeln. Ich
fing an, heftig zu schwitzen.
„Ja, mein Vater hat mir gesagt, dass solche
Sachen ziemlich oft passieren. Normalerweise werden die Leute, die zu nah an die
Mauer kommen, erschossen.”
In dem Moment entschied ich mich, einen Fluchtversuch zu wagen. Als ich diese
Idee den anderen erzählte, starrten sie mich
an und fingen an zu lachen. Ich aber lachte
nicht.
„Sie können mitkommen oder sie können hier
bleiben, aber ich muss flüchten!” Ihre ausdruckslosen Blicke sagten mir genug - mir
riss der Geduldsfaden und ich ging weg.
„Jetzt werde ich bestimmt sterben - hier, vor
der Mauer,” dachte ich mir. Dann fühlte ich
eine Hand auf meinen Arm. Die Hand zog
mich durch das Loch. Ein West-Berliner
Schutzpolizist schoss auf den Ostpolizisten
zurück - es gab ein Feuergefecht zwischen
den zwei Seiten, Ost und West, um mich zu
töten oder zu retten. Ich bekam neue Kraft
und gab mir die größte Mühe, mit Hilfe des
unermüdlichen Westdeutschen, durch das
kleine Loch zu kriechen. Vermutlich wegen
des Stacheldrahts blutete mein Arm, aber ich
konnte nichts fühlen. Ich war wie betäubt
und wollte endlich nur noch auf der anderen Seite sein. Dann plötzlich stoppte der
Schusswechsel und mir wurde schwarz vor
Augen.
Tag ein und Tag aus arbeitete ich an meinem
Plan. Als Techniker der „Nationalen Volksarmee“ wusste ich schon etwas von den
Schützenpanzern, aber mit den Einzelheiten
war ich nicht vertraut. Es war nicht schwer
zu lernen, wie man diese fährt. Eines Tages, meine offizielle DDR-Uniform tragend,
fragte ich einen Schützenpanzerfahrer:
“Könnten Sie mir erklären, wie diese Maschine
funktioniert? Ich interessiere mich sehr für
die Technik.” Misstrauisch war er nicht ganz im Gegenteil: seine Augen leuchteten
sogar auf. Ganz bestimmt wolle er mir sein
24
tempted flight from the republic.” Because of
our innocence they released me, and when I
later saw my friends again, I let out a sigh of
relief. “Man, despite our innocence, it could
have actually happened that we would never
have seen each other again!” I said.
wall. I could feel my heart pounding, but
I could not turn around. Someone yelled
something… but the beating of my heart was
louder than this and thus I heard nothing
else. Suddenly there was a rain of bullets…
and a flood of thoughts rushed into my head:
“What am I doing? I’ve lost my mind! I’m going to die. Everything would be for nothing!
I have to…” Then I collided with the wall.
I broke through, but the hole in the barbed
wire was not big enough to crawl through. I
began to sweat heavily.
“Yeah, my father told me, such things often
happen. Normally people who come too
close to the wall are shot dead.”
“In that moment I decided to risk fleeing the
country. When I told this idea to the others,
they stared at me and began to laugh. I however did not.
“Now I’m certainly going to die - here, before the wall,” I thought to myself. Then I
felt a hand on my arm. The hand pulled me
through the hole. A West Berliner shot back
at the East Berlin police - there was a firefight between the two sides, East and West,
to kill me or to save me. I found new strength
and put forth my greatest effort, aided by
the tireless West German, to crawl through
the small hole. Likely because of the barbed
wire my arm was bleeding, but I felt nothing.
I was num and wanted to be on the other
side finally. Then, suddenly, the shootout
stopped and I fell unconscious.
“You can come with me, or you can stay
here, but I must flee!” Their blank faces were
enough - I lost my patience and left.
Day in and day out I worked on my plan. As
a technician of the “National People’s Army”
I already knew a bit about the tanks, but I
wasn’t familiar with the details. It wasn’t difficult to learn to drive. One day, wearing my
official GDR uniform, I asked the tank driver,
“Can you explain to me how this works? I’m
really interested in engineering.” He wasn’t
suspicious - quite the opposite: in fact his
eyes lit up. Certainly he’ll want to show
me. Later he went to dinner, and that was
my chance to escape East Berlin. My heart
throbbed. I began to get cold feet. I remembered my arrest just like the news of the
those who attempted to flee and were shot. I
summoned up all my courage.
Later - I do not know how much time has
passed - I awoke in the hospital. My flight
was successful. With great difficulty I survived. I lost my arm, and was shot through
the lung, but I had my life and my freedom. I
did not meet my savior, because I fainted so
quickly after being pulled through the hole
completely. Thanks to the endeavors of the
West German police, I lie now in this bed. I
am so grateful that I get goosebumps, and
hope that my savior knows of my survival.
Finally I closed my eyes and slept in peace.
I climbed into the stolen tank. I carefully
started the motor. It hummed as I drove forward like a robot. I fixed my gaze on the
25
Später - ich weiß nicht, wie viel Zeit vergangen ist - wachte ich im Krankenhaus auf.
Meine Flucht war geglückt. Mit Ach und
Krach hatte ich überlebt. Ich verletzte mich
am Arm und erlitt einen Lungendurchschuss,
aber ich hatte mein Leben und meine Freiheit.
Ich traf meine Retter nicht, weil ich sofort in
Ohnmacht gefallen bin, nachdem sie mich
vollständig durch das Loch gezogen hatten.
Dank ihren Bemühungen lag ich aber nun in
diesem Bett. Ich war ihnen so dankbar, dass
ich eine Gänsehaut bekam, und hoffte, dass
sie von meinem Überleben wussten. Endlich
schloss ich meine Augen und schlief in Frieden ein.
26
German
Michelle Luo
Pina’s Pedigree
Imagine a deserted café. The setting is dark
and quiet. A woman appears. Dressed in only
a camisole, she moves slowly, arms extended,
eyes closed, colliding with chairs. A second
woman pushes her way through a revolving
door, clacking loudly and purposefully through
the space. A third woman appears, also stumbling around the café with her eyes shut. She
pauses, and raises a hand to her chest as if to
assure herself that she is still there. Then, the
music begins.
portray her parents’ café from her childhood,
re-imagined and reconstructed many years
later. One of the few of her pieces in which
Bausch actually performed, Café Müller makes
use of three dancer characters - Bausch, Malou Airaudo, and Dominique Mercy - who are
given abstract technical movements and seem
unaware of their physical environment. In addition, another three dancer-actor characters
navigate the space with quotidian movements,
always aware of the space they occupy.1 Despite the ethereal grace of the movements, the
dancers sometimes seem unable to control
their actions: “Men and women fall into each
other. They hold each other. They drop each
other. Over and over and over again.” 2
This is the opening of Cafe Müller, one of German choreographer Philipine “Pina” Bausch’s
most celebrated works. Like many of Bausch’s other pieces, Café Müller incorporates
stories and scenes of the past; it is meant to
27
Largely thought of as the most influential
choreographer of the twentieth century,
Bausch was famous for her “angst-ridden,
non-linear and expressionistic style of dance
theatre,” inciting massive excitement and uproar wherever she toured.3 Her choreography
is intensely expressive, often described as violent and visceral. Through reenactment of
childhood scenes and poignant sequences of
repetition, Bausch explores themes of human
relationships and body movement, and the
deep, emotional impact of her pieces is widely acknowledged as unparalleled. Nonetheless, Bausch’s work is not without its origins.
body. A new form of modern dance, which
came to be known as the Ausdrucktanz, also
emerged in Germany at this time, a movement that provided a new form of widely accessible exercise to the German people. The
German concerns about the body were a
natural context for the Ausdrucktanz - “with
its renewed acceptance of spiritual and experiential knowledge and new awareness of
the body fostered by the Physical Culture
movement, [Germany] was the soil which
nourished the Ausdrucktanz.”4 Although
the choreographers and dancers of the Ausdrucktanz were many and varied, common
themes run throughout their works, such as
an emphasis on the individual, the Ich, denotes the concepts of self, ego, individuality,
and subjectivity.”5 Ausdrucktanz sought to
bring out choreographers’ “inner truth, their
interpretation of life experience, and their
sense of self, as well as the individuality
of each dance.”6 As the Ausdrucktanz progressed, it readily overlapped with themes
found in the nudist, expressionist, and feminist movements, particularly because of its
interest in individualistic expression through
movement. In 1936, the Audrucktanz was
pronounced a degenerate art by the Nazi
party, after which this German dance form
found other outlets on an international level,
for example in Bausch’s work. Bausch thus
represents the culmination of the initial German Physical Culture revolution; its influence
on the founding members of the Ausdrucktanz; interactions between the Ausdrucktanz
and feminist, nudist, and expressionist movements; and the subsequent spread of German
dance around the world. Let us now explore
this remarkable progression through German
history.
Germany’s culture during the long twentieth
century is fragmented, shattered by the two
world wars and domestic political instability. Following the war reparations of the first
world war and the German atrocities of the
second, Germany is still in a process of Vergangenheitspolitik. However, despite this
apparent volatility of German cultural history, Bausch’s work demonstrates that German
art progressed and persisted throughout the
twentieth century and continues to thrive
today. Bausch’s style can be traced back
through generations of dancers, choreographers, and teachers, and its roots can be
found in the German Physical Culture revolution of the early twentieth century. Bausch’s career is not an isolated movement in
modern dance, but rather the capstone on
half a century of the transfer and interaction
of new ideas and theories in dance and beyond. By closely examining the lineage of
Bausch’s dance, we can discover that the
body and cultural expression in Germany’s
long twentieth century shared a closely intertwined relationship, which often intersected
at dance.
In early twentieth-century Germany, members of the “life reform movement,” or Lebensreformbewegung, were concerned that
the developing modern and industrialized
The roots of Bausch’s dance can be traced to
the year 1900, when we find Germany in the
midst of developing changing views on the
28
world was detracting from human “natural”
living conditions, which they saw as “a path
of progressive degeneration that could only
be reversed by living in accordance with
man’s and woman’s nature (naturgemäße
Lebensweise).”7 Followers of the Lebensreformbewegung rejected modern medicine
for failing to consider individualistic spiritual
needs, and were interested in “the intellectual traditions of vegetarianism, aspects of
nude culture, and natural therapy.”8 Men and
women alike became obsessed with physical
appearances in their “utopian search for perfect health and beauty,” a theme that transcended socio-economic classes and various
professions.9
of irrationality.”12 Unfortunately for Dalcroze, the onset of war and the death of his
financial backer in 1914 forced the Hellereau
experiment to come to a close.
Dalcroze was ultimately more of a teacher than a theorist (he never produced any
books), but his ideas were an important starting point for the Ausdrucktanz movement.
Rejecting the traditionally rigid motions of
ballet, Dalcroze was concerned with finding
a bodily rhythm within each individual, and
his style “embraced all bodies, regardless of
talent, aptitude, or intelligence.”13 As such,
his technique was highly accessible in a time
when people of all ages, socio-economic
classes, shapes, and sizes were becoming
more and more fascinated with their body.
Dalcroze’s work was clearly intertwined
with the new German obsession with body
culture, drawing on the developing practice of rhythmic gymnastics and providing a
new form of exercise in which anyone could
participate. Dalcroze constructed “rhythmic
dialogues” for groups of people to exercise
together, which included hopping, skipping,
and moving in patterns.14 These exercises not
only conditioned their bodies, but also allowed them to learn about their own unique
movements and rhythms.
From within this frenzy of anxiety about the
body emerged the Ausdrucktanz around
1909, with the first stage appearance of
Sent M’ahesa and the opening of Emile
Jacques-Dalcroze’s first school. Dalcroze and
his contemporary Rudolf Laban became the
founding theorists of the Ausdrucktanz. Their
work links the Ausdrucktanz to the ongoing
Physical Culture movement as well as paved
the way for future modern choreographers
- like Bausch - to experiment with alternative movement styles outside of the realm of
ballet. Dalcroze’s interest in dance stemmed
from his initial interest in music, when he began to see rhythm as “a suppressed power
not only within music but within the body.”10
In 1909, Dalcroze opened his school for
rhythmic gymnastics in Hellerau, a Deutcher
Werkbund “garden city.”11 Dalcroze’s “impeccable cosmopolitanism and eminently rational vision of bodily movement” helped the
school at Hellereau gain widespread attention, especially because it played off of the
“emerging cult of the body” and “linked the
discovery of bodily rhythms almost entirely
with the experience of joy, and dispelled the
anxieties, phobias, and psychic shadows that
until that time made the body a supreme sign
The other main school of thought in the Ausdrucktanz was that of Rudolf Laban, who
was born in 1879 and established his first
school in the summer of 1913. While living
with his family in Budapest, Laban discovered an early interest in painting, a vocation
disfavored by his officer father. He was sent
to train at a military academy, but quickly
left and settled in Munich in 1898 with his
first wife, Martha Fricke. By 1913, Laban had
“abandoned his visual art training and identity for that of a dancer/movement artist,”
and opened a summer school for the arts in
the village of Ascona, where he subsequently
29
trained Mary Wigman.15 Laban led a highly
prolific career as a teacher, a choreographer,
and a theorist - most notably, he developed
a notation system for dance, called Labanotation - and he gained widespread celebrity by the time a back injury forced him to
stop performing.16 Eventually, he settled in
England, where he opened schools in Manchester and Surrey.17
ments do not closely resemble Dalcroze’s or
Laban’s, her philosophy on the body certainly does, as many of her dancers do not represent the conventional, balletic image of the
ideal dancer. In addition, by the mere act of
breaking the bounds of ballet, Dalcroze and
Laban provided a starting point for modern
dance as a whole, including Bausch’s work.
Dalcroze and Laban’s schools intersect at
Mary Wigman, who studied under both
teachers and is credited with creating the
“New German Dance.” Undoubtedly the
most prominent of the Ausdrucktanz choreographers, Wigman established her main
school in Dresden in 1920, and branches of this
Dresden-based school were opened across
Germany and the United States.23 She began
her studies at the Dalcroze school in 1910 and
ventured to Laban’s summer program in 1913,
by which time she had already received an
offer to teach at and direct a branch school
of rhythmic gymnastics based on Dalcroze’s
system.24 However, Laban helped persuade
Wigman to decline the offer in pursuit of
her own style, and she opened her school in
Dresden in the fall of 1920. Wigman’s work
departed from Dalcroze’s theory of “simple
gestures and combinations” and even more
so from traditional forms of ballet. She took
her inspiration instead from expressionist
themes that involved “purifying her art form
and exploring the individual’s relationship to
humankind and to the universe.”25
As Laban began developing his theories on
dance, he tended to research “in the area of
Eukinetiks (indicating a preoccupation with
motion or movement) rather than the Eurythmics of Jacques-Dalcroze (the use of movement to understand kinetically the structure
and rhythms of music).”18 Even before his
brief stint at the Military Academy at Wiener
Neustadt, Laban had been “taken with the
patterns of military parades, and fencing and
social dance patterns also interested him.”19
His subsequent time in Munich allowed Laban to observe and participate in a watershed of new ideas, in the “physical, spiritual
and expressive culture-of-the-whole that was
prominent in Munich at that time.”20 One
of the most distinctive features of Laban’s
work was the so-called “Movement Choir,”
an improvisational group dance style.21 The
movement choirs were meant to be organic
and folk-like, and were composed of amateur dancers, “everyday people who came
to the training programs to address growing
concerns about the human being within the
state, the role of spirituality within religion,
and the role of the psyche within the forces
at play in the 1920s.”22 Despite differences in
their movement quality, both Dalcroze and
Laban’s choreography supported widely accessible group dance added an additional
facet to the German body-oriented ethos.
