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A construção
Franz Kafka redigiu esta novela em uma única noite entre 1923 e 1924, seis meses antes de morrer. Nela, o narrador-protagonista, uma criatura anônima, dedica-se obsessivamente à criação e manutenção de sua moradia subterrânea, um refúgio projetado para sua segurança, mas que acaba se transformando em um absurdo labirinto de suas próprias inseguranças quando ele passa a escutar, "perfurando" o silêncio solitário de seu lar, um ruído de origem desconhecida. Publicado postumamente em 1931, a novela encapsula o dilema existencial da personagem, que se vê cada vez mais isolada enquanto se esforça para defender seu espaço contra ameaças externas, sejam elas concretas ou fantásticas. A prosa de Kafka, marcada por um estilo introspectivo, preciso e perturbador, provoca reflexões sobre o conceito de lar, a fragilidade da segurança e as barreiras que construímos para lidar – ou não lidar – com a angústia. Ao mesmo tempo, a obra se torna uma alegoria da alienação, do luto e do desamparo que permeiam a experiência humana moderna, ecoando temas centrais na literatura do século XX. Baseado no manuscrito original, antes das edições de Max Brod, esta nova tradução de Sofia Mariutti recupera o caráter febril e inacabado do texto original. O título [A construção], atribuído pelo amigo e editor de Kafka ao manuscrito sem nome, é acrescido de colchetes que destacam a provisoriedade e a indefinição como elementos constitutivos do texto. Com posfácio de Christian Dunker, esta edição comemorativa do centenário da morte de Franz Kafka inclui também imagens do manuscrito original. O projeto gráfico assinado por Elaine Ramos simula o crescimento do desespero do narrador diante da aproximação dos as páginas se tornam gradativamente mais escuras, podendo ser lidas somente por meio da inserção de um anteparo entre uma página e outra, simulando a invasão fantasiada pelo narrador.
81 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 1924
84 people are currently reading
1978 people want to read
About the author
Franz Kafka
3,227 books37.8k followersPrague-born writer Franz Kafka wrote in German, and his stories, such as "
The Metamorphosis
" (1916), and posthumously published novels, including
The Trial
(1925), concern troubled individuals in a nightmarishly impersonal world.
Jewish middle-class family of this major fiction writer of the 20th century spoke German. People consider his unique body of much incomplete writing, mainly published posthumously, among the most influential in European literature.
His stories include "The Metamorphosis" (1912) and " In the Penal Colony " (1914), whereas his posthumous novels include The Trial (1925), The Castle (1926) and Amerika (1927).
Despite first language, Kafka also spoke fluent Czech. Later, Kafka acquired some knowledge of the French language and culture from Flaubert, one of his favorite authors.
Kafka first studied chemistry at the Charles-Ferdinand University of Prague but after two weeks switched to law. This study offered a range of career possibilities, which pleased his father, and required a longer course of study that gave Kafka time to take classes in German studies and art history. At the university, he joined a student club, named Lese- und Redehalle der Deutschen Studenten, which organized literary events, readings, and other activities. In the end of his first year of studies, he met Max Brod, a close friend of his throughout his life, together with the journalist Felix Weltsch, who also studied law. Kafka obtained the degree of doctor of law on 18 June 1906 and performed an obligatory year of unpaid service as law clerk for the civil and criminal courts.
Writing of Kafka attracted little attention before his death. During his lifetime, he published only a few short stories and never finished any of his novels except the very short "The Metamorphosis." Kafka wrote to Max Brod, his friend and literary executor: "Dearest Max, my last request: Everything I leave behind me ... in the way of diaries, manuscripts, letters (my own and others'), sketches, and so on, [is] to be burned unread." Brod told Kafka that he intended not to honor these wishes, but Kafka, so knowing, nevertheless consequently gave these directions specifically to Brod, who, so reasoning, overrode these wishes. Brod in fact oversaw the publication of most of work of Kafka in his possession; these works quickly began to attract attention and high critical regard.
Max Brod encountered significant difficulty in compiling notebooks of Kafka into any chronological order as Kafka started writing in the middle of notebooks, from the last towards the first, et cetera.
Kafka wrote all his published works in German except several letters in Czech to Milena Jesenská.
Jewish middle-class family of this major fiction writer of the 20th century spoke German. People consider his unique body of much incomplete writing, mainly published posthumously, among the most influential in European literature.
His stories include "The Metamorphosis" (1912) and " In the Penal Colony " (1914), whereas his posthumous novels include The Trial (1925), The Castle (1926) and Amerika (1927).
Despite first language, Kafka also spoke fluent Czech. Later, Kafka acquired some knowledge of the French language and culture from Flaubert, one of his favorite authors.
Kafka first studied chemistry at the Charles-Ferdinand University of Prague but after two weeks switched to law. This study offered a range of career possibilities, which pleased his father, and required a longer course of study that gave Kafka time to take classes in German studies and art history. At the university, he joined a student club, named Lese- und Redehalle der Deutschen Studenten, which organized literary events, readings, and other activities. In the end of his first year of studies, he met Max Brod, a close friend of his throughout his life, together with the journalist Felix Weltsch, who also studied law. Kafka obtained the degree of doctor of law on 18 June 1906 and performed an obligatory year of unpaid service as law clerk for the civil and criminal courts.
Writing of Kafka attracted little attention before his death. During his lifetime, he published only a few short stories and never finished any of his novels except the very short "The Metamorphosis." Kafka wrote to Max Brod, his friend and literary executor: "Dearest Max, my last request: Everything I leave behind me ... in the way of diaries, manuscripts, letters (my own and others'), sketches, and so on, [is] to be burned unread." Brod told Kafka that he intended not to honor these wishes, but Kafka, so knowing, nevertheless consequently gave these directions specifically to Brod, who, so reasoning, overrode these wishes. Brod in fact oversaw the publication of most of work of Kafka in his possession; these works quickly began to attract attention and high critical regard.
Max Brod encountered significant difficulty in compiling notebooks of Kafka into any chronological order as Kafka started writing in the middle of notebooks, from the last towards the first, et cetera.
Kafka wrote all his published works in German except several letters in Czech to Milena Jesenská.
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April 18, 2019
كيف يمكن لكافكا ان يتمتع بالعزلة دون أن يزعجه أحد؟
أن يختبئ عن العالم الشرير
يبني عالمه الصغير
ويخزن مؤنته الصغيرة
فلا يدري أحد عنه شيئا
أن يتجنب هذا العالم بكل ما أوتي من قوة وموهبة فنية
تحاول بناء منزلا خرافيا لا يستطيع أحد رؤيته فيه
:::::::::::::::
"أجمل ما في جحري هو الصمت"
حلم كافكا "بورشته المثالية المعزولة عن العالم"
سرداب محكم الغلق
يُجلب له طعامه
ويوضع خلف أبعد باب
فلا يعوقه عن إبداعه أي احتكاك بالبشر
هدوء
سكون تام
:::::::::::::::
الأعداء غير المرئيين
إحساس كافكا الدائم بالرعب الوشيك
كل هذا كان يدفعه إلى هذه العزلة الاختيارية
الجحر يرمز للأمان من كل الأعداء
ذلك الذي افتقده ودوما تاق إليه
:::::::::::::::
في آخر سنة له في هذه الحياة كتب كافكا قصته الجحر
-أحد أعماله القليلة المكتوبة بضمير المتكلم
هذه القصة شديدة القرب من شخصيته
وفيها يحكي عن حيوان بدون أن يترك مجالا للشك
أنه يمكن له أن يكون انسان أيضا
مثل قصص له دارت على نفس المنوال كقصة جوزفين المغنية
بطلنا حيوان منعزل هو أقرب للخلد
والذي يعيش في باطن الأرض في جحره الذي يملأه بالممرات
ويصنع منه مملكته الخاصة
:::::::::::::::
القصة لها نسختان واحدة مكتملة والأخرى -التي قرأت غير المكتملة مفتوحة النهاية
والتي أراها أفضل من النسخة الأخرى التي نهايتها هي هزيمة العدو
استخدم كافكا المرض كوسيلة
"لتغريب نفسه عن نفسهوعمن حولها"
وقيل أن فكرة خط الأنابيب الذي بناه الخلد في القصة
تحاكي مرض كافكا العصابي في المعدة أي القرحة
" انقطاع الاتصال بين المعدة والفم"
:::::::::::::::
الحجر أكثر من مجرد حفرة
يتوحد الاثنين ويندمجان في معنى واحد وطبيعة واحدة
لدرجة أنه يتقبل في هدوء وهو بداخلها حتى ضربات العدو القاضية في ساعته الأخيرة
فدمه سوف يسيل على أرضه الخاصة
وهكذا لن ينزعج بموته في مملكته ووطنه
..
