Let us contemplate
The EARTH we walk upon
For a day,
And a lifetime.
And hope that
That lifetime
Will be ours
And not the EARTH.
For the EARTH
After centuries,
And millennia,
And the speck
From which it sprang,,
Whether through Genesis,
Or the Big BANG,
(Both of which are
eerily similar)
Is
– let’s face it –
Getting pissed off!
From the molten lava
Heaving into the heavens,
To the storms at sea
And one on EARTH.
All giving us
Fair warning
Of
Just who
Is in charge.
DE
I have written a novel where I fill in the missing days of Kafka’s real diary. However, I appreciate the following, which is Kafka’s real opinion of the first employment he ever had. I never had such far-away thoughts at my own first job, but neither was I enraptured by it. I lasted a year.
*****************
“Now my life is in complete disorder,” he wrote to Hedwig Weiler on October 8, after just a week of work. “It is true, I have a job with a tiny salary of 80 crowns and 8-9 interminable hours of work, but I devour the hours outside the office like a fierce beast. . . . I nourish the hope of sitting one day on chairs in far-flung countries, looking out of the office windows onto sugar cane fields or Muslim cemeteries, and the insurance branch interests me greatly, even though for the moment my work is sad.”
He quit after less than a year, on July 31, 1908, citing health reasons. (“We express our amazement that the state of health of the aforementioned, who after the careful examination of the doctor carried out in October last year was recommended as absolutely fit, is after such a short time so bad that his immediate resignation must follow,” reads a letter from the company in Kafka’s file.)
Robert (Bob) Gibbs has left the building:
I considered Bob Gibbs an honorary member of my very exclusive (and never acknowledged) “Grand Lake Writers Group” This august body consisted of myself, Elizabeth Brewster, and Robert Hawks (neither of them knew of its existence, either). We all three lived within the vicinity of Grand Lake (I could see it from the upper windows of my home).
We three included aspects of the Grand Lake area in our books.
Well . . . so did Bob.
In some of his writings, his characters boarded riverboats, and took a trek which got them to Grand Lake from Saint John. One such Riverboat pier was a twenty minute walk from my house. Although not certain of this, I like to think he pulled into this port upon occasion. Evangelical meetings were generally on the agenda. I have (in my way) incorporated this into one of my novels.
I remember Bob once being nonplussed by my activity.There was a party at his house (such a delightful place, next to a railway). It was either a birthday party for Elizabeth Brewster, or a celebration of a book launch by her. I showed up with the gift of a bottle of champagne. I handed it to Bob.
His look was one of surprise. I’m not sure I had ever seen him surprised. I had the suspicion he knew everything. I still have that suspicion.
He made the comment (I don’t remember if it was to anyone) “Look, he brought champagne.” My interpretation was that Bob didn’t think I had enough sophistication to do such a thing. Or, he didn’t know what to do with the bottle.
When I left, it was still unopened.
The Essential Robert Gibbs – Robert Gibbs – Google Books
Whatever three ships mean
two freighters and a tanker
standing off Partridge Island
more like scanned-for presences
than really anything out there
(I saw three ships come sailing in
come sailing in singing itself
off-season off-key)
~ Bob Gibbs [Skipping Round the Biosphere]
In Kafka In The Castle, I fill in the ‘missing’ diary entries from Kafka’s real diary. He either did not fill in these days himself, or he destroyed them. There are some estimates that Kafka destroyed 70% – 80% of everything he wrote.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
17 June 1917
I am told that you can’t lose people, that “…they will always be with you in memory.” Max is heavy with this type of comment – as if the hand of sentimentality brushed off his coat before he set out on each day. Both the intelligent and the slow of wit seem to be struck dumb by this nonsense. Emotion, I suppose – hope, I suppose – has no place for reason among its folds. But, if you can not touch, or have expectation of being touched, then the people and places are as gone as yesterday. There is no way to travel back, and the future beckons with only an empty gesture and a hollow laugh. Bowing low at the open doorway to usher you in, but the room is empty. And will remain ever so. When they are no longer there to hold their hand out to you – well, then they are no longer there.
In Kafka In The Castle, I fill in the ‘missing’ diary entries from Kafka’s real diary. He either did not fill in these days himself, or he destroyed them. There are some estimates that Kafka destroyed 70% – 80% of everything he wrote.