Their commitment to allowing many more
people to participate in new forms of movement follows them through their dance genealogy to Bausch. Although Bausch’s move-
In Rudolf Bach’s book, Das Mary Wigman-Werk, Wigman answers the question
“What is dance?” with the reply: “Space,
Symbol; finitely formed, penetrated and built
with infinity…Dance is the expression of the
increased feeling of being alive…Dance exists
in people as a tendency, as fateful regulation,
wherever it breaks through and wherever it
leads.”
30
True to her philosophy, Wigman continually
emphasized dancers’ individuality of movement, and, as a result, many of her works
were solos for herself.26 In addition, she was
concerned with stripping away extraneous
elements of performances, focusing on stark
staging and utilizing tension in space. Her
movement was “personal, individual to her
and to the particular dance’s statement, rather than a set of gestures and shapes codified
in a different time and no longer reflective of
the individual spirit of the New Dance” (i.e.
ballet).27 The nature of Wigman’s aesthetic
and personal ideals clearly echoed the currents of the ongoing expressionist movement
and provided a universally accessible outlet
of expression and communication through
individualized movement. By aligning her
work with expressionist thought, Wigman
created a new generation of the Ausdrucktanz, which reflected not only the philosophy of the Germany Physical Culture revolution, but also German expressionist ideals
of individuality and selfhood. This theme is
repeated throughout the Ausdrucktanz and
is clearly resonant with Bausch. As we can
see from ballets such as Café Müller, Bausch was fascinated by the way that individual experiences, especially from childhood,
shape one’s life perspective and how those
experiences might be communicated and dramatized through dance.
“complete overhaul of society, culture, government, and even of the body itself.”28 One
item of particular note in Germany is the
August 21, 1919 issue of the weekly Berliner
Illustrirte Zeitung. The issue in question featured a full-page cover photograph of President Friedrich Ebert and Defense Minister
Gustav Noske “in bathing trunks during a
trip to the beach, their sagging bodies displayed matter-of-factly to a national audience.”29 German citizens reacted with shock
and horror at the “droopy, frail appearance
of these two men,” which seemed to them
almost a metaphor for their “soft” position
in the world following the war.30 Not coincidentally, the women’s movement in Germany
began to gain major prominence at this time.
The men of Germany, both emotionally and
physically broken by the horrors of trench
warfare, returned to the home front completely emasculated. Once there, they found
that women had replaced them in much of
the workforce and were rearing to fight for
equal rights and suffrage.
Postwar Germany was a cataclysmic atmosphere for the feminist cause, and many of the
most prominent Ausdrucktanz figures were
women, thus further enhancing the women’s
movement. The image of a new, independent,
working woman emerged, alongside calls for
women’s suffrage and equal education. Traditionally, females had dominated the world
of dance, not only in sheer numbers, but also
“ideologically, institutionally and aesthetically.”31 The context of Ausdrucktanz allowed performing feminists to use “the body
as an emancipatory force…which strove to
liberate women from the constraints experienced as a result of their subordinate status
in society.”32 Modern dance was a forum
by which the body could be used to expose
and express emotions, and through dance,
women sought a distinct identity through a
“genuinely female creation of art.”33 Because
Wigman’s work not only functions as a basis
for Bausch’s style, but also provides a vivid
cross-section of German cultural history at
the time. As she was establishing her school
in Dresden in 1920, a general fascination with
the physical body was escalating severely on
an international scale, as a result of the end
of World War One. After 1918, this global effort to rehabilitate “war-weary populations” was most apparent in Germany,
reflecting its unique position after the war.
Postwar Germans saw that they needed a
31
the peculiarities of the female and male body
are so distinct, it was perhaps easier for society to acknowledge women in dance. Female performers and choreographers of the
Ausdrucktanz thus achieved greater recognition than their political counterparts, who
were seeking women’s rights to vote and
access higher education.34 Thus, the women
of the Ausdrucktanz established themselves
as a dominant force in the dance word, and
paved the way for future female choreographers and dancers, including Bausch.
outside world, particularly through dance.
During the Berlin Olympics of 1936, the Nazi
Party decided to utilize figures of the Ausdrucktanz in a tremendous staged celebration. This showcase featured the rhythmic
movement of Hinrich Medau and Dorothee
Günther and included dancers such as Wigman, Grete Palucca, and Harold Kruetzberg.
Although these Ausdrucktanz artists were
essential to “helping Hitler present the glory
of Germany to the world at the Olympics,”
they were shortly thereafter pronounced
“Degenerate,” as the Ausdrucktanz emphasis on the individual fundamentally opposed
the National Socialist “glorification of the
group.”38 This proclamation became severely limiting for the Ausdrucktanz choreographers and dancers. The “swan song” of the
Ausdrucktanz at the 1936 Olympics unfortunately ended the generation of Mary Wigman, but it also highlights the philosophy,
practices, and power of the Nazi regime. After this highly orchestrated celebration and
the Nazi denunciation of modern dance, the
Ausdrucktanz readily faded in the context of
National Socialism, which did not “support
uncontrolled, free personality development,
[but] rather functionally oriented self-fulfillment.”39 The only elements of the Austrucktanz that survived the Nazi rise to power
were its intense sense of German pride and
Laban’s Movement Choir, which became “a
part of the Nazi aesthetic of the mass and the
new German fold dance.”40
The combination of the Physical Culture
revolution, feminist movement, and Ausdrucktanz also drew attention to nudity and
the Nackttanz movement in early twentieth
century Germany. Because all early nude
dancers were female, “the European public
seemed to regard nude dancing as a mode
of erotic performance capable of sexually exciting its spectators,” and getting men
to perform in nude dances was “practically
impossible.”35 But for many Germans, especially female dancers, nudity represented
modernity, a freedom from everyday life
and “external (social) constraints (for which
clothing is the most obvious sign).”36 Certain performers, such as Isadora Duncan,
appeared totally in the nude, and barefoot
dancing began to gain popularity. A distinct
break from classic practices and ideas, nudist
culture - or Nacktkultur - attracted men and
women alike, spawning more than two hundred German nudist clubs.37 The act of appearing nude and this total exposure of the
body reflects the Ich of the Ausdrucktanz,
especially Wigman’s emphasis on individuality of expression, as well as the interest in
personal expression later found in Bausch’s
work. The naked body is a person’s most sacred and unique possession, and the influence
of Nacktkultur and Ausdrucktanz encourages the German people to explore themselves
and methods of expressing themselves to the
Although the Ausdruckstanz died down in
Germany after the Nazi rise to power, the
movement lived on through international
channels alongside additional cultural transfers out of Germany. The Ninety-Second
Street Young Men’s and Young Women’s
Hebrew Association - also known as the
92nd Street Y or simply the Y - became a
significant dance presence in New York City
32
from the mid-1930s to the 1950s. Its Dance
Center provided technique, choreography,
and dance appreciation classes, and its performance series included the premieres of
works such as Anna Sokolow’s Rooms in
1955 and Alvin Ailey’s Revelations in 1960.41
The Dance Center at the Y began as the
brainchild of William Kolodney, the Educational Director of the Y. According to one
anecdote, Kolodney was inspired by German
dancer and choreographer Isadora Duncan,
captivated by Duncan’s description of a
moonlit trip to a beach in Italy, where she
saw a fisherman and said to him, ‘Give me
a child.’ This seemed pretty racy stuff to the
youthful Kolodney, who decided that the art
of dance deserved further investigation. ‘It’s
because Isadora Duncan took a fancy to an
Italian fisherman that the YM-YWHA has a
Dance Center,’ [Walter] Terry concluded.42
Regardless of what actually piqued Kolodney’s interest in dance, there is no doubt that
the German dance movement was integral
during the initial stages of the Y’s dance program. One of Kolodney’s most significant
decisions was to approach Hanya Holm, the
German-born director of the Mary Wigman
School, who was to be primarily responsible for crafting a dance program of the
same magnitude as a college major.43 Via
Wigman’s teachings, Holm thus became a
bridge between the Ausdrucktanz and dance
in America, aiding in the transfer of German
New Dance curriculum from Germany to the
USA. Holm’s contributions to the founding of the Dance Center demonstrates just
one instance where the practices of the Austruckstanz continued outside of Germany,
even after it was labeled a degenerate art.
the twentieth century.”44 Born in Solingen in
1940, Bausch started her training under Kurt
Jooss, who had been a student of Dalcroze
and a contemporary of Wigman, thus further extending the line of German dance ancestry rooted at Dalcroze and Laban. She
was later accepted to the dance program
at the Julliard School in New York, which
was just the beginning of her continuous cycle of cultural transfer.45 With residencies in
Rome, Los Angeles, Hong Kong, Portugal,
Budapest, Brazil, Istanbul, Japan, and India,
Bausch provides German dance with a global prominence, and her company has continued to tour following her death in 2009.
Bausch’s work has gained even more attention through Wim Wenders’s documentary
Pina, which was released in January 2011.
Her international critical acclaim has given
new life to the Ausdrucktanz and the teachers that came before her and established a
major presence for German dance style and
technique, not only amongst dancers but
also amongst general audiences.
Throughout Bausch’s work, her dancers “often re-enact moments from their childhood
during performance, showing the audience
how they incorporated social patterns,” and
they “repeat the instances in which they started repeating other people’s movements and
behaviors.”46 Like her Ausdrucktanz predecessors, Bausch was clearly interested in the
individuality of expression as well as a universal accessibility. In an interview in 1994,
Bausch stated, “I think each person has to
discover dance on his or her own… It seems
important to me that people change the moments of their lives.”47 Her evident philosophy of allowing each dancer to discover the
movement unique to his or her own body
and experiences clearly echoes the teachings of Mary Wigman - “[Bausch’s] work
approaches that of Wigman in its use of the
dancers’ personal experiences, and surpasses
The Ausdrucktanz’s next and final generation
is wholly encapsulated by the work of Pina
Bausch, appointed director of the Wuppertal Tanztheater in 1973 and now recognized
as “the most important choreographer of
33
Wigman by critically using ballet technique
and not denying it.”48 Bausch’s style is often
cited as unique and revolutionary, but as we
have seen, the roots of her style have traveled
a long and progressive road through twentieth century German culture. Her innovative
and influential works still contain traces of
the wide accessibility of dance preached by
Dalcroze and Laban and the individualism
pioneered by Wigman, as well as the expressionist and feminist movements that stimulated Wigman’s ideas.
self-expression. Dalcroze and Laban were
directly influenced by and contributed to the
German fascination with exercise and body
image, and Wigman’s philosophy reflected
that of the expressionists. In addition, Wigman and her contemporaries - particularly
Isadora Duncan - participated in and enhanced developing nudist culture as well as
the feminist movement, establishing a role for
women in dance that contested their subordinate status in society. Bausch’s work builds
on the artistry and theory of the dancers that
came before her, whose ideas will continue
to live on through Bausch and through the
dancers she has taught and mentored. The
journey through Bausch’s dance genealogy
demonstrates that although German culture
has been fragmented, reworked, and recreated throughout the twentieth century, we
can piece it together through the progressive
development of modern dance, particularly
the Ausdrucktanz movement. Bausch is the
grand finale of the Ausdrucktanz, the final
destination of German dance in the twentieth century, providing a directionality and
culmination point for the movement. She is
an unforgettably moving choreographer and
performer in her own right, but also a monument to the innovation and cultural contributions of the line of teachers and dancers
that nurtured her.
Bausch’s death on June 30, 2009 was tragic and sudden. She had been diagnosed just
five days earlier with lung cancer, and was
only two weeks away from the scheduled
start date to film Pina. The film subsequently
became a beautiful eulogy to the late dancer and choreographer, earning a nomination
for Best Documentary at the 2012 Academy
Awards. In Pina, one might also see a tribute to the teachers - both direct and indirect
- of Bausch, extending back to the turn of
the twentieth century. We can trace Bausch’s artistic ancestry through Kurt Jooss to
Emile Jacques-Dalcroze, and she was highly
influenced by Mary Wigman, who in turn
studied under both Dalcroze and Rudolf Laban. Through this dance genealogy, we can
also glean information about German culture
and various manifestations of the practice of
34
German
Patrick Lauppe
Superfluous
Thoughts
Kraus and Schnitzler on
Ornament in Literature
Karl Kraus, who was known in fin-de-siècle
Vienna for his harsh and incessant critiques
of Viennese society. I then compare Kraus’s
critique with Arthur Schnitzler’s Leutnant
Gustl, which I interpret as a performance of
excessively ornamental language in the interest of a broad critique of Viennese society in
the early twentieth century.
“The evolution of culture is synonymous with
the removal of ornament from utilitarian objects.”1 Adolf Loos’s formulation for the place
of ornament in the history of civilization was
hugely influential on modern architecture and
design. Due to the qualification in the last
three words - “from utilitarian objects” - it
is hard to imagine that this claim could have
had any influence outside of these two fields.
Regardless, many of Loos’s Viennese contemporaries attempted to apply his principle
to literature. In this essay, I assess the polemic against ornament in literature by critic
Loos and Kraus had both a personal and an
intellectual affinity for one another.2 Kraus
found their projects analogous: “The debasement of practical life by ornament, demonstrated by Adolf Loos, finds its counterpart
in the permeation of journalism by elements
of higher culture [Geistelementen], which
has led to a catastrophic confusion. Phrase35
ology is the ornament of the mind.”3 Kraus
opposes any stylistic flourish that muddies or
prevents a reader’s understanding of a subject.
