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Yolculuk Günlükleri
Yolculuk Günlükleri, Albert Camus'ün (1913-1960) İkinci Dünya Savaşından hemen sorna, 1946 yılı mayıs ayında Amerika Birleşik Devletlerine, 1949 yılı haziran-ağustos ayları arasında Güney Amerika ülkelerine yaptığı gezilerde tuttuğu notları kapsıyor. Birincisinde otuz üç yaşında henüz yeterince tanınmamış; ikincisinde ise otuz altı yaşında ve ünlenmeye başlamış bir yazar. Öznel ve nesnel koşullar nedeniyle, iki günlüğün havası birbirine benzemiyor...
122 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1978
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About the author
Albert Camus
1,071 books37.3k followersWorks, such as the novels
The Stranger
(1942) and
The Plague
(1947), of Algerian-born French writer and philosopher Albert Camus concern the absurdity of the human condition; he won the Nobel Prize of 1957 for literature.
Origin and his experiences of this representative of non-metropolitan literature in the 1930s dominated influences in his thought and work.
He also adapted plays of Pedro Calderón de la Barca, Lope de Vega, Dino Buzzati, and Requiem for a Nun of William Faulkner. One may trace his enjoyment of the theater back to his membership in l'Equipe, an Algerian group, whose "collective creation" Révolte dans les Asturies (1934) was banned for political reasons.
Of semi-proletarian parents, early attached to intellectual circles of strongly revolutionary tendencies, with a deep interest, he came at the age of 25 years in 1938; only chance prevented him from pursuing a university career in that field. The man and the times met: Camus joined the resistance movement during the occupation and after the liberation served as a columnist for the newspaper Combat.
The essay Le Mythe de Sisyphe (The Myth of Sisyphus), 1942, expounds notion of acceptance of the absurd of Camus with "the total absence of hope, which has nothing to do with despair, a continual refusal, which must not be confused with renouncement - and a conscious dissatisfaction."
Meursault, central character of L'Étranger (The Stranger), 1942, illustrates much of this essay: man as the nauseated victim of the absurd orthodoxy of habit, later - when the young killer faces execution - tempted by despair, hope, and salvation.
Besides his fiction and essays, Camus very actively produced plays in the theater (e.g., Caligula, 1944).
The time demanded his response, chiefly in his activities, but in 1947, Camus retired from political journalism.
Doctor Rieux of La Peste (The Plague), 1947, who tirelessly attends the plague-stricken citizens of Oran, enacts the revolt against a world of the absurd and of injustice, and confirms words: "We refuse to despair of mankind. Without having the unreasonable ambition to save men, we still want to serve them."
People also well know La Chute (The Fall), work of Camus in 1956.
Camus authored L'Exil et le royaume (Exile and the Kingdom) in 1957. His austere search for moral order found its aesthetic correlative in the classicism of his art. He styled of great purity, intense concentration, and rationality.
Camus died at the age of 46 years in a car accident near Sens in le Grand Fossard in the small town of Villeblevin.
Chinese 阿尔贝·加缪
Origin and his experiences of this representative of non-metropolitan literature in the 1930s dominated influences in his thought and work.
He also adapted plays of Pedro Calderón de la Barca, Lope de Vega, Dino Buzzati, and Requiem for a Nun of William Faulkner. One may trace his enjoyment of the theater back to his membership in l'Equipe, an Algerian group, whose "collective creation" Révolte dans les Asturies (1934) was banned for political reasons.
Of semi-proletarian parents, early attached to intellectual circles of strongly revolutionary tendencies, with a deep interest, he came at the age of 25 years in 1938; only chance prevented him from pursuing a university career in that field. The man and the times met: Camus joined the resistance movement during the occupation and after the liberation served as a columnist for the newspaper Combat.
The essay Le Mythe de Sisyphe (The Myth of Sisyphus), 1942, expounds notion of acceptance of the absurd of Camus with "the total absence of hope, which has nothing to do with despair, a continual refusal, which must not be confused with renouncement - and a conscious dissatisfaction."
Meursault, central character of L'Étranger (The Stranger), 1942, illustrates much of this essay: man as the nauseated victim of the absurd orthodoxy of habit, later - when the young killer faces execution - tempted by despair, hope, and salvation.
Besides his fiction and essays, Camus very actively produced plays in the theater (e.g., Caligula, 1944).
The time demanded his response, chiefly in his activities, but in 1947, Camus retired from political journalism.
Doctor Rieux of La Peste (The Plague), 1947, who tirelessly attends the plague-stricken citizens of Oran, enacts the revolt against a world of the absurd and of injustice, and confirms words: "We refuse to despair of mankind. Without having the unreasonable ambition to save men, we still want to serve them."
People also well know La Chute (The Fall), work of Camus in 1956.
Camus authored L'Exil et le royaume (Exile and the Kingdom) in 1957. His austere search for moral order found its aesthetic correlative in the classicism of his art. He styled of great purity, intense concentration, and rationality.
Camus died at the age of 46 years in a car accident near Sens in le Grand Fossard in the small town of Villeblevin.
Chinese 阿尔贝·加缪
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August 1, 2021
Το πιο ενδιαφέρον μέρος του ταξιδιού, η νότια Αμερική. 1949
Rio, Recife, San Paulo, Buenos Aires, Montevideo, Santiago.
Πάντα απολαυστικός!
Rio, Recife, San Paulo, Buenos Aires, Montevideo, Santiago.
Πάντα απολαυστικός!
November 16, 2020
25 de agosto. Gripe. Decididamente, este clima não me faz bem. Trabalho um pouco pela manhã, depois vou ao jardim zoológico ver a preguiça. Mas a preguiça está solta, e é preciso procurá-la entre os milhares de árvores do parque. Desisto. Ao menos, onças esplêndidas, lagartos terríveis e o tamanduá. Almoço com Letarget em Copacabana. O Rio está coberto por um véu de chuva incessante, que enche os buracos das ruas e das calçadas e dissolve o falso verniz com que tentaram cobri-la. A cidade colonial reaparece e devo dizer que é mais atraente assim, com a sua lama pisoteada e o seu céu turvo. Compras à tarde. Tudo que encontro neste país vem de fora. À tarde, às cinco horas, casa de Mendès. Ainda um mundo louco, no qual me entedio, sem ter força para escondê-lo.
Primeiro livro que termino em dois anos. Quase dois anos. Leio muito, em fragmentos; rara a paciência de atravessar um livro até o fim. Acho que o problema é a ficção. Não ando gostando de personagem nem de trama. Não sei por quê. Investi agora em uma coleção de diários e compilações de cartas, que não têm trama nenhuma — só observações descosturadas, sem pretensão de arco ou crescimento pessoal. Comprei os dois Irmãos Karamazov, também, que são justamente o que eu não quero ler, mas é bom que são grandes e ocupam muito espaço na estante. A ficção também tem seu lugar no mundo.
Camus escreveu a primeira metade do seu Diário de Viagem em 1946, ainda saudável, saracoteando por Nova Iorque; e a segunda em 49, já tuberculoso e deprimido, arrastando-se pelo Brasil. Avião que decola pesadamente, carregado de chuva, sob um céu baixo. Tento dormir e não consigo. Quando aterrissamos em Recife, quatro horas e meia depois, a porta do avião abre-se sobre uma terra vermelha devorada pelo calor. Insone, vagamente febril, com uma espécie de resfriado que peguei de manhã, caminho vacilante. Ninguém me espera.
Ocasionalmente ele se comove com alguma cena ou paisagem, quase a contragosto: Grandes barcos de velas latinas, ocre e azuis, descarregando cachos de bananas. Comemos pratos tão apimentados que fariam andar paralíticos. A baía que vejo também da janela do meu hotel estende-se, redonda e pura, cheia de um estranho silêncio, sob o céu cinzento, enquanto as velas paradas que nela se veem parecem aprisionadas num mar subitamente imobilizado. Prefiro esta baía à do Rio, muito espetacular para o meu gosto. Esta, pelo menos, tem uma medida e uma poesia. Mas no geral a tônica é de desinteresse, cansaço. Tudo é feio, e se não é feio é bonito em excesso, de um jeito pior ainda. A riqueza e a suntuosidade das cores que brincam sobre as montanhas e o céu fazem calar a todos, uma vez mais. Um instante depois, as cores parecem as mesmas, um cartão postal agora. A natureza tem horror dos milagres longos demais.
