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The Weight of the World
A combination of professional notebook and personal diary that records -- both in short, informal jottings and through more formal, extended meditations -- the details of Handke's daily life in Paris from November 1975 through March 1977. Along with references to such mentors as Truffaut, John Cowper Powys, Robert DeNiro and Goethe, the journal recounts Handke's passing impressions of strangers; the deep and delicate nature of his relationship with his daughter; and a brief hospital stay which stirs his ever-present fear of death.
288 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1977
About the author
Peter Handke
345 books1,028 followersPeter Handke (* 6. Dezember 1942 in Griffen, Kärnten) ist ein österreichischer Schriftsteller und Übersetzer.
Peter Handke is an Avant-garde Austrian novelist and playwright. His body of work has been awarded numerous literary prizes, including the Nobel Prize in Literature in 2019. He has also collaborated with German director Wim Wenders, writing the script for The Wrong Move and co-writing the screenplay for Wings of Desire.
Peter Handke is an Avant-garde Austrian novelist and playwright. His body of work has been awarded numerous literary prizes, including the Nobel Prize in Literature in 2019. He has also collaborated with German director Wim Wenders, writing the script for The Wrong Move and co-writing the screenplay for Wings of Desire.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 31 reviews
October 10, 2019
2019 NOBEL PRIZE UPDATE:
If you're interested in reading a Handke novel, maybe start with this one or Short Letter, Long Farewell or A Sorrow Beyond Dreams
July 2007 review:
A book I use to keep from offing myself when I'm feeling shitty. Makes me see the world more clearly, amps perception, especially when depression closes eyes. It's a journal of perceptions (a slumping man sits up as a lovely lady walks by, then slumps again once she's gone, etc) and aphorisms and brief interactions organized in diary format over a year and a half as the writer goes to Paris, has a nervous breakdown, and sort of recovers. He has a daughter named A. There's actually more narrative here than you'd expect, though I've only read it once straight through. Usually I just keep it at my bedside, bounce around before sleep. If you've seen Wim Wenders' "Wings of Desire," you might recognize some of the lines in here as being really similar to what those two angels say to each other in the beginning -- that's 'cause Handke co-wrote the screenplay . . . EXCEPTIONAL bathroom reading, or pre-sleep reading when you're sort of drunk but not seeing double, or (again) when you need reading to recharge perception -- throw the cobwebs from your eyes and spread your washing proper!
If you're interested in reading a Handke novel, maybe start with this one or Short Letter, Long Farewell or A Sorrow Beyond Dreams
July 2007 review:
A book I use to keep from offing myself when I'm feeling shitty. Makes me see the world more clearly, amps perception, especially when depression closes eyes. It's a journal of perceptions (a slumping man sits up as a lovely lady walks by, then slumps again once she's gone, etc) and aphorisms and brief interactions organized in diary format over a year and a half as the writer goes to Paris, has a nervous breakdown, and sort of recovers. He has a daughter named A. There's actually more narrative here than you'd expect, though I've only read it once straight through. Usually I just keep it at my bedside, bounce around before sleep. If you've seen Wim Wenders' "Wings of Desire," you might recognize some of the lines in here as being really similar to what those two angels say to each other in the beginning -- that's 'cause Handke co-wrote the screenplay . . . EXCEPTIONAL bathroom reading, or pre-sleep reading when you're sort of drunk but not seeing double, or (again) when you need reading to recharge perception -- throw the cobwebs from your eyes and spread your washing proper!
May 19, 2019
La prima volta che ho letto questo libro, tanti anni fa, giacevo -mio malgrado - in un ridicolo stato di cattività, a servir la patria in una enorme caserma del napoletano. Lì, in quel luogo ameno, alle spalle dei cortili e delle altane, s'ergeva una ripida collinetta sulla cui cima svettava, a difesa e simbolo di tutta l'Istituzione, l'inviso deposito dei rifiuti. E sempre lì, tra quelle nebbie dall'olezzo perturbante, malamente adagiato su un sedile di fortuna ricavato dai resti di una vecchia seggiola d'ufficio borbonico recuperata in mezzo ai rifiuti, stavo io -perennemente comandato alla strenue difesa della Monnezza di Stato- in compagnia di questo libro. Da lassu', per tutto il giorno, era dato osservare l'ambaradan sottostante, il sempiterno stato di stolida agitazione che invade ogni angolo di una caserma: strilli, ordini, marce, trombe, imboscamenti, fughe; sempre soli -nessuno osava transitare in quel fetore ributtante- io e Handke. Racconto tutto ciò non per gratuito autobiografismo, ma per l'unico motivo che questo magnifico libro - che tra l'altro ancora possiede una eco di quel profumo e indi costretto a far vita solitaria, separato dai suoi simili di carta- tratta proprio di questo, di come la vita, o meglio, l'osservazione della vita, e le parole che ha l'osservatore per descriverla, non si trovano mai d'accordo, non lasciano trapelare che un minimo del proprio significato: il peso del mondo è lì, vicino ma elusivo, impermeabile agli sbuffi del linguaggio, neppure un'inferenza di terza mano o un satori dei poveri. E' scritto in forma banale, di diario, raccolta di pensieri e aforismi istantanei suddivisi per date, ma completamente asciugati da ogni modo d'uso e finalità, impossibili a penetrare la materia del nostro sentire che è di per se stolta, scivolosa e inutile come far la guardia a tonnellate d'immondizia.