The written ornament is that which obstructs
the communication of an idea between author
and reader. Like Loos, Kraus asserts that ornament must be scoured from his corner of
Viennese culture. How he extends this notion
from journalism (functional discourse) to literature (nonpragmatic discourse) takes some
further analysis.
thinks without the pleasure of thought.”8 It
consists of words selected superficially, from
a collection of platitudes. Here, Kraus defines
a further class of ornament in literature: the
commonplace. Figures of speech, hackneyed
metaphors, and clichés are all consequences
of the linguistic tragedy of the commons. This
set of well-worn tools is a linguistic fallback:
it can be mobilized spontaneously and without thought. As a result, such language loses
its signifying function, to exist solely as physical sounds or scribbles of ink. Just as architectural ornament is design for its own sake,
ornamental prose is writing for its own sake.
In his 1923 book of aphorisms, Dicta and
Contradicta, Kraus distinguishes literature
from journalism and reveals his indignation
for the latter: “The journalists of painting are
called - house painters. And I believe that a
writer is the man who speaks an artwork to
the public.”4 For Kraus, journalism is thoughtless, mechanical work, a superficial use of language for the purpose of expressing common
opinions - “A journalist is someone who takes
what the reader has already thought anyway
and expresses it in a form not just any military
man could manage.”5 In contrast, literature
must be the object of intense consideration.
For instance, here is what Kraus prescribes for
one of his preferred forms - the aphorism: “It
is often difficult to write an aphorism when
you can. It is much easier to write an aphorism
when you can’t.”6 Only when writing is difficult can it aspire to be a work of art.
Therefore, Kraus’s critique of ornament in literature consists of two interrelated categories.
First, any excessive language is ornament.
This includes any device that does not clarify
what is being expressed and simply stands in
the way of the reader’s understanding. Secondly, any linguistic commonplace is ornament. This includes language that does not
require thought to produce and that consequently relies on the clichés of everyday discourse. Kraus claims that any linguistic device
that fulfills either of these criteria should be
removed from a text.
One form of writing that contained both of
these violations in Kraus’s time was the feuilleton. This was the type of short personal essay that made up the Sunday supplement of
popular Viennese newspapers like the Neue
Freie Presse, which Kraus criticized to no
end. Kraus is vitriolic in his criticisms of Sunday supplements; pejorative references to the
“Sunday magazine” permeate Dicta and Contradicta. For example, aphorism 498 reads,
“One Sunday magazine buries a dozen works
of art.”9 In this aphorism, Kraus identifies both
the commonness and the destructive excess of
the feuilleton. It diverts attention from what
really matters (the work of art) to what does
not (the trivial opinions and observations of
essayists). Generally, the feuilleton was a sub-
Kraus’s equation between the quality and
difficulty of writing follows from his pained
awareness of language’s common origins.
“Language is the raw material of the literary
artist,” he writes, “but it does not belong to
him alone.”7 Language belongs to everyone,
including those who cannot wield it well. Since
language is common property, the writer of
literature must consider her language carefully
for her work to qualify as art. Otherwise, the
writer is reduced to the journalist, who writes
in everyday language for the sake of the average reader. In Kraus’s words, “journalism
36
jective account of the world through purple
descriptions. “Adjectives engulfed the nouns,
the personal tint virtually obliterated the contours of the object of discourse,” writes Carl
Shorske in his study.10 This is just the sort of
writing that Kraus refers to as “the permeation
of journalism by elements of higher culture,”
quoted above. The feuilleton is journalistic,
in that it is riddled with colloquialisms, and
excessive, in that it hides the real world behind a subjective voice. Accordingly, Kraus’s
contemporary, Theodor Herzl, warned the
feuilleton writer against “falling in love with
his own spirit, and thus of losing any standard
of judging himself or others.”11 Kraus and his
Viennese contemporaries saw the feuilleton
as a sign that their society was on a perilous
verge. The feuilleton was considered to be the
first step in subjectivity’s march on writing.
What Kraus and his fellows feared was that
this march would not step until the real world
had been entirely driven out. The resulting
text would have no representative function; it
would be pure ornament.
In Schnitzler’s Leutnant Gustl, language that
fulfills one of Kraus’s two criteria of the ornamental in writing is ubiquitous. Leutnant
Gustl consists of the real-time thoughts of the
title character, who sees a concert at the Vienna Opera House, is personally affronted in the
foyer by a local baker, walks into the Prater
in northern Vienna while swearing to commit
suicide in reaction to the insult, and falls asleep
there. Ultimately, he does not commit suicide,
since he finds out the next morning that the
baker has coincidentally died. Leutnant Gustl
is a story in which little truly happens, and
this plot-level hole is filled with the racing,
circular thoughts of its protagonist. For example, during the entirety of the concert scene
that begins the story, in which details about
the music are nearly absent, Gustl’s thoughts
wander out of boredom. He recognizes that
his inability to focus on the concert could be
incriminating amongst the judgmental con-
certgoers, so he wants his bored thoughts to
remain hidden. “Why’s that fellow staring at
me all the time?” Gustl wonders. “I suppose he
notices how bored I am…”12 Gustl’s thoughts
represent an overwhelming distraction, a layer
of white noise over the world from which neither he nor the reader can escape.
The excessive character of Schnitzler’s prose
parallels Kraus’s critique of ornament in literature. By Kraus’s estimation, Leutnant Gustl is
the worst kind of writing conceivable. Rather
than a blameworthy flaw, this is an intentional
effect that Schnitzler cultivates in his prose in
order to bring about a certain attitude in the
reader. Schnitzler criticizes the titular protagonist by expressing Gustl’s thoughts in heavily
ornamental and superficial language, which is
an extrapolation of the feuilleton style. This
interpretation of Leutnant Gustl is reinforced
by the fact that it originally appeared in the
Christmas supplement to Die Neue Freie Presse, alongside numerous feuilletons.13 Therefore, Schnitzler’s novella is a fictional feuilleton
that exaggerates the subjectivity of the form
to an unprecedented14 and critical extreme.
The characteristics of Gustl’s interior monologue can be split along Krausian lines. First
of all, the prose of Leutnant Gustl is excessive. At one point in the story, Gustl tries
to remember an unremarkable event. He
hesitates in trying to remember the name of
someone: “Funny, I can’t remember a single
name! Oh, yes: Etelka!...Couldn’t understand
a word of German…nor was it necessary…
There was nothing to say!”15 This anecdote
deals with a lack of meaningful content on
multiple levels. First, Gustl cannot remember
the name of the girl. The act of recounting
this name takes him several sentences, so the
lack of one word transforms into a surplus of
others. Secondly, the character Etelka cannot
understand German. As a result, anything that
Gustl says in this circumstance is meaningless
in the mind of his interlocutor. Thirdly, there
37
is no need for speech, since Gustl admits that
even if his words had meaning in the mind
of his interlocutor, he had nothing to say in
the first place. This incident, an unremarkable
event that lacks content triply, is delivered to
the reader in a profusion of words. This moment serves as a model for Leutnant Gustl as
a whole. It is, as Kraus laments about journalism, “think[ing] without the pleasure of
thought.”16 It is language as mere ornament.
While Gustl unfurls this unending spool of
words, he has trouble focusing on the world
around him. His interiority directly hinders
his ability to remain focused on the events at
hand, and the reader’s understanding suffers
as a result. This happens multiple times during
the pivotal scene in which the baker insults
Gustl, which sends him into a whirl of reflection. Events occur in the world around him,
but Gustl’s awareness of the events is delayed:
“Where’s my coat?...Why I’m already wearing it….I didn’t even notice it….Who helped
me on with it?” and “What? I’m already on
the street? How did I get here?” (my translation). 17 Gustl has become so engrossed in his
thoughts that he can no longer follow the real-time progression of events. He is repeatedly
surprised by the real world, since he has lost
track of it. Because the narration of the novella never escapes Gustl’s interior monologue,
the reader has as limited of a perspective on
Gustl’s world as he does. His interiority is
represented in ornamental language that has
come to envelop what is actually happening
in the world of the text: the exterior world is
often obscured entirely. While “adjectives engulfed the nouns” in the feuilleton, reflections
engulf the real world in Leutnant Gustl.
One could argue that this reading of Schnitzler’s novella is missing the point. In reality,
nothing in the story truly exists outside what we
have before us. The dualism between the interior and the exterior world in a work of fiction
is a textual illusion. Gustl’s progression from
haughty self-confidence to suicidal despair to
ultimate redemption is the primary subject of
the novella. From this perspective, it seems
wrong to suggest that Gustl’s thoughts are all
ornament and that the progression of events
in the outside world is the true content of the
text. This criticism of my reading of Gustl neglects to consider Schnitzler’s frequent use of
irony throughout the novella. Through irony, Schnitzler can communicate that many of
Gustl’s assessments and self-assessments are
patently untrue, despite the fact that he has no
recourse to a perspective that is separate from
Gustl’s mind. As a result, the reader can maintain a transcendent frame of reference through
which to judge and laugh at Gustl. In this respect, though Gustl himself has lost the ability
to attend to the world around him, Schnitzler
roots the reader in the external world by distancing him from Gustl’s frequently ridiculous
interior voice. Consequently, the reader experiences any missing information about the
external world as a lack. In recognizing that
Gustl is a ridiculous, unreliable narrator, the
reader acknowledges the need to transcend
this narrator’s consciousness. The story bristles at its position within Gustl’s skull, directing our attention to the outside world, despite
the fact that we see mere glimpses. As such,
reading Leutnant Gustl is acknowledging that
the words themselves are superfluous.
The irony in the story originates from Gustl’s
clearly unrealistic self-image as a proud and
assertive man who violently avenges any form
of disrespect from other people. For example,
when he is still sitting in the opera house, he
notices a man staring at him. “Look away
already!” he thinks. “That they all would
fear my gaze!”18 Gustl’s belief that the world
should fear the way he looks at them is childishly self-centered. It is a cue to the reader
that he is a buffoon. While the outside world
may seem absent, it is in fact being described
in negative relief, as the opposite of Gustl’s
false beliefs. It is clear that no one is actually
38
afraid of Gustl’s gaze, but we must infer this
by realizing that his self-image is inconsistent
with his true image. Gustl’s “tough guy” attitude is made more ridiculous by the number
of times and the diversity of ways in which
he repeats to himself that he should kill or
should have killed the disrespectful baker:
“Ich müßt’ ja den Säbel ziehen und ihn zusammenhauen”; “Ich muß ihn umbringen!”; “Und
ich hab’ ihn nicht auf der Stelle zusammengehauen”; “Ich muß ihn totschlagen, wo ich ihn
treff’!”; “Wenn ich ihn seh’, so hau’ ich ihn
zusammen.”19 Gustl never acts on his word: a
freak accident later kills the baker. The ironic
distance between Gustl’s excessive repetition
of his desire for revenge and his inability to
enact this revenge in the real world reinforces the fact that his character is an overblown
fool. The more Gustl reasserts his self-image,
the more it becomes clear that it does not correspond to reality. Rather, it is only a layer of
ornament that Gustl has built atop his powerless life.
Irony also plays a role in depicting Gustl as
a stereotypical product of his society. As indicated above, Kraus despised the commonplace in writing, both the common opinion
and the common turn of phrase. Accordingly,
Leutnant Gustl is riddled with both kinds of
commonplaces, and Schnitzler only accentuates their vacuity. For example, when Gustl
turns his attention to his beloved’s other
courtier (or husband), he thinks the following:
He must be a Jew, anyway. Sure enough, he’s
in a bank, and that black beard…He’s probably a reserve lieutenant! In my regiment he
wouldn’t even get to drills! Generally, they
still make so many Jews officers - I don’t give
a damn about the whole Anti-Semitism!20
directly observed the man’s military capabilities, he makes the racist assumption that a Jew
does not fight well. After reasserting this idea
with the broader claim that there are simply
too many Jewish officers, Gustl’s mind makes
a strange leap. In the form of a colloquial expression, he says that he does not care about
anti-Semitism. Thus, he recognizes that the
observations he has been making would be
deemed anti-Semitic by some people, but then
he proceeds to cast these aside. The particular way in which he dismisses these accusations brings about an ambiguity. On the one
hand, he could be saying that he recognizes that he is anti-Semitic and does not care.
He is a bigot and he knows it. On the other hand, there is a darker possibility: it could
be that he recognizes that his thoughts could
be described as anti-Semitic, but in fact that
description would itself be a misconception.
In his mind, the racist generalizations he has
made describe the real world, and the people
who would describe these as anti-Semitic are
the deluded ones. Therefore, he feels that he
transcends his contemporaries in his discernment of the real world, even though his ideas
are nothing but everyday wisdom at its most
damaging, i.e. racism.
Appropriately, Gustl expresses his pride in
his transcendent understanding with a colloquialism: “Da pfeif’ ich auf’n ganzen Antisemitismus!” which means something like,
“I don’t give a damn about anti-Semitism!”
The contrast between this light colloquialism
and its dark undertones - the Anti-Semitism
that hides beneath it - makes the colloquialism seem dissonant and perhaps even repressive. This idea, that textual ornament is
a harmless cover laid upon deep-seated and
commonplace prejudice, reveals a productive
line of inquiry into understanding the extent
of Schnitzler’s critique. Perhaps the excess of
ornament that marks many of the products
of Viennese culture of this time - the purple
language of the feuilleton, for instance - is a
Here, Gustl begins by identifying his subject
with anti-Semitic stereotypes (black-bearded
banker must be a Jew), and proceeds to generalize from this that the man in question would
not make a good soldier. Though he has not
39
repressive mechanism against deep-seated hatred and discontent. The need to permeate art
and architecture with ornament is perhaps a
withdrawal and a cover-up, and it is the task
of the intellectual to strip this layer away. Just
as Gustl hides his hatred behind textual ornament, for Schnitzler, the excess of ornament
in fin-de-siècle Vienna hides something portentous in the society’s subconscious.
blacklisted by several Viennese newspapers
as a result of his text.22 Though we cannot
necessarily conclude from this that Schnitzler
had revealed to the Austrian military man and
the larger Austrian culture something about
itself that it did not want to see, it certainly
suggests that his critique strongly resonated
in the Viennese political and cultural body. It
also confirms that Schnitzler’s text was above
all received as a satirical one, that readers understood that this transcription of Gustl’s consciousness was critical, not sympathetic.
Similarly, Kraus frequently attributed macabre
or even apocalyptic consequences to seemingly trivial textual details, like grammar mistakes.
In one essay, he makes a prophetic claim:
“The world originates out of title and tone,
and perishes, for letters become lead.”21 If the
writer does not pay his or her writing the closest attention possible, he or she can ruin the
world. Bad, excessive writing is not only an
aesthetic issue: it is a moral one. Though the
two respective formulations of Schnitzler and
Kraus - text as repression, and text as motivator of world tendencies - are not precisely the
same, both writers suggest that ornament in
literature has real-world consequences. These
authors find something profoundly ominous in
the need to ornament a text.