Comentários diversos sobre a natureza, aliás. O Brasil é uma terra sem homens. Tudo é criado aqui à custa de esforços desmedidos. A natureza sufoca o homem. Impressão de que o Brasil luta contra o brasileiro, e de que as nossas cidades são mais artificiais do que de costume. Aqui e ali, anedotas. A peça em Chinatown cujos atores entram e saem do palco sem motivo aparente, conversando, movendo peças do cenário. O policial que o ofende em Iguape e que as autoridades se oferecem em prender, em sua homenagem. Um intelectual brasileiro que lhe faz a pergunta mais tola que já me fizeram em toda a América do Sul, e depois é revelado estar no comando de um hospício. Aventuras fantásticas se desvelando aos olhos do homem menos disposto a se impressionar — um bom conceito de programa de viagem, talvez. O Karl Pilkington deles. Fiquei mesmo com vontade de conhecer melhor o país.
Primeiro livro que termino em dois anos. Quase dois anos. Leio muito, em fragmentos; rara a paciência de atravessar um livro até o fim. Acho que o problema é a ficção. Não ando gostando de personagem nem de trama. Não sei por quê. Investi agora em uma coleção de diários e compilações de cartas, que não têm trama nenhuma — só observações descosturadas, sem pretensão de arco ou crescimento pessoal. Comprei os dois Irmãos Karamazov, também, que são justamente o que eu não quero ler, mas é bom que são grandes e ocupam muito espaço na estante. A ficção também tem seu lugar no mundo.
Camus escreveu a primeira metade do seu Diário de Viagem em 1946, ainda saudável, saracoteando por Nova Iorque; e a segunda em 49, já tuberculoso e deprimido, arrastando-se pelo Brasil. Avião que decola pesadamente, carregado de chuva, sob um céu baixo. Tento dormir e não consigo. Quando aterrissamos em Recife, quatro horas e meia depois, a porta do avião abre-se sobre uma terra vermelha devorada pelo calor. Insone, vagamente febril, com uma espécie de resfriado que peguei de manhã, caminho vacilante. Ninguém me espera.
Ocasionalmente ele se comove com alguma cena ou paisagem, quase a contragosto: Grandes barcos de velas latinas, ocre e azuis, descarregando cachos de bananas. Comemos pratos tão apimentados que fariam andar paralíticos. A baía que vejo também da janela do meu hotel estende-se, redonda e pura, cheia de um estranho silêncio, sob o céu cinzento, enquanto as velas paradas que nela se veem parecem aprisionadas num mar subitamente imobilizado. Prefiro esta baía à do Rio, muito espetacular para o meu gosto. Esta, pelo menos, tem uma medida e uma poesia. Mas no geral a tônica é de desinteresse, cansaço. Tudo é feio, e se não é feio é bonito em excesso, de um jeito pior ainda. A riqueza e a suntuosidade das cores que brincam sobre as montanhas e o céu fazem calar a todos, uma vez mais. Um instante depois, as cores parecem as mesmas, um cartão postal agora. A natureza tem horror dos milagres longos demais.
Comentários diversos sobre a natureza, aliás. O Brasil é uma terra sem homens. Tudo é criado aqui à custa de esforços desmedidos. A natureza sufoca o homem. Impressão de que o Brasil luta contra o brasileiro, e de que as nossas cidades são mais artificiais do que de costume. Aqui e ali, anedotas. A peça em Chinatown cujos atores entram e saem do palco sem motivo aparente, conversando, movendo peças do cenário. O policial que o ofende em Iguape e que as autoridades se oferecem em prender, em sua homenagem. Um intelectual brasileiro que lhe faz a pergunta mais tola que já me fizeram em toda a América do Sul, e depois é revelado estar no comando de um hospício. Aventuras fantásticas se desvelando aos olhos do homem menos disposto a se impressionar — um bom conceito de programa de viagem, talvez. O Karl Pilkington deles. Fiquei mesmo com vontade de conhecer melhor o país.
May 25, 2023
După Însemnări de iarnă...de Dostoievski am dat "play" agoniei și am început Jurnale de călătorie de Camus, dacă marele titan epileptic al literaturi ruse și universale călătorea prima oară la Paris sau Berlin, Albert Camus facea un zbor obositor până în America în 1946, gripa îl urmărește tot timpul, orice extaz la prima vederea a Americii de piatră și fum se încheia la sfârșitul zilei cu o febră prea mare...Camus pare extras dintr-un mecanism defect, este obosit mereu, sceptic, lipsit de orice bucurie, e ca și cum ar fi exilat într-o America distopica, fără pic de rezerve emoționale...Conferințele îl obosesc, punerea în scenă a piesei sale de teatru Caligula îl găsește cu o răceală gravă, pe culmile agoniei și actorii mai vor și autografe...
E prea multă piatră, prea multe închisori și în exces ploaia permanentă domină hazardul "visului american", nu știu cine s-o fi regăsind aici, e un pământ cu totul străin pentru el, de ce toți aspiră la acest vis, se întreabă la nesfârșit Camus...
În 1949 după celebritatea neașteptată obținută prin Ciuma, Camus este solicitat din nou în America de Sud, starea lui de sănătate se înrăutățește din cauza climei dulceag-otravitoare din Brazilia, tracsarea fizică și psihică
a scriitorului ajung la cote adverse, când orice dansatoare braziliană ajunge să-i ceară autografe, deși nici măcar nu știe să-i pronunțe numele, de analfabetismul funcțional nici nu ar putea fi vorba...
Jurnale de călătorie este o carte foarte potrivita pentru starea mea actuala, am ieșit cu greu dintr-o iarnă grea-camusiana, cu revolte de tot felul și întrebări fără răspuns ca să nimeresc într-o stare maladiva a supra-eului diminuat de cauze insurgente.
E prea multă piatră, prea multe închisori și în exces ploaia permanentă domină hazardul "visului american", nu știu cine s-o fi regăsind aici, e un pământ cu totul străin pentru el, de ce toți aspiră la acest vis, se întreabă la nesfârșit Camus...
În 1949 după celebritatea neașteptată obținută prin Ciuma, Camus este solicitat din nou în America de Sud, starea lui de sănătate se înrăutățește din cauza climei dulceag-otravitoare din Brazilia, tracsarea fizică și psihică
a scriitorului ajung la cote adverse, când orice dansatoare braziliană ajunge să-i ceară autografe, deși nici măcar nu știe să-i pronunțe numele, de analfabetismul funcțional nici nu ar putea fi vorba...
Jurnale de călătorie este o carte foarte potrivita pentru starea mea actuala, am ieșit cu greu dintr-o iarnă grea-camusiana, cu revolte de tot felul și întrebări fără răspuns ca să nimeresc într-o stare maladiva a supra-eului diminuat de cauze insurgente.
April 5, 2023
Απο τις αφηγήσεις του Camus όταν ταξίδεψε 2 φορές στην Βόρειο και Νότιο Αμερική.
August 16, 2020
جلد چهارم سفرنامه بود و سفرنامه خوانی زیاد باب طبع من نیست....
November 17, 2012
The two feelings I got from reading Albert Camus's American Journals is that (1) the author really doesn't like to travel: In fact, he's something of a homebody; and (2) he traveled to the United States and South America under the worst possible conditions, being squired around by literati and embassy personnel and giving lectures. At one point in his South American travels, he complains, "Physically, I can no longer endure large gatherings of people."
The trip to the United States leaves Camus feeling alienated and rather disdainful of what passes for American culture, encompassing movies, cities, the countryside, and pretty much the whole shooting match. The trip to South America finds him more receptive, but it is still a horror of coming down with asthma and bronchitis and being dragged from place to place by locals who are impressed with his reputation as a writer. Still, he is more impressed by the lush South American landscapes:
This is definitely a work in a minor key, but it tells me more about a writer whose work I love. And that's what makes it worth reading.