أن يختبئ عن العالم الشرير
يبني عالمه الصغير
ويخزن مؤنته الصغيرة
فلا يدري أحد عنه شيئا
أن يتجنب هذا العالم بكل ما أوتي من قوة وموهبة فنية
تحاول بناء منزلا خرافيا لا يستطيع أحد رؤيته فيه
:::::::::::::::
"أجمل ما في جحري هو الصمت"
حلم كافكا "بورشته المثالية المعزولة عن العالم"
سرداب محكم الغلق
يُجلب له طعامه
ويوضع خلف أبعد باب
فلا يعوقه عن إبداعه أي احتكاك بالبشر
هدوء
سكون تام
:::::::::::::::
لكن هناك أيضا أعداء في حشايا الأرض لم أرهم مطلقا
لكنهم أسطوريون وأنا أؤمن بهم..
ـــــــــــــ
الأعداء غير المرئيين
إحساس كافكا الدائم بالرعب الوشيك
كل هذا كان يدفعه إلى هذه العزلة الاختيارية
الجحر يرمز للأمان من كل الأعداء
ذلك الذي افتقده ودوما تاق إليه
:::::::::::::::
أليس ظلما بالغا للجحر
أن ينظر المرء إليه في لحظات الفزع العصبي على أنه مجرد حفرة
يمكنه أن يزحف إليها ليكون آمنا؟
----------
الجحر يقدم في الواقع جانبا لايستهان به من الأمان
لكنه لا يكفي بحال
فهل يتاح للمرء التخلص من قلقه عندما يكون في داخله؟
ـــــــــــــــــــ
في آخر سنة له في هذه الحياة كتب كافكا قصته الجحر
-أحد أعماله القليلة المكتوبة بضمير المتكلم
هذه القصة شديدة القرب من شخصيته
وفيها يحكي عن حيوان بدون أن يترك مجالا للشك
أنه يمكن له أن يكون انسان أيضا
مثل قصص له دارت على نفس المنوال كقصة جوزفين المغنية
بطلنا حيوان منعزل هو أقرب للخلد
والذي يعيش في باطن الأرض في جحره الذي يملأه بالممرات
ويصنع منه مملكته الخاصة
:::::::::::::::
القصة لها نسختان واحدة مكتملة والأخرى -التي قرأت غير المكتملة مفتوحة النهاية
والتي أراها أفضل من النسخة الأخرى التي نهايتها هي هزيمة العدو
فلو كنت قد قمت ببناء الجحر لكي أؤمن سلامتي بصفة خاصة
لما كنت قد اكتأبت حقا
ــــــــــــــ
استخدم كافكا المرض كوسيلة
"لتغريب نفسه عن نفسهوعمن حولها"
وقيل أن فكرة خط الأنابيب الذي بناه الخلد في القصة
تحاكي مرض كافكا العصابي في المعدة أي القرحة
" انقطاع الاتصال بين المعدة والفم"
:::::::::::::::
إن سعادتي بامتلاكه قد أتلفتني و لقد جعلني ضعف الجحر ضعيفا بدوري
وإن إصابته تؤلمني كما لو أني من أصبت
ــــــــــ
الحجر أكثر من مجرد حفرة
يتوحد الاثنين ويندمجان في معنى واحد وطبيعة واحدة
قلعتي التي استخلصتها من التربة العنيدة بالأنياب والمخالب
قلعتي التي لا يمكنها أن تنتمي لآخر سواي
ـــــــــــــــــــــــ
لدرجة أنه يتقبل في هدوء وهو بداخلها حتى ضربات العدو القاضية في ساعته الأخيرة
فدمه سوف يسيل على أرضه الخاصة
وهكذا لن ينزعج بموته في مملكته ووطنه
..
July 30, 2015
“There I slept the sweet sleep of peace, of desire satisfied, of purpose achieved, of house possessed.”
Let me first admit that I have a strong bias towards this story. My personal experience aligns well with it, and I was enticed by the setting even before I started. I have a fondness for silence, darkness, and deep spaces (in RPGs I frequently play Dwarves). I’ve also always had space issues with my family, similar to Kafka, though more akin to Woolf’s Room of One’s Own. But Kafka’s take is so different from Woolf’s that I can’t help but be awed by it. Because of these and other reasons I would have loved The Burrow regardless of its literary merit; lucky for me it also happens to be amazing.
The plot is simple: A mole-like creature rants internally about his underground burrow. That’s pretty much it. We gather from his thoughts a few tidbits about his life: He grew up in a hostile jungle until one day he decided to dig an underground borrow as his home. He built and augmented it throughout his life, creating a massive labyrinth with a sand-castle citadel at its center, which houses his food supply. As he grew older he became paranoid and obsessive, constantly debating rebuilding/improving the burrow, praising its beauty, fearing an attack from unseen enemies, and even going on excursions back into the jungle just to watch his burrow’s entrance. The story ends with the creature convinced a giant predator is closing in on him and his home, and his extreme anxiety about such an attack.
I’ve heard Kafka was a humongous influence on later 20th century authors, and I can really see that here. The entire piece has little to no action and is all internal monologue. The psychological pressure the creature feels (and the readers) is amplified by the claustrophobic setting. The paranoia is reminiscent of Pynchon, and the endless chains of logic that lead nowhere reminds me of Borges. For the creature is logical, to an extent, and it’s his constant twisted reasoning and re-reasoning that drives him to madness. That, and the arctic desolation of his home. He celebrates the silence of his burrow and abhors anything that disrupts it, but soon he begins to hear noises that aren’t there. This is both a simple fact (void of noise the mind hallucinates) but also slightly tragic given what we know about the author.
The story reflects issues Kafka experienced all his life, and so have I. The world is a loud, dangerous place, and the desire for a quiet home, safe from danger, able to grant peace of mind is precious beyond all imagining. The mole earns his home through hard work and intelligence, and has a right to peace, but the knowledge of impending reality prevents him from enjoying it. He knows that one day something will come knocking at his door to shatter his world to pieces. We readers snort at the creature’s desperation and paranoia, but don’t appreciate the world he lives in: to work hard for something that can be thrown away at a moment’s notice. We who live in security have never experienced such arbitrary destruction.
While the sentiment may be human, the handling is purely Kafka’s. It is a cruel joke that once the creature gets his home, he loses it to his own obsessive fears. He barely accepts the happiness in the interim, and when he does it’s with an unseemly ecstasy. The creature holds such extreme anxiety that he has to leave his borrow for periods of time just to watch the entrance, not just for his imaginary enemies, but to imagine himself content within. It seems the ideal of happiness is more vital than happiness itself; this is a symptom of too closely investing in your dreams. But, even as the mole notices, life outside his burrow has a certain sweetness to it, and at times is preferable. It’s just he is beyond the point of enjoying it, just as he is beyond the point of enjoying his burrow. His refuge has become a prison to guard off an antagonistic world.
It’s worth mentioning the text is unfinished, and in fact ends mid-sentence. Max Brod argued Kafka intended a showdown with the mole and the impending predator, who arrests so much of our madness in the closing pages. But I think not. I think it’s fitting to end on such an arbitrary note, for we know there is no predator, indeed there never was. The protagonist has lived in isolation with his thoughts all his life, and no one knows or cares about his existence. The impending doom is indistinguishable from the impending mortality all organisms enjoy. The burrow and its citadel are the creature’s vain attempt at protecting himself, when we know that not only is such a protection impossible, but it impedes our ability to enjoy life. Walling yourself off from harm not only walls you off from the world, but creates a breeding ground for personal demons which grow and multiply without adversity. (Hence the need to create imaginary enemies in lieu of real ones.)
The question still remains of how we moles, living painfully in the jungle, can find our peace of mind. Somehow the platitude “just make the best of what you have” is underwhelming given the fact Kafka wrote this while dying of tuberculosis, with his sisters being sent to concentration camps shortly after his death. Perhaps then the burrow is not an attempt at escaping from reality, but from the nightmare of our consciousness—to guard against not just others but ourselves. In this way, perfectly Kafkaesque, salvation is denied to us. No matter where you turn, inward or outward, friend or foe, accomplishment or failure: everything seems to arrive at a dead end.