Leutnant Gustl was heavily condemned by the
Austrian military as an insult to the honor of
the Austrian officer. Schnitzler was challenged
to a duel, which he declined, and he was
punished as a result. Ultimately, he lost his
rank in the Austrian army and found himself
By adopting the stylistic failings that Kraus
identified as textual ornament, Schnitzler communicated to his audience the fact that his novella was polemical. Whether this adoption
was intentional is doubtful, considering that
Kraus did not become established as a critic
in Vienna until well after Leutnant Gustl was
published in 1901. What is clear, however, is
that both Kraus and Schnitzler were attacking
something similar in the prose of their time,
and for similar reasons. Schnitzler’s critique
merely extends in two directions: by giving
the voice of the feuilleton to a self-centered
buffoon, Schnitzler condemns the writer of ornamental prose. At the same time, by writing
ornamental prose into Gustl’s mind, Schnitzler
characterizes him as an ornamental character.
Just like his thoughts, Gustl is a superfluous
person, and for the twentieth-century Viennese intellectual, superfluity has gained new
and ominous dimensions.
40
German
Josh Speagle
Germanic
Influence on Japanese
Pop Culture
Cultural flows between nations are interesting
phenomena, not only because they represent
the inter-connectedness of our world and the
people in it, but also because they provide
alternate channels for nations to exert their
“influence” outside of typical economic, political, or military spheres. This type of cultural
clout, often termed “soft power”1 to distinguish it from the “hard power” that the aforementioned channels provide, is a completely
novel way to look at international relations.
More importantly, however, this “soft power”
is in fact in fact the largest type of exposure
that a great majority of Americans actually
receive from other nations. Many more of us,
for instance, watch shows like Doctor Who
or the BBC’s Sherlock than keep up to date
with British politics and international relations
- and the relatively recent buzz over the royal
wedding, which completely dominated American airwaves for a solid day or so, shows that
this type of influence should at the very least
not be ignored.
In general, people tend to not be the completely rational agents that we think we are.
Instead, humans instead function for the most
part based on certain heuristics, frequently
going off of personal experiences, emotions,
and general sentiments rather than cold-hard
facts and logical reasoning. While itself a
possibly unsettling phenomenon, this style of
non-rational thinking especially comes to the
fore when it comes to often-polarizing top41
ics such as politics. Soft power, then, can be
an incredibly powerful tool because its main
sphere of influence is precisely in this area the conceptions and feelings around certain
phenomena that people then may associate
with certain nations.
When it comes to soft power, no other nation
seems to get as much attention as Japan. With
its inability to hold a standing army thanks to
the infamous “Article 9” in its Constitution,
and its falling political and economic clout,
Japan’s ability to exert itself in the world has
been the subject of intense debate from both
inside and out. It is in this climate of declining hard power, and the desire to remain a
“key player” in the modern global economy,
that the ideas of soft power seem to hold the
most sway. From the widespread popularity
of the Pokémon franchise to the influence of
kawaii culture2 (e.g. Hello Kitty, Tamagatchi)
and the prevalence of anime3 in world cartoon markets, Japanese influences in popular
culture seem to be as wide-ranging as they
are sustaining. Pokémon, for instance, can be
said to be one of the main things that binds
our generation together, and anime’s presence
in American media goes as far back as Astro
Boy (1963-65) and Speed Racer (1967-8), continuing today by influencing popular shows
such as Avatar: The Last Airbender (2005-8).
However, Japanese pop culture is no more a
representation of Japan than many other nations, and is made up of a variety of influences from different places and times. One
notable example of this is the extent of Germanic influence in Japanese pop culture, most
notably anime. By looking into the ways that
Germany has influenced certain aspects of anime, and how they in turn influence Germany
(e.g., Germany hosts several anime conventions each year that regularly draw tens of
thousands of visitors), we can get a glimpse
of the complex ways that culture flows between nations. Furthermore, in the context of
soft power, anime also serves as a great way
to examine how Germany indirectly exerts its
own type of soft power through other media,
indirectly creating (hopefully) positive associations for itself in a context that seems quite
far-removed.
Germany’s influence in anime can be broadly
divided into two categories: direct and indirect. The former are cases where Germanic
traits are explicitly referenced (e.g., speaking
German in shows, having German-named
characters), and thus are relatively easy to pick
out. The latter are cases where elements not
strictly Germanic in origin have been heavily
influenced by Germanic sources (e.g., Germany’s influence over modern Japanese history),
and sometimes require a little bit more digging
to pick out. While the former clearly can contribute to some ideal of indirect German soft
power, the latter, while more interesting in a
historical sense, usually are less so.
To see an example of Germany’s influence on
anime, one need look no further than the most
recent hit show, 4 Attack on Titan, an enormous commercial success both within Japan
and abroad. Besides having a host of characters with names like “Hannes” and “Reiner
Braun,” the main character’s last name - Yeager - derives directly from the German word
for hunter, Jäger. Additionally, the character
designs in the show are overwhelmingly Germanic and predominantly blond - and, were
that not enough, the opening song for the
show even features several segments sung
completely in German.5
Alternately, we can look at one of the most
influential anime ever made - Neon Genesis
Evangelion. One of the main characters of the
show, and in fact the only foreign member of
the cast, Asuka Langley Soryu, is German.6
Her name displays prominent influences from
World War II, her Japanese surname coming
from the Japanese aircraft carrier Soryu and
42
her German one from the American carrier
Langley. The show (and subsequent Rebuild
movies) frequently emphasizes her German
heritage, throwing in multiple scenes where
Asuka speaks/curses in German. Her foreign
presence in the show is also often commented
on at school, where students seem to notice fiery bright red hair color (whilst completely ignoring co-protagonist Rei Ayanami’s blue hair
color). Indeed, strong Germanic influence is at
least a thing in individual shows, and some of
the most popular ones.
the title as well as extensively throughout the
show. Shows like Rozen Maiden, Weiss Kreuz,
and Elfen Lied show that this trend in German
naming is not an isolated anomaly. Bleach,
one of the most popular manga10 (and anime)
today, shows clear Germanic influences in the
portrayal of its current antagonists, the Quincys, many of whom have abilities with German names, such as “Blut Vene [blood vein],”
and are members of the “Wandenreich.”11 In
fact, this type of thing is so popular that it
is listed as a meme under TV Tropes by the
name of “Gratuitous German.”
On this note, a good number of shows actually do include a foreign character in some
way, shape, or form. In a majority of cases,
this character is European rather than North
American, with traits such as blond hair and
fair skin. This is often linked to perceptions
of greater beauty and higher social standing,
frequently similar to that of European aristocrats. While this is more an example of European cultural influence, in a fair number of
these cases, these characters are actually German.7
Direct historical influences can also easily be
identified. The “Principality of Zeon” and
“Galactic Empire,” the antagonistic organization of the popular Gundam franchise and the
anime space opera classic Legend of Galactic
Heroes, respectively, show strong influences
from mid-19th century Prussia. Of course, there
are also references to the Third Reich. Hellsing, the popular manga and recently completed anime, follows the vampire Alucard as he
defends London from Vampire Nazis and the
Catholic Church’s 9th Crusade (yes, I am not
kidding). Black Lagoon, an action-packed
gun-slinger, spends an entire story arc battling
crazy Nazis. The long-running12 manga JoJo’s
Bizarre Adventure even features Nazis as both
antagonists and supporting characters in its
Battle Tendency arc.
More Germanic influence can be seen in the
settings, character designs, and plot elements that are chosen in anime. A number of
high-profile works have picked settings that
resemble that of Germany at different points
in time. Fullmetal Alchemist, another popular anime, contains characters designs and
an overall setting that resemble Pre-WWI
Germany. A host of the main characters are
blond, and frequently dressed in outfits reminiscent of wartime Germany.8 Girls Und Panzer, another recently commercially successful
anime, focuses heavily on tanks, many taken
from WWII-era Germany, and commonly
features quotes from Rommel and Guderian.
Besides recent commercially popular works,
Germanic influence can be seen more directly
through the actual use of German in the show.
The light novel9 series turned anime Kämpfer,
for instance, features German both directly in
The clearest version of direct German influence, however comes in terms of the concepts
and portrayals of magic that often appear in
anime. In almost any show that features more
traditional magic (casting spells, rituals, etc.)
the main conduit language is German. This
pops up all the time in Type/Moon13 franchise
in shows such as the globally popular Fate/
Stay Night and Fate/Zero, but also appear
in more recent shows like Strike the Blood,
which features weapons such as the Schneewalzer. Mephisto Pheles, one of the eight Demon Kings from Blue Exorcist, besides taking
43
his name from a demon in German folklore,
commonly chants in German before casting his
spells.
ceived to many Western nations. The image is
a historical one, the ones you see in folklore,
mythology, and fairy tales, rather than the
actual country, far-removed from the present
day state of affairs. But, this image holds some
power, much as the past “Oriental” image of
Japan and China still do for many Americans
today. Regardless of their presence today, it
is the ninja and samurai that seem to hold our
interest the most - maybe it is the same with
German magicians.
With all these examples, one can clearly see
that Germanic influence in anime is not only
present and wide-ranging but in fact quite
common - so much so that it could be said
to be a part of the genre. This leads then to
two interesting trains of thought. First, how
does all this “project” Germany’s soft power
through the world at large? And second, can
this wide array of Germanic influence be used
to show the extent of Germany’s soft power in
the past?
But the interesting thing about this German
portrayal is that it is unified - there in fact exists two Germanys - the one detailed above, of
fantasy and magic and exoticism, and the one
primarily rooted in WWII, of Nazism and war
and destruction. The remarkable thing about
this second picture, however, is just this - it
seems completely divorced from the present.
This is huge, because the events that took
place in WWII are not even a century old. By
being recast so many times, in so many ridiculous circumstances, anime seems to make this
era of history almost a meme or trope, a fact or
artifact of history rather than real events that
are directly passed down from the Germany
then to the Germany today. It treats them as
source material, in a way seeming to absolve
Germany17 of its past sins by treating them as
if they were another time and place. This indirectly helps to increase the sense abroad that
a divide exists between the Nazi state and the
current one - a clean break, in a sense. And for
a country like Japan, for which issues from the
war such as “comfort women” and war guilt
still play a prominent role between relations in
Southeast Asian, this strikes me as particularly
ironic.
First, it’s useful to define the idea of a “fantasyscape.” As an extension of the idea of landscapes, a setting created by land or scenery,
and “soundscapes,” the spaces or backgrounds
created by sound, “fantasyscapes” are areas
that we have crafted with our imagination. As
Professor Susan J. Napier of Tufts explains it,14
“Fantasyscapes…are the ways at which fantasy can craft spaces and backgrounds to build
from…inherently liminal15 worlds, temporary
alternate lifestyles that exist parallel to the
mundane, which people enter and exit when
they please.” Fantasyscapes, then, are places
that exist parallel to reality - and derive their
power from being so - but that also are ambiguous places themselves where interaction (active) and setting (passive) also become blurry.
Germany’s indirect soft power here then can
be seen as a question surrounding the fantasyscape that anime has constructed - the image
of Germany that is projected, and the ways
that fans interact with them.
So what does this fantasyscape then look
like? Much of it, ironically enough, actually
looks like fantasy. Many of the common expressions of Germanic influence is associated
with phenomena related to the supernatural,
the “foreign,” and the fantastic16 - much, perhaps, like the way that the Orient is often per-
Most importantly though, I feel the most important element of this fantasyscape is neither
of these traits, but a much more “down to
Earth” one - namely, that Germany is “cool.”
By being featured so prominently, German
language, culture, and history are showcased
44
as being “cool” to many of the viewers.18 This
very low-level association probably holds
much more sway over the average viewer.
While many of the traits above function as
backdrops to the fantasyscapes of Germany
that have been created and drawn from, this
functions as a fundamental unit that comprises
the very fabric of the fantasyscape, encapsulating the motivation behind and the continual
renewal/reuse of ideas and concepts. Germany’s indirect soft power then seems to be quite
positive and quite powerful.
franchise, they really are endemic within the
genre as a whole, most recently being showcased in the currently airing KILL la KILL.
To illustrate more directly how strong this soft
power may be let’s look back to the history
of anime itself. Anime, contrary to what some
may claim, was inspired by American cartoons
in the post-war era. Many of the current styles
of animation, now iconic to the genre, were
often implemented simply to cut costs as a
war-torn country emerging from the wake of
total defeat tried to emulate the media of its
occupier. Given this then, we could ask the
obvious question: how prevalent is American
influence in anime itself? The answer, surprisingly, is almost none, outside maybe negative
tropes such as the “dumb American.”20
To get to the heart of the second question concerning what anime can tell us about past German soft power, we look towards sources of
Germany’s indirect influence, which is just as
prevalent - if not more so - than their direct influence. For instance, German influence during
the Meiji era is responsible for one of the
main trends seen in anime today: the schoolgirl uniform. During Japan’s modernizing era,
the state attempted to model many of its policies around those of Prussia. This led many
state officials to adopt German-style military
uniforms in their duty, which are commonly
portrayed in anime that are set in the Meiji
Period such as Rurouni Kenshin. This also led
the state to adopt uniforms in many schools
around the country patterned on Prussia’s military uniforms. This worked fine for boys, but
girls, who at the time also began to be educated, had no pre-existing model uniform. They
eventually hit upon using sailor uniforms (seifuku) to complement the boys’, and a powerful
cultural force the likes which could not have
been predicted had been born.19 Seifuku today
are ubiquitous in anime, appearing in almost
every shape and size across every single genre.
While the most well-known example in the
West probably comes from the Sailor Moon
But then where would the majority of outside
influence come from? Using what I’ve argued,
I would say the Meiji period, and Western
powers that interacted with Japan during this
time.21 In fact, the influence Germany (then
Prussia) had over Meiji era Japan cannot be
understated, as much of the government at
the time was in fact modeled on the Prussian
state. Most importantly, the reason much of
these changes were actually implemented was
not by economic or political or military coercion/pressure on Prussia’s part (although
those likely were contributing factors), but because Japan was so impressed by the image
of Prussia as a nation. For a nation forcibly
opened by the US and under constant threat
of imperialism by Western powers, it is particularly telling that, after visiting scores of
Western nations, it was in fact Prussia that
Japan decided to base its new government on,
not the US. In the end, it was soft, not hard,
power that eventually carried the day.
45
Ludwig Thoma
German
German
Friede
Über die Heide geht der Wind;
Es flüstert im Gras, es rauscht in den Bäumen.
Die dort unten erschlagen sind,
Die vielen Toten, sie schweigen und träumen.
Hören sie nicht den Glockenklang?
Dringt nicht zu ihnen aus heiligen Räumen
Halleluja und Friedenssang?