The trip to the United States leaves Camus feeling alienated and rather disdainful of what passes for American culture, encompassing movies, cities, the countryside, and pretty much the whole shooting match. The trip to South America finds him more receptive, but it is still a horror of coming down with asthma and bronchitis and being dragged from place to place by locals who are impressed with his reputation as a writer. Still, he is more impressed by the lush South American landscapes:
And once again for hours I watch this monotonous naure and those immense spaces: one can't say they are beautiful, but they cling insistently in the soul. Country [Brazil] where the seasons are confused with one another, where the vegetation is so intertwined as to become formless, where bloods are so mixed up that the soul loses its borders. A loud splashing, the sea-green light of the forests, the varnish of red dust which covers all things, the melting of time, the slowness of the country, the brief and extravagant excitement of the big cities -- it's the country of indifference and blood explosions. Try as it might the skyscraper has yet to overcome the spirit of the forest -- the immensity, the melancoly. Sambas -- the authentic ones -- best express what I mean.There are delightful moments amid all the discomfort, the forced association with mediocrities.
This is definitely a work in a minor key, but it tells me more about a writer whose work I love. And that's what makes it worth reading.
February 23, 2024
These short journals from Albert Camus during his lecture tours of New York, Brazil, Argentina, Uruguay, and Chile are interesting in several respects.
The first is that they do not seem like they were written with future publication in mind. The writing is very raw, choppy, and unpolished. Much like what you or I would write during our travels.
Secondly, he had a debilitating fever for what seems liked 80% of the journey. Pretty much every other entry starts off with “Fever”.
Which perhaps explains point number three more clearly, Camus was not enjoying these trips at all. He found New York to be a noisy and disconcerting place, and Brazil in its natural vastness and massive social inequality to be depressing (exacerbating some suicidal thoughts he clearly had previously).
This is not to say that Camus doesn’t have some wonderful insights here about loneliness and one of my favorite entries comes when he observes a young couple in love:
“Why not also give this name to the longing that I feel in my heart and to the tumultuous desire to find again the impatient heart that I had at 20. But I know the remedy: I’ll gaze for a long time at the sea”
American Journals doesn’t have the whimsy of something like Steinbeck’s Travels With Charley, but in its own way it’s a fascinating chronicle of a man trying to come to terms with himself and his world
The first is that they do not seem like they were written with future publication in mind. The writing is very raw, choppy, and unpolished. Much like what you or I would write during our travels.
Secondly, he had a debilitating fever for what seems liked 80% of the journey. Pretty much every other entry starts off with “Fever”.
Which perhaps explains point number three more clearly, Camus was not enjoying these trips at all. He found New York to be a noisy and disconcerting place, and Brazil in its natural vastness and massive social inequality to be depressing (exacerbating some suicidal thoughts he clearly had previously).
This is not to say that Camus doesn’t have some wonderful insights here about loneliness and one of my favorite entries comes when he observes a young couple in love:
“Why not also give this name to the longing that I feel in my heart and to the tumultuous desire to find again the impatient heart that I had at 20. But I know the remedy: I’ll gaze for a long time at the sea”
American Journals doesn’t have the whimsy of something like Steinbeck’s Travels With Charley, but in its own way it’s a fascinating chronicle of a man trying to come to terms with himself and his world
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August 1, 2024Dos diarios del escritor francés Albert Camus que registran sus viajes a Estados Unidos y Canadá y parte de América del Sur, en los años 1946 y 1949 respectivamente.
Viajes distintos, en tanto el primero es protagonizado por un Camus con reciente notorierad debido a su condición de periodista de la rebelión por su papel destacado en la resistencia francesa de la II GM, mientras que el segundo ya tiene la marca del escritor consagrado, especialmente por su reciente obra La peste, lo que le vale ser invitado a saturados eventos que le esperan en la variopinta diversidad de ciudades de paises suramericanos que desean su llegada.
Diarios personales, en donde destacan la interminable necesidad de escribir, la ofuscación ante la estupidez y lo banal,y el creciente deseo de soledad y descanso ante los embates de los compromisos públicos y privados que, en especial en su segundo viaje, le convocan y lo saturan hasta la enfermedad y la extenuación física y mental.
Un autor que incluso en sus diarios desplega, si bien internas y personales, reflexiones agudas y profundas que conversan con su literatura y las ideas de la época, a la vez que los escritos mismos nos permiten reconocer a un autor embelecido por paisajes, personajes y momentos de sus viajes, como así también cansado y anhelante de la Francia que ocupa sus pensamientos, en especial lo anterior desde el punto de vista familiar y afectivo.
Viajes distintos, en tanto el primero es protagonizado por un Camus con reciente notorierad debido a su condición de periodista de la rebelión por su papel destacado en la resistencia francesa de la II GM, mientras que el segundo ya tiene la marca del escritor consagrado, especialmente por su reciente obra La peste, lo que le vale ser invitado a saturados eventos que le esperan en la variopinta diversidad de ciudades de paises suramericanos que desean su llegada.
Diarios personales, en donde destacan la interminable necesidad de escribir, la ofuscación ante la estupidez y lo banal,y el creciente deseo de soledad y descanso ante los embates de los compromisos públicos y privados que, en especial en su segundo viaje, le convocan y lo saturan hasta la enfermedad y la extenuación física y mental.
Un autor que incluso en sus diarios desplega, si bien internas y personales, reflexiones agudas y profundas que conversan con su literatura y las ideas de la época, a la vez que los escritos mismos nos permiten reconocer a un autor embelecido por paisajes, personajes y momentos de sus viajes, como así también cansado y anhelante de la Francia que ocupa sus pensamientos, en especial lo anterior desde el punto de vista familiar y afectivo.
October 23, 2017
Yolculuk Günlükleri, Albert Camus
"Julien Green kendi kendine, roman yazan bir aziz tasarlamanın olanaklı olup olmadığını soruyor. Doğallıkla olmaz bu çünkü başkaldırısız roman olmaz. Ya da o durumda dünyevi yaşamı ve insanı suçlayan bir roman tasarlamak gerekir - büsbütün aşksız bir roman. Olanaksız."
"Denizi hep seveceğim. O, içimdeki her şeyi hep yatıştıracak."
"Geceyi ve gökyüzünü insanların tanrılarından daha çok seviyorum."
"Yaşamak, başkalarına ve bunun da ötesinde kendine kötülük yapmaktır. Acımasız toprak! Hiçbir şeye dokunmamak için ne yapmalı? Hangi kesin sürgünü bulmalı?"
"Öldürmek, bir anlamda acı çektirmekten daha iyidir."
__________________________________________________
Yolculuk Günlükleri (Journaux de Voyage), Camus'nün 1946 yılında ABD'ye ve 1949 yılında Güney Amerika'ya yaptığı gezilerde tuttuğu günlük notlarını kapsıyor. Bu notlar, Camus'nün Defterler'ine dahil edilmeyip ayrıca yayımlanmış. Kısmetse bu yıl içinde (muhtemelen Aralık ayında) Camus'nün Defterler 1-2-3 adlı eserlerini okuyacağım. Camus, kitabın ABD yolculuğunu kapsayan birinci bölümünde ABD'yi sevmiş gibi görünmüyor, sanki bu koca ülkeye ve insanına duygusal olarak daha çok nötr kalmış. Ancak deniz yolculuğu sırasında tuttuğu, denizle ilgili notları harikaydı. O kadar canlı tasvirler yapmış ki sanki Camus ile aynı gemideymiş gibi hissettim. Kitabın, yazarın Güney Amerika yolculuğunu kapsayan bölümünde ise hasta, sıkılmış ve daha melankolik bir Camus gözlemledim. Camus, Güney Amerika'da (özellikle Brezilya'da) varoluş sıkıntısını daha yoğun yaşamış gibi. Belki de bu durum, yazarın hastalığından ve can sıkıntısından kaynaklanıyordur. Ayrıca bu notların ilginç yanı ise Camus'nün deneyim ve izlenimlerinin zihninde nasıl şekillendiği ve eserlerine nasıl yansıdığını da satır aralarında görmekti. Velhasıl, benim gibi Camus tutkunlarına tavsiye edebileceğim lezzetli bir kitap.
"Julien Green kendi kendine, roman yazan bir aziz tasarlamanın olanaklı olup olmadığını soruyor. Doğallıkla olmaz bu çünkü başkaldırısız roman olmaz. Ya da o durumda dünyevi yaşamı ve insanı suçlayan bir roman tasarlamak gerekir - büsbütün aşksız bir roman. Olanaksız."