Let me first admit that I have a strong bias towards this story. My personal experience aligns well with it, and I was enticed by the setting even before I started. I have a fondness for silence, darkness, and deep spaces (in RPGs I frequently play Dwarves). I’ve also always had space issues with my family, similar to Kafka, though more akin to Woolf’s Room of One’s Own. But Kafka’s take is so different from Woolf’s that I can’t help but be awed by it. Because of these and other reasons I would have loved The Burrow regardless of its literary merit; lucky for me it also happens to be amazing.
The plot is simple: A mole-like creature rants internally about his underground burrow. That’s pretty much it. We gather from his thoughts a few tidbits about his life: He grew up in a hostile jungle until one day he decided to dig an underground borrow as his home. He built and augmented it throughout his life, creating a massive labyrinth with a sand-castle citadel at its center, which houses his food supply. As he grew older he became paranoid and obsessive, constantly debating rebuilding/improving the burrow, praising its beauty, fearing an attack from unseen enemies, and even going on excursions back into the jungle just to watch his burrow’s entrance. The story ends with the creature convinced a giant predator is closing in on him and his home, and his extreme anxiety about such an attack.
I’ve heard Kafka was a humongous influence on later 20th century authors, and I can really see that here. The entire piece has little to no action and is all internal monologue. The psychological pressure the creature feels (and the readers) is amplified by the claustrophobic setting. The paranoia is reminiscent of Pynchon, and the endless chains of logic that lead nowhere reminds me of Borges. For the creature is logical, to an extent, and it’s his constant twisted reasoning and re-reasoning that drives him to madness. That, and the arctic desolation of his home. He celebrates the silence of his burrow and abhors anything that disrupts it, but soon he begins to hear noises that aren’t there. This is both a simple fact (void of noise the mind hallucinates) but also slightly tragic given what we know about the author.
The story reflects issues Kafka experienced all his life, and so have I. The world is a loud, dangerous place, and the desire for a quiet home, safe from danger, able to grant peace of mind is precious beyond all imagining. The mole earns his home through hard work and intelligence, and has a right to peace, but the knowledge of impending reality prevents him from enjoying it. He knows that one day something will come knocking at his door to shatter his world to pieces. We readers snort at the creature’s desperation and paranoia, but don’t appreciate the world he lives in: to work hard for something that can be thrown away at a moment’s notice. We who live in security have never experienced such arbitrary destruction.
While the sentiment may be human, the handling is purely Kafka’s. It is a cruel joke that once the creature gets his home, he loses it to his own obsessive fears. He barely accepts the happiness in the interim, and when he does it’s with an unseemly ecstasy. The creature holds such extreme anxiety that he has to leave his borrow for periods of time just to watch the entrance, not just for his imaginary enemies, but to imagine himself content within. It seems the ideal of happiness is more vital than happiness itself; this is a symptom of too closely investing in your dreams. But, even as the mole notices, life outside his burrow has a certain sweetness to it, and at times is preferable. It’s just he is beyond the point of enjoying it, just as he is beyond the point of enjoying his burrow. His refuge has become a prison to guard off an antagonistic world.
It’s worth mentioning the text is unfinished, and in fact ends mid-sentence. Max Brod argued Kafka intended a showdown with the mole and the impending predator, who arrests so much of our madness in the closing pages. But I think not. I think it’s fitting to end on such an arbitrary note, for we know there is no predator, indeed there never was. The protagonist has lived in isolation with his thoughts all his life, and no one knows or cares about his existence. The impending doom is indistinguishable from the impending mortality all organisms enjoy. The burrow and its citadel are the creature’s vain attempt at protecting himself, when we know that not only is such a protection impossible, but it impedes our ability to enjoy life. Walling yourself off from harm not only walls you off from the world, but creates a breeding ground for personal demons which grow and multiply without adversity. (Hence the need to create imaginary enemies in lieu of real ones.)
The question still remains of how we moles, living painfully in the jungle, can find our peace of mind. Somehow the platitude “just make the best of what you have” is underwhelming given the fact Kafka wrote this while dying of tuberculosis, with his sisters being sent to concentration camps shortly after his death. Perhaps then the burrow is not an attempt at escaping from reality, but from the nightmare of our consciousness—to guard against not just others but ourselves. In this way, perfectly Kafkaesque, salvation is denied to us. No matter where you turn, inward or outward, friend or foe, accomplishment or failure: everything seems to arrive at a dead end.
March 18, 2023
This is Kafka's unfinished story about a mole-like creature and its symbiotic relationship with his living place, the burrow. The creature is the narrator and the story is his inner monologue.
The narrator is old. He has spent all his life constructing and improving the numerous passages of his labyrinth-like burrow. He is proud of his creation but obsessed with ensuring its security.
I don't know how Kafka does this (again). He conveys the creature's thinking process in such detail; the exploration of information and possibilities, expressing doubts, making conclusions and planning. Of course, when you remember that these thoughts belong to a short-legged omnivore, you can't help smiling.
'(...) It is for your sake, ye passages and rooms, and you, Castle Keep, above all, that I have come back, counting my own life as nothing in the balance, after stupidly trembling for it for so long, and postponing my return to you. What do I care for danger now that I am with you? You belong to me, I to you, we are united; what can harm us? What if my foes should be assembling even now up above there and their muzzles be preparing to break through the moss? And with its silence and emptiness the burrow answers me, confirming my words. But now a feeling of lassitude overcomes me and in some favorite room I curl myself up tentatively, I have not yet surveyed everything by a long way, though still resolved to examine everything to the very end; I have no intention of sleeping here, I have merely yielded to the temptation of making myself comfortable and pretending I want to sleep, I merely wish to find out if this is as good a place for sleeping as it used to be. It is, but it is a better place for sleep than for waking, and I remain lying where I am in deep slumber.'
The narrator is old. He has spent all his life constructing and improving the numerous passages of his labyrinth-like burrow. He is proud of his creation but obsessed with ensuring its security.
I don't know how Kafka does this (again). He conveys the creature's thinking process in such detail; the exploration of information and possibilities, expressing doubts, making conclusions and planning. Of course, when you remember that these thoughts belong to a short-legged omnivore, you can't help smiling.
'(...) It is for your sake, ye passages and rooms, and you, Castle Keep, above all, that I have come back, counting my own life as nothing in the balance, after stupidly trembling for it for so long, and postponing my return to you. What do I care for danger now that I am with you? You belong to me, I to you, we are united; what can harm us? What if my foes should be assembling even now up above there and their muzzles be preparing to break through the moss? And with its silence and emptiness the burrow answers me, confirming my words. But now a feeling of lassitude overcomes me and in some favorite room I curl myself up tentatively, I have not yet surveyed everything by a long way, though still resolved to examine everything to the very end; I have no intention of sleeping here, I have merely yielded to the temptation of making myself comfortable and pretending I want to sleep, I merely wish to find out if this is as good a place for sleeping as it used to be. It is, but it is a better place for sleep than for waking, and I remain lying where I am in deep slumber.'
December 24, 2019
The Burrow (Der Bau) Το κτίσμα/ Λαγούμι.
Ανάμεσα στον Οκτώβρη - Νοέμβρη 1923 γράφει την ιστορία ενός ζώου που σαν τον τυφλοπόντικα ζει υπογείως και υποφέρει, μέσα στη μοναξιά του, από φανταστικές κι άλλες τόσες πραγματικές απειλές. Τον Μάρτιο της επόμενης χρονιάς γράφει την τελευταία του ιστορία, τη "Ζοζεφίνα ή ο λαός των ποντικιών" λίγους μήνες πριν αφήσει την τελευταία του πνοή.
Αυτά τα πλάσματα, τα κρυμμένα μέσα στη γη, λειτουργούν ως εκδοχές του εαυτού του, σαν ιδιότητες της νεανικής του ηλικίας που κάποτε είχε παρατηρήσει, κάποτε είχε προσπαθήσει να ξεφύγει από αυτές, αλλά τελικά δεν τα κατάφερε.