Die vielen Toten, sie schweigen und träumen.
Voll des Dankes ist alle Welt,
Sie darf mit dem Lobe des Herrn nicht säumen;
Wer im Kampfe fiel, heißt ein Held.
Die vielen Toten, sie schweigen und träumen.
Wenn die Herrscher versammelt sind,
Bei festlichem Mahl lasst die Becher schäumen!
Über die Heide geht der Wind;
Die vielen Toten, sie schweigen und träumen.
46
Ludwig Thoma
Transl. Kevin Hong &
Cody Dales
Peace
Over the heath goes the wind,
It whispers in the grass, murmurs in the trees.
Down below lie the fallen,
The many dead, they keep quiet and dream.
Do they not hear the bell’s peal?
Does it not burst forth from holy realms,
Hallelujah and songs of peace?
The many dead, they keep quiet and dream.
Full of thanks is all the world,
They praise the Lord, and never will forget.
He who was slain is minted a hero,
The many dead, they keep quiet and dream.
When the sovereigns convene,
Their festive cups froth over the brim!
Over the heath goes the wind;
The many dead, they keep quiet and dream.
47
Danielle Lussi
German
German
Wallerstein
Irgendwo im Walde,
Dort sollten wir Abendessen.
Die Jagdhütte
Wurde es genannt.
Später, gegen acht,
Sollte das Grillen anfangen.
Lagerfeuer und Bier,
So habe ich gedacht.
Mit Pulli angekommen,
Die Haare schnell hochgeknotet,
War ich plötzlich umringt
Von Sakkos und Fliegen.
Weiße Tischtücher,
Begleitet von Kerzen.
Die passten perfekt
Zur schmutzigen Jeans.
Bemerkt hat es keiner,
Weil Perlen und Seide,
Die kritischen Augen
Mit Erfolg ablenken.
48
Danielle Lussi
Wallerstein
Somewhere in the forest,
There were we to eat dinner.
The Hunting Cabin,
It was called.
Later, around eight,
The barbecue was to begin.
Bonfire and beer,
Or so I thought.
Arriving in a sweatshirt,
Hair quickly knotted high,
I was suddenly surrounded,
By blazers and bow-ties.
White tablecloths,
Accompanied by candles,
Matched perfectly,
To grungy jeans.
Luckily, no one noticed,
Since pearls and silk,
Successfully distract
Judging eyes.
49
50
51
52
Scandinavian
Samantha Wesener
All the King’s Men
Icelandic Skalds at
Scandinavian Court
equal in physical attributes and social standing, and has tellingly-named children. Jarl and
his wife Erna end up producing a youngest
son Kon, whose name is etymologically related to ‘king’: konungr in Old Norse. This
anonymous lay is unique in the Poetic Edda
for its explicit treatment of social classes, and
for its explanatory style describing the origin
of classes, something akin to a Kipling JustSo story. It may have reflected existing conditions in the Old Norse world, or may have
conceptualized an ideal class order. Whether
or not the three-tiered society outlined in the
poem was so clear-cut in actuality, Rígsþula is
evidence that the concept of social hierarchy
clearly had deep roots in Scandinavian society. As one translator of Rígsþula points out,
In the Eddic poem Rígsþula, the god Heimdall - disguised as a traveler called Rig - visits
households of three very clearly defined social
strata and sires offspring with the matriarch of
each household. A son called “Thrall,” with
dark hair and dull eyes, is born to the lowest order; “Karl,” meaning free, common man,
is born to a working household; and “Jarl,”
with fair skin and bright eyes, is born into
the highest level of society - the nobility. A
clear emphasis in the lay is unsurprisingly on
family, in the context of inherited social status. Each of Heimdall’s children marries his
53
however, scholars seem to agree that its societal concepts reflect mainland Scandinavia
- Denmark or Norway, possibly even Old
Ireland - rather than Iceland, which, with its
quasi-parliamentary Althing, was something
of a different case.1
Spanning the gap between Iceland and mainland Scandinavia and sitting somewhere
between freemen and nobility on the social
scale were Icelandic court skalds, who frequented courts on the mainland throughout
the Viking Age. Following the settlement of
Iceland in the late ninth century, skaldic poetry seems to have flourished in Iceland, and
Icelandic skalds outstripped their Norwegian
counterparts over the next century. By the 11th
century, skalds at courts on the Scandinavian
mainland were overwhelmingly from Iceland
or the Orkney Islands.2 These poets occupied a special place in societies overseas, as
foreigners infiltrating a stratified society, and
as craftsmen skilled in a specialized, highly
valued, and powerful craft. Through a closer look at Icelandic poets moving through
foreign courts, we can begin to construct a
picture of a society in which social status
(as function of family and inheritance) was
of utmost importance, but which also valued a quick wit and poetic skill, such that
humble origins of Icelanders could be overlooked if their tongues were quick enough.
This essay will consider several cases found
in the Íslendingasögur and especially in the
þættir to assess the power and social position of Icelandic skalds in foreign courts.
Depending on the category to which a given
saga belongs, bits of skaldic poetry embedded in the prose typically serve one of two
main functions: as an authenticating device
or as a reflection on the saga character composing them. Skaldic poetry affirms historicity and accuracy in many of the koningsogur,
for example. As Snorri Sturluson tells us in
the introduction to Heimskringla, his massive history of the Norwegian kings, skaldic
poetry is his most trusted source on events
past: “At the court of King Harald [Fairhair] there were poets, and people still remember their poems and the poems about all
the kings who have since been in Norway;
and we have taken the greatest amount of
information from what is said in poems that
were recited before the great men themselves
or their sons. We consider everything as
true that is found in those poems about their
exploits and battles.”3 The truth value of
skaldic accounts is guaranteed, Snorri continues, due to their nature - they were composed by court skalds and recited to the very
kings they were about, or their sons. While
this makes for a panegyric tone and a highly
biased cast on events, it also means that the
historical facts were probably close to truth,
as presumably no one would make up complete falsehoods about the king’s deeds and
then recite them to his face.
Not all skaldic excerpts, however, were included in the sagas as authenticating devices. Many of the sagas, especially within
the Íslendingasögur category, feature main
characters who are poets in addition to their
being warriors or kings - thus, they include
many verses attributed to the main character. In the Saga of Hallfred the Troublesome
Poet, who is ‘troublesome’ for clinging to the
old gods in the midst of conversion to Christianity, 31 out of 34 poetic verses found in the
saga are attributed to its eponymous main
character.4 King Harald’s Saga, a chapter in
the afore-mentioned Heimskringla, is one
of the koningsogur, but also involves a poet-king as its main character. The sagas describe the life of the Norwegian King Harald
Sigurdsson, often given the epithet ‘Hardrada,’ from his early exploits as a member of
the Byzantine emperor’s Varangian guard, to
his death at Stamford Bridge in 1066.5 King
54
Harald’s saga is a particularly interesting
case regarding the function of skaldic verse
within it; segments taken from the poetry of
Harald’s court skalds function as eye-witness
testimony, employed by Snorri to guarantee
historicity, while much of the rest of the poetry found in the saga is composed and spoken
by the king himself within the narrative. Indeed, King Harald’s love of poetry proves to
be a major feature of his character and thus
a major feature of his court. An excerpt from
the saga conveys the double function of poetry in King Harald’s saga: “A great deal of
information about King Harald is contained
in the poems which Icelandic poets presented to him and his sons; and because of his
interest in poetry, he was a great friend of
theirs.”6 Taste for poetry and poet-status defines the king as a saga character and ruler,
while the poetry of the court skalds of his
retinue provides Snorri with reliable source
material to bolster and authenticate his narrative.
your arrival there tonight, and he will pay
you this debt fully.” He judges the character
of his interlocutor well, and works a kind of
sarcastic praise into his comeback based on
Harald’s nobility. His impudence is remembered by the king on their second encounter
and richly repaid. Halli has no impressive
family ties, nor is his physique particularly
praise-worthy - in fact his physical description more closely fits that of the thrall class
in Rígsþula than the physical profile of the
upper two strata. The saga describes him as
“long-necked, with narrow shoulders and
long arms and was rather ill-proportioned.”7
Yet Halli is quick-witted and possesses poetic skill as well as comic timing; King Harald
takes a liking to him, and he finds himself in
the King’s court, even given a place on the
bench among the Norwegian nobility.
The Tale of Sarcastic Halli is a patchwork
of related comedic episodes, but the most
climactic one might be his exchange with
Thjodolf, the reigning chief poet of the king,
whose poetical prowess is demonstrated
when King Harald witnesses a quarrel between a tanner and a blacksmith and asks
Thjodolf to compose two verses on the spot.
Thjodolf is given very specific parameters: he
manages to compose one poem which casts
the blacksmith as Sigurd, and the tanner as
Fafnir of the famous Sigurd legend, and another one with the blacksmith as Thor and
the tanner as the giant Geirrod. With this
feat, Thjodolf affirms his place as Harald’s
favorite: “’You’re not over-praised,’ said the
king, ‘when you’re called a master-poet.’”8
This particular scene belongs to a genre in
which the king sets up complicated compositional hoops for his court poet to jump
through, with the suspense often heightened
with an associated wager or with some dire
time constraints. Interestingly enough, however, when first given the task of composing
the two verses, Thjodolf thinks it beneath
King Harald’s poetry-rich court provides the
setting for a curious and comical tale (þattr)
included in the Íslendingasögur called the
Tale of Sarcastic Halli. Halli is a completely unknown entity at the beginning of the
tale - the typical genealogical scene-setting
is noticeably missing from his introduction.
All the saga tells us about his family is that
they are from Fljot. Instead, Halli is simply
an Icelander who has the hutzpah to make a
daring and risqué come-back to none other
than King Harald, as they briefly encounter
one another sailing in a fjord. During this
encounter, Halli’s first display of wit plays
on the social differences between himself and
his companions and the king: when Harald
asks, about Halli and his men staying the
past night at Agdenes (Agdi’s Ness) in Norway, “Didn’t Agdi screw you?” Halli replies:
“...in this matter Agdi was waiting for nobler men than ourselves, and he expected
55
him: “that’s hardly suitable considering that
I am called your chief poet.” Perhaps such
short, amusing poems were left to the king’s
lesser poets, while Thjodolf felt his talent
should be saved for more important subjects. We get a glimpse of his more serious
work from the segments of his poems found
throughout King Harald’s Saga, used in this
case as historical confirmation. Despite his
pride, Thjodolf, like Halli, also has no great
origins to speak of, and no illustrious family
genealogy - a fact which seems to have been
something of a chip in the shoulder: he is
described as being: “of humble origins, well
brought up, and envious of newcomers.”
Thjodolf’s pride and insecurity lead to a conflict with Halli, erupting in a battle of wits
between the two Icelanders. That they fling
crafty insults at one another is no surprise;
battles with words or with poetry, often
known as ‘flyting’, had a long tradition, both
in other sagas and in Nordic mythology. But
the ways in which Halli and Thjodolf insult
one another is telling: each focuses on the
humble Icelandic origins of the other, citing
hilariously-named works on rustic subjects,
while also making jabs at each other’s intelligence and poetic skill. The rivalry starts
when Halli wishes to recite a drapa for the
king, thus encroaching on Thjodolf’s territory as chief poet. Thjodolf accuses Halli of
having lied to the king in claiming that he
had never composed a long poem - to prove
it, Thjodolf uncovers an embarrassing work
of Halli’s from their common Icelandic past:
“’We call it Polled-Cow Verses which he
composed about cows he tended out in Iceland.’”9 Halli in turn dredges up Thjodolf’s
“Food Trough Verses,” composed in his
youth; “’It’s about carrying out ashes with
his siblings, and he was thought to be capable of nothing more…moreover it was necessary to make sure there were no live coals
in the ashes because he had no more brains
than he needed at that time.’”10 Too unintelligent even to be a workman, Thjodolf, the
proud king’s favorite, had carried out this
contemptible task in his youth, and Halli will
not let him escape it. The two poets, who
have climbed the social ladder to end up in
the hall of Norway’s powerful king on the
basis of their wit and poetic skill, insult each
other by pointing back to their rustic roots.
The insults pierce even further, however,
when the subject of family is brought up.
Both Icelanders suffer from the problem
of a small community in which everyone’s
business is known - a phenomenon facilitated by the Althing assemblies held each
summer at Þingvellir, during which the entire Icelandic population would gather and
hear legal cases.11 Thus the two Icelanders
know each other’s family histories even when
the tale author makes no mention of them,
and the subject of the verbal duel turns to
avenging of fathers. Thjodolf, seething from
Halli’s last insult about his “Food Trough
Verses” challenges Halli’s very presence at
Norwegian court when his father remains
unavenged back in Iceland: “It seems to me
he’s more obliged to avenge his father than
engage in verbal duels with me here in Norway.” It seems for a moment that Halli is
caught in a bind, his honor called into question since his duty by his family unfulfilled,
but Halli dodges the blow and explains that
his relatives had established a truce, “and in
our country it’s thought bad to be called a
truce-breaker.”12
Once again, Halli comes back at Thjodolf
with the story of his father’s death and the
subsequent revenge visited upon his killer. Thjodolf’s father turns out to have been
strangled in an accident involving a calf and
a lead-lead rope. Thjodolf and his siblings
had eaten the calf after the fact - thus eating their father’s killer. The main humiliation
56
in the story, however, is the attention Halli
draws to the family’s poverty. Halli opens his
story as follows: “…Thorljot was Thjodolf’s
father. He lived in Svarfadardal in Iceland
and he was very poor and had many children.
It’s the custom in Iceland that in the autumn
the farmers assemble to discuss the poor
people and at that time no one was named
sooner than Thorljot, Thjodolf’s father.”13
Though the writer of the tale is more silent
than is usual in the saga genre on the subject
of family, we learn the family histories and
social origins of Thjodolf and Halli through
the harshest insults the two poets fling at one
another. Thjodolf’s story is evidence that it
was possible to progress from carrying ashes
as a member of the poorest family in Iceland
to composing important drapas for the most
powerful king in Scandinavia at the time,
which betrays a remarkable social mobility
available to the skilled poet. Thjodolf could
infiltrate a stratified society as an impoverished foreigner and climb to the top based on
his merit as a skald alone. Yet this does not
mean that family and history ceased to be
important. During their verbal duel, spurred
on by Harald, Halli’s perceptiveness allows
him to see through Thjodolf’s cultured veneer and strike where it is most humiliating.
The king, boarding for the night at a Norwegian farmer’s dwelling, encounters Stuf, a
blind and large man from Iceland, who introduces himself when prompted as “Cat’s son.”
When Harald asks, “but who is this Cat?”