"Denizi hep seveceğim. O, içimdeki her şeyi hep yatıştıracak."
"Geceyi ve gökyüzünü insanların tanrılarından daha çok seviyorum."
"Yaşamak, başkalarına ve bunun da ötesinde kendine kötülük yapmaktır. Acımasız toprak! Hiçbir şeye dokunmamak için ne yapmalı? Hangi kesin sürgünü bulmalı?"
"Öldürmek, bir anlamda acı çektirmekten daha iyidir."
__________________________________________________
Yolculuk Günlükleri (Journaux de Voyage), Camus'nün 1946 yılında ABD'ye ve 1949 yılında Güney Amerika'ya yaptığı gezilerde tuttuğu günlük notlarını kapsıyor. Bu notlar, Camus'nün Defterler'ine dahil edilmeyip ayrıca yayımlanmış. Kısmetse bu yıl içinde (muhtemelen Aralık ayında) Camus'nün Defterler 1-2-3 adlı eserlerini okuyacağım. Camus, kitabın ABD yolculuğunu kapsayan birinci bölümünde ABD'yi sevmiş gibi görünmüyor, sanki bu koca ülkeye ve insanına duygusal olarak daha çok nötr kalmış. Ancak deniz yolculuğu sırasında tuttuğu, denizle ilgili notları harikaydı. O kadar canlı tasvirler yapmış ki sanki Camus ile aynı gemideymiş gibi hissettim. Kitabın, yazarın Güney Amerika yolculuğunu kapsayan bölümünde ise hasta, sıkılmış ve daha melankolik bir Camus gözlemledim. Camus, Güney Amerika'da (özellikle Brezilya'da) varoluş sıkıntısını daha yoğun yaşamış gibi. Belki de bu durum, yazarın hastalığından ve can sıkıntısından kaynaklanıyordur. Ayrıca bu notların ilginç yanı ise Camus'nün deneyim ve izlenimlerinin zihninde nasıl şekillendiği ve eserlerine nasıl yansıdığını da satır aralarında görmekti. Velhasıl, benim gibi Camus tutkunlarına tavsiye edebileceğim lezzetli bir kitap.
May 4, 2023
Αγαπημένος Καμύ, για αναγνώστες που ψάχνουν πλοκή και δράση σίγουρα τα Ημερολόγια ταξιδιού δεν είναι ένα απο τα βιβλία που θα ευχαριστηθούν. Είναι καθαρά οι σημείωσες που κρατούσε ο Καμύ στα ταξίδια που έκανε στις ΗΠΑ και στην νότια Αμερική.
Προσωπικά το απόλαυσα, ο τρόπος που γράφει ακόμα και στις σημειώσεις του είναι μοναδικός. Ένιωσα ότι ταξίδευα και εγώ μαζί του, μπήκα στις σκέψεις του και είδα τον τρόπο που σκέφτεται και βλέπει τον κόσμο.
Ολοκληρώνοντας το βιβλίο ήταν σαν να γνωρίζω προσωπικά τον Καμύ.
Το αγαπημένο μέρος του βιβλίου ήταν τα ταξίδια την νότια Αμερική !
Σίγουρα ένα απολαυστικό ανάγνωσμα για λάτρες του Άλπμερ Καμύ και όχι μόνο.
Προσωπικά το απόλαυσα, ο τρόπος που γράφει ακόμα και στις σημειώσεις του είναι μοναδικός. Ένιωσα ότι ταξίδευα και εγώ μαζί του, μπήκα στις σκέψεις του και είδα τον τρόπο που σκέφτεται και βλέπει τον κόσμο.
Ολοκληρώνοντας το βιβλίο ήταν σαν να γνωρίζω προσωπικά τον Καμύ.
Το αγαπημένο μέρος του βιβλίου ήταν τα ταξίδια την νότια Αμερική !
Σίγουρα ένα απολαυστικό ανάγνωσμα για λάτρες του Άλπμερ Καμύ και όχι μόνο.
August 14, 2025
Espectacular.
July 26, 2021
Το βιβλίο αποτελείται από δύο μέρη. Στο πρώτο μέρος έχουμε τις καταγραφές του συγγραφέα κατά την διάρκεια του ταξιδιού του στις Ηνωμένες Πολιτείες την περίοδο Μάρτιος - Μάιος 1946. Νέα Υόρκη - Μανχάταν, Καναδάς - Κεμπέκ.
Το δεύτερο μέρος απαρτίζεται από περιγραφές της επίσκεψης του στη Νότια Αμερική την περίοδο Ιούνιος-Αύγουστος 1949. Βραζιλία, Ρίο, Ιπανέμα, επίσκεψη στις φαβέλες, Σάο Πάολο, Ιγκουάπε, Μπουένος Άιρες.
Και στα δύο ταξίδια έχουμε περιγραφές από συναντήσεις του με ανθρώπους που γνωρίζει είτε ως συνεπιβάτες, είτε σε κοινωνικές εκδηλώσεις που παρευρίσκεται. Κατά την επίσκεψη του στις ΗΠΑ είναι νεαρός ακόμα δημοσιογράφος που παρατηρεί με ερευνητική ματιά τα ήθη, τη νοοτροπία των ανθρώπων, τις κοινωνικές/ επιστημονικές/οικονομικές/καλλιτεχνικές εξελίξεις στον Νέο Κόσμο.
Οι πρώτες εντυπώσεις του από τη Νέα Υόρκη είναι αρνητικές, "βλέπω μια πόλη απεχθή και απάνθρωπη. Ξέρω όμως ότι αλλάζουμε γνώμη. Κάποιες λεπτομέρειες με εντυπωσιάζουν..." Για τον Καμύ η Αμερική είναι η χώρα αναζήτησης της ευδαιμονίας, του κέρδους, της εξουσίας, των υψηλών ταχυτήτων, του καταιγισμού διαφημίσεων και των δημοσίων σχέσεων.
Μια χώρα αντιθέσεων, ανισοτήτων όπου χρώμα και ζωή δίνουν οι μετανάστες με τον τρόπο που την κατοικούν.
Είναι η εποχή που γράφει την Πανούκλα και το ημερολόγιο του είναι διάσπαρτο με σημειώσεις για αυτό του το έργο, όσα σκέφτεται και όσα θα μπορούσε να συμπεριλάβει σε αυτό. Το 1947 η Πανούκλα εκδίδεται.
Όταν φτάνει στη Νότια Αμερική το 1949 είναι ένας αναγνωρισμένος συγγραφέας. Δίνει διαλέξεις σε διάφορα πανεπιστήμια και κέντρα πολιτισμού ενώ παράλληλα γνωρίζει τη χώρα, τις γεύσεις, τις μουσικές, τους χορούς, τη φύση, την πολύχρωμη, ερωτική, μεθυστική Νότια Αμερική.
Τα ημερολόγια ταξιδιού του Καμύ δε θα μπορούσαν να είναι απλές καταχωρήσεις γεγονότων ημερολογιακής μορφής.
Διανθίζονται λογοτεχνικά από τον λυρικό τρόπο που μιλά για τη θάλασσα, τις ποιητικές περιγραφές του νυχτερινού ουρανού, την πολύβουη γκρίζα Νέα Υόρκη, των τοπίων στο εσωτερικό της Βραζιλίας που νωχελικά απλώνονται μπροστά του καθώς τα διασχίζει, το ψυχογράφημα των ανθρώπων, τα συναισθήματα που του γεννούν όσα αντικρίζει και προσλαμβάνει.
Είναι μια ανθολογία σκέψεων όπου οι ημερομηνίες κάθε καταγραφής συνδέουν το έργο του με αυτές τις σκέψεις.
Περιέχουν θραύσματα ιδεών για μελλοντικά του αριστουργήματα.
Σε όλες αυτές τις διαδρομές του όμως υπάρχει μια βαθιά θλίψη, η κλονισμένη και εύθραυστη υγεία του, το φλερτ με την αυτοχειρία, και στον αντίποδα μια δύναμη για ζωή και δημιουργία.
Είναι ο Σίσυφος που σηκώνει το πεπρωμένο του και συνεχίζει τον αγώνα του για την κορυφή βρίσκοντας ευτυχία και σκοπό αποδεχόμενος τη μοίρα του και όχι παραδομένος σε αυτήν.