Read
March 24, 2015Das Gewicht der Welt is the first volume of Peter Handke’s journals (he published several more since then) spanning the time from November 1975 to March 1977. The term “journal” might be somewhat misleading, however – these are not day-by-day entries following the incidents and thoughts in the author’s life; according to Handke’s foreword, the book started out as a collection of notes for a novel but then changed in character, disentangling themselves from the novels and turning into ad-hoc observations and the authors reactions to them, gradually metamorphosing into general process of perception becoming writing.
I had a quite specific idea what this book would be like before I started reading it, but soon discovered that it was not like that pre-conceived notion at all. From works of Peter Handke I had read previously (most notably Mein Jahr in der Niemandsbucht) I was expecting paragraphs, even pages of long, dense descriptions. But just as Das Gewicht der Welt is not what you’d normally expect from a journal, i.e. a recounting of day-to-day to events or an exploration of the writer’s subjectivity, it also contains no long, in-depth descriptions of and mediations on the author’s environment. Instead, it offers lots and lots of short notes, most of them just one or two sentences long and quite often even shorter than that, of random stuff the author noticed and wrote down.
Except of course that the reader soon notices that things are not all that random as they appeared on first sight, but that there are a number of recurring themes and images, mostly connected to immediacy (and the loss of it) and distance (between people, between people and their surroundings, between people and their own selves) – which, finally, connected me back to the Handke I know who seems obsessed of the correct way to the describe the world and of the correct attitude the writer must assume to correctly describe the world which tends to involve a certain distance, a relaxedness, a diminishing of tension that lets itself be surprised by objects and people – hence the importance of tiredness and boredom in Handke’s work in general as well, as in this volume. (It also goes some way to explaining the way he looks on many of his picture – I mean, just look at the cover of tis volume, the downward curved lines of eyebrows, eyes, moustache and mouth, and that crumpled-up chin: Impossible to tell whether he’s struggling to stay awake there or observing you intently. Or, precisely, both.)
Das Gewicht der Welt (and do note how only a single letter divides “Gewicht” – weight – from “Gesicht” – face) presents a kind of physiognomics of the visible, with the writer attempting to decipher the surface the world turns towards him, translating sensory impressions into writing to give them meaning. There is the occasional trite remark here, and sometimes the writer is just being cranky, but for the most part there is a wealth of very perceptive observations here, from natural phenomena to human behaviour and everything in between, and for all the brevity of the majority of the entrances (there are some longer ones later on) they are all beautifully written (something one would of course expect from Handke), somehow managing to combine the freshness of immediate reactions with a carefully crafted prose without seeming in the least bit contrived.
The book, however does require a bit of effort on part of the reader – or maybe “attitude adjustment” would be the better term. Das Gewicht der Welt is not a book to read in go, but has to be taken in small doses. It requires a certain rhythm for full appreciation, one that involves frequent pauses to let what you just read settle down and maybe ponder it for a while. Personally, I found that placing oneself in certain surroundings also helps – this book is best read out in the open, while you’re walking or sitting on a bench in a park or on a square, while waiting for your train or even in a queue in the supermarket, or at least while sitting at the window – anywhere, in short where you can lift your eyes towards the world. And sometimes – this happened to me more than once -, when you do look up from the book, blinking at your surroundings, when they do slide into focus it may seem like the world is approaching your differently, or maybe you have become differently accessible to it after reading a sentence from Das Gewicht der Welt. It is that kind of book that opens itself to its outside, and there is a reason that none of the entries ends with a period but that they are all left open, open to continue somewhere else than themselves. And it is even less of a coincidence that the book ends with precisely that gesture – the writer lifting his face.
I had a quite specific idea what this book would be like before I started reading it, but soon discovered that it was not like that pre-conceived notion at all. From works of Peter Handke I had read previously (most notably Mein Jahr in der Niemandsbucht) I was expecting paragraphs, even pages of long, dense descriptions. But just as Das Gewicht der Welt is not what you’d normally expect from a journal, i.e. a recounting of day-to-day to events or an exploration of the writer’s subjectivity, it also contains no long, in-depth descriptions of and mediations on the author’s environment. Instead, it offers lots and lots of short notes, most of them just one or two sentences long and quite often even shorter than that, of random stuff the author noticed and wrote down.