This particular entry from the life I created for Kafka is one of my favourites.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
08 June 1917
A Gypsie confronted me today, and I was in the mood for a bit of sport. Her age was difficult to tell – certainly a decade older than me. In her swirl of shawls and dangling jewellery, heavy make-up on her face, she could almost have been in disguise. She peered at me with an intense sigh, attempting – I am sure – to penetrate my own disguise. “You are a Jew,” she said. “And you a Gypsie,” I replied. She seemed pleased with my response, for her professional smile became real. “You state the obvious,” she said. “As becomes a Doktor of Laws,” I replied. “But to your eyes, do you not state the obvious?” “Are you going to banter with a poor old Gypsie woman, instead of barter? That would make you suspiciously like one of us.” She said this with a growl in her throat. “The Gypsie and the Jew,” I said, feeling the challenge which I so miss. “Perhaps an opera – but I think it’s been done to death.”
“They will try to do us all unto death,” she said harshly, and turned away. I had the fear she was going to leave me without another word, but what she did was to spit fulsomely onto the street. “They can’t kill us all,” I said, but I knew she heard the doubt in my voice. She slowly faced me again. “So. Even a Doktor of Laws can have hope. That is refreshing – but foolish.” She took my hand and felt my palm roughly with her thumb, although all the while her eyes never left my face. “You are going to travel.” “Travel is a vague word. One can go on many types of voyage.” “And reach many destinations,” she added, still holding my hand. “If you take away my vagueness, you take away my trade.” “Then let me pay you for your services right now.”
This transaction would make her loose my hand, which is what I wanted most of all. She had frightened me, for her eyes and face were full of truth. I know the truth. I know it when it presents itself, stark and unobscured. I search out truth endlessly, yet still can flee at its approach. As in her eyes. But she gripped me more fiercely, and pulled my hand up. “The coin, Herr Doktor.” Her voice was now soft. “The coin can wait.” She at last lowered her eyes and looked closely at my palm. She rubbed the lines and whorls of my skin. She touched her finger to her lips, and spread the moisture along my hand. “Your lifeline, Herr Doktor,” she took a quick look in my eyes, “of Laws. You deceive with the youth upon your face. Is that not so?” “If your eyes stop at the mask, then no, the years have not etched themselves deeply.” “Not on your face, Herr Doktor of Laws.” Her grip was intense. “But on your palm…” She hissed. “You will soon embark upon that final voyage.”
She released my hand, rubbed her fingers across her sleeve. “But you will not go in haste. There will be many stops along the way.” Suddenly her face was full of the most beautiful smile, and her laughter was genuine. “I see you do not complain of vagueness now.” She held out her hand. “The coin, Herr Doktor of Laws. This time I have truly earned it.” I dug deeply into my pocket, and feared that I may have overpaid her. But, perhaps, that is not possible.
In Kafka In The Castle, I fill in the ‘missing’ diary entries from Kafka’s real diary. He either did not fill in these days himself, or he destroyed them. There are some estimates that Kafka destroyed 70% – 80% of everything he wrote.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
05 June 1917
Had I not retreated, I would have given up myself. This is what is expected from love. My thoughts and emotions would be continually extracted. I have no way to replenish them, so I would eventually be hollowed out. And I would collapse.
In Kafka In The Castle, I fill in the ‘missing’ diary entries from Kafka’s real diary. He either did not fill in these days himself, or he destroyed them. There are some estimates that Kafka destroyed 70% – 80% of everything he wrote.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
30 May 1918
If wishes were horses; K, The Herr Doktor of Laws, and Frankie – perhaps, most of all, poor Frankie – would mount and ride toward the mountains, toward the sea, toward that place where we would not be we.
The Ghost of Kafka walks
– not stalks –
The streets
Of Prague.
Prague,
The city he would/could
Never leave
Until the last
Year of his life.
He described Prague as:
“The little Mother has claws.”
Which she did.
For him.
He managed
To escape to Berlin,
During one of
The worst times
Anyone could live
In Berlin,
Until the end of the
Second World War.
But
The Second World War
Was years away.
He escaped with a young
Lover – Dora Diamant.
She made things
So much better.
However, his Ghost only
Walks the streets of Prague.
Whereas
Kafka’s Ghost
Stalks
The rest of
The World.
DE
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