Το δεύτερο μέρος απαρτίζεται από περιγραφές της επίσκεψης του στη Νότια Αμερική την περίοδο Ιούνιος-Αύγουστος 1949. Βραζιλία, Ρίο, Ιπανέμα, επίσκεψη στις φαβέλες, Σάο Πάολο, Ιγκουάπε, Μπουένος Άιρες.
Και στα δύο ταξίδια έχουμε περιγραφές από συναντήσεις του με ανθρώπους που γνωρίζει είτε ως συνεπιβάτες, είτε σε κοινωνικές εκδηλώσεις που παρευρίσκεται. Κατά την επίσκεψη του στις ΗΠΑ είναι νεαρός ακόμα δημοσιογράφος που παρατηρεί με ερευνητική ματιά τα ήθη, τη νοοτροπία των ανθρώπων, τις κοινωνικές/ επιστημονικές/οικονομικές/καλλιτεχνικές εξελίξεις στον Νέο Κόσμο.
Οι πρώτες εντυπώσεις του από τη Νέα Υόρκη είναι αρνητικές, "βλέπω μια πόλη απεχθή και απάνθρωπη. Ξέρω όμως ότι αλλάζουμε γνώμη. Κάποιες λεπτομέρειες με εντυπωσιάζουν..." Για τον Καμύ η Αμερική είναι η χώρα αναζήτησης της ευδαιμονίας, του κέρδους, της εξουσίας, των υψηλών ταχυτήτων, του καταιγισμού διαφημίσεων και των δημοσίων σχέσεων.
Μια χώρα αντιθέσεων, ανισοτήτων όπου χρώμα και ζωή δίνουν οι μετανάστες με τον τρόπο που την κατοικούν.
Είναι η εποχή που γράφει την Πανούκλα και το ημερολόγιο του είναι διάσπαρτο με σημειώσεις για αυτό του το έργο, όσα σκέφτεται και όσα θα μπορούσε να συμπεριλάβει σε αυτό. Το 1947 η Πανούκλα εκδίδεται.
Όταν φτάνει στη Νότια Αμερική το 1949 είναι ένας αναγνωρισμένος συγγραφέας. Δίνει διαλέξεις σε διάφορα πανεπιστήμια και κέντρα πολιτισμού ενώ παράλληλα γνωρίζει τη χώρα, τις γεύσεις, τις μουσικές, τους χορούς, τη φύση, την πολύχρωμη, ερωτική, μεθυστική Νότια Αμερική.
Τα ημερολόγια ταξιδιού του Καμύ δε θα μπορούσαν να είναι απλές καταχωρήσεις γεγονότων ημερολογιακής μορφής.
Διανθίζονται λογοτεχνικά από τον λυρικό τρόπο που μιλά για τη θάλασσα, τις ποιητικές περιγραφές του νυχτερινού ουρανού, την πολύβουη γκρίζα Νέα Υόρκη, των τοπίων στο εσωτερικό της Βραζιλίας που νωχελικά απλώνονται μπροστά του καθώς τα διασχίζει, το ψυχογράφημα των ανθρώπων, τα συναισθήματα που του γεννούν όσα αντικρίζει και προσλαμβάνει.
Είναι μια ανθολογία σκέψεων όπου οι ημερομηνίες κάθε καταγραφής συνδέουν το έργο του με αυτές τις σκέψεις.
Περιέχουν θραύσματα ιδεών για μελλοντικά του αριστουργήματα.
Σε όλες αυτές τις διαδρομές του όμως υπάρχει μια βαθιά θλίψη, η κλονισμένη και εύθραυστη υγεία του, το φλερτ με την αυτοχειρία, και στον αντίποδα μια δύναμη για ζωή και δημιουργία.
Είναι ο Σίσυφος που σηκώνει το πεπρωμένο του και συνεχίζει τον αγώνα του για την κορυφή βρίσκοντας ευτυχία και σκοπό αποδεχόμενος τη μοίρα του και όχι παραδομένος σε αυτήν.
February 14, 2022
Should journal entries that were never meant to be read by anyone other than the author even be subject to criticism or a rating? A discerning reader should merely be reading the diaries for a glimpse into the way a particular author thinks. Or perhaps the reader lives vicariously through the author when he drops a timely line, say: “In Philadelphia, enormous gas tanks tower over little cemeteries.” (pg. 45).
Albert Camus is best known for his pithy tale of a Pied-Noir who kills an Arab for no reason and then complains—when he is rightly put in prison—that he can no longer smoke cigarettes and get laid. It’s a brilliant work that serves as a Rorschach test into a reader’s soul in that the book elicits remarkably different responses at various ages of a reader’s life. Camus’s other works, though world-renown, don’t pack the same punch as L’Etranger, which appeared in 1942. Camus, at his best, writes very simply, which makes these two journals, one from America (New York, New England and Washington DC) in 1946, and one from South America a couple of years later (Brazil, Chile and Argentina), the latter during which he seemingly suffered constantly from a grippe, a light and engaging read, if a bit superficial. At best, Camus was a reluctant traveler, so these journals should not be approached by anyone who wants to learn about the places Camus visited. Instead, the reader should be happy with the seemingly non sequitur statements and impressions that pop up on any given page: “At the corner of East 1rst Street, little bar where a loud juke box smothered all the conversations. To have five minutes of silence you have to put in five cents.” (pg. 35).
This is a book for true Camus aficionados. Out-of-print and not all that elucidating, especially considering Camus’s stature as a famous writer visiting New York and the Northeastern seaboard very soon after WWII. However, as I began this brief review, a journal is not meant to be published, so we should all—if inclined to reading authors’ journals-- just relish Camus’s accounts of his two trips. It’s a speedy read and available in translation.
Albert Camus is best known for his pithy tale of a Pied-Noir who kills an Arab for no reason and then complains—when he is rightly put in prison—that he can no longer smoke cigarettes and get laid. It’s a brilliant work that serves as a Rorschach test into a reader’s soul in that the book elicits remarkably different responses at various ages of a reader’s life. Camus’s other works, though world-renown, don’t pack the same punch as L’Etranger, which appeared in 1942. Camus, at his best, writes very simply, which makes these two journals, one from America (New York, New England and Washington DC) in 1946, and one from South America a couple of years later (Brazil, Chile and Argentina), the latter during which he seemingly suffered constantly from a grippe, a light and engaging read, if a bit superficial. At best, Camus was a reluctant traveler, so these journals should not be approached by anyone who wants to learn about the places Camus visited. Instead, the reader should be happy with the seemingly non sequitur statements and impressions that pop up on any given page: “At the corner of East 1rst Street, little bar where a loud juke box smothered all the conversations. To have five minutes of silence you have to put in five cents.” (pg. 35).
This is a book for true Camus aficionados. Out-of-print and not all that elucidating, especially considering Camus’s stature as a famous writer visiting New York and the Northeastern seaboard very soon after WWII. However, as I began this brief review, a journal is not meant to be published, so we should all—if inclined to reading authors’ journals-- just relish Camus’s accounts of his two trips. It’s a speedy read and available in translation.
March 3, 2021
favorite excerpts:
◍ "i feel too sluggish to work. but i do read war and peace. how i would have been in love with natasha!"
◍ "brilliant magnolias all over the place. i sample a new specimen of these 'ice creams' which are such a joy to me. another good moment."
◍ "sad to still feel so vulnerable. but i know the remedy: i'll gaze for a long time at the sea."
cannot imagine a better man to call my favorite writer in the world <3
◍ "i feel too sluggish to work. but i do read war and peace. how i would have been in love with natasha!"
◍ "brilliant magnolias all over the place. i sample a new specimen of these 'ice creams' which are such a joy to me. another good moment."
◍ "sad to still feel so vulnerable. but i know the remedy: i'll gaze for a long time at the sea."
cannot imagine a better man to call my favorite writer in the world <3
December 7, 2015
It would have been delightful if this book had been an exhaustive look at Camus’s life during the two trips that he took to the Western Hemisphere, but, sad to say, this is not the case. Either he was not a big journal keeper, or his major journals have not yet been published (I don’t think). Still, having said that, one can also say that this book does have some interesting descriptions and insights into the heart of its author.