Except of course that the reader soon notices that things are not all that random as they appeared on first sight, but that there are a number of recurring themes and images, mostly connected to immediacy (and the loss of it) and distance (between people, between people and their surroundings, between people and their own selves) – which, finally, connected me back to the Handke I know who seems obsessed of the correct way to the describe the world and of the correct attitude the writer must assume to correctly describe the world which tends to involve a certain distance, a relaxedness, a diminishing of tension that lets itself be surprised by objects and people – hence the importance of tiredness and boredom in Handke’s work in general as well, as in this volume. (It also goes some way to explaining the way he looks on many of his picture – I mean, just look at the cover of tis volume, the downward curved lines of eyebrows, eyes, moustache and mouth, and that crumpled-up chin: Impossible to tell whether he’s struggling to stay awake there or observing you intently. Or, precisely, both.)
Das Gewicht der Welt (and do note how only a single letter divides “Gewicht” – weight – from “Gesicht” – face) presents a kind of physiognomics of the visible, with the writer attempting to decipher the surface the world turns towards him, translating sensory impressions into writing to give them meaning. There is the occasional trite remark here, and sometimes the writer is just being cranky, but for the most part there is a wealth of very perceptive observations here, from natural phenomena to human behaviour and everything in between, and for all the brevity of the majority of the entrances (there are some longer ones later on) they are all beautifully written (something one would of course expect from Handke), somehow managing to combine the freshness of immediate reactions with a carefully crafted prose without seeming in the least bit contrived.
The book, however does require a bit of effort on part of the reader – or maybe “attitude adjustment” would be the better term. Das Gewicht der Welt is not a book to read in go, but has to be taken in small doses. It requires a certain rhythm for full appreciation, one that involves frequent pauses to let what you just read settle down and maybe ponder it for a while. Personally, I found that placing oneself in certain surroundings also helps – this book is best read out in the open, while you’re walking or sitting on a bench in a park or on a square, while waiting for your train or even in a queue in the supermarket, or at least while sitting at the window – anywhere, in short where you can lift your eyes towards the world. And sometimes – this happened to me more than once -, when you do look up from the book, blinking at your surroundings, when they do slide into focus it may seem like the world is approaching your differently, or maybe you have become differently accessible to it after reading a sentence from Das Gewicht der Welt. It is that kind of book that opens itself to its outside, and there is a reason that none of the entries ends with a period but that they are all left open, open to continue somewhere else than themselves. And it is even less of a coincidence that the book ends with precisely that gesture – the writer lifting his face.
February 13, 2021
وجهة نظري الشّخصية، إن الكتاب ده اسمه ثقل العالم، بسبب تفصيص بيتر هاندكه لكل موقف بيمر قدّامه حرفيًا! تقريبًا لو حد ماشي في حاله هيطلع له تأويل لمجرد إنه ماشي لوحده!
هي مذكرات ويوميات وهواطر ووصف لمشاهد عابرة وحِكَم وكل إللي انت عايزه هتلاقيه.
الكتاب ده هو وحُزن غير محتمل، أعتقد ممكن نعتبر بوابة عبور جميلة، لكل شخص عايز يبدأ يتعرف على أدب بيتر، خصوصًا إن أعماله مش سهلة تمامًا.
هو طبعًا فارق كبير بين الكتابة الذّاتية والأدبية، لكن تقدر تقول إنك اتعرفت على طرق تفكير الكاتب ده من الكتابين دول، فبالتالي هتقل احتمالية إنك متبقاش فاهم أعماله.
أنا واثق إن مش أي حد ممكن يتفاعل و يحب الكتابين دول، لكن واثق جدًا، إن أي شخص هيتفاعل أو يحب أي كتاب منهما أو كلاهما، هينبسط جدًا.
هي مذكرات ويوميات وهواطر ووصف لمشاهد عابرة وحِكَم وكل إللي انت عايزه هتلاقيه.
الكتاب ده هو وحُزن غير محتمل، أعتقد ممكن نعتبر بوابة عبور جميلة، لكل شخص عايز يبدأ يتعرف على أدب بيتر، خصوصًا إن أعماله مش سهلة تمامًا.
هو طبعًا فارق كبير بين الكتابة الذّاتية والأدبية، لكن تقدر تقول إنك اتعرفت على طرق تفكير الكاتب ده من الكتابين دول، فبالتالي هتقل احتمالية إنك متبقاش فاهم أعماله.
أنا واثق إن مش أي حد ممكن يتفاعل و يحب الكتابين دول، لكن واثق جدًا، إن أي شخص هيتفاعل أو يحب أي كتاب منهما أو كلاهما، هينبسط جدًا.
February 29, 2020
Frammenti di un discorso doloroso
L'elemento più significativo di queste 200 pagine del novello Premio Nobel austriaco è l'esperimento formale: queste pagine non sono nè di prosa nè di poesia, ma un particolare ibrido - un tentativo di comunicare pensieri, percezioni, impressioni in modo immediato, tagliando l'intermediazione della rilettura, riscrittura, modifica. Obiettivo sottolineato anche a livello tipografico, dove sono assenti i punti al termine dei vari frammenti.