Σε εκείνο το γράμμα της 28ης Αυγούστου 1904, προς τον φίλο του, τον Max Brod, από το οποίο άντλησε τη σκηνή της ομιλίας στο μπαλκόνι και ίσως για πρώτη φορά να συνέλαβε την έννοια της σύγχυσης των γλωσσών σαν ξύπνημα από τον έναν κόσμο στον άλλο και τη μετέφερε αυτούσια στο πρώιμο Beschreibung eines Kampfes (Περιγραφή μιας πάλης) γράφει χαρακτηριστικά:
“ Σκάβουμε μέσα μας, σαν τυφλοπόντικες και αναδυόμαστε μαυρισμένοι και αναμαλλιασμένοι από τις υπόγειες αμμουδερές μας κρύπτες με τα αξιολύπητα κόκκινα ποδαράκια μας απλωμένα για λίγη συμπόνια”.
“Wir durchwühlen uns wie ein Maulwurf und kommen ganz geschwärzt und sammthaarig aus unsern verschütteten Sandgewölben unsere armen rothen Füßchen für zartes Mitleid emporgestreckt”
Έναν τέτοιο μικρό τυφλοπόντικα συνάντησε εκείνη την ημέρα ο νεαρός (είκοσι ενός ετών) Kafka, στον δρόμο καθώς έκανε περίπατο με το σκύλο του. Κι αν στην αρχή του φάνηκε αστεία η εικόνα του τρομαγμένου ζώου, όταν εκείνο άρχισε να βγάζει φοβισμένες κραυγές (κς κς) ένιωσε λύπη “το σαγόνι μου βυθίστηκε μέσα στο στήθος μου”. Γιατί είδε μέσα σε αυτήν την εικόνα τον εαυτό του προφανώς. Γιατί ένιωσε οικεία την αγωνία του ζώου.
Με τέτοια υπόγεια, αγχωμένα και τρομαγμένα αλλά και επίμονα, σχεδόν εμμονικά, πλάσματα που ωστόσο ξέρουν να παλεύουν, έστω και μάταια, ως το τέλος, επέλεξε να κλείσει τον κύκλο των ιστοριών του.
Ακόμα και όταν είναι αισιόδοξος, όταν ακόμα είναι σε θέση να ονειρεύεται πως θα καταφέρει να κάνει μια δική του οικογένεια και πως δεν θα καταλήξει αιώνιος εργένης - αγροτικός γιατρός, ξανά μέσα στην αμμουδερή τρύπα επιλέγει να χτίσει το σπιτικό του:
"Είχαμε σκάψει μια τρύπα στην άμμο και είχαμε βολευτεί μέσα. Τη νύχτα κουλουριαζόμαστε μέσα στην τρύπα, ο πατέρας τη σκέπαζε με κορμούς δέντρων και σκόρπιζε από πάνω κλαδιά και ήμαστε, όσο γινόταν, προστατευμένοι από τις θύελλες και τα ζώα. "Πατέρα" φωνάζαμε πολλές φορές φοβισμένοι όταν είχε σκοτεινιάσει εντελώς κάτω από τους κορμούς κι ο πατέρας αργούσε να φανεί. Όμως ύστερα βλέπαμε μέσα από μια χαραμάδα τα πόδια του, γλιστρούσε μέσα κοντά μας, μας χαϊδολογούσε λίγο, γιατί το άγγιγμα του χεριού του μας ησύχαζε, κι ύστερα κοιμόμαστε κυριολεκτικά ο ένας πάνω στον άλλο. Εκτός από τους γονείς μας, ήμαστε πέντε αγόρια και τρία κορίτσια, η τρύπα ήταν πολύ στενόχωρη, όμως θα φοβόμαστε αν τη νύχτα δεν ήμαστε τόσο σφιχταγκαλιασμένοι ο ένας πάνω στον άλλο". (Ημερολογιακή καταγραφή 4ης Ιανουαρίου 1914, μετάφραση Α. Βερυκοκάκη)
Κι εκεί θα επιλέξει να αποσυρθεί, λίγους μήνες πριν πεθάνει, στην ιδέα ενός κόσμου κρυμμένου κάτω από τη γη, μόνος απέναντι στον εαυτό του ή μόνος ανάμεσα σε πλήθη, ωστόσο μόνος. Πάντα μόνος.
Στην ιστορία του Κτίσματος, του υπόγειου λαγουμιού μέσα στο οποίο ζει το παράξενο και αιωνίως αγχωμένο ζώο της υπόθεσης, συναντάμε επίσης αυτό που το ζώο ονομάζει ως κεντρική πλατεία του Κάστρου(Burgplatz), ένα κεντρικό κελί που αποτελεί συνάμα το τελευταίο και ασφαλέστερο καταφύγιό του, ένα οχυρό. Το υπόγειο κτίσμα, με την καταπακτή, την πλατεία, το λαβύρινθο των αμέτρητων λαγουμιών είναι αξεδιάλυτα δεμένο με το πλάσμα: ανήκετε σε εμένα κι εγώ σε εσάς. Είμαστε ενωμένοι.
Η ιστορία παρέμεινε ημιτελής. Σαν τον λαγούμι του ζώου, ημιτελές, ατελές, πανταχόθεν βαλλόμενον. Σαν τον ίδιο τον συγγραφέα. Ωστόσο υπάρχει μια μαρτυρία για το τέλος του έργου, αυτή που η τελευταία σύντροφος του Kafka, η Dora Dymant αποκάλυψε στον Max Brod:
Ανάμεσα στον Οκτώβρη - Νοέμβρη 1923 γράφει την ιστορία ενός ζώου που σαν τον τυφλοπόντικα ζει υπογείως και υποφέρει, μέσα στη μοναξιά του, από φανταστικές κι άλλες τόσες πραγματικές απειλές. Τον Μάρτιο της επόμενης χρονιάς γράφει την τελευταία του ιστορία, τη "Ζοζεφίνα ή ο λαός των ποντικιών" λίγους μήνες πριν αφήσει την τελευταία του πνοή.
Αυτά τα πλάσματα, τα κρυμμένα μέσα στη γη, λειτουργούν ως εκδοχές του εαυτού του, σαν ιδιότητες της νεανικής του ηλικίας που κάποτε είχε παρατηρήσει, κάποτε είχε προσπαθήσει να ξεφύγει από αυτές, αλλά τελικά δεν τα κατάφερε.
Σε εκείνο το γράμμα της 28ης Αυγούστου 1904, προς τον φίλο του, τον Max Brod, από το οποίο άντλησε τη σκηνή της ομιλίας στο μπαλκόνι και ίσως για πρώτη φορά να συνέλαβε την έννοια της σύγχυσης των γλωσσών σαν ξύπνημα από τον έναν κόσμο στον άλλο και τη μετέφερε αυτούσια στο πρώιμο Beschreibung eines Kampfes (Περιγραφή μιας πάλης) γράφει χαρακτηριστικά:
“ Σκάβουμε μέσα μας, σαν τυφλοπόντικες και αναδυόμαστε μαυρισμένοι και αναμαλλιασμένοι από τις υπόγειες αμμουδερές μας κρύπτες με τα αξιολύπητα κόκκινα ποδαράκια μας απλωμένα για λίγη συμπόνια”.
“Wir durchwühlen uns wie ein Maulwurf und kommen ganz geschwärzt und sammthaarig aus unsern verschütteten Sandgewölben unsere armen rothen Füßchen für zartes Mitleid emporgestreckt”
Έναν τέτοιο μικρό τυφλοπόντικα συνάντησε εκείνη την ημέρα ο νεαρός (είκοσι ενός ετών) Kafka, στον δρόμο καθώς έκανε περίπατο με το σκύλο του. Κι αν στην αρχή του φάνηκε αστεία η εικόνα του τρομαγμένου ζώου, όταν εκείνο άρχισε να βγάζει φοβισμένες κραυγές (κς κς) ένιωσε λύπη “το σαγόνι μου βυθίστηκε μέσα στο στήθος μου”. Γιατί είδε μέσα σε αυτήν την εικόνα τον εαυτό του προφανώς. Γιατί ένιωσε οικεία την αγωνία του ζώου.
Με τέτοια υπόγεια, αγχωμένα και τρομαγμένα αλλά και επίμονα, σχεδόν εμμονικά, πλάσματα που ωστόσο ξέρουν να παλεύουν, έστω και μάταια, ως το τέλος, επέλεξε να κλείσει τον κύκλο των ιστοριών του.