This slim book covers two trips that he took – one to New York in 1946, and one to Brazil and Uruguay in 1949. At the time, his reputation was starting to grow, and he was doing lecture tours. By the time he made his visit to Brazil, he was a well-known author, and he was treated to large crowds and the opportunity to go face-to-face with many important Brazilians. These are generally quick descriptions of things that he saw and did, conversations that made an impression on him, and how he was feeling. Little of a deeply personal nature is communicated, and nothing is said about sex or romance, and he sometimes comes across as an aloof snob. He does reveal that, internally at least, he was struggling quite a bit with dark moods and illness. There is some dramatic irony here too, for during his South American trip he goes on quite a bit about the “grippe” that nags at him, but after he returned to France, subsequent medical tests showed a return of the tuberculosis that he had suffered from in his youth.
Apparently, he did not like New York or America very much. He thought NY was cold and monstrous, and being a leftist, he probably had a negative view of America’s political power (although he does not go into this in his journal). Here is one passage I noted:
"Manhattan. Sometimes from beyond the skyscrapers, across the hundreds of thousands of high walls, the cry of a tugboat finds you in your insomnia in the middle of the night, and you remember that this desert of iron and cement is an island." (pg. 51)
He describes going to weird old theaters on the Bowery, meeting a few prominent individuals (such as writer Waldo Frank, who became his friend), seeing the Camel cigarettes sign in Times Square with real smoke coming out of the sailor’s mouth. He liked the way America treated its young people – although I am not sure what he meant by that.
Brazil was more to his liking. He was a celebrity there, and he got to have some unique Brasilian experiences, such as going to a macumba (a sort of ritualized rave), and a drive thru the jungle to Registro, a mostly Japanese town. But he notes the sloppiness and lack of respect for life in such odd customs as the frequent pedestrian accidents (from which the drivers always flee), and also comments on Brasil’s unique heat and humidity. Despite his genius and the stunning beauty of some his work, he was a man who struggled against a couple of demons. While on board the transatlantic ship, he would cure himself with long stretches of staring out at the sea. At one point he says he is in a “hellish depression” and close to “psychological collapse,” but he seems to pull out of it.
Here are some more passages I saved:
"A crowd of worldly women who become unmanageable after the third whiskey. Several of them literally proposition me. But they aren’t even tempting. A French lady manages to construct an apology for Franco in front of me. Exhausted, I lay into her – and realize that I’d better leave. I ask the cultural attache to have a drink with me, and we escape. At least this pretty face helps me with the struggle of living. The light lies softly on Montevideo. A pure sky, the rustling of dry palms above Constitution Place, pigeons taking flight, white in the black sky. The hour would be simple and my solitude – 18 days without news, without intimacy – could be eased a little. But my charming companion starts reciting for me, in the middle of the square, some French verses she has written, miming the tragic style, arms crossed on her breast, voice rising and falling. I wait it out. then go have a drink and I take her home. I go to bed, but anxiety and melancholy keep me from sleeping." (pp. 137-138)
"Two young, beautiful creatures have started a romance on this boat and immediately a kind of nasty circle has closed around them. These beginnings of love! I love and approve of them from the bottom of my heart – with even a feeling of gratitude for those who preserve on this deck, in the middle of the sun-glittering Atlantic, halfway between two insane continents, these truths which are youth and love." (pg. 54)
"When I go back up, we are already in the bay, immense and smoking a little in the newborn day with sudden condensations of light which are the islands. The mist disappears rapidly. And we see the lights of Rio running all along the coast, the 'Sugar Loaf' with four lights on its summit and, on the peak of the highest of the mountains, which seem to crush the city, an enormous and unfortunate illuminated Christ. As the light gradually increases, we get better view of the city, squeezed between the sea and the mountains, spread out lengthwise, stretched out endlessly. In the center enormous buildings. Every minute roar above our heads: an airplane takes off in the dawning day, at first inextricably blended with the hues of the land, then rising in our direction and passing above us with its great insect buzzing. We’re in the middle of the basin and the mountains make an almost perfect circle around us. Finally, a blood-red light announces the arrival of the sun, which rises up behind the eastern mountains opposite the city and begins to ascend into a pale, cool sky. The richness and sumptuousness of the colors that play on the bay, the mountains, and the sky once again induce everyone to silence. One minute later the colors seem to be the same, but it's a postcard. Nature abhors miracles that last too long." (pp. 72-73)
This slim book covers two trips that he took – one to New York in 1946, and one to Brazil and Uruguay in 1949. At the time, his reputation was starting to grow, and he was doing lecture tours. By the time he made his visit to Brazil, he was a well-known author, and he was treated to large crowds and the opportunity to go face-to-face with many important Brazilians. These are generally quick descriptions of things that he saw and did, conversations that made an impression on him, and how he was feeling. Little of a deeply personal nature is communicated, and nothing is said about sex or romance, and he sometimes comes across as an aloof snob. He does reveal that, internally at least, he was struggling quite a bit with dark moods and illness. There is some dramatic irony here too, for during his South American trip he goes on quite a bit about the “grippe” that nags at him, but after he returned to France, subsequent medical tests showed a return of the tuberculosis that he had suffered from in his youth.
Apparently, he did not like New York or America very much. He thought NY was cold and monstrous, and being a leftist, he probably had a negative view of America’s political power (although he does not go into this in his journal). Here is one passage I noted:
"Manhattan. Sometimes from beyond the skyscrapers, across the hundreds of thousands of high walls, the cry of a tugboat finds you in your insomnia in the middle of the night, and you remember that this desert of iron and cement is an island." (pg. 51)
He describes going to weird old theaters on the Bowery, meeting a few prominent individuals (such as writer Waldo Frank, who became his friend), seeing the Camel cigarettes sign in Times Square with real smoke coming out of the sailor’s mouth. He liked the way America treated its young people – although I am not sure what he meant by that.
Brazil was more to his liking. He was a celebrity there, and he got to have some unique Brasilian experiences, such as going to a macumba (a sort of ritualized rave), and a drive thru the jungle to Registro, a mostly Japanese town. But he notes the sloppiness and lack of respect for life in such odd customs as the frequent pedestrian accidents (from which the drivers always flee), and also comments on Brasil’s unique heat and humidity. Despite his genius and the stunning beauty of some his work, he was a man who struggled against a couple of demons. While on board the transatlantic ship, he would cure himself with long stretches of staring out at the sea. At one point he says he is in a “hellish depression” and close to “psychological collapse,” but he seems to pull out of it.
Here are some more passages I saved:
"A crowd of worldly women who become unmanageable after the third whiskey. Several of them literally proposition me. But they aren’t even tempting. A French lady manages to construct an apology for Franco in front of me. Exhausted, I lay into her – and realize that I’d better leave. I ask the cultural attache to have a drink with me, and we escape. At least this pretty face helps me with the struggle of living. The light lies softly on Montevideo. A pure sky, the rustling of dry palms above Constitution Place, pigeons taking flight, white in the black sky. The hour would be simple and my solitude – 18 days without news, without intimacy – could be eased a little. But my charming companion starts reciting for me, in the middle of the square, some French verses she has written, miming the tragic style, arms crossed on her breast, voice rising and falling. I wait it out. then go have a drink and I take her home. I go to bed, but anxiety and melancholy keep me from sleeping." (pp. 137-138)
"Two young, beautiful creatures have started a romance on this boat and immediately a kind of nasty circle has closed around them. These beginnings of love! I love and approve of them from the bottom of my heart – with even a feeling of gratitude for those who preserve on this deck, in the middle of the sun-glittering Atlantic, halfway between two insane continents, these truths which are youth and love." (pg. 54)
"When I go back up, we are already in the bay, immense and smoking a little in the newborn day with sudden condensations of light which are the islands. The mist disappears rapidly. And we see the lights of Rio running all along the coast, the 'Sugar Loaf' with four lights on its summit and, on the peak of the highest of the mountains, which seem to crush the city, an enormous and unfortunate illuminated Christ. As the light gradually increases, we get better view of the city, squeezed between the sea and the mountains, spread out lengthwise, stretched out endlessly. In the center enormous buildings. Every minute roar above our heads: an airplane takes off in the dawning day, at first inextricably blended with the hues of the land, then rising in our direction and passing above us with its great insect buzzing. We’re in the middle of the basin and the mountains make an almost perfect circle around us. Finally, a blood-red light announces the arrival of the sun, which rises up behind the eastern mountains opposite the city and begins to ascend into a pale, cool sky. The richness and sumptuousness of the colors that play on the bay, the mountains, and the sky once again induce everyone to silence. One minute later the colors seem to be the same, but it's a postcard. Nature abhors miracles that last too long." (pp. 72-73)
January 12, 2019
از جلد سوم بهتر بود اما کماکان جلد دوم مورد علاقه م هست
March 1, 2010
"Não gosto de viajar porque eu sempre acabo indo junto" é um ditado ao qual "Diário de Viagem", de Albert Camus, poderia bem servir.