Handke scrive anche solo una riga o una intera pagina di getto (o così pare) evitando trame o narrazioni e concentrandosi sulle proprie sensazioni, percezioni o pensieri prima di una eventuale elaborazione - ne risulta un materiale eterogeneo, atomizzato, frammentato sul quale un giudizio globale è complicato: vi sono alcune intuizioni originali e notevoli, altri luoghi comuni o commenti sprezzanti senza alcuna analisi.
Si potrebbe parlare di un elenco di "sguardi dall'esterno", in cui lo scrittore osserva il mondo, gli altri, se stesso da una certa distanza distaccato, disilluso e a volte disperato e rancoroso - una scrittura che racconta del male di vivere in modo meno asciutto e tagliente di un Bernhard, alla quale va in ogni caso riconosciuto il coraggio di sperimentare ed osare nel tentativo (forse impossibile) di comunicare l'insensatezza indicibile del nostro esistere.
L'elemento più significativo di queste 200 pagine del novello Premio Nobel austriaco è l'esperimento formale: queste pagine non sono nè di prosa nè di poesia, ma un particolare ibrido - un tentativo di comunicare pensieri, percezioni, impressioni in modo immediato, tagliando l'intermediazione della rilettura, riscrittura, modifica. Obiettivo sottolineato anche a livello tipografico, dove sono assenti i punti al termine dei vari frammenti.
Handke scrive anche solo una riga o una intera pagina di getto (o così pare) evitando trame o narrazioni e concentrandosi sulle proprie sensazioni, percezioni o pensieri prima di una eventuale elaborazione - ne risulta un materiale eterogeneo, atomizzato, frammentato sul quale un giudizio globale è complicato: vi sono alcune intuizioni originali e notevoli, altri luoghi comuni o commenti sprezzanti senza alcuna analisi.
Si potrebbe parlare di un elenco di "sguardi dall'esterno", in cui lo scrittore osserva il mondo, gli altri, se stesso da una certa distanza distaccato, disilluso e a volte disperato e rancoroso - una scrittura che racconta del male di vivere in modo meno asciutto e tagliente di un Bernhard, alla quale va in ogni caso riconosciuto il coraggio di sperimentare ed osare nel tentativo (forse impossibile) di comunicare l'insensatezza indicibile del nostro esistere.
April 17, 2021
Ostensibly a year's worth of notes from the writer's journal, consisting of personal reflections and diurnal observations of the author's life and environment, this book can also be construed as a novel in the form of a journal, and as such, a work of genuine innovation. Handke's miniaturist style lends itself perfectly to these discrete entries, each a completed essay or prose poem; the book is a perfect match of temperament and form, and arguably Handke's finest work to date. Some entries speak to the power of language--even in translation--to evince startlingly fresh images of time-worn subjects, e.g., trees in wind; others transform the banalities of contemporary experience, e.g., the sound of the television from a neighboring house, suburban detritus, etc., into indelible literary images. These are not rough notes but polished paragraphs in Handke's finest style. Though this book is a gift to readers with small amounts of free time or short attention spans, it has a de facto dramatic structure, central to which is the author's confinement in a hospital and relationship as a single father to his son. The work is, finally, moving as well as eloquent.
This book made Harold Bloom's Western Canon as one of the achievements of the century; it's one of the few I have read twice. Except for his controversial politics, Handke has tended to be overlooked in this country, but he deserves the attention of everyone who considers him/herself a serious reader. I consider Weight of the World optimal Handke.
This book made Harold Bloom's Western Canon as one of the achievements of the century; it's one of the few I have read twice. Except for his controversial politics, Handke has tended to be overlooked in this country, but he deserves the attention of everyone who considers him/herself a serious reader. I consider Weight of the World optimal Handke.
May 30, 2020
This is a diary made up of mostly small entries, a phrase or a few sentences; very few are close to a page. The content is very similar to the style of Handke's fiction; random observations of people and things, especially the landscape, and descriptions of his thoughts or rather of his thinking or not thinking without actual content. As in his novels, there is never any context of planning or purpose; he doesn't plan to go somewhere for some reason but suddenly he is describing the streets or the landscape in another country, or looking out of a hospital room window. At first I thought this was just a stylistic device, but as I went along I began to suspect that this is how he perceives the world; he constantly talks about his anxiety, his thoughts about death or even suicide; he sometimes talks about depression, and the entries seem like a description of someone suffering from depression, complaining that he can't feel or empathize with people, objectifying them, being afraid of them or disgusted by them. At other times he is manic, talking in an exaggerated way about how healthy and powerful and in control of himself he feels. There is no indication that he is seeking or undergoing any type of treatment or therapy. The scariest thing is that he is apparently responsible for a young girl he refers to as A., presumably his daughter, and they are living together without any other adult. (Nearly everyone he mentions is referred to by a letter, or just a pronoun without any apparent reference.) I was hoping to find out something from this diary about his works, but they are barely mentioned; I did begin to suspect that they are expressions of his distorted sense of reality rather than simply being an artistic style. Despite realizing what this actually was, the diary of a sick person, I couldn't help but consider it boring and repetitious.