Ακόμα και όταν είναι αισιόδοξος, όταν ακόμα είναι σε θέση να ονειρεύεται πως θα καταφέρει να κάνει μια δική του οικογένεια και πως δεν θα καταλήξει αιώνιος εργένης - αγροτικός γιατρός, ξανά μέσα στην αμμουδερή τρύπα επιλέγει να χτίσει το σπιτικό του:
"Είχαμε σκάψει μια τρύπα στην άμμο και είχαμε βολευτεί μέσα. Τη νύχτα κουλουριαζόμαστε μέσα στην τρύπα, ο πατέρας τη σκέπαζε με κορμούς δέντρων και σκόρπιζε από πάνω κλαδιά και ήμαστε, όσο γινόταν, προστατευμένοι από τις θύελλες και τα ζώα. "Πατέρα" φωνάζαμε πολλές φορές φοβισμένοι όταν είχε σκοτεινιάσει εντελώς κάτω από τους κορμούς κι ο πατέρας αργούσε να φανεί. Όμως ύστερα βλέπαμε μέσα από μια χαραμάδα τα πόδια του, γλιστρούσε μέσα κοντά μας, μας χαϊδολογούσε λίγο, γιατί το άγγιγμα του χεριού του μας ησύχαζε, κι ύστερα κοιμόμαστε κυριολεκτικά ο ένας πάνω στον άλλο. Εκτός από τους γονείς μας, ήμαστε πέντε αγόρια και τρία κορίτσια, η τρύπα ήταν πολύ στενόχωρη, όμως θα φοβόμαστε αν τη νύχτα δεν ήμαστε τόσο σφιχταγκαλιασμένοι ο ένας πάνω στον άλλο". (Ημερολογιακή καταγραφή 4ης Ιανουαρίου 1914, μετάφραση Α. Βερυκοκάκη)
Κι εκεί θα επιλέξει να αποσυρθεί, λίγους μήνες πριν πεθάνει, στην ιδέα ενός κόσμου κρυμμένου κάτω από τη γη, μόνος απέναντι στον εαυτό του ή μόνος ανάμεσα σε πλήθη, ωστόσο μόνος. Πάντα μόνος.
Στην ιστορία του Κτίσματος, του υπόγειου λαγουμιού μέσα στο οποίο ζει το παράξενο και αιωνίως αγχωμένο ζώο της υπόθεσης, συναντάμε επίσης αυτό που το ζώο ονομάζει ως κεντρική πλατεία του Κάστρου(Burgplatz), ένα κεντρικό κελί που αποτελεί συνάμα το τελευταίο και ασφαλέστερο καταφύγιό του, ένα οχυρό. Το υπόγειο κτίσμα, με την καταπακτή, την πλατεία, το λαβύρινθο των αμέτρητων λαγουμιών είναι αξεδιάλυτα δεμένο με το πλάσμα: ανήκετε σε εμένα κι εγώ σε εσάς. Είμαστε ενωμένοι.
Η ιστορία παρέμεινε ημιτελής. Σαν τον λαγούμι του ζώου, ημιτελές, ατελές, πανταχόθεν βαλλόμενον. Σαν τον ίδιο τον συγγραφέα. Ωστόσο υπάρχει μια μαρτυρία για το τέλος του έργου, αυτή που η τελευταία σύντροφος του Kafka, η Dora Dymant αποκάλυψε στον Max Brod:
March 12, 2021
گردشی با کافکا همراه با وحشتِ همیشگیِ یقهگیر!
«خطر به هیچ رو وهمناک نیست بلکه بسیار واقعی است . . .
نقشهی جدید ومعقولم هم وسوسه ام میکند و هم نمیگیرد.هیچ اشکالی ندارد،من دست کم از هیچ اشکالی خبر ندارم . . .
هزارتوی كوچكی از راهروها آنجا تعبیه كردهام؛ آنجا بود كه نقبم را آغاز كردم، هنگامی كه هیچ امیدی نداشتم كه هرگز آن را بر وفقِ نقشههایم كامل گردانم؛ من، هوس هوس، در آن گوشه آغاز كردم؛ و این بود كه نخستین شادیام در كار آنجا در نقبی هزارتو ارضایی فراوان یافت.»
کافکا میگه « سكوتِ اطراف آدم در موقع نوشتن كفایت نمیكند و حتی شب هم به اندازه كافی شب نیست»
داستان نقب
زمستان 1923-1924
«خطر به هیچ رو وهمناک نیست بلکه بسیار واقعی است . . .
نقشهی جدید ومعقولم هم وسوسه ام میکند و هم نمیگیرد.هیچ اشکالی ندارد،من دست کم از هیچ اشکالی خبر ندارم . . .
هزارتوی كوچكی از راهروها آنجا تعبیه كردهام؛ آنجا بود كه نقبم را آغاز كردم، هنگامی كه هیچ امیدی نداشتم كه هرگز آن را بر وفقِ نقشههایم كامل گردانم؛ من، هوس هوس، در آن گوشه آغاز كردم؛ و این بود كه نخستین شادیام در كار آنجا در نقبی هزارتو ارضایی فراوان یافت.»
کافکا میگه « سكوتِ اطراف آدم در موقع نوشتن كفایت نمیكند و حتی شب هم به اندازه كافی شب نیست»
داستان نقب
زمستان 1923-1924
September 15, 2024
So here we are, deciding to delay the rest of the Franz Kafka collection I am reading lol
Good news is I go back to reading Karamazov.
So what went wrong?
This being an unfinished story had nothing to do with it.
This almost felt like it was stream of consciousness to me, but maybe I am wrong?
The story was very fast paced, and all just thoughts of a worried burrowing creature, that was so fucking worried sick all the time, so fucking anxious all the time, it actually put strain on my own anxiety.
I genuinely pity Kafka's life, his own emotions seem to be overpouring through his writing all the time, maybe emotions he can't tell most people about because they won't understand him.
But at the same time, you could totally read this story as a POV story of an animal, and it would still impress you, because how the fuck did he know all what the animal does underground where no one can see it? this was detailed to extreme measures, from eating to sleeping to relaxing to burrowing to planning, to storing food, it was just beautiful regardless of what you will understand from this story.
While I gave most of Kafka's stories and novella's 3 stars, I still enjoy them immensely, and even though my first impression of Metamorphosis was 3 stars, I realized from how I spoke of the novel with friends later, that wait a minute! This affected me more than I imagined, and I noticed that as the time went on, and I went and changed the rating to 4 stars.
probably 1 week detour to Karamazov before I return to the rest of this collection that I started in 2020 and didn't finish yet lol
Good news is I go back to reading Karamazov.
So what went wrong?
This being an unfinished story had nothing to do with it.
This almost felt like it was stream of consciousness to me, but maybe I am wrong?
The story was very fast paced, and all just thoughts of a worried burrowing creature, that was so fucking worried sick all the time, so fucking anxious all the time, it actually put strain on my own anxiety.
I genuinely pity Kafka's life, his own emotions seem to be overpouring through his writing all the time, maybe emotions he can't tell most people about because they won't understand him.
But at the same time, you could totally read this story as a POV story of an animal, and it would still impress you, because how the fuck did he know all what the animal does underground where no one can see it? this was detailed to extreme measures, from eating to sleeping to relaxing to burrowing to planning, to storing food, it was just beautiful regardless of what you will understand from this story.
While I gave most of Kafka's stories and novella's 3 stars, I still enjoy them immensely, and even though my first impression of Metamorphosis was 3 stars, I realized from how I spoke of the novel with friends later, that wait a minute! This affected me more than I imagined, and I noticed that as the time went on, and I went and changed the rating to 4 stars.
probably 1 week detour to Karamazov before I return to the rest of this collection that I started in 2020 and didn't finish yet lol
March 22, 2024
Hier kann ich einiges Kafkas "real life" zuordnen, über manches sollte man einfach nicht zu viel nachdenken.
July 22, 2020
English: The Burrow
This unfinished parable published posthumously in 1928 tells the story of an animal building and constantly perfectioning a subterranean burrow to protect supplies and defend itself against enemies. The unspecified animal is governed by obsession, fear and an increasing paranoia, and the burrow becomes an ever-evolving labyrinth in which the builder traps itself, but which nonetheless can never satisfy its inhabitant's longing for absolute safety. When the animal starts hearing a sound, it desperately tries the identify the source...
