SHEEP AND SACKPIPES

Leaping headfirst into the macabre picaresque maelstrom that is Simplicius Simplicissimus, I am immediately rewarded with a raucous evocation of herdsman-royale King David, and how his example solaces Teutonic everyman Melchoir Sternfels as he protects his father's flock of sheep from wolves with the aid of his trusty Sackpfeiffe (i.e. bagpipes). 

In his words,

damal gleichete ich wol dem David auſſer daß jener an ſtatt der Sackpfeiffe nur eine Harpffe hatte welches kein ſchlimmer Anfang ſondern ein gut Omen fuͤr mich war

Englished:

"So I was much like David -- though in place of a bagpipe he only had a harp -- which was no bad start but a good omen for me..."

Dann von Anbegin der Welt feynd jeweils hohe Pesonen Hirten gewesen wie wir dann vom Abel, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, seinen Sohnen und Moyse selbst in H. Schrifft lesen welcher zuvor seines Schwehers Schaf huten muste ehe er Heerfuhrer und Legislator uber 600000 Mann in Israel ward.

 "Since from the beginning of the world high persons have been shepherds, as we read in Holy Scripture of Abel, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob and his sons, and of Moses himself, who tended his in-law's sheep before becoming the leader and lawgiver of 600,000 men in Israel."

The novel, written by the fantastically named Hans Jakob Christoffel von Grimmelshausen, recounts the miseries and misadventures of the aforementioned Teutonic everyman during the Thirty Years War -- an unimaginably destructive catastrophe that was basically WWII and WWI rolled together.

From vague references throughout the years I've gathered that it's something like a cross between Eine Frau in Berlin and a Huckleberry Finn. Whether this impression has any basis in reality remains to be seen. 

p.s. I'm reading the excellently produced online edition on the DTA Deutsches Text Archiv website, which features facing pages from the original, a facsimile and the normalized orthography.

BARON GREENPICKLE

German as a language specializes in absurdly comical names. Some Romance names may provoke a grin, but Italian over-flamboyance and Spanish goofiness are nothing compared to the German monopoly on the denominatively ludicrous.

Take, zum Beispiel, a glorious reference buried on page 134 of Princeton's Drawings from the Holy Roman Empire 1540-1680, to a certain Baron Ferdinand Hoffman von Grünpichl und Strechau. Besides providing sorely needed respite from a succession of unimaginatively named artists, the good baron provides a good laugh by virtue of his apparent place of origin: Grünpichl. I don't know about you, but that immediately puts me in mind of Greenpickle and, well, that's good enough for me. 

Of course I'm still working on the actual etymology of Grünpichl. Duden.de defines picheln as "(in kleiner Runde) über längere Zeit Alkohol trinken," which I find amusing. Of course a pre-16th century place name probably has a very different origin.

GUSTAVUS THEODORE VON HOLST BY JUPITER

Can you say dweeb?

I've always had some trouble getting into his music -- smacks overmuch of a self-important film soundtrack -- but Holst has just jumped up a few rungs in my estimation by having enrolled himself in the University College London at age 21 to learn Sanskrit. Kudos Gustavus. Apparently he caught a substantial whiff of the whole craze for exotic Orientalism that ripped through Europe at the time. Or he just read too much Max Müller. I should know all this, but I've really never looked into the man with much thoroughness. Listening to BBC's Composer of the Week bit on him as we speak. Still get too much soundtrack vibes for my taste

Tidbit: Holst is an archaic way of referring to a resident of Holstein (of Schleswig-Holstein fame). The name Holstein in turn derives from a  Saxon tribe variously referred to as Holcetae, Holsati, Holtzati, (per Adam von Bremen); in Holsatiam, Holsatiis (Saxo Grammaticus); Holcete (Annalista Saxo), etc. Bremen interprets the name thusly: "Holcetae, dicti a silvis, quas accolunt."

Johannes Hoops' Reallexikon der germanischen Altertumskunde (accessed gracias Google) etymologizes like so: 1) holt (cf. Holz, Gehölz, Wald) + 2) sat, setio -seton, -seti, -cetae, -saten, -sazon sind auf germ. *setjon, "einer der irgendwo sitzt, lebt, 'Bewohner.' " = Waldsassen, Waldbewohner. In fine: Holst < Holstein < Holt + *setjon = wood-dwellers.

Drool if you must.

DIE BRÜDER GRIMM

Given pop culture's recent odd-but-paradoxically-predictable rage for pilfering conveniently public domain stories and then presenting them in various shades of absolute post-9/11 grit- and agstiness, and my own affinity for German and narratives with significant cultural-anthropological-historical import, it behooves me to actually read die Brüder's Kinder- und Hausmärchen. Actually its been on my list a long time, but fairly low on it. The format also suits my current rather short attention span.

Listened to Beethoven's Piano Sonata Numero Dos in A major this evening (actually, wee morning) as performed by the uniquely-classical-rather-than-romantic-leaning Richard Goode. That's the second lowest pinnacle in the thirtytwo-peaked "mountain range." The best is yet to come.

A HISTORY OF THE GERMAN LANGUAGE THROUGH TEXTS

Finished up A History of the German Language Through Texts today. Somehow the book itself is so awesome it almost overshadows what it actually says: it's got diplomatic reprints of texts ranging from the oldest OHG fragments ("fater unseer/fater unser/fadar is usa/fadar ist usa"...) all the way to the Jugendsprache in internet chatrooms (book was published in 2003). Each excerpt is accompanied by a fairly thorough philological analysis -- in English? -- that contextualizes it and compares it with the preceding examples. Darn tootin'. Can't say that it's terribly well-written, but that's not really the point anyhoo.

