BDSL-Klassifikation: 17.00.00 20. Jahrhundert (1914-1945) > 17.18.00 Zu einzelnen Autoren
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Franz Kafka's (1883-1924) "Die Brücke" is one of the less well-known texts by one of the most prolific authors of literary modernity. However, this short prose text embodies prevalent questions of literary modernity and philosophy as it reflects the crisis of language in regard of identity, communication, and literary production. Placed in the context of fin-de-siècle's discourse of language crisis, this article provides a dialogue between Kafka's "Die Brücke" and Hannah Arendt's (1906-1975) philosophy of thinking and speaking in "The Life of the Mind". Contrary to Arendt's understanding of the metaphor as "a carrying over" between the mental activities of the solitude thinker and a reconciliation with the pluralistic world shared with others, this article argues for a deconstructionist reading of "Die Brücke" as a tool to reevaluate Arendt"s notion of a shared human experience ensured through language and illustrates the advantages of poetic texts within philosophical discourses.
"I Am a Hottentot" : africanist mimicry and green xenophilia in Hans Paasche and Karen Blixen
(2014)
Claims that industrialized western countries must reform their environmental practices have often been made with reference to less-developed non-western societies living in greater "harmony" or "balance" with the natural world. Examples of what I call green xenophilia (from the Greek "xenos", meaning strange, unknown or foreign, and "philia", meaning love or attraction), are myriad, wide-ranging and culturally dispersed. They range from the appearance of the iconic "crying Indian" in anti-pollution TV and newspaper spots in the months leading up to the first Earth Day on April 22 1970 to numerous environmentalist individuals' and groups' use of the fabricated "Chief Seattle's Speech" as an authoritative touchstone of ecological consciousness, and from the British Schumacher College's endorsement of India as a source of simplicity, holism, humility, vegetarianism etc. to leading deep ecologists' advocacy of East Asian religions (especially Buddhism, Jainism and Taoism) as "biocentric" alternatives to "anthropocentric" Christianity (Rolston 1987; Dunaway 2008; Krupat 2011; Corrywright 2010). Invocations of non-western cultures, identities and worldviews have proved potent heuristic devices, enabling greens both to critique the status quo and to gesture (however schematically) towards the possibility of alternatives. Pervasive media-borne ideas and images like "the Green Tibet" (Huber 1997) and "the ecological Indian" (Krech 1999) have given environmentalist ideas about the good life physical incarnation, making them seem less remote and abstract. Yet the prevalence of xenophile dis course has also made environmentalism vulnerable to recurrent accusations of romantic primitivism, orientalism and exoticism, as western greens have sometimes (though not always) appeared to buttress traditional socio-cultural norms in the very act of challenging them (Guha 1989; Lohmann 1993; Bartholomeusz 1998). What is gained and what is risked when western greens speak about, with, for or as "the other"? In this essay I engage with two early-twentieth-century North European writers, the German Hans Paasche (1881-1921) and the Dane Karen Blixen (1885-1962), whose works bring this question to the forefront. Critical of European industrialization, and awkwardly positioned vis-a-vis their upper-class social milieus, Paasche and Blixen wrote as self-made "Africans", testing the limits between colonialism, anti-colonialism and emergent forms of environmentalism and green" lifestyle reform. More precisely, Paasche in "Die Forschungsreise des Afrikaners Lukanga Kukara ins Innerste Deutschland" ("The African Lukanga Mukara's Research Joumey into the Innermost of Germany" (1912-1913) and Blixen in "Out of Africa" (1937) deploy the ambiguous form of mimicry that Susan Gubar labels "racechange", impersonating or appropriating culturally other voices and perspectives on animals, food, physical embodiment and human-natural relations (Gubar 1997). Paasche and Blixen, I argue, used their considerable intercultural insight to construct images of Africa that they hoped would stand in redemptive contrast to the humanly and environmentally ruinous beliefs and practices of European modernity. I am interested in the acts of ethnic and textual self-alienation that these writers perform because they highlight the discursive, ethical and political ambiguities of green xenophilia - ambiguities that can be explored from different positions within the developing field of ecocritical studies.