Similar to the bug in The Metamorphosis, this animal is of course not really an animal, at least not completely. And much like Poe's haunted house in The Fall of the House of Usher, the burrow can be read as representing a deranged human mind which in this case obsesses over perceived enemies and threats. The labyrinth is (also) in the animal's mind, and its thoughts are getting lost in the maze. And there's another story by Poe that comes to mind, The Tell-Tale Heart: While Poe's protagonist is tortured by the real or imagined sound of a beating heart that seemingly manifests subconscious guilt, the animal hears a real or imagined sound that might represent fear or universal danger that can't be escaped. The fact that the animal can't find a logical explanation for the sound causes panic and complete loss of self-awareness.
It's also interesting that the animal governs and feeds off of smaller animals inside the burrow, and fears those that are equally strong or stronger in the outside world. The stream-of-consciousness technique and the fact that the burrow can also be seen as a metaphor for the modern city in which people get lost and are alienated makes this a typical text representing literary modernity - but don't read it as an exemplary text for a literary period, read it as an unsettling tale about the common craziness of, well, homo sapiens. I would love to know what ending Kafka would have envisioned had he been able to finish the piece.
This unfinished parable published posthumously in 1928 tells the story of an animal building and constantly perfectioning a subterranean burrow to protect supplies and defend itself against enemies. The unspecified animal is governed by obsession, fear and an increasing paranoia, and the burrow becomes an ever-evolving labyrinth in which the builder traps itself, but which nonetheless can never satisfy its inhabitant's longing for absolute safety. When the animal starts hearing a sound, it desperately tries the identify the source...
Similar to the bug in The Metamorphosis, this animal is of course not really an animal, at least not completely. And much like Poe's haunted house in The Fall of the House of Usher, the burrow can be read as representing a deranged human mind which in this case obsesses over perceived enemies and threats. The labyrinth is (also) in the animal's mind, and its thoughts are getting lost in the maze. And there's another story by Poe that comes to mind, The Tell-Tale Heart: While Poe's protagonist is tortured by the real or imagined sound of a beating heart that seemingly manifests subconscious guilt, the animal hears a real or imagined sound that might represent fear or universal danger that can't be escaped. The fact that the animal can't find a logical explanation for the sound causes panic and complete loss of self-awareness.
It's also interesting that the animal governs and feeds off of smaller animals inside the burrow, and fears those that are equally strong or stronger in the outside world. The stream-of-consciousness technique and the fact that the burrow can also be seen as a metaphor for the modern city in which people get lost and are alienated makes this a typical text representing literary modernity - but don't read it as an exemplary text for a literary period, read it as an unsettling tale about the common craziness of, well, homo sapiens. I would love to know what ending Kafka would have envisioned had he been able to finish the piece.
June 28, 2020
A well written ode to paranoia, panic, and anxiety as seen through the eyes of an aging burrowing animal.
January 29, 2024
در یک نشست خوندمش و نثرش برام خیلی جذاب بود. به عنوان یک درونگرا باش ارتباط برقرار کردم؛ بخشی که اشاره کرد به اینکه حتی بیرون میتونه لذت هم داشته باشه، اضطرابش، فکرهای ناتمومش و دائم بررسی اوضاع و احتمالات، متناقضگوییهاش که هر جمله رو با ولی یا البته نقض میکرد، خونهای که در عین امنیت باز هم ناامن بود و اینکه در نهایت بالاخره این حاشیه امن از دست میره.
January 3, 2019
aber alles blieb unverändert,
April 25, 2020
Rating: 4/5
When you read a Kafka, you undeniably ask yourself a bunch of times, okay-what is this really about? With The Burrow or Der Bau it is no different. Or is it?
***
A creature, either a mole or a rodent, we don't know, burrows like crazy. The creature is clearly placed in that part of the food chain where it hunts and is hunted. It faces constant threat from its enemies, or so it thinks, which prompts it to remodel its chambers and tunnels multiple times during the 25 page story. The creature gloats about the new chambers for a few moments, only to renovate it entirely the very next moment. While it does so and secures food for itself, we are privy to the creature's internal monologue - its fears, insecurities, anxieties, pride even, at having built an impenetrable fortress of a burrow. Some pages, it rants about how awesome its skills are that none would even guess there's an whole labyrinth beneath the moss covered ground, and other days its thoughts are stuck to the potential attacker, or 'the beast' as is described, and how futile its defenses against the beast should prove to be. The story ends with the sentence, 'But all remained the same', indicating that the beast may have been a figment of an hyper-active imagination of the mole creature who builds burrows like crazy.
***
I was pretty sure Der Bau was about Kafka's state of mind during his disease, since it was written this quite close to his death. What cemented my thoughts further was a foreword by John Updike in the edition of the e-book I own. Updike informs how Kafka used to refer to his disease as 'the beast' - note the similarities to the potential attacker in Der Bau, and how it will do him in. Apparently, the incomplete Der Bau was a complete story, what with the beast finally attacking and defeating our little mole creature. Personally, I found the short story to be riveting to state the least, for it not just Kafka's mind you get access to, it is your own mind that opens up. No matter the defenses and securities you put up and upgrade, bad stuff still happens, diseases still happen (yeah, I'm looking at you COVID-19) !
For the full review, check out - http://tiredlife.com/2020/04/25/a-creature-of-the-mind/
When you read a Kafka, you undeniably ask yourself a bunch of times, okay-what is this really about? With The Burrow or Der Bau it is no different. Or is it?
***
A creature, either a mole or a rodent, we don't know, burrows like crazy. The creature is clearly placed in that part of the food chain where it hunts and is hunted. It faces constant threat from its enemies, or so it thinks, which prompts it to remodel its chambers and tunnels multiple times during the 25 page story. The creature gloats about the new chambers for a few moments, only to renovate it entirely the very next moment. While it does so and secures food for itself, we are privy to the creature's internal monologue - its fears, insecurities, anxieties, pride even, at having built an impenetrable fortress of a burrow. Some pages, it rants about how awesome its skills are that none would even guess there's an whole labyrinth beneath the moss covered ground, and other days its thoughts are stuck to the potential attacker, or 'the beast' as is described, and how futile its defenses against the beast should prove to be. The story ends with the sentence, 'But all remained the same', indicating that the beast may have been a figment of an hyper-active imagination of the mole creature who builds burrows like crazy.
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I was pretty sure Der Bau was about Kafka's state of mind during his disease, since it was written this quite close to his death. What cemented my thoughts further was a foreword by John Updike in the edition of the e-book I own. Updike informs how Kafka used to refer to his disease as 'the beast' - note the similarities to the potential attacker in Der Bau, and how it will do him in. Apparently, the incomplete Der Bau was a complete story, what with the beast finally attacking and defeating our little mole creature. Personally, I found the short story to be riveting to state the least, for it not just Kafka's mind you get access to, it is your own mind that opens up. No matter the defenses and securities you put up and upgrade, bad stuff still happens, diseases still happen (yeah, I'm looking at you COVID-19) !
For the full review, check out - http://tiredlife.com/2020/04/25/a-creature-of-the-mind/
January 29, 2017
"Não estou longe de tomar a decisão de me pôr a milhas, de voltar à minha vida de outrora desprovida de toda a segurança e que, não sendo mais que uma sucessão ininterrupta de perigos, não me fazia antever nem recear nenhum perigo em particular."
Kakfa narra a partir da mente do protagonista, um animal de pequeno porte solitário, que vive num covil que construiu com o seu esforço. O covil é bastante simples por fora, mas no interior esconde um labirinto de corredores, diferentes câmaras e uma divisão que é o forte.
O animal vê o abrigo como uma segurança que nunca o mantém totalmente seguro do mundo exterior. Por vezes tentamos proteger-nos a nós mesmos do mundo que nos rodeia: travamos uma luta entre a nossa mente e a realidade. Mas será possível construirmos e vivermos num mundo só nosso, independente do mundo inteiro?
O pequeno animal, dominado pela ansiedade e o medo de ser atacado por inimigos que não vê, preocupa-se constantemente com um ataque que não sabe se vai acontecer. Da mesma forma, se nos excluirmos do mundo e nos isolarmos na nossa mente, não iremos de encontro à preocupação excessiva com o que se passa no mundo onde não estamos e à falha em compreender o que está acontecer e porque razão acontece?
