My history with the work of Franz Kafka, a year before his centennial. || Dick Turner
Source: Kafka Interactions
While reading some literary site about Amazon,, I came across the fact that “Harriet Klausner, an esteemed Amazon reviewer who wrote more than 31,000 book reviews, died”. All power to her – that is quite a feat. However, I took more note of her last name, one I had not thought of for a long time.
In my tenure as an author in the world, I have had four or five agents. And I am currently looking anew. At the far beginning of my time, before I was published, I had the New York agent Bertha Klausner – at the start of my career and near the end of hers. She started her agency before I was born and was working two months before she died in 1998 at the age of 96.
Back in those over the transom days, one stuffed typed pages into an envelope, sent them off with return postage on another envelope, and waited up to three months for a reply. And when it came back, you sent it out again. One of my envelopes went to the Bertha Klausner Agency.
However, when it came back, it had other people’s manuscripts in it, and (to my memory) little handwritten notes politely saying no. Mistakes happen even at revered agencies, so I sent it all back explaining what had happened. She replied, with neither apology or thanks, annoyed that mistakes do happen and adding, “Say, you must have something. Do you want to send it to me?” Which I did.
As I said, communications were through slow mails (slow on her side, as with literary agents to this day). I assume she was initially, both being polite though seeing some promise in what I wrote.
But after a year or so she said – in effect – ‘thanks but no thanks’, and I sent things to other agents and eventually sold my first novel by, indeed, sending it directly to an editor in New York over the transom,.
I don’t think I knew that Bertha Klausner had such a stellar career until I looked her up. An agent for decades, she had famous names like Upton Sinclair, Israel J Singer, Eleanor Roosevelt and Fidel Castro. She even represented actor Basil Rathbone.
I imagine I would have become a lost tale.
Dale Estey
Given enough warning
From ships along the coast
I got the Partridge Island Lighthouse
And Paw, my cat/kitten,
Black as the murderous clouds,
With one white mitten,
Ready for the worst.
And the Worst came.
It was so bad I figure
Even Jesus took cover.
The Lighthouse is thicker
And stronger
Then the Keeper’s house
So that’s where we stayed.
A tiny room inside the stone walls,
Nicely curved to curl the wind away.
I’d put in a narrow cot, and
Me and the cat/’kitten
Got our rest
Although not much sleep.
When I went up to
Trim the wick
I thought those windows might
Cave right in.
Today,
A couple of ships
Limped past,
And our shoreline
Has been altered.
I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2022 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}
The anti-Christ & Hershey’s Kisses
Two be or not two be
22 02 2022
Or, if you want to wait closer to the witching hour.
22:22 22 02 2022
Paw, my cat/kitten,
Black as coal
With one white mitten.
Is bemused with me
(I think).
I took him out
To hunt down
The damned groundhog,
On Groundhog Day.
Though
I admit
I’ve never seen a
Groundhog
On this island.
But, I’d point,
And tell him to run.
And he did,
Until
He stopped.
Which wasn’t long
Into my tomfoolery.
Gotta say
My cat/kitten
Puts up
With a lot.
I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2022 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}
DE BA. UEL
Hearty enough were we two Maritimers out in the heavy, yet soft. snow storm. Heavy enough to dull most sounds. Soft enough to make a cautious walk relatively easy.
And, as we most times do, we paused to look into the gully to see if there were deer. There often are. And, even through the snow, we saw three, a guess being a doe and two offspring. The distance is about two city blocks away, although there are no city blocks. We have seen them there before.
And – as usual – they apparently heard us, as they stopped in their tracks and look. But so did we. So, in a few minutes, they resumed their activity. This time they were under some large trees, munching away on something on the ground. Grass and earth under a tree does not get as covered in snow. The larger deer even nibbled from the branches.
Our scent, in addition to our appearance, was generally obscured by the snow. They did not leave as they usually do.
So, we left them to their meal and their solitude. And the peaceful beauty of the falling snow.
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. He mentioned is dreams often, but they were rarely as coherent as those I give him.
*********************************
03 May 1918
Dreamed I had found out the reason for dreams.
I was not to reveal the secret, so I was being pursued. I imagined they were the dream police, and I wondered which was the worst punishment they could give. From their point of view, would it be worse to make me wake up, or worse to keep me asleep. At times, even I would not like to choose.
As I attempted to elude them, I wondered how I threatened anything by revealing the secret of dreams. It was indeed very simple, for the truth I discovered was that we are all having the same dream. When we went to sleep, we all entered the same place. The same land. The confusion arose because we were only in a small part of this dream world at any given time. And it was so vast, that we could never see it all, even if we slept straight through fifty lifetimes.
When I was having my dream in my little section, no one else could use it. The people in my dreams – if they were sleeping – were dreaming of somewhere else. In my own dream, they were awake, and so didn’t remember any of the things they were doing as a dream. When I awoke, someone else could use the place I had just left. It was all concise and simple, and gave me a great feeling of comfort. And – so I thought – would please any one who found out. So I was anxious to wake up and tell everyone, particularly – for some reason – my uncle in Madrid.
I had underestimated how cunning the dream police could really be. I had expected that all the obstacles, all the signs which said `stop’, all the attempts to grab at my coattails, would occur within the dream itself. But, after awhile, I realized their pursuit was not an attempt to apprehend me. It was the very contrary. They had no intention of laying hands upon me. Instead, they were chasing me away. I was being forced to flee, and it was only as I was at the entrance of wakefulness that I realized what was happening. My eyes were about to open when I managed to ask `why’. And the voice – if voice it was, nestled somewhere firmly inside my ear – replied too late for me to hear.
Q; To be or not to be?
A; Who asketh the query?
Q: Bond – James Bond.
A: Sound and fury, it seems to me.
Q: They say you’re a talker – is that true?
A: More of a thinker.
Q: Then a doer?
A: I put many acts in play.
Q: The power behind the throne?
A: When the throne is rotten.
Q: So, do you dither?
A: Whilst thou hither.
Q: What is your wish?
A: To whisper in your ear.
Q To tell me what?
A: Fear not, it won’t be poisonous.
Q: Will it be a secret?
A: More likely than not.
Q: In my line of work, secrets are Death.
A: You deal with Kings and Queens?
Q: I’m on Her Majesty’s Secret Service.
A: A double life is a double sword is a double bind.
Q: How do you know that?
A: I write plays.
Q And tell the truth?
A: My word is my bond.
DE BA UEL
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