March 11, 2010
Sort of a real-life notebook of observations but feels like a novel and the overall effect is to lift the reader into a realm of friendship and cohabitation with the spirit of Peter Handke. The world through his eyes becomes a world of quiet simplicity. The little dramas of life poised and balanced; reads like a smooth dance.
January 3, 2008
I'm a sucker for aphoristic autobiography.
October 4, 2017
"De-pensarsi, de-respirarsi, mentre si giace nel sole, finché non vi sia più nulla di me, e tutto si perda nel vento e nel sole; nulla, tranne un piccolo punto di dolore." (p. 61)
December 1, 2022
i’ve always been wary of fragments but Handke’s journal is a masterclass in the autarkic (to borrow from Barthes) capacity of a “complete” fragment. Schlegel said something along the line of ancient literature became fragments and modern literature begins as fragments — though of course “modern” in this case was late 18th cent. Handke’s stylistic consistency and unity of thought in these brief entries, though visually disjointed and fragmented, surely demonstrate that Schlegel (and to a degree myself) were wrong about the duality of beauty and fragmentation, as structure and form aren’t necessarily required for content to be bound be the unconditional social spirit. within the decade some humanities student will surely write a thesis defending the twitter timeline as literature on these grounds
August 29, 2023
اینکه هاندکه هم تروفو-پرسن بوده باعث مسرتم شد.🫠
February 5, 2022
الكتاب ملاحظات وأفكار سريعة قصيرة يومية. طبعا بتدل على رهافة إحساس الكاتب، ووجهة نظره الخاصة. إنما ما كنتش قادر أمنع نفسي من التفكير في حاجة واحدة طول قراءة الكتاب: لو كانت هي نفس الملاحظات بس ما كانش هو بيتر هاندكه اللي خد جوايز أد كدا كانت هتتنشر أو هيدولها قيمة؟ ولو كانت هي نفس الملاحظات بس ما كانش هو بيتر هاندكه اللي خد جايزة نوبل كانوا ترجموها للعربي؟
عموما أتخيل برضو أنها تصلح كمحفزات لتمارين كتابة.
عموما أتخيل برضو أنها تصلح كمحفزات لتمارين كتابة.
March 16, 2012
I like Peter Handke fine enough but this book bogged down for me. I had my notepad in hand to scribble down little kernels I found tantalizing, but actually discovered few worth the ink left resting in my pen. But it is a nice-looking book, the hardcover edition, the layout is inviting, just not so much to do while swimming the backstroke in it. Took me a summer of mornings to finish it and longer to sell it back.
July 20, 2023
"The trouble with great literature is that any asshole can identify with it."
January 5, 2023
كان هذا الكتاب رفيقي على مدار عامٍ كامل، في المواصلات، في الساعة الأخيرة قبل النوم، بين المحاضرات، وأحيانًا أثناء المحاضرات.. شعرتُ في لحظاتٍ أن��ي داخل حياة بيتر هاندكه، الذي اعتبرته الأروع في الدقة والوصف.. فكيف يصل إلى تلك المشاعر الصغيرة جدًا التي تعترينا؟ هذا الكتاب يحمل جميع التفاصيل الصغيرة، الإيماءات والحركات التي لا ننتبه لها.. أظنه خلق لي رؤيةً جديدة أرى خلالها الحياة اليومية الغارقة في التفاصيل!
استمتعتُ كثيرًا كثيرًا أثناء قراءته، وأظنني لن أتوقف عن قراءته يومًا.. بل سأظل أفتح صفحاتٍ عشوائية لأستمتع برؤية التفاصيل خلال قلم بيتر الذي أتمنى ألا يجف أبدًا، حتى نظل ننعم بهذه الرؤية الدقيقة جدًا للتفاصيل الصغيرة جدًا في عالمنا الكبير :)
حاولتُ الوصول إلى الاقتباس الأفضل لكتابته في ختام هذه المراجعة، لكن صدقًا الكتاب مليئ بالاقتباسات التي أسرتني أحيانًا، وألمتني أحيانًا أخرى.. لا وجود للاقتباس الأفضل هنا، فجميع الكلمات كانت أنا، وكنتُ أنا بين جميع الكلمات!
استمتعتُ كثيرًا كثيرًا أثناء قراءته، وأظنني لن أتوقف عن قراءته يومًا.. بل سأظل أفتح صفحاتٍ عشوائية لأستمتع برؤية التفاصيل خلال قلم بيتر الذي أتمنى ألا يجف أبدًا، حتى نظل ننعم بهذه الرؤية الدقيقة جدًا للتفاصيل الصغيرة جدًا في عالمنا الكبير :)
حاولتُ الوصول إلى الاقتباس الأفضل لكتابته في ختام هذه المراجعة، لكن صدقًا الكتاب مليئ بالاقتباسات التي أسرتني أحيانًا، وألمتني أحيانًا أخرى.. لا وجود للاقتباس الأفضل هنا، فجميع الكلمات كانت أنا، وكنتُ أنا بين جميع الكلمات!