Stuf cannot stop himself from grinning, and
the King guesses correctly what clever retort
Stuf has in mind: “I imagine that you’d like
to ask me which swine my father was, but
that you laugh instead, since you don’t dare
to ask.”14 Snuf’s unsaid but perfectly communicated come-back is a play on the epithet
often given to King Harald’s father Sigurd,
“the Sow.” Like Halli’s, Snuf’s introductory
witty remark plays off of the king’s status
relative to his own. While Halli draws attention to the king’s nobility and his own lack
thereof, Stuf makes reference to the king’s
family through the name of his father, and
draws a parallel between the two of them
- separated as they are in social standing,
there is a comedic leveling of the playing
field in that both of their fathers have animal
epithets. It is exactly this type of comedy
that King Harald seems to find appealing, or
at least provides an entertaining opening for
the audience of the tale.
Nowhere in the Tale of Sarcastic Halli is
poetic skill explicitly linked to poetic family lineage. In Snuf’s Tale, however, when
Snuf tells King Harald he would like to compose a poem about him, the following exchange takes place: “The king asked, ‘Are
you descended from any poets?’ Stuf answered, ‘There have been poets in my family.
Glum Geirason was my great-grandfather.’
The king said, ‘You are a good poet if you
compose no worse than Glum did.’”15 Here
is revealed another side to the status of poets, tied to the belief that skaldic skill was
something that could be inherited. Unquestionably, the most famous of poet-families is
the Myrar clan, the family descended from
Egil Skallagrimsson of Egil’s Saga. In the
The court of the poet-king Harald Sigurdsson gave rise to a collection of several þættir
in addition to the Tale of Sarcastic Halli, all
of them revolving around King Harald and
his dealings with Icelanders of humble origin
but full of wit and poetic prowess, whom he
befriends and rewards. Stuf’s Tale and the
Tale of Arnor, the Poet of Earls are examples of these. In Stuf’s tale, Stuf’s first encounter with the King Harald follows the
pattern similar to Halli’s first encounter with
the king in the Tale of Sarcastic Halli; Stuf
shows himself to be witty and intelligent and
displays a forwardness and sense of humor
that happens to be to King Harald’s liking.
57
introduction to the Saga of Gunnlaug Serpent-Tongue, the story of the contest between two poet-warriors over Helga the
Fair, the genealogical scene-setting focuses
on the character traits passed down through
Egil’s line down to Helga, his granddaughter: “Scholars say that the Myrar folk…were
rather a mixed lot: some of them were exceptionally good-looking men, whereas others
are said to have been very ugly….Some of
them were also great poets, like Bjorn, the
Champion of the Hitardal people, the priest
Einar Skulason, Snorri Sturluson and many
others.”16
having to do with family and origin.
As the Havamal proclaims: “Cattle die and
kinsmen die, / thyself eke soon wilt die; /
but fair fame will fade never / I ween, for
him who wins it.”18 Simply put, fame outlives mortal man. This is the concept that lay
behind the high value placed on poetry in
medieval Scandinavia, and the considerable
power held by those who could compose it.
Poets who were brave enough could threaten anyone of any standing with a dangerous
weapon that would outlive them both. Thus,
King Harald warns Einar Fly in his entanglement with Halli: “Halli…shrinks from nothing. We can both see how a slanderous poem
has damaged more powerful men than you,
Einar.”19 This follows Halli’s indirect threat,
hidden under the double layers of dream and
substitution: he tells Einar and the king of
a dream in which he was the poet Thorleif,
and Einar Fly was Earl Hakon Sigurdarson.
The reference is clear to both men, as they
know the story of the slanderous poem composed by Thorleif about the Earl, which, as
King Harald comments, “will be remembered
as long as the northern countries are inhabited.”20 In the end, Halli’s threat, potently
couched in dreams and contemporary examples, is heeded and he emerges with compensation for a brother he never had, from a
warrior whose claim to fame is that he never
pays compensation.
Later in the same saga, Gunnlaug visits the
court of the Swedish king and there meets
Hrafn, who will later become his competitor
for the hand of Helga the Fair. At this point
in the tale, however, the two are friendly
and are brought together by the fact that
both are Icelanders at a foreign court. When
Gunnlaug first arrives, Hrafn must vouch for
him and his family background before the
king: “My lord, [Gunnlaug] comes from the
finest of families and is the noblest of men in
his own right.” Antagonism erupts, however, when both visiting poets want to recite
a drapa for the king, and each wants to be
the first to recite. Again family comes into
play: when Hrafn argues that he had come
to court first, Gunnlaug retorts, “Where did
our ancestors ever go with mine trailing in
the wake of yours? Nowhere, that’s where!”17
In this childish struggle over who will recite
his poem first, serious forces are at play,
and the weight given to ancestral precedent
is evident. In a way, this scene parallels the
verbal duel between Halli and Thjodolf - in
both cases, two Icelandic poets fight over
the honor of reciting a drapa for the king.
Halli and Thjodolf have little illustrious family background to speak of, while the same is
not true for Gunnlaug and Hrafn, but in both
cases, the most piercing insults are those
Fear of the power of negative poetry is so
great that it enters the supernatural realm in
some þættir, including the Tale of Thorleif,
the Earl’s Poet, which relays the story alluded to by Halli in his threat to Einar Fly. The
story begins with a clearly Christian prologue
warning against sorcery and witchcraft, but
the tale itself tells of the promising Icelandic
youth Thorleif, a good poet, versed in the
magic arts, who sails off and lands in Norway. When he makes an arrogant reply to
58
the reigning Earl Hakon, the earl kills all his
men and steals his cargo. The tale becomes
one of revenge. Thorleif travels to Denmark,
befriends King Svein with a well-composed
drapa of forty stanzas, and then sets off
with the king’s blessing to confront the Earl
once more, disguised as a beggar. The earl
agrees to let the mysterious old beggar recite a poem for him, as he claims to have
recited for other chieftains, but as he recites,
the poem turns slowly from praise to abuse.
Simultaneously, the poem begins to alter the
physical world: the earl “was very startled to
feel a great itching uneasiness creep all the
way around his body and especially around
his thighs so he could hardly sit still.”21 The
mysterious beggar (Thorleif) continues, reciting poems entitled “Fog Verses” and “Earl
Abuse,” níð verses which seem to take on
the power of magical incantation. The power of the poetry is such that darkness falls,
weapons move of their own accord, slaying
many men in the hall, and the earl is permanently disfigured - his beard and half the
hair on his head fall out, and he spends half
a year in bed recovering from his injuries.
“The abuse had come very close to him,” the
saga relates, and the ‘abuse’ here seems to be
conceptualized as a physical presence, clearly capable of physical harm. Not only did
the words of the wronged poet Thorlief live
on, but the tables of social hierarchy were
turned. The Odinic poet-beggar got the best
of a powerful Earl, and the power of a good
níð verse almost cost a wrong-doer his life.
With the story of Thorleif in mind, it is no
wonder that Halli’s opponent was willing to
pay a small bribe to keep a skilled poet quiet.
the Icelandic poet arrives at a foreign court,
recites his poem for the ruler there, and receives for it a cloak, sword, gold-inlaid axe,
arm bands, or even a knorr in exchange, if
the poem was particularly good. A rather
humorous passage in the Saga of Gunnlaug
Serpent-Tongue describes the king’s treasurer instructing a new king in Dublin on how
to reward Gunnlaug after he has delivered a
drapa: “’What kind of reward would it be if
I gave him a pair of knorrs?’ the king asked.
‘That is too much, my lord,’ [the treasurer] replied. ‘Other kings give fine treasures
- good swords or splendid gold bracelets
- as rewards for poems.’”22 Gunnlaug eventually receives exquisite new clothes and a
gold bracelet and heads off to collect more
fine rewards for his poetry at the next court.
Of course, the crucial element from the perspective of the subject of the drapa was that
the composed poem be remembered. This is
demonstrated in the episode in the Tale of
Sarcastic Halli in which Halli improvises a
drapa for the Harold Godwinson, and then
must make a hasty retreat since he has not
actually composed it and would not be able
to teach it to the court. In rewarding Halli’s
efforts, Harold draws a very literal parallel
between the drapa and the silver the poet
should receive for it. Silver is to be poured
over Halli’s head, and whatever sticks is his
to keep – mirroring the way an orally recited
poem is poured over its listeners, and all that
is preserved for them are the bits that stick in
their memories.23
Poetry as a commodity is particular in its frequent association with life or death exchanges. In the Egil’s saga, Egil’s skill with words
saves him on several occasions, the most explicit being at the court of Eirik Blood-Axe,
now vying with his siblings to rule Norway.
Egil composes a drapa for the king in order to be allowed to live.24 In this instance,
ties of kinship and friendship do not carry
A positive poem was seen as similarly powerful, such that drapas and flokks became
something of a commodity, which could
be traded for goods and money. The most
common poet story to be found in the
Íslendingasögur follows a simple formula:
59
enough weight, but the immortal words of
a well-composed drapa can be traded like
a commodity in exchange for a life. Poems
composed in order to save the poet’s neck
are also common in the þættir. The Tale of
Ottar the Black tells of a poet sentenced to
death for composing a love poem about Astrid, Queen and wife of King Olaf the Saint.
Ottar spends his time in the dungeon composing a drapa for the king; on the day of
the execution he recites it and the king spares
his life in exchange. The tale concludes: “The
drapa which Ottar made about King Olaf is
called Head-Ransom because Ottar kept his
head as a reward for the poem.”25
in the tales, this seems to have been an entertaining pastime: pitting the poet against time,
with high stakes involving physical injury or
death to add to the suspense. It seems reasonable to gather from these examples that
there is a kernel of truth at the core of these
tales. Court-jester-style, the court poets in
the tales could be made to perform various
compositional feats at the king’s whim and
for his entertainment. Occasionally the tables
were turned: in one instance in Einar Skulason’s Tale, the king asks Einar to compose
a poem before a magnificently prepared ship
has passed Holm. Einar demands a reward
for this and bases his reward on a contest
the king must go through: “You and seven
of your followers must remember one line
of the verse each, and if you fail, you shall
give me as many pots of honey as the lines
which you do not remember.”28 The king and
his followers fail to remember anything but
the first and last lines of the poem, and the
poet is rewarded richly, having put the king
through the hoops rather than the other way
around.
Many of the tales of Icelanders featuring
poet-heroes are at heart tales of the social
underdog. They are tales of the skilled and
quick-witted Icelander besting his titled and
wealthy Norwegian contemporaries with poetry alone, or using his wit to befriend the
likes of the powerful King Harald Sigurdsson
and join his court. No king wanted to be immortalized by a slanderous poem, especially
when such poems could be capable of wielding supernatural power, as seen in the case of
Earl Hakon and the poet Thorleif. Positive
poems could be equally powerful in securing a king’s good name. The skaldic poems
preserved and used as historical authentication in King Harald’s Saga are proof that this
could work quite well - the image that comes
down to us of King Harald Hardrada is the
image preserved in the words of the Icelan-
In the Tale of Sarcastic Halli, for another
example, when King Harald is still unhappy
with Halli over his verse daring to complain
of being starved at the king’s table, Harald
sets up a cruel contest for his poet, requiring him to complete a verse under strict time
constraints or be killed. As told in the tale,
“the king took a dish containing a roasted
piglet from his table and ordered the dwarf
Tuta to take it to Halli - ‘and tell him that
if he wants to preserve his life to compose
a verse and deliver it before you reach him,
and do not tell him this until you get to the
middle of the floor.’”26 Of course, Halli manages to pull it off, filling his verse with lines
like “The poet received a dead piglet” and “I
recite a poem rapidly made.” It makes for a
great scene, both vivid and comedic, and for
this reason maybe it is better seen as skillful
story-telling on the part of the tale author
rather than a reflection of what might really
have happened at King Harald’s court. But
if it is mere literary motif, it is a remarkably
common one. A related episode appears in
Einar Skulason’s Tale, in which Einar, a
court poet to a Norwegian king, must compose a poem while a man who stole a kid
goat is beaten - the beating will stop when
the verse is complete.27 For Norwegian kings
60
dic poets of his court, which later informed
the writing of the Heimskringla. But even for
poets whose career was based on their poetic skill and not their wealth or origin, family was still of utmost importance. Not even
Harald’s favorite court skald, Thjodolf was
immune to insults referring back to his rus-
tic, impoverished roots in Iceland. Despite a
highly stratified society, and tempered by intense cultural focus on family ties, Icelandic
poets had considerable social mobility and
agency as they moved within the courts of
medieval Scandinavia.
61
Scandinavian
Amy Robinson
Old English
Þa Frægn of
Sigewulf
1
5 10 15
20
25
Scyppend æfre þone mannan to his agenum cyræ lætan?
For þan þe se Scippend nolde þæt se man þeow wære, se þe
to his anlicnysse gesceapen wæs, ac wære þurh godne
willan herigendlic, oððe of yflum willan nyðergendlic.
Hwi axode God Adam æfter his gylte hwær he wære
swilce he nyste? þæt he dyde for þreaginga, na swilce he
nyste, ond þæt Adam understode hwær he þa wæs, ond hwa
non he afeolle. Humeta wende Adam þæt he mihte
hine behydan fram Godes gesihðe? Seo stuntnys
him gelamp of his synne, wite þæt he wolde hine be diglian
þam þe nan þincg nis digle. Hwi axode God þa
næddran hwi heo þa men forlærde, swa swa he axode
Euan hwi heo Adame þone æppel sealde? For ðan
þe seo næddre be agenum willan þæt ne dyde, ac se deofol
þurh him, ond forþi cwæð God hire to, “Þu bist awyrged, ond þu
scealt gan on þinum breoste, ond þu ytst þa eorþan eallum
dagum þines lifes.” Se deofol, þe spræc þurh ða nædran,
wæs on þære næddran awyrged; he gæð on his
breoste, þæt is þæt he færð on modignysse ond mid þære
men beswicð; ond he yt þa eorðan for þan þe þa belimpað
to þam deofle, þa þe þa eorðlican grædignysse, ond
gælsan ungefohlice gefremmað. God cwæð to Euan
þæt heo sceolde þære næddran heafod tobrytan, ond seo
næddra wolde syrwan ongean hire ho. Hwæt is
þære næddran heafod, ond hwæt þes wifes ho? þære
næddran heafod getacnað þæs deofles tihtinge, þa
62
Amy Robinson
The Questions of
Sigewulf
[Why
1
5
10 15
20
25
did the noble]
Creator [desire] to leave man always to his own choice?
Because the Creator did not wish that man, who was
created in his image, would be a slave, but would be
praiseworthy through good will, or worthy of condemnation through evil will.