Por muito que o pequeno animal tente viver apenas no seu covil, o seu mundo está dependente do mundo exterior para obter comida e ar. Mas a entrada que lhe permite obter essas necessidades básica apresenta-se como a maior ameaça, pois podem entrar potenciais inimigos. Ao longo do conto, a impossibilidade da criação de um mundo só nosso caminha com a impossibilidade de nos desligarmos completamente do mundo onde vivemos.
A certa altura, o pequeno animal nada mais faz do que correr de corredor em corredor, atrás da origem de um ruído que não tem a certeza se está a ouvir. A consciência da imperfeição do seu covil torna-o incontornavelmente obsessivo e sem controlo nas suas acções. Para quem procura um mundo só seu, solitário e silencioso, a consciência da imperfeição do seu próprio mundo pode levá-lo à loucura. Se vivermos com medo, estaremos constantemente preocupados em defender-nos do que nos assusta.
"O Covil" é um outro mundo, que oferece tranquilidade e paz. No entanto, a segurança anda de mãos dadas com o perigo. A entrada do abrigo representa esperança, mas também ameaça. A mente onde nos fechamos é também a porta para os outros chegarem ate nós. Apesar da segurança que desejamos e dos esforços que fazemos para a obter, nunca a podermos obter completamente.
Tal como no livro "A Metamorfose", Kafka usa o diálogo interior para relatar a experiência emocional de um animal, como se ele próprio, o autor, não existisse e todos os sentimentos complexos e pensamentos conscientes e racionais não fossem de um ser humano.
"É como se, no exacto momento em que regressei ao meu covil, tivesse despertado de um longo e profundo sono."
Kakfa narra a partir da mente do protagonista, um animal de pequeno porte solitário, que vive num covil que construiu com o seu esforço. O covil é bastante simples por fora, mas no interior esconde um labirinto de corredores, diferentes câmaras e uma divisão que é o forte.
O animal vê o abrigo como uma segurança que nunca o mantém totalmente seguro do mundo exterior. Por vezes tentamos proteger-nos a nós mesmos do mundo que nos rodeia: travamos uma luta entre a nossa mente e a realidade. Mas será possível construirmos e vivermos num mundo só nosso, independente do mundo inteiro?
O pequeno animal, dominado pela ansiedade e o medo de ser atacado por inimigos que não vê, preocupa-se constantemente com um ataque que não sabe se vai acontecer. Da mesma forma, se nos excluirmos do mundo e nos isolarmos na nossa mente, não iremos de encontro à preocupação excessiva com o que se passa no mundo onde não estamos e à falha em compreender o que está acontecer e porque razão acontece?
Por muito que o pequeno animal tente viver apenas no seu covil, o seu mundo está dependente do mundo exterior para obter comida e ar. Mas a entrada que lhe permite obter essas necessidades básica apresenta-se como a maior ameaça, pois podem entrar potenciais inimigos. Ao longo do conto, a impossibilidade da criação de um mundo só nosso caminha com a impossibilidade de nos desligarmos completamente do mundo onde vivemos.
A certa altura, o pequeno animal nada mais faz do que correr de corredor em corredor, atrás da origem de um ruído que não tem a certeza se está a ouvir. A consciência da imperfeição do seu covil torna-o incontornavelmente obsessivo e sem controlo nas suas acções. Para quem procura um mundo só seu, solitário e silencioso, a consciência da imperfeição do seu próprio mundo pode levá-lo à loucura. Se vivermos com medo, estaremos constantemente preocupados em defender-nos do que nos assusta.
"O Covil" é um outro mundo, que oferece tranquilidade e paz. No entanto, a segurança anda de mãos dadas com o perigo. A entrada do abrigo representa esperança, mas também ameaça. A mente onde nos fechamos é também a porta para os outros chegarem ate nós. Apesar da segurança que desejamos e dos esforços que fazemos para a obter, nunca a podermos obter completamente.
Tal como no livro "A Metamorfose", Kafka usa o diálogo interior para relatar a experiência emocional de um animal, como se ele próprio, o autor, não existisse e todos os sentimentos complexos e pensamentos conscientes e racionais não fossem de um ser humano.
"É como se, no exacto momento em que regressei ao meu covil, tivesse despertado de um longo e profundo sono."
June 30, 2014
A muddy hole in the ground becomes a great castle
30 June 2014
The more of Kafka's stories that I read the stranger they seem to become. Well, it is not that the next one is stranger than the last, but rather that are all on the same level of strangeness. I guess that is what comes from somebody who has spent a bulk of his life working in the 19th Century version of Workcover. Hey, I work for an insurance company basically doing what Kafka did and, well, to be honest with you, it is driving me nuts as well. However, unlike Kafka, I don't have a PhD in Law, which makes you wonder what he was doing working in an insurance company processing personal injury claims.
From reading this story I gather than the person, or thing, telling you the story is a mole, though I am not all that willing to stake my life on that preposition. Okay, somebody has suggested that a statement where the narrator talks about a part of its forehead being used to burrow suggests that it is a mole, but there is another part of the story where the narrator suggests that it can see, and as far as I know moles are blind (though since I am not a zoologists, just some chump working for an insurance company, I cannot say for sure).
Anyway, the narrator, who appears to be a burrowing mammal of some sort, spends the entire story telling us about its burrow. However, the interesting thing about this story is that this particular mammal is describing this burrow from its point of view, which makes the whole labyrinthine structure so much more interesting. This is what I love about Kafka in that he seems to have the knack of turning one of the most boring things into a fascinating discussion. For instance, the main room is referred to as the 'Great Castle', while in reality it is just a muddy hole in the ground. The narrator also goes into intricate detail on how it stores its food, and also tells us about the beast that lurks nearby (though we don't know what the beast is, just that it is a beast). This is another thing that I love about Kafka, and that is that the way he uses language means that what he is describing could be anything. Once again, like Investigations of a Dog, we are seeing the world through the eyes of something that is not human, meaning that the world that we are looking at is not the human world.
In many ways Kafka's writings are absurd in that they expose the absurdity of life. Here we have a burrowing mammal who is describing what is in effect a muddy hole in the ground as if it were some exotic fortress and some fantastic palace. Yet we, the reader, know that it is little more than a hole in the ground. Yet, in another way it is an exotic fortress and a fantastic palace because that is how the owner sees the burrow. In a way it is our perception of something that counts, and not somebody else's, and the only reason that they may be suggesting that it is anything but is because they are jealous or envious of maybe, not so much the burrow, but the owner's happiness in inhabiting the burrow. Maybe then that is what the beast is, the jealous and envious person that goes out of its way to destroy one's happiness.
30 June 2014
The more of Kafka's stories that I read the stranger they seem to become. Well, it is not that the next one is stranger than the last, but rather that are all on the same level of strangeness. I guess that is what comes from somebody who has spent a bulk of his life working in the 19th Century version of Workcover. Hey, I work for an insurance company basically doing what Kafka did and, well, to be honest with you, it is driving me nuts as well. However, unlike Kafka, I don't have a PhD in Law, which makes you wonder what he was doing working in an insurance company processing personal injury claims.
From reading this story I gather than the person, or thing, telling you the story is a mole, though I am not all that willing to stake my life on that preposition. Okay, somebody has suggested that a statement where the narrator talks about a part of its forehead being used to burrow suggests that it is a mole, but there is another part of the story where the narrator suggests that it can see, and as far as I know moles are blind (though since I am not a zoologists, just some chump working for an insurance company, I cannot say for sure).
Anyway, the narrator, who appears to be a burrowing mammal of some sort, spends the entire story telling us about its burrow. However, the interesting thing about this story is that this particular mammal is describing this burrow from its point of view, which makes the whole labyrinthine structure so much more interesting. This is what I love about Kafka in that he seems to have the knack of turning one of the most boring things into a fascinating discussion. For instance, the main room is referred to as the 'Great Castle', while in reality it is just a muddy hole in the ground. The narrator also goes into intricate detail on how it stores its food, and also tells us about the beast that lurks nearby (though we don't know what the beast is, just that it is a beast). This is another thing that I love about Kafka, and that is that the way he uses language means that what he is describing could be anything. Once again, like Investigations of a Dog, we are seeing the world through the eyes of something that is not human, meaning that the world that we are looking at is not the human world.