Brecht - Galileo
(2010)
This is the age of doubt, says Brecht's Galileo, the 17th century scientist. "It ain't necessarily so," says Gershwin's Sportin' Life of the 1930ies. "De t'ings dat yo li'ble / to read in de Bible / it ain't necessarily so. / Now I takes dat gospel / whenever it's pos'ble / but wid a grain of salt."
Dante's "Inferno" and Walter Benjamin's cities : considerations of place, experience, and media
(2011)
When Walter Benjamin wrote his main texts, the theme of the city as hell was extremely popular. Some of his German contemporaries, such as Brecht or Döblin, also used it. Benjamin was aware of these examples, as well as of examples outside Germany, including Joyce's "Ulysses" and Baudelaire's "poetry". And he was - at least in some way - familiar with Dante's "Inferno" and used it, and in particular Dante's conception of hell, for his own purposes. Benjamin's appropriation of the topos of the Inferno has been seen as a critique of capitalism and as a general critique of modernism by means of allegory. In the following analysis, Angela Merte-Rankin takes a slightly different approach and, despite Benjamin's status as an expert on allegory, considers hell in its literal sense as a place and examines the issues of implacement that might follow from this standpoint.
The present essay engages with the short story 'The Burrow', written by Franz Kafka between 1923 and 1924, a few months before his death. The ambiguity of the original title, 'Der Bau', which defies translation by pointing at the same time at a construction and an excavation work, anticipates the multilayered image of the burrow itself. While both nature and function of the burrow are hard to pinpoint (is it a dwelling, a shelter, a fortress, a labyrinth, a ruin?), the initially reported success of its construction is revealed as illusory, thus prompting the ongoing first-person narration of the incessant builder's work. Similarly unsuccessful is any attempt of the reader to attain metaphorical closure. In the light of other impossible, i.e., unfinished, bound-to-fail, ruinous, or selfdismantling structures portrayed by Kafka, as well as on the background of coeval texts by Paul Valéry and Georg Simmel, the essay investigates the wide and deep significance of the burrow’s countering the classical ideal of architectural wholeness.
At the beginning of The Judgment, we find Georg Bendemann, who has just finished a letter to his friend in Russia, reliving once more the agonizing decision to write the letter in the first place. The decision had not been easy. Like many of Kafka's characters, Georg Bendemann is obsessed with the idea of analysis, with the painstaking exploration of all sides of a given issue. "What could one write to such a man without hurting him?" had been the question. "On the other hand, by writing only casual gossip or not at all one would doubtless increase the friends isolation" had been the counter-argument. What follows now is an exercise in looking at alternatives that spawn new alternatives that leaves the reader dazzled. Each conclusion is in turn explored to its possible opposite implications, which are in turn qualified, which leads to more questions followed by more partial conclusions plus qualifications thereof. The process could continue ad infinitum, in fact, has gone on for years--we are merely presented with a condensed version of it.
A single mother and her grown children. A team now. The fathers have come and gone and are barely remembered. These are her children. By contrast, Matthew (27; 56) identifies an anonymous woman as "the mother of Zebedee's children." We'll talk about it, for what it may mean. More important is the fact that this group is headed by a dominant female. Let's see if it makes a difference. Demian, as you'll remember, was the product of matriarchy, as it were, and seemed to be none the worse for it. It wasn't even worth mentioning. Fifty years later, Edgar Wibeau of Plenzdorf's The New Sorrows of Young W. (1972), a modern version of Goethe's bestselling novel Werther written 200 years earlier, and one of the most brilliant pieces of theatre post-Brecht, does find it worth mentioning. He is "sick & tired" of being paraded as living proof that "a single mother can successfully raise a male."
Musil uses the word 'Dichter', 'poet', as a dignified title reserved for artists of great achievement (different from 'Schriftsteller', 'writer'). His use of the word emphasizes the importance of the specifically poetic qualities of literature (and of the poetic sensibility of criticism,) not as an idle objection to the contemporary merging of literary works with either pure sensation and feeling, or with other forms of discourse. Focusing on "Törless", as well as on Musil's notebooks and essays, this article shows how Musil understands the relationship between rational thinking and the latent ideas and thoughts that emerge within the poetic dimension (the 'other state of mind' or 'other condition.') This approach illuminates Musil's conception of "precision and soul" - the interlocking of sensitive perceptiveness and intellectual rigor - as a necessary pre-condition for valuable literature and valuable life.