Why did God ask Adam where he was after his sin
as if he did not know? He did that as a punishment, not as one who
does not know, and so that Adam would understand where he was then and from where he had fallen. In what manner did Adam turn so that he could
hide himself from God’s sight? The foolishness that befell him
as punishment for his sin [made him] want to hide himself
from Him whom nothing is hidden. Why did God ask the
snake why it deceived the people, just as he asked
Eve why she gave the apple to Adam? Because
the snake did not act by its own will, but the devil
[acted] through it, and for that reason God said to it, “You will be cursed, and you must go on your breast, and you will eat the earth all
the days of your life.” The devil, who spoke through the snake,
was cursed in the snake; he went on his
breast, that is that he travels in pride and deceives
men with it; and he eats the earth because those who
promote earthly greed and enormous lasciviousness
belong to the devil. God said to Eve
that she must crush the snake’s head, and the
snake would plot against her heel. What is
the snake’s head, and what is this woman’s heel? The
snake’s head signifies the devil’s persuasion, which
63
30
35 40 45 50 55 60
we sceolan mid ealre geornfulnysse sona tobryton,
forþam gif heo þæt heafod innan þone man bestingð,
þonne slingð heo mid ealle inn. Swa þeah ne bescyt
se deofol næfre swa yfel geþoht into bam men, þæt hit
him to forwyrde becume, gif hit him ne licað, ond gif he
winð mid gebedum ongean. He sæwð foroft manfullice
geþohtas into þæs mannes heortan þæt he hine on
orwennysse gebringe; ac hit ne bið þam men derigendlic,
gif he to his Drihtne clypað. Swa se man
swiþor bið afandod, swa he selra bið. Þæs wifes ho
getacnode þæt se deofol wile on fyrste, gif he æt fruman
ne mag, þone man beswican; ond swa near his lifes geendunge,
swa bið ðam deofle leofre þæt he þone man for
pære; ac us is to hopigenne to þæs Hælendes gescyldnysse,
þe þe us tihte þus: Confidite, ego vici mundum.
Truwiað ond beoð gebylde, ic oferswiðde þisne middaneard.
Eft he cwæð, “þyses middaneard Ealdor com to
me, ond he on me nahte his ne funde.” Se deofol is
þæra manna ealdor, þe þisne middaneard ungemetlice
lufiað, ond he com to Criste, cunnode hwæðer
he ænig þing his, on him gecneowe. þa ne funde he
on him nane synne, ac unscæððignysse, þæt þæt we ne magon
þurh us, þæt we magon þurh Crist, se þe cwæð: Omnia
possibilia credenti. Ealle þing synd þam geleaffullum
acumendlice. We sceolon winnan wið þone
deofol, mid fæstum geleafan, gif we willað beon gehealdene,
ond se þe him onbihð bið soðlice beswicen.
Hwi worhte God pylcan Adame ond Efan æfter þam
gylte? Þæt he geswutelode mid þam deadum fellum þæt hi
wæron þa deadlice for þære forgægednysse. Hwæt
is þæt God gelogode cherubin ond fyran swurd ond awendendlic
to gehealdene þone wæg þe lið to lifes treowe?
Þæt is þæt neorxnewonges get is gehealden þurh engla
þenunge ond fyrena hyrdrædene, ond þæt is awendendlic
forþan þe hit bið aweg gedon, ond se weg bið us gerymed.
Cherubin is gereht gefyllednyss ingehydes,
þæt is seo soðe lufu, ond þæt fyreme swurd getacnode þa
hwilwendlican earfoðnyssa þe we her on life for.
64
30
35 40 45 50 55 60 we must immediately crush with all desire,
because if the snake strikes its head into a person,
then it winds itself completely inside. However, the devil never
injected such evil thought into the man so that
destruction would not come to him if it does not please him, and if he fights against it with prayers. The devil all too often implants wicked thoughts into the heart of man so that he brings him to despair;
but it will not be harmful to the man,
if he calls to his Lord. As a person
is tested more, so will he be better. The woman’s heel
signified that the devil wishes to deceive the man in time, if he can
not at the beginning; and the nearer his life’s end,
then the more dear the man will be to the devil;
but we have confidence in the Savior’s protection,
he who urged us thus: Confidite, ego vici mundum.
Trust and be courageous, I conquered this world.
Thereupon he said, “The leader of this world came to
me, and he did not find anything of his in me.” The devil is
the leader of those men who love this earth excessively,
and he came to Christ to know whether he
recognized anything of his in him. He did not find
any sin in him, but innocence, that which we cannot [have]
through us, but we can [have] through Christ, he who said: Omnia
possiblia credenti. All things for the faithful are
possible. We must fight against the
devil with firm belief if we wish to be preserved,
and he who serves [the devil] will be truly overcome.
Why did God make Adam and Eve fur robes after the
offence? So that he could reveal with the dead skins that they
were then mortal because of their transgression. Why
is it that God placed the cherub and the fiery and turning sword
to maintain the way that lies to the tree of life?
That is that the gate of Paradise is held by the ministry of angels
and a fiery guardianship, and it is turning
because it will be done away, and the way will be opened for us.
The cherub is interpreted as the fullness of the mind,
that is the true love, and that fiery sword signifies
transitory difficulties that we [endure] here in this life for.
65
Scandinavian
Sarah Amanullah
Swedish
Jag och Jossan
Vem är din bästa vän? Hela mitt liv, var svaret alltid så lätt. Klart att det är Jossan. Våra
föräldrar var kompisar sedan de var tonåringar; det är lika med att säga att vi kände
varandra innan vi var född (det är så jag alltid tänkt i alla fall).
Men vad händer när man bor över Atlanten
från sin bästa vän i hela världen tre-fjärde
delar av varje år?
För oss betydde det hundratals timmar på
telefonen, och hundratals dagar på en nedräknings kalender under skolåret mellan
varje sommar. Kalendern började om igen
så fort jag klev av flygplanet i Filadelfia vid
slutet av augusti.
När vår familj flyttade från Sverige till USA,
lovade pappa till mamma att vi skulle hälsa
på varje sommar, för minst 3 månader. I de
arton somrar jag bodde i Sverige så har jag
många otroliga minnen och erfarenheter…
Jag kommer ihåg mormors pankakor, blåbärsplockning i skogen, vinbär i gården, klippdykning i sjön, vår röda sommarstuga med
vita knutar, träkojan i skogen med alldeles
för många våningar byggd av tolv åringar
för att vara säker, hav med sötvatten, långritt
och bad med hästarna, camping i tysta sko66
gen, och så klart en varm brassa i stugan när
det började bli höst (för hösten kommer alltid
så tidigt i Sverige).
Det låter verkligen som ett paradis när jag
skriver mina minnen så, men de bästa, starkaste, och mest meningsfulla minnen jag har
är var och en med Josefine.
Vi hittade på sånger när tåget till Mellerud
var flera timmar försenat (den sången får jag
fortfarande på hjärnan ibland), vi hade en
gemensam anteckningsbok med många hemligheter, vi var lika bekväm i varandras familj
som i våra egna. Alla våra sötaste bebisbilder
och fulaste preteen foton är tillsammans. Det
var en gång i tiden då jag kunde ärligt säga
att ingen i hela världen kände mig bättre.
Men åren försvann, jag hälsade på Sverige
mindre och mindre och helt plötsligt började
veckor, månader, och till slut år passera utan
kontakt mellan jag och Jossan. Det är svårt
att växa upp, men det är omöjligt att dela sitt
liv mellan länder.
Är hon än min bästa vän, men är det bara för
de förflutna minnena jag har? Även om det
bara är nostalgi, tycker jag om att tänka att
vi fortfarande är det.
Sarah Amanullah
Josefine and I
Who is your best friend? For my whole life, the
answer was always so easy. Of course it’s Josefine. Our parents were friends since their teenage
years; essentially we knew each other before we
were even born (at least that is how I always
used to think of it).
a warm fire in the fireplace as soon as fall came
(fall always came so early in Sweden).
When I actively write down my memories, it
sounds like heaven on earth, but the strongest
memories I have are all with Josefine, the ones
that are hardest to define.
But what happens to friendship that gets stretched
over the Atlantic Ocean?
When the train to Mellerud was delayed by
hours, we wrote songs about it (one still gets
stuck in my head), we had a shared journal filled
with our secrets, we were as comfortable in each
other’s families as our own. All of our cutest
baby pictures and our most ugly preteen photos
are all together. At a point in my life, I could
honestly say no one in the world knew me better.
For us, it meant hundreds of hours on the phone,
and hundreds of days on a countdown calendar,
spanning the school years between every summer we spent together. This calendar would start
over again as soon as I stepped foot off the airplane in Philadelphia at the end of every August.
When our family moved from Sweden to the
United States, my dad promised my mom that
we would go back every summer, for at least
three months. In those eighteen summers I lived
in Sweden, I made the most amazing memories…
I remember grandma’s pancakes, picking blueberries in the forest surrounding her house, cliff
jumping into dark lakes, our small red cottage
with white trim, the tree house my brother built
in the woods (with too many swaying floors built
by a twelve-year old to be even remotely safe),
cross-country horseback rides over field and forest, camping in the quiet woods, and of course
The years passed, I visited less and less, and
suddenly weeks, months, and finally years had
passed without any contact between us. Growing up is hard for everyone, but splitting a childhood between two countries is impossible.
Would she still be my best friend, or is it just
for the memories I still have? Even if it’s only
nostalgia that I have left, I will always think that
we still are.
67
Scandinavian
Henrik Nordbrandt
Danish
Nye og Glemte
Sanger
Et Liv
Du strøg en tændstik, og dens flamme blændede dig
så du ikke kunne finde, hvad du søgte i mørket
før den brændte ud mellem fingrene på dig
og smerten fik dig til at glemme, hvad det var.
Den Danske Folkekirke
Den danske Folkekirke er så tolerant.
Den respekterer alle mulige andre kristne kirker.
Det er lige før den respekterer
alle mulige andre religioner mere
end den kristne
som den i beskeden bevidsthed
om sin egen tolerance
tilhører fordi den er så tolerant
også over for den kristne religions
intolerante sider.
68
Henrik Nordbrandt
Transl. Michael
Thorbjørn Feehly
New and Forgotten
Poems
A Life
You lit a matchstick and the flame blinded you
and you couldn’t find what you sought—
not before the burnt-out match burned your fingers
and that pain made you forget your sought-after, whatever it was.
The Church of Denmark
The Church of Denmark is so tolerant.
The Church respects all other possible Christian denominations.
And only just before it gave respect to all other possible religions
more respect than it gives the Christian religion, to which
the Church of Denmark belongs as testimony of its self-conscious tolerance
because the Church of Denmark is so tolerant,
it even tolerates Christianity’s intolerant side.
69
Den danske Folkekirke er mere tolerant end Gud
hvis tolerance ifølge de hellige skrifter
er temmelig begrænset.
Den er også mere tolerant end Jesus.
Jesus tolererede under ingen omstændighed krig.
Den gør Folkekirken.
Den sender præster i krig: Feltpræster
hedder det med et ord
Jesus næppe ville have taget i sin mund.
Folkekirken velsigner hærens folk.
Mange præster bærer
de samme ordener som generalerne.
Rent personlig tror jeg:
Hvis Jesus ikke havde været så tolerant
ville han stige ned fra sin himmel
og spytte præsterne i ansigtet.
Alligevel tolererer Folkekirken Jesus.
Så det er hermed påvist
at Folkekirken er mere tolerant end Jesus.
Den danske Folkekirke er så tolerant
at den burde belønne mig for at have skrevet dette.
70
The Church of Denmark is more tolerant than God
—if tolerance according to holy scripture is quite limited.
The Church is also more tolerant than Jesus. Jesus tolerated war
under no circumstances. The Church of Denmark tolerates war.
The Church sends priests to war: chaplains—that’s saying it
with a word Jesus hardly would have put in his mouth.
The People’s Church blesses the army guys. Many of the priests
and the generals carry out the same orders.
I personally believe that:
if Jesus hadn’t been so tolerant
he would come down from his heaven
and spit in the priests’ faces.
Anyways, the Church of Denmark tolerates Jesus.
So it thereby demonstrated that:
the Church of Denmark is more tolerant than Jesus.
The Church of Denmark is so tolerant;
it ought to forgive me for having written this.
71
Kjell Sandvik
Norwegian
Nu er alt utløst
og i fullkommen ro
ser jeg mine dager og år
uten frykt
Alt er godt
også at Døden stryker sine hvite fingre
gjennom mitt hår
og blodets elv rinner langsommere
Jeg kjenner meg som stående i stor høyde
herfra betrakter jeg mine landskap
som om blomstene aldri skal visne
Skygger av angst
kaster jeg for dine føtter
i ditt skjød sover jeg elskede
som et tillitsfullt barn
Å våkne hos deg
er å erkjenne din virkelighet
plutselig som svaler
i bølger av lys omkring meg
er å stryke din varme hud
til sårene livet har revet i meg
blir roser ved dine lepper
å du min lengsels fugl!
jeg våkner og drømmer
72
Kjell Sandvik
Transl. Michael
Thorbjørn Feehly
It’s all resolved
and now fully calm
I look over my days and years
unafraid
All’s good
even as Death combs white fingers
through my hair, and my blood
slows to a trickle like a dwindling river
Feels like I’m standing on a high hill
scrutinizing the countryside
as if the flowers’ll never wither
I’m casting anxious shadows by your feet
and sleep in your lap, loved
like a trusting child.
To wake up with you
is to grasp hold of you—real
of a sudden like swallows
cool around me in waves of light
is to stroke your warm skin
until my sores become roses on your lips
Oh you, wistful sparrow!
I come to, dreaming
73
Endnotes
The Bloody Butcher
1. Natalia Babina, Masters
of World Painting: David
Tenier the Younger (Leningrad: Auro-ra, 1989), 3.
2. Hans Vlieghe, “Going
Their Separate Ways: the
Artistic Inclinations and
Paths of David Teniers I,
II, and III,” in Family Ties:
Art Production and Kinship Patterns in the Early
Modern Low Countries,
Koenraad Brosens, Leen
Kelchtermans & Katlijne
Van der Stig-helen (Turnhout: Brepols, 2012), 10.
3. Ibid., 163.
4. Kenneth M. Craig,
“Rembrandt and The
Slaughtered Ox,” Journal
of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 46 (1983):
235.
5. Ibid.
6. Ibid., 237.
7. Ibid., 236.
8. Ibid., 238.
9. Simon Schama, The
Embarrassment of Riches:
An Interpretation of Dutch
Culture in the Golden Age
(New York: Knopf, 1987),
152.
10. Ibid., 159.
11. Ibid., 170.
12. Margret Klinge, David Teniers the Younger:
Paintings and Drawings,
trans. David R. McLintock
(Ghent: Snoeck-Ducaju &
Zoon, 1991), 84.