Camus pontua este relato da sua viagem para a América de observações perspicazes sobre a cultura local. Mas, apesar de ter momentos de relaxamento e imersão, nenhuma distração parece fazer o escritor sair de si mesmo e se abandonar ao passeio. E precisamente por esse motivo é enriquecedor ver como ele percebeu o Brasil.
Mesmo em terras tropicais, surpreendido pela natureza e pela hospitalidade humana, Camus sente os ares do absurdo e do distanciamento que caracterizam sua filosofia. A experiência de ver as macumbas no Rio e as procissões de Iguape, em São Paulo, mais tarde dariam origem a um dos contos mais fortes de "O Exílio e o Reino": "A Pedra que Cresce". Este conto, ainda mais que os outros da compilação, reforça o sentimento agudo de náusea presente no absurdo. Gosto de pensar nisso como uma certa honestidade intelectual.
Em Nova Iorque, em meio às luzes, à selva de pedra e aos espetáculos, o argelino sente tristeza nas boates, iguais para ele em todos os lugares do mundo. O pensamento de Camus prova-se, nesta leitura, ser universal. Pelo menos para o escritor, que tanto lutou para não cair em contradição consigo mesmo. Qualquer lugar contém o absurdo da solidão. E seu humanismo europeu também prova ser até que bem acolhido em toda parte na época, a julgar pela lotação das suas conferências.
Interessante notar como Camus interpreta o espírito brasileiro, no qual as grandes distâncias do território teriam grande influência. Outro ponto digno de nota é o encontro com Manuel Bandeira e Oswald de Andrade.
Embora bastante polêmica no momento, a antropofagia de Oswald parece não ter impressionado muito Camus, ou pelo menos ele não deixou isso registrado. A não ser por uma citação preciosa pouco antes do fim do relato: "[no Brasil:] os sangues misturam-se a tal ponto que a alma perdeu seus limites". Uma imagem da antropofagia cultural e espiritual? Divertido pensar que sim.
Camus pontua este relato da sua viagem para a América de observações perspicazes sobre a cultura local. Mas, apesar de ter momentos de relaxamento e imersão, nenhuma distração parece fazer o escritor sair de si mesmo e se abandonar ao passeio. E precisamente por esse motivo é enriquecedor ver como ele percebeu o Brasil.
Mesmo em terras tropicais, surpreendido pela natureza e pela hospitalidade humana, Camus sente os ares do absurdo e do distanciamento que caracterizam sua filosofia. A experiência de ver as macumbas no Rio e as procissões de Iguape, em São Paulo, mais tarde dariam origem a um dos contos mais fortes de "O Exílio e o Reino": "A Pedra que Cresce". Este conto, ainda mais que os outros da compilação, reforça o sentimento agudo de náusea presente no absurdo. Gosto de pensar nisso como uma certa honestidade intelectual.
Em Nova Iorque, em meio às luzes, à selva de pedra e aos espetáculos, o argelino sente tristeza nas boates, iguais para ele em todos os lugares do mundo. O pensamento de Camus prova-se, nesta leitura, ser universal. Pelo menos para o escritor, que tanto lutou para não cair em contradição consigo mesmo. Qualquer lugar contém o absurdo da solidão. E seu humanismo europeu também prova ser até que bem acolhido em toda parte na época, a julgar pela lotação das suas conferências.
Interessante notar como Camus interpreta o espírito brasileiro, no qual as grandes distâncias do território teriam grande influência. Outro ponto digno de nota é o encontro com Manuel Bandeira e Oswald de Andrade.
Embora bastante polêmica no momento, a antropofagia de Oswald parece não ter impressionado muito Camus, ou pelo menos ele não deixou isso registrado. A não ser por uma citação preciosa pouco antes do fim do relato: "[no Brasil:] os sangues misturam-se a tal ponto que a alma perdeu seus limites". Uma imagem da antropofagia cultural e espiritual? Divertido pensar que sim.
July 18, 2007
A travelogue that concentrates mostly on South America (it starts in North America). I tend to enjoy this format, journal writing, and letters too; and to that end, what I enjoyed most in this short book were the personal asides, the revelations of his personality in casual asides. A quote, akin to a Strindberg sentiment from Inferno: "To live is to hurt others, and through others, to hurt oneself. Cruel earth! How can we manage not to touch anything? To find what ultimate exile?" His descriptions of the environs are excellent of course, but they just don't appeal to me as much. I've always imagined Camus as vaguely angelic, in contrast to his sometime foil, Sartre, who is more demonic. I don't mean this as a strict reading of their personalities, but the nature of their writing and from their writing, their thinking - both powerful, of course, but Sartre more demanding, rigorously so, and Camus, lucid, simple, and poetic. As I read more and get older, my favor leans toward Camus.
May 18, 2016
Lire les journaux de voyages (non destinés à être publiés) d'un auteur, c'est un peu comme avoir le privilège d'assister au travail de transformation d'une expérience brute en matériau d'inspiration pour une oeuvre .
Et c'est assez fascinant je dois dire.
Et si on a lu les oeuvres avant de lire les journaux (ce que je recommande) c'est extrêmement enrichissant.
C'est en plus assez rapide à lire et jamais barbant ... Camus reste bref et assez direct.
La description du premier regard sur New York est une merveille.
A lire absolument si on a déjà tout lu de Camus et qu'on en veut encore.
Et c'est assez fascinant je dois dire.
Et si on a lu les oeuvres avant de lire les journaux (ce que je recommande) c'est extrêmement enrichissant.
C'est en plus assez rapide à lire et jamais barbant ... Camus reste bref et assez direct.
La description du premier regard sur New York est une merveille.
A lire absolument si on a déjà tout lu de Camus et qu'on en veut encore.
June 12, 2016
Pleins de choses intéressantes sur Camus, l'Amérique, et les années 40. Mais Camus ne semblait pas aimer voyager. Et il était déprimé.
"Ce qui m'est apparu clairement hier, et enfin, c'est que je désirais mourir".
"Ce qui m'est apparu clairement hier, et enfin, c'est que je désirais mourir".
September 13, 2021
Libro, muy util para todo aquel que quiera una vez leido el autor sumergirse en un periodo cansado, fatigoso y antisocial de su vida
November 14, 2020
[Citação] "[Nicolas] Chamfort, porém, tem razão: quando se quer ser agradável no mundo, devemos deixar que nos ensinem muitas coisas que sabemos por pessoas que as desconhecem."
[Tema] O livro é o diário que Camus produziu durante as viagens que fez aos Estados Unidos (de março a maio de 1946) e à América do Sul (de junho a agosto de 1949) para uma série de conferências. Diferente de outros diários de viagem, o autor não fala apenas sobre o que observa no território estrangeiro, mas também sobre como se sente, como se percebe ao mar, com a própria solidão, com os compromissos, com a cordialidade, com a diferença, com o seu desejo de morte.
[Impressão] É uma leitura envolvente, interessante, às vezes bem densa e tensa, deliciosamente irônica em muitos momentos. Descreve situações hilárias aqui no Brasil, perrengues bem típicos. Fiquei incomodada com sua percepção a respeito dos negros, do samba e das cerimônias de candomblé que assistiu. Admiro a genialidade de Camus, entendendo que é um sujeito de seu tempo, potente e limitado em certos aspectos, como nós somos no agora. Tirando isso, foi uma leitura muito prazerosa. As expressões que usa, como essa: "Comemos pratos tão apimentados que fariam andar paralíticos" para descrever seu almoço no porto em Salvador (Bahia); ou ainda: "Quem tem razão é quem nunca matou. Portanto, não pode ser Deus", pouco antes de dizer do início de seu desencanto pelos Estados Unidos, só reiteram a elegância, a perspicácia e a ironia fina de Camus.