February 19, 2024
This is gonna be short and clear. Peter Handke is an insanely talented writer and a very interesting human being. However the way he portrays women in his personal notes, is weird and offensive in so many ways. It seems that he gives value to them only by there looks and is straight up offended if the are not “beautiful” in his perspective. Also considering that he try’s his best, he wrote more than one time about his fantasies if murdering his own child!?? I do not intend to spread hate, the only purpose of this comment is to share my perspective on some of the controverse content in this book.
June 24, 2022
كتاب ملهم لمن يحب الكتابة ..
بداية لم أستطع التأكد من السبب في صعوبة استيعاب بعض الصفحات أو العبارات هل هي الترجمة أم أن الكاتب كان يكتب خواطر لنفسه وغالبا هي غير منقحة؟
ولكن من يقرأ كتاب التأملات لماركوس أوريليوس يستطيع فهم أهمية "أن يكتب الكاتب لنفسه وليس للآخرين"
بداية لم أستطع التأكد من السبب في صعوبة استيعاب بعض الصفحات أو العبارات هل هي الترجمة أم أن الكاتب كان يكتب خواطر لنفسه وغالبا هي غير منقحة؟
ولكن من يقرأ كتاب التأملات لماركوس أوريليوس يستطيع فهم أهمية "أن يكتب الكاتب لنفسه وليس للآخرين"
Read
December 9, 2019Shame on Nobel Committee..
https://theintercept.com/2019/10/10/c...
https://theintercept.com/2019/10/10/c...
Read
July 29, 2020Che fatica.
December 5, 2020
finished earlier this year and i still pick it up pretty frequently to leaf through
July 29, 2021
This book covers difficult subjects and tragic lifestyles. The matter of fact tone at once makes it deceptively easy to read and at the same time all the subject all the more horrible.
October 13, 2021
Delicious...wonderful autobiographical aphorisms...brief moments of epiphany that reveal unguarded truths
September 14, 2022
الكتاب عبارة عن دفتر ملاحظات يومية للكاتب تم تنسيقه وطباعته
ليس فيه من المتعة او الفائدة شيء
اللهم إلا إذا كان من يقرأه يمارس الكتابة ليتعلم كيف تدوين الملاحظات اليومية للاستفادة منها عند كتابة رواية
ليس فيه من المتعة او الفائدة شيء
اللهم إلا إذا كان من يقرأه يمارس الكتابة ليتعلم كيف تدوين الملاحظات اليومية للاستفادة منها عند كتابة رواية
Want to read
June 7, 2023NA
November 22, 2023
“Nella stanza la luce giallo-zolfo del tardo pomeriggio, e l’idea di essere lì già da lungo tempo, cadavere”
July 23, 2016
In welchem Buch steht geschrieben, wie man damit umgehen soll, wenn eine herzlich respektierte Person des persönlichen inneren Kreises eine heraufbeschworene Empfehlung ausspricht, man selbige dankend, eigentlich enthusiastisch annimmt, das Buch hingegen nach jeder zweiten Seite zerreißen möchte, weil ... - weil es eine Enttäuschung ist? Wem gegenüber darf man hier ehrlicher sein? Der guten Person oder dem schlechten Buch? Ein Dilemma, ein fürchterliches. Genau wie das fehlführend episch betitelte "Gewicht der Welt" eines ist.
Abseits dessen wurde Handke seit den ersten Semestern des vermurksten Literaturstudiums als mehr oder minder verkannter Heilsbringer der deutschen Schriftstellerei gehandelt, in einem Atemzug mit Überköpfen wie Barthes genannt und derart essentiell 'gemacht', dass ich vielleicht auch nur desillusioniert aus diesem ersten Versuch meinerseits herausgehen hätte können. Wie auch immer ...
Handke's "Journal" lässt sich sodann in etwa drei Drittel einteilen: Ein verdammt Schlechtes, ein ziemlich Versöhnliches und ein relativ Spannungsloses.
1. Drittel) Die ersten ca. 90 Seiten sind in erster Linie prätentios, ein wenig arrogant und ganz gewiss geltungssüchtig . Es wird mehr als nur deutlich, dass Handke mit sich selbst experimentiert, ein höheres Verständnis aus sich herauszukitzeln. Das gelingt ihm nicht. Während er versucht, dem Alltäglichen etwas Philosophisches abzuzwingen, sich selbst als Erkenntnisheischer zu positionieren, entfächert sich sprachlicher Dilettantismus und eben kein Auge für irgendeine Wahrheit. Über allem 'erstrahlt' ein unablässiger Ich-Fetisch. Selbst beim Beobachten von Leuten zieht sich Handke ins Geschehen hinein; trotzdem scheint er nach dem zu suchen, was außerhalb seines Dunstkreises liegt. Er ist sich folglich absolut bewusst, dass er kein 'naturgeborener Versteher' ist, will sich aber dazu machen.