13. Donna R. Barnes,
The Butcher, The Baker,
The Candlestick Maker:
Jan Luyken’s Mir-ror of
17th-Century Dutch Daily
Life (Hempstead, NY: Hofstra UP, 1995), 110.
14. Klinge, David Teniers
the Younger, 84-85.
15. Babina, Masters of
World Painting, 3.
16. Schama, The Embarrassment of Riches, 53.
17. Ibid., 123.
18. Ibid., 124.
19. Ibid., 124, 136.
20. Ibid., 137.
21. Ibid., 168.
22. Ibid., 393.
23. Margret Klinge and
Dietmar Lüdke, David
Teniers der Jüngere (16101690): Alltag und Vergnügen in Flandern (Heidelberg: Kehrer, 2006), 158.
24. Ibid.
25. Klinge, David Teniers
the Younger, 120.
26. Klinge and Lüdke,
David Teniers der Jüngere,
158.
27. Schama, The Embarrassment of Riches, 403.
Pina’s Pedigree
1. Ciane Fernandes, Pina
Bausch and the Wuppertal Dance Theater: The
Aesthetics of Repetition
and Transformation, (New
York: P. Lang, 2001), 100.
2. Katharine Monk, “‘By
the End of Café Mueller,
I Was on the Edge of
My Seat, Weeping’; Wim
Wenders.” National Post,
(2011).
3. Michael Crabbe, “German Dance Queen Raises
the Wunderbar: Rare Pina
Bausch Appearance Means
a Field Day for Ottawa
Scalpers,” The Financial
Post, (2004).
4. Dianne Shelden Howe,
Individuality and Expression: The Aesthetics of the
New German Dance, (New
York: P. Lang, 1996), 20.
5. Ibid., 43.
6. Ibid., 43.
7. Michael Hau, The Cult
of Health and Beauty in
Germany: A Social History, 1890-1930, (Chicago:
University of Chicago,
2003), 1.
8. Ibid., 2.
9. Ibid., 1, 4.
10. Karl Eric Toepfer,
Empire of Ecstasy: Nudity
and Movement in German
Body Culture, 1910-1935,
(Berkeley: University of
California, 1997), 15.
11. Ibid., 15-16.
12. Ibid., 16.
13. Ibid., 18.
14. Ibid., 18.
15. Karen K. Bradley,
Rudolf Laban, (London:
Routledge, 2009), 9.
16. Ibid., 23.
17. Ibid., 35.
18. Howe, Individuality and
Expression, 99.
19. Bradley, Rudolf Laban,
5.
20. Ibid., 9.
21. Ibid., 11.
22. Ibid., 18.
23. Howe, Individuality
and Expression, 95.
24. Ibid., 95-96.
25. Ibid., 113.
26. Ibid., 126.
27. Ibid., 134.
28. Erik Norman Jensen,
Body by Weimar: Athletes,
Gender, and German Modernity, (Oxford: Oxford
University Press, 2010), 4.
29. Ibid., 3.
30. Ibid., 3.
31. Alexandra Kolb, Performing Femininity: Dance
and Literature in German
Modernism, (Bern:
Peter Lang, 2009), 98.
32. Ibid., 98.
33. Ibid., 104.
34. Ibid., 101.
35. Toepfer, Empire of
Ecstasy, 29.
36. Ibid., 28.
37. Ibid., 30.
38. Howe, Individuality
and Expression, 37-38.
39. Ibid., 40, 38.
74
40. Ibid., 39.
41. Naomi M. Jackson,
Converging Movements:
Modern Dance and Jewish
Culture at the 92nd Street
Y (Hanover: University of
New England, 2000), 1.
42. Ibid., 56.
43. Ibid., 63.
44. Ciane Fernandes, Pina
Bausch and the Wuppertal
Dance Theater: The Aesthetics of Repetition and
Transformation (New York:
P. Lang, 2001), 1.
45. Ibid., 3.
46. Fernandes, 9.
47. Ibid., 1.
48. Ibid., 6.
Superfluous Thought
1. Adolf Loos, “Ornament
and Crime,” Course Website for HAA 170v, 20.
2. Edward Timms, Karl
Kraus Apocalyptic Satirist:
Culture and Catastrophe
in Habsburg Vienna (New
Haven: Yale, 1986), 118.
3. Ibid., 119.
4. Karl Kraus, Dicta and
Contradicta, trans. Jonathan McVity {Chicago:
University of Illinois, 2001),
79.
5. Ibid., 82.
6. Ibid., 94.
7. Ibid., 79.
8. Ibid., 89.
9. Ibid., 64.
10. Carl E. Schorske,
“Politics and the Psych in
Fin de Siécle Vienna,” in
The University of Chicago
Press 66.4 (1961): 935.
11. Ibid.
12. Arthur Schnitzler,
Lieutenant Gustl (Frankfurt
am Main: Fischer, 1981) 7.
“Was guckt mich denn der
Kerl dort immer an? Mir
scheint, der merkt, dass ich
mich langweil und nicht
herg’hör…”
13. Arthur Schnitzler,
Viennese Novelettes (New
York: Simon and Schuster,
1958), xxxiii.
14. Lieutenant Gustl is
often considered to be the
first stream-of-consciousness text ever written.
15. Schnitzler, Lieutenant
Gustl, 9. “Es ist merkwürdig, ich kann mir keinen
Namen merken!...Ah,
ja: Etelka!...Kein Wort
Deutsch hat sie verstanden,
aber das war auch nicht
notwendig…hab’ gar nichts
zu reden brauchen!”
16. Kraus, Dicta and Contradicta, 89.
17. Schniztler, Lieutenant
Gustl, 18. ““Wo ist denn
mein Mantel?...Ich hab’
ihn ja schon angezogen…
Ich hab’s gar nicht gemerkt…Wer hat mir denn
geholfen” “Was, ich bin
schon auf der Straße? Wie
bin ich denn da herausgekommen?”
18. Ibid., 9. “Schaut schon
weg!” he thinks, “Dass sie
alle vor meinem Blick so
eine Angst hab’n.”
19. Ibid., 18-20. I have
quoted these solely in German because the diversity
of these phrases is difficult
to convey in English. If
translated, most would be
slight variants of “I’ll kill
him!”
20. Ibid., 9. “Muß übrigens
ein Jud’ sein! Freilich, in
einer Bank ist er, und der
schwarze Schnurrbart…
Reserveleutnant soll er
auch sein! Na, in mein
Regiment sollt’ er nicht
zur Waffenübung kommen! Überhaupt, dass sie
noch immer so viel Juden
zu Offizieren machen—da
pfeif’ ich auf’n ganzen
Antisemitismus!”
21. Hans Wollschläger, ed.
Das Karl Kraus Lesebuch
(Zürich: Diogenes Verlag,
1980) 339. “Aus Titel und
Tonfall ersteht die Welt,
und geht zugrunde, denn
Lettern werden zu Blei.”
22. Helgs S. Madland,
“Baroja’s ‘Camino de
perfectión’ and Schnitzler’s ‘Leutnant Gustl’:
Fin de Siècle Madrid and
Vienna,” in Comparative
Literature Studies 21.3
(1984): 307.
Germanic Influence on Japanese Pop Culture
1. First coined by our very
own Harvard University
Distinguished Service Professor Joseph Nye.
2. Way back in the day,
Gwen Stefani even used
“kawaii” to open up the
music video to her hit single “Hollaback Girl.”
3. “Anime” is short for
“Japanese animation,”
and originally referred to
cartoons originating from
Japan. Nowadays, it is
used more broadly to refer
to the genre that these cartoons seem to encompass
and the stylistic features
that accompany them.
4. Whenever I refer to an
anime being “popular” or a
“classic,” I’m most directly
basing my assertions on
the popularity and general
ranking of shows from
MyAnimeList, a popular
site fans use to rank shows.
However, I’m also drawing
from my own personal experiences with friends, the
blogosphere, forums, and
anime conventions.
5. In fact, the band that
sings this, Linked Horizon,
has a ton of Germanic
influences (and are actually
quite popular!). In fact, the
opening concert for one
of their albums, based on
German fairy tales, even
involved fans sing happy
birthday in German!
6. Technically, she’s American and is 1/4 Japanese and
3/4 German, even though
she was raised in Germany.
But you wouldn’t know
this unless you really paid
attention because the show
emphasizes her German
side so much.
7. Examples include the
Einzbern family from the
Type/Moon franchise and
Laura Bodewig from Infinite Stratos, just to name
a few.
8. In fact, the main plot
manifests several parallels to WWI, as does the
geography of the regions
featured in the show.
10. Light novels are similar
to young adult novels in
the US in terms of writing
style/level, but generally
tend to have close ties to
the anime industry and
occupy a similar genre.
11. Manga are essentially
Japanese comics, albeit
with a much wider readership and incredibly more
diverse subject matter
than the American comic
industry.
12. A rather large list of the
German used can be found
75
on the Bleach wiki.
13. Currently the industry’s
second-longest, having
been published continuously since December 1986.
14. The Japanese game
company best known for
their visual novels (which
are pretty much what they
sound like).
15. Susan J. Napier, From
Impressionism to Anime
(New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2007), 11.
16. “Liminal” is a term used
in anthropology to describe
the quality of ambiguity or
disorientation that occurs
in the midst of rituals when
participants no longer hold
their pre-ritual status and
haven’t started the transition to the status they will
hold when upon the ritual’s
completion.
17. Both in terms of being
fantasy-esque and also in
terms of appearance.
18. Or at least, reinforcing Germany’s seemingly
detachment from the events
surrounding WWII.
19. Not to mention some
of the shows like Hetalia
or Strike Witches, where
characters are literally
stand-ins for countries.
20. For more information
to the ridiculous extent that
schoolgirl uniforms influence the genre and more
generally Japa-nese media,
check out Brian Ashcroft’s
Schoolgirl Confidential.
21. One could argue that
the appearance of anime
characters is probably a
carryover from American
cartoons, but, in an argument about soft power and
country associations, this
point holds no real power.
22. This hypothesis actually makes a prediction - that
the majority of influence
in anime should not only
be European, but center
on the main powers of the
time, which would be Germany, Britain, and France
- which can not only be
verified, but, from just
thinking about many of the
shows I’ve seen, actually
seems to be true!
Vine and Horizon
1. Ralph Waldo Emerson,
Nature and Selected Essays, ed. Larzer Ziff (New
York: Penguin, 2003), 191.
2. Friedrich Nietzsche,
Basic Writings of Nietzsche, ed. Walter Arnold
Kaufmann (New York:
Modern Library, 2000),
405.
3. Emerson, 234.
4. Ibid., 232.
5. Ibid.
6. Nietzsche, 392.
7. Ibid.
8. Ibid., 391.
9. Ibid., 346.
10. Ibid., 347. “Hail, dear
drudge and patient fretter!..”
11. Ibid., 348.
12. Ibid., 349.
13. Emerson, 228.
14. Ibid., 227.
15. Ibid.
16. Ibid., 196.
17. Ibid., 197.
18. Ibid., 196.
All the King’s Men
1. Hollander, Lee M.,
trans., The Poetic Edda,
(University of Texas Press,
1962) 120. This is not to say
that there was no social hierarchy in Iceland, but that
the method of government
was substantially different
and not monarchical.
2. Diana Whaley, “Skaldic
Poetry”, in A Companion
to Norse-Icelandic Literature and Culture, ed. Rory
McTurk et al. (Blackwell
Publishing, 2005), 479.
3. Robert Kellogg, introduction to The Complete
Sagas of Icelanders, ed.
Viðar Hreinsson et al.
(Reykjavík: Bókaútgáfan
Leifur Eiríksson, 1997), xxxvii. As Kellogg notes, there
is actually no medieval
source which confirms that
Heimskringla is Snorri’s
work, but modern scholars
tend to follow the standard
convention of attributing it
to him.
4. Alan Boucher, introduction to The Saga of
Hallfred the Troublesome
Scald, (Iceland Review:
Reykjavik, Iceland: 1981) 13.
5. Magnus Magnusson
and Herman Palsson,
trans. King Harald’s Saga,
(London and New York:
Penguin Books).
6. Ibid., 86.
7. George Clark, trans.
“The Tale of Sarcastic
Halli,” in The Complete
Sagas of Icelanders, ed.
Viðar Hreinsson et al.
(Reykjavík: Bókaútgáfan
Leifur Eiríksson, 1997), 342.
8. Ibid., 344.
9. Ibid., 348.
10. Ibid.
11. Martina Stien-Wilkeshuis, “Laws in medieval Iceland,” Journal of Medieval
History 12 (1986): 41.
12. Clark, trans. “The Tale
of Sarcastic Halli”, 349.
13. Ibid.
14. Anthony Maxwell,
trans. “Stuf’s Tale” in
The Complete Sagas
of Icelanders, ed. Viðar
Hreinsson et al. (Reykjavík:
Bókaútgáfan Leifur Eiríksson, 1997), 358.
15. Ibid., 359.
16. Katrina C. Attwood,
trans. “The Saga of Gunnlaug Serpent-Tongue”
in The Complete Sagas
of Icelanders, ed. Viðar
Hreinsson et al. (Reykjavík:
Bókaútgáfan Leifur Eiríksson, 1997), 306.
17. Ibid., 319.
18. Hollander, The Poetic
Edda, 25.
19. Clark, “The Tale of
Sarcastic Halli,” 253.
20. Ibid., 352.
21. Judith Jesch, trans. “The
Tale of Thorleif, the Earl’s
Poet”, in The Complete
Sagas of Icelanders, ed.
Viðar Hreinsson et al.
(Reykjavík: Bókaútgáfan
Leifur Eiríksson, 1997),
365-6.
22. Attwood, “The
Saga of Gunnlaug Serpent-Tongue”, 318.
23. Clark, trans. “The Tale
of Sarcastic Halli”, 353.
24. Bernard Scudder,
trans., “Egil’s Saga” in
in The Complete Sagas
of Icelanders, ed. Viðar
Hreinsson et al. (Reykjavík:
Bókaútgáfan Leifur Eiríksson, 1997),
25. Judith Jesch, trans.
“The Tale of Ottar the
Black,” in The Complete
Sagas of Icelanders, ed.
Viðar Hreinsson et al.
(Reykjavík: Bókaútgáfan
76
Leifur Eiríksson, 1997), 341.
26. Clark, trans. “The Tale
of Sarcastic Halli,” 347.
27. Scilla Brumfit, trans.
“Einar Skulason’s Tale,”
in The Complete Sagas
of Icelanders, ed. Viðar
Hreinsson et al. (Reykjavík:
Bókaútgáfan Leifur Eiríksson, 1997), 337.
28. Ibid., 338.