Both the authors are interesting. Gloning is apparently a specialist in "German language cookery texts 1350-1896" or, if you prefer, Monumenta Culinaria et Diaetetica Historic. Going by his faculty page this book seems to be his sole foray into English, which perhaps explains the involvement of Christopher Young, who I'm guessing is currently buried in work on the new edition of the Kaiserchronik.

LATE HALLOWEEN SPECIAL: NOSFERATU, EINE SYMPHONIE DES GRAUENS

Naughty Nosferatu

 Switching jobs so not much time for Chopping Logic. Figured a bit of Nosferatu would be fitting for the season, though. Watched it a week or so ago. I love German expressionist stuff, for whatever reason. Think the first film in the category that I saw was Mabuse der Spieler. Kind of proto-noir aesthetic. Nosferatu's the quintessence of trippy creepiness (the whole Teutonic acting diva-ness, the exaggerated silentfilm pantomiming, plus the Stoker-derived material). But I love how the shots look like graphic-design work: lots of contrast, shadows, all very bold and striking (= proto-noir). One of the many simple things that makes Nosferatu fantastic is the color palette: shots alternate between a sort of feverish yellow and sickly/sad blue-green (see screencaps).

Transylvania Waterworld

Unfortunately Blogspot has the world's worst photo-display set up for posts, so sorry.

Any mention of noir immediately brings to mind Night of the Hunter though, which features one of the most uncanny villain-performances ever by Robert Mitchum. Also has the shot at bottom.

Pollen season

Night of the Hunter

AARDVARKS, CONIFERS & PALM-TREES, PLUS A TOLKIEN REFERENCE

Heard Marc Lynch featured on On the Media this morning, discussing the public fear of ISIS and the media narrative of same. Liked what he said, and the fact that he snickered when Gladstone quoted certain semi-contradictory poll results. Googling him revealed that he is indeed of a Choplogic disposition. Look no further than his blog title: Abu Aardvark.

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1024. I've wanted to include some German poetry in my memorization effort, figured the best starting-point's a little scrap of Heinrich Heine:

     Ein Fichtenbaum steht einsam,
     Im Norden auf kahler Höh.
     Er schläfert, mit weißer Decke
     Umhüllen ihn Eis und Schnee.

     Er träumt von einer Palme,
     Die, Fern im Morgenland,
     Einsam und schweigend trauert
     Auf brennender Felsenwand.

Two Trees of Valinor

Stupid simple, but so evocative. Rather like Telperion and Laurelin, except w/ an added double-edge of grassisalwaysgreener and Einsamkeit. I just love the word Morningland. The compounds just make German so much more visual than English: Orient ... what is that? What three kings'd ever journey across an Orient? Not to mention the Near East or the Middle East. Asia's a bit better. But Orient? Too mathy and navigational. But Morgenland is different. It's both Morrowland and Dawnland. It's almost Neverland. You can see the sun start to peek over the hills before it rolls over the desert, only to lose itself again in an endless swell of twinkling stars and forevertwilight. Just that one word. The way it evokes sunshine and time and weather and space and stars and dawning and dying. I suppose this isn't nearly as apparent to a native speaker, so praise Thoth I can see it from the outside. I read somewhere that the nights aren't as clear in the Middle East as we think.

This was so short it barely felt like memorization, though. May look into some Rilke next. Or Goethe. I'd like to memorize a Shakesonnet or four but I couldn't decide which five to go with. Chi troppo vuole nulla stringe.

Odin's Day: Maimonides & Italian

With just the rare deviation, Maimonides follows a progression from philology to philosophy to theology/exegesis to mysticism (a peculiar brand-blend of intellectual mysticism to boot).


Fun w/ Italian paronyms (courtesy of Using Italian: A Guide to Contemporary Usage):

Impazzire - to go mad.
Impazzare - to run wild.

Forca - hay-/pitchfork
Forcina - hairpin
Forcone - dung-fork, pitchfork
Forchetta - fork (for eating)

See auch Der Geisterfahrer over atl Constanze's bog.

Die Leiden Des Jungen Werthers & Blakeathon Wrap-up

Read Die Leiden Des Jungen Werthers. Better late than never. Writing drips with romantic pathos -- to the point where Werther can even say "Mein Gott, mein Gott, warum has dust mich verlassen?" and "o Schicksal! o Menschheit!" in a mostly non-ironic way. Interesting read just to see the changes in taste since the 1780s. Although it's actually rather modern come to think of it -- Werther's obsessive, unbalanced personality is very 20th century. Haven't decided how ironically I want to read it, yet. Goethe evidently despised the book later in life (and, predictably, it was his most popular work during his lifetime) becuase of it's romantic/sentimental nature, which suggests that Goethe would have it read unironically. The writing itself is as flawless as one would expect.

✣

Rounding off my Blakeathon by reading Frye's Fearful Symmetry. Has yet to disappoint. Frye's usual erudition and wit.

Orgie der Vernichtung

Reading the 1922 edition of Ernst Jünger's In Stahlgewittern. I think it's quite good; compares favorably to Der Weg zurück (Remarque), although they're about very different aspects of the war (Im Westen nicht Neues would probably be a better comparison, but I haven't read it.) Jünger's definitely a man's man, and not as much of a pout as Remarque &co. Speaking of certain comrades, he says "Hier war ein Element lebendig, das die Wüstheit des Krieges unterstrich und doch vergeistigte, das man bei den Leuten, mit denen man zusammen in den Trichtern lag, so selten fand, di sportsmäßige Freude an der Gefahr, der ritterliche Drang zum Bestehen eines Kampfes." Not really anything more than what an Allied soldier might say, but "der ritterliche Drang zum Bestehen eines Kampfes" has a more ominous ring to it in light of future events. Also fond of the (telling?) phrase "Orgie der Vernichtung," and likes to refer to modern war as Maschinerie quite a bit too.