"Ich möchte mir manchmal wirklich verbieten können, an etwas zu denken, z.B. an den Tod"
"Er schaut in der fremden Wohnung alles an, um etwas Neues für seine Träume zu haben"
"Der Regen auf den Augäpfeln, kühl und lindernd"
Und so fort ... Handke ist hier in erster Linie ein kitschiger Onanist.
2. Drittel) Das vergeigte Potential der ersten 90 Seiten wird sodann mit den folgenden 90 auf beinahe magische Weise rehabilitiert. Es ist keinesfalls so, dass sich Handke vom offensichtlichen Motto der geschmacksfreien Egozentrierung verabschieden will. Er scheint mittlerweile jedoch gereift zu sein. Der Fokus und damit zusammenhängende analytische Relationen wandern immer häufiger zum Objekt, dezentralisieren Handke selbst. Das, was er vorher nur vorgab zu tun, setzt er nun um; er denkt tiefgründig und wahrhaftig, und zwingt sich weit weniger zur grundlegend angestrebten Authentizität. Kaum scheißt er etwas häufiger auf sein Ego, konzentriert er häufiger auf das Geschehen abseits seines persönlichen Einflussbereichs, gelingen ihm beinahe vorzügliche, teils romantisch(-verklärte), teils schlicht gut gedachte, tatsächlich ästhetische Überlegungen:
Krokodil: Ein Tier, das, einmal erwachsen, keinen Feind mehr hat"
"Ich schoß jemandem, der mich angriff, mehrmals ins Gesicht; die Wirkung war, daß er das Gesicht eines andern bekam, mich nicht mehr erkannte und von mir abließ"
"''Wirklichkeit'' - mit einer solchen Bezeichnung wird geehrt, was am Leben hindert"
In derartigen Überlegungen, Eingebungen steckt tatsächlich so etwas wie philosophische Anmut.
3. Drittel) ...
"Langweiliges Pissoir: keine Aufschriften an den Wänden"
Wow?
Fazit: Handke's "Gewicht der Welt" war zweifelsfrei eines der herausforderndsten Bücher, die ich zuletzt lesen durfte. Dabei mag ich den aphoristischen Ansatz durchaus. Es bleibt mir jedoch schleierhaft, wie man - als Schriftsteller - tatsächlich erwarten will, dass jede einzelne geistige Blähung, jeder noch so vermeintliche Erkenntnis oder explorative Alltagsbeobachtung interessant ist. Das macht im Grunde ganz gewiss jeder Prosaiker so: er kollektiviert, verfeinert, wird sich dabei fremd. Handke jedoch spart den mühsamen Part des Verknüpfens einzelner maßgeblicher persönlicher Ergebenheiten aus, rumpelt seine punktuellen Eindrücke mit viel Kitsch und recht wenig Feingefühl herunter und macht es sich somit verdammt einfach. Mir erschließt sich daraus weder eine bahnbrechende Methode zu schreiben, noch Respekt vor der Fantasie des Lesers. Die alles überragende Frage ist: Weshalb sollte mich interessieren, was der Autor denkt, wenn er ein Butterbrot isst? Die Antwort: Mich interessiert, was der Autor beim Essen des Butterbrots zu umschreiben imstande ist. Handke will beides. Das funktioniert nicht. Jedenfalls nicht bei ihm. Ich wette, seine Romane hingegen sind sensationell ...
Abseits dessen wurde Handke seit den ersten Semestern des vermurksten Literaturstudiums als mehr oder minder verkannter Heilsbringer der deutschen Schriftstellerei gehandelt, in einem Atemzug mit Überköpfen wie Barthes genannt und derart essentiell 'gemacht', dass ich vielleicht auch nur desillusioniert aus diesem ersten Versuch meinerseits herausgehen hätte können. Wie auch immer ...
Handke's "Journal" lässt sich sodann in etwa drei Drittel einteilen: Ein verdammt Schlechtes, ein ziemlich Versöhnliches und ein relativ Spannungsloses.
1. Drittel) Die ersten ca. 90 Seiten sind in erster Linie prätentios, ein wenig arrogant und ganz gewiss geltungssüchtig . Es wird mehr als nur deutlich, dass Handke mit sich selbst experimentiert, ein höheres Verständnis aus sich herauszukitzeln. Das gelingt ihm nicht. Während er versucht, dem Alltäglichen etwas Philosophisches abzuzwingen, sich selbst als Erkenntnisheischer zu positionieren, entfächert sich sprachlicher Dilettantismus und eben kein Auge für irgendeine Wahrheit. Über allem 'erstrahlt' ein unablässiger Ich-Fetisch. Selbst beim Beobachten von Leuten zieht sich Handke ins Geschehen hinein; trotzdem scheint er nach dem zu suchen, was außerhalb seines Dunstkreises liegt. Er ist sich folglich absolut bewusst, dass er kein 'naturgeborener Versteher' ist, will sich aber dazu machen.