[Tema] O livro é o diário que Camus produziu durante as viagens que fez aos Estados Unidos (de março a maio de 1946) e à América do Sul (de junho a agosto de 1949) para uma série de conferências. Diferente de outros diários de viagem, o autor não fala apenas sobre o que observa no território estrangeiro, mas também sobre como se sente, como se percebe ao mar, com a própria solidão, com os compromissos, com a cordialidade, com a diferença, com o seu desejo de morte.
[Impressão] É uma leitura envolvente, interessante, às vezes bem densa e tensa, deliciosamente irônica em muitos momentos. Descreve situações hilárias aqui no Brasil, perrengues bem típicos. Fiquei incomodada com sua percepção a respeito dos negros, do samba e das cerimônias de candomblé que assistiu. Admiro a genialidade de Camus, entendendo que é um sujeito de seu tempo, potente e limitado em certos aspectos, como nós somos no agora. Tirando isso, foi uma leitura muito prazerosa. As expressões que usa, como essa: "Comemos pratos tão apimentados que fariam andar paralíticos" para descrever seu almoço no porto em Salvador (Bahia); ou ainda: "Quem tem razão é quem nunca matou. Portanto, não pode ser Deus", pouco antes de dizer do início de seu desencanto pelos Estados Unidos, só reiteram a elegância, a perspicácia e a ironia fina de Camus.
July 8, 2023
Despre New York: "Ordinea, puterea, forța economică acolo se află. Tremură inima în tine de-așa o admirabilă inumanitate."
"Ciuma: este o lume fără femei și deci irespirabilă."
"Are dreptate doar acela care nu a ucis niciodată.
Deci Dumnezeu nu poate fi."
"Să trăiești înseamnă să faci rău, celorlalți și ție însuși prin ceilalți. Pămînt plin de cruzime! Cum să faci să nu te atingi de nimic? Ce scăpare definitivă să găsești?"
Despre Brazilia: "Țara în care anotimpurile se confundă unele cu altele, în care vegetația încîlcită devine informă, în care sângele este atît de amestecat și el, încît sufletul își pierde hotarele."
"Ciuma: este o lume fără femei și deci irespirabilă."
"Are dreptate doar acela care nu a ucis niciodată.
Deci Dumnezeu nu poate fi."
"Să trăiești înseamnă să faci rău, celorlalți și ție însuși prin ceilalți. Pămînt plin de cruzime! Cum să faci să nu te atingi de nimic? Ce scăpare definitivă să găsești?"
Despre Brazilia: "Țara în care anotimpurile se confundă unele cu altele, în care vegetația încîlcită devine informă, în care sângele este atît de amestecat și el, încît sufletul își pierde hotarele."
November 4, 2025
Camus no Brasil, no RJ, SP e no nordeste... Amigo de Manuel Bandeira, interessado em Dori Caymmi... Sofrendo com a volta da tuberculose, mal humorado, insone, quase suicida... levado para uma macumba em Duque de Caxias, sacolejando pelas estradas de Iguape, quase morrendo com a pimenta dá Bahia... Como assim? 😱 Leitura imperdível, embora Albert não seja nada simpático com o nosso país, é preciso dar um desconto. Era o diário dele, não foi escrito para publicação. E ele estava doente e (muito) infeliz...
March 4, 2019
Slightly disappointing because the lion's share of the book is about South America. The North American part seems perfunctory--there are no mentions of meeting American writers, seeing American sights. Still, Camus' mind is so clear and sharp anything he writes is penetrating and enlightening.
May 3, 2023
Big words for a guy who took 100+ pages of depression to figure out he is suicidal.
September 7, 2025
Carnet de voyage de Camus, avec ses constats. Carnet de constats. Heureusement que le style et l’esprit de l’auteur relève le niveau.
February 12, 2024
Le mec écrit bien.
August 30, 2024
Die rassistischen Begriffe und Kategorisierungen der damaligen sprache Camis sind störend/unangenehm, abgesehen davon ein grandioses und endlos melancholisches Buch
March 3, 2021
Revue de lecture📖✏
Une lecture fascinante que j'ai vraiment adorée.
"Journaux de voyage" comme l'indique son titre est un récit qui réunit des notes qu'Albert Camus a prises lors de 2 voyages . Ces notes n'étaient pas censées être publiées, ce qui fait que cet ouvrage a paru à titre posthume.
Ce livre est composé en 2 parties : la première est celle de son voyage aux États Unis entre Mars et Mai 1946 alors que la 2ème est celle de son voyage en Amérique du Sud entre Juin et Août 1949. Camus relate ces 2 longs voyages avec toute sincérité et spontanéité et décrit ses journées telles qu’il les a vécues, du lever au coucher.
Il décrit les voyageurs, les passagers, ses amis, ses hôtes et ses nouvelles rencontres en y insérant des notes humoristiques.
Il fait part de ses impressions, en parlant du climat, des paysages, des ports, des monuments, des lieux visités, des habitants et leurs coutumes, leur maisons et leur type de nourriture.
Il écrit sur le Havre, Manhathan, Philadelphia, N. Y, puis le Brésil, Rio, Saint Paul, Tresopolis, Sao-Paoulo, Iguape...
Ce qui m'a le plus plu, c'est que ces notes de voyage sont différentes de ce que Camus écrit d'habitude et c'est tout à fait normal puisqu’il s’agit d’un journal personnel (le lecteur est un peu voyeur, là😊 ).
Par contre, on est très proche de Camus en tant que personne et on découvre sa psychologie en quelque sorte. D'après ces notes, notre écrivain n'aime pas du tout les voyages ou plutôt, il aime être là où il aime réellement se trouver : dans son monde à lui et son confort à lui. Ceci est senti si fort dès les premières pages et c'est frappant. Que des termes d'angoisse : étouffé, ennuyé, fatigué, effrayé, nostalgique, insomniaque, nausées, et la plupart du temps malade ( angine, grippe, bronchite, fièvre...)
J'ai beaucoup aimé cette lecture, j’y ai découvert une autre facette de Camus.
Un Camus, tel que vous ne l'avez jamais connu.
MA_GNI_FI_QUE
Une lecture fascinante que j'ai vraiment adorée.
"Journaux de voyage" comme l'indique son titre est un récit qui réunit des notes qu'Albert Camus a prises lors de 2 voyages . Ces notes n'étaient pas censées être publiées, ce qui fait que cet ouvrage a paru à titre posthume.
Ce livre est composé en 2 parties : la première est celle de son voyage aux États Unis entre Mars et Mai 1946 alors que la 2ème est celle de son voyage en Amérique du Sud entre Juin et Août 1949. Camus relate ces 2 longs voyages avec toute sincérité et spontanéité et décrit ses journées telles qu’il les a vécues, du lever au coucher.
Il décrit les voyageurs, les passagers, ses amis, ses hôtes et ses nouvelles rencontres en y insérant des notes humoristiques.
Il fait part de ses impressions, en parlant du climat, des paysages, des ports, des monuments, des lieux visités, des habitants et leurs coutumes, leur maisons et leur type de nourriture.
Il écrit sur le Havre, Manhathan, Philadelphia, N. Y, puis le Brésil, Rio, Saint Paul, Tresopolis, Sao-Paoulo, Iguape...
Ce qui m'a le plus plu, c'est que ces notes de voyage sont différentes de ce que Camus écrit d'habitude et c'est tout à fait normal puisqu’il s’agit d’un journal personnel (le lecteur est un peu voyeur, là😊 ).
Par contre, on est très proche de Camus en tant que personne et on découvre sa psychologie en quelque sorte. D'après ces notes, notre écrivain n'aime pas du tout les voyages ou plutôt, il aime être là où il aime réellement se trouver : dans son monde à lui et son confort à lui. Ceci est senti si fort dès les premières pages et c'est frappant. Que des termes d'angoisse : étouffé, ennuyé, fatigué, effrayé, nostalgique, insomniaque, nausées, et la plupart du temps malade ( angine, grippe, bronchite, fièvre...)
J'ai beaucoup aimé cette lecture, j’y ai découvert une autre facette de Camus.
Un Camus, tel que vous ne l'avez jamais connu.
MA_GNI_FI_QUE
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