"Ich möchte mir manchmal wirklich verbieten können, an etwas zu denken, z.B. an den Tod"
"Er schaut in der fremden Wohnung alles an, um etwas Neues für seine Träume zu haben"
"Der Regen auf den Augäpfeln, kühl und lindernd"
Und so fort ... Handke ist hier in erster Linie ein kitschiger Onanist.
2. Drittel) Das vergeigte Potential der ersten 90 Seiten wird sodann mit den folgenden 90 auf beinahe magische Weise rehabilitiert. Es ist keinesfalls so, dass sich Handke vom offensichtlichen Motto der geschmacksfreien Egozentrierung verabschieden will. Er scheint mittlerweile jedoch gereift zu sein. Der Fokus und damit zusammenhängende analytische Relationen wandern immer häufiger zum Objekt, dezentralisieren Handke selbst. Das, was er vorher nur vorgab zu tun, setzt er nun um; er denkt tiefgründig und wahrhaftig, und zwingt sich weit weniger zur grundlegend angestrebten Authentizität. Kaum scheißt er etwas häufiger auf sein Ego, konzentriert er häufiger auf das Geschehen abseits seines persönlichen Einflussbereichs, gelingen ihm beinahe vorzügliche, teils romantisch(-verklärte), teils schlicht gut gedachte, tatsächlich ästhetische Überlegungen:
Krokodil: Ein Tier, das, einmal erwachsen, keinen Feind mehr hat"
"Ich schoß jemandem, der mich angriff, mehrmals ins Gesicht; die Wirkung war, daß er das Gesicht eines andern bekam, mich nicht mehr erkannte und von mir abließ"
"''Wirklichkeit'' - mit einer solchen Bezeichnung wird geehrt, was am Leben hindert"
In derartigen Überlegungen, Eingebungen steckt tatsächlich so etwas wie philosophische Anmut.
3. Drittel) ...
"Langweiliges Pissoir: keine Aufschriften an den Wänden"
Wow?
Fazit: Handke's "Gewicht der Welt" war zweifelsfrei eines der herausforderndsten Bücher, die ich zuletzt lesen durfte. Dabei mag ich den aphoristischen Ansatz durchaus. Es bleibt mir jedoch schleierhaft, wie man - als Schriftsteller - tatsächlich erwarten will, dass jede einzelne geistige Blähung, jeder noch so vermeintliche Erkenntnis oder explorative Alltagsbeobachtung interessant ist. Das macht im Grunde ganz gewiss jeder Prosaiker so: er kollektiviert, verfeinert, wird sich dabei fremd. Handke jedoch spart den mühsamen Part des Verknüpfens einzelner maßgeblicher persönlicher Ergebenheiten aus, rumpelt seine punktuellen Eindrücke mit viel Kitsch und recht wenig Feingefühl herunter und macht es sich somit verdammt einfach. Mir erschließt sich daraus weder eine bahnbrechende Methode zu schreiben, noch Respekt vor der Fantasie des Lesers. Die alles überragende Frage ist: Weshalb sollte mich interessieren, was der Autor denkt, wenn er ein Butterbrot isst? Die Antwort: Mich interessiert, was der Autor beim Essen des Butterbrots zu umschreiben imstande ist. Handke will beides. Das funktioniert nicht. Jedenfalls nicht bei ihm. Ich wette, seine Romane hingegen sind sensationell ...
February 21, 2022
Más o menos como masticar arena...
January 30, 2014
Handke no sabe desperdiciar los asombros súbitos: los vuelve materia de un experimento radical donde el lenguaje es demandado al máximo de su precisión. La reacción espontánea del autor acaba haciendo de miradas y ensoñaciones fragmentos de algo que podría escribirse hasta el infinito. Handke habría vacilado sin embargo ante un time line de Twitter porque Handke no es un ocurrente ni un autor de brevedades a modo de greguería: su minimalismo apuesta por el fulgor del relámpago. Sólo esto, y que Handke es enemigo a muerte de todo punto final
August 8, 2016
A diary of jottings and meditations:
~Linguistic euphoria is needed for a poem (even a desolate one)
~I think there are people I couldn't get interested in even if they had saved my life
~Obstacle to human dignity: a quick temper
~Dreams in which I am as petty as when awake
~At last I laughed myself back to the surface of the earth
~I haven't had time to look out the window yet today
~Linguistic euphoria is needed for a poem (even a desolate one)
~I think there are people I couldn't get interested in even if they had saved my life
~Obstacle to human dignity: a quick temper
~Dreams in which I am as petty as when awake
~At last I laughed myself back to the surface of the earth
~I haven't had time to look out the window yet today
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