In many ways Kafka's writings are absurd in that they expose the absurdity of life. Here we have a burrowing mammal who is describing what is in effect a muddy hole in the ground as if it were some exotic fortress and some fantastic palace. Yet we, the reader, know that it is little more than a hole in the ground. Yet, in another way it is an exotic fortress and a fantastic palace because that is how the owner sees the burrow. In a way it is our perception of something that counts, and not somebody else's, and the only reason that they may be suggesting that it is anything but is because they are jealous or envious of maybe, not so much the burrow, but the owner's happiness in inhabiting the burrow. Maybe then that is what the beast is, the jealous and envious person that goes out of its way to destroy one's happiness.
March 7, 2020
4.5/5 ✨
“...if one had to choose between staying all one's life in the Castle Keep or in the free space outside it, one would choose the latter, content to wander up and down there all one's days and keep guard over the Castle Keep”.
💭 Are you for real?! If you are not going to make use of it, why build it? If you only find comfort in staring at it, why build it to perfection? Isn't your first reason in building It was to protect yourself from any harm? .
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“Should I reconstruct this part of my burrow?”
💭Do you know where this leading to? Every page is like inserting a needle into your body. I picked this book without knowing what it's about, except judging of the title, it's about digging? I was clueless. Before going ahead I should tell that this book talks endlessly on anxiety and insecurity. My first thought was like: ‘ I beg of you do not intend to read this book if you're not in the right state of mind!! It will kill your mood. You'll become more depressed as you continued.’ Weirdly today as I continued, I didn't oppose it as much, in fact, I could feel the agony of wanting everything to be in perfect order. Strangely, I got teary. I want to tell him that it's alright. YOU'LL BE SAFE. It's very unfortunate though. If he takes a different measure, seizes the moment, doesn't overthink and just enjoy it, then that would be a different matter. His anxiety is his self-destruction.
“...if one had to choose between staying all one's life in the Castle Keep or in the free space outside it, one would choose the latter, content to wander up and down there all one's days and keep guard over the Castle Keep”.
💭 Are you for real?! If you are not going to make use of it, why build it? If you only find comfort in staring at it, why build it to perfection? Isn't your first reason in building It was to protect yourself from any harm? .
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.
“Should I reconstruct this part of my burrow?”
💭Do you know where this leading to? Every page is like inserting a needle into your body. I picked this book without knowing what it's about, except judging of the title, it's about digging? I was clueless. Before going ahead I should tell that this book talks endlessly on anxiety and insecurity. My first thought was like: ‘ I beg of you do not intend to read this book if you're not in the right state of mind!! It will kill your mood. You'll become more depressed as you continued.’ Weirdly today as I continued, I didn't oppose it as much, in fact, I could feel the agony of wanting everything to be in perfect order. Strangely, I got teary. I want to tell him that it's alright. YOU'LL BE SAFE. It's very unfortunate though. If he takes a different measure, seizes the moment, doesn't overthink and just enjoy it, then that would be a different matter. His anxiety is his self-destruction.
August 31, 2024
آیا این نقب قرار است مرا به یقین برساند؟ من به مرحلهای رسیدهام که دیگر اشتیاقی به یقین ندارم
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مواجهه با کافکا برای من انگار درون میدانی از خوف و رجای سکولار اتفاق میوفته؛ ترس از بلعیده شدن در سیاهچاله، در مالیخولیا و امید به نجات پیدا کردن از میان این جملات بیپایان... (امید چه تعبیر عجیبیه برای این رهایی)
علاوه بر اون، شکلی از همانگاری چندشآور میان راوی اول شخص سوبژکتیو (خرِ خاکی غول)، کافکا و خواننده درونگرای بیچاره رخ میده که آقای نویسنده با روایت انسانی-رئالیستی اون موجود، خواننده رو دیوانه میکنه... جوری از درون ذهن حیوانات حرف میزنه که باور میکنیم که این موجود ذهن یه انسان وسواسی رو داره و این حرفهای یه انسانه (روانپریش؟)، برای همین، گاهاً که روی جزئیات حرکات حیوانات کوچکتر ریز میشم (حیوانات کافکایی که انگار دیگه بالاخره میتونم دوست داشته باشمشون؛ مثل رو نگرفتن از تماشای یک موش...) حس میکنم که درون وسواس عجیب و غریبی غوطه میخورن؛ از این جنبه شاید بزرگترین هیستریکها حیوانات باشند و ما وسواسیهای لجوجِ نیمه حیوان-نیمه خدا به فکر رهایی از این ارتباط، بیشتر و بیشتر توی باتلاقِ خودمون فرو میریم. هر ثانیه جزئیات بیشتر میشن و تصویر امید نجات تنها زمانی واضحتر میشه که بتونیم دربارهی تمام جزئیات به قدر کافی فکر کرده باشیم؛ اما حیف که حالا پیرتر از اونیم که بتونیم دوباره از اول شروع کنیم...
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این بار سعی میکردم مچ کافکا رو بگیریم، سعی میکردم یه جملهی بیربط (توی قضیهای که از اساس بیربط به نظر میاد) پیدا کنم، جایی رو که داستان ریتمش رو از دست میده. جایی که خرخاکی-من رو به مزخرفگوئی بیاره ولی کافکا -این پدر تمام رئالیستای جادوئی- دقیقاً میدونه تا کجا پیش بره. ریتم رو از دست نمیده و در قلب هر جملهش انگار ضرورتی پنهان وجود داره که به سادگی به فهم نمیاد، دیریابه و وقتی توش گیر افتادی قبول میکنی که خرِ خاکی هستی...
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یکی از المانهای مهم توی اکثر نقدهایی که به آثار میشه پایان بندیشونه.
چه آثاری که در یک لحظه سعی میکنن منطق کل چیزی رو که دیدی و خوندی رو تغییر بدن و با شکلی از تغییر راوی مجازی داستان رو جمع کنند (فایت کلاب طور: این خیلی عجیبه برای اینکه ذهن باور نکنه که کلک خورده باید منطق جدید ابداع کنه و کل قضیه رو بهش الصاق کنه، بچسبونه). ولی باید قبول کرد که هر پایانی در نهایت تا مغز استخوان ایدئولوژیکه (واژهی سرانجام شکل بامزهای از یه بازی زبانی رو عرضه میکنه؛ یعنی تکلیف «سرت» چی میشه؟ :)). در این صورت تنها پایان قابل قبول مرگه و شیادانهترینِ تمام پایانها: در سعادت تمام، به خوبی و خوشی زندگی کردند
یکی از مثالهای جالب توی این مورد «رازهای سرزمین من» رضا براهنیه که هر شخصیت دقیقاً تا جایی توی داستان هست که کشته میشه (برای همین ابتدا قرار بوده اسمش، پیش از آنکه سرها بیفتد، باشه). با اینکه این ایده سختیهای تکنیکی زیادی به وجود میاره ولی در نهایت در حد یه تجربهی فرمال باقی میمونه و توی شکلی از ایدئولوژی محو میشه. ولی برای کافکا هیچکدوم از اینها مهم نیست، چون درنهایت بزرگترین ایدئولوژی، سوپر اِگوی ماست. ضرورتی بیمعنی که کورکورانه باید ازش پیروی کرد. نوشتن در مورد رنج روزمره، رنجی که جوری بدخیم درونت ریشه کرده که فقط با مردن میشه ازش خلاص شد («تنها تصور ما از مفهوم زمان باعث میشود تا داوری واپسین را بدین نام بخوانیم. در حقیقت روز داوری، یک دادگاه صحرائی دائمیست»). از اینجنبه هر داستان نیمهکارهی کافکا، هر روایتِ تماماً صادقانهی کافکا حقیقیترین پایانیه که میتونه برای زندگی وجود داشته باشه: تکرار هر روزهی محاکمه و رنج عظیم دقیقاً در همین نکتهست: این محاکمهست که تو رو زنده نگه میداره. این همون آغازگاه، همون تکیهگاهیه که باید ازش شروع کرد. هرچند همه ما میدونیم (هرچند نمیخواهیم قبول کنیم) و کافکا پذیرفته بود که همهی این نمایش یه دروغ بزرگه. اگه بیننده، خدا (سوپر اگوی اعلا) باشه وسط کار میتونه، لبخند بزنه، دست بزنه و دستورِ Show Must Go On رو صادر کنه
و در نهایت تاناتوس، مثل یه تاریکیِ گشوده، یه اَبَرپایان، (که توی اکثر آثار بی اهمیت دیگه به شکلی نمایشی از مرگ دور میشه تا به زندگی برسه؛ دروغ محض) بیرون مسیر نشسته و تقلای ما رو تماشا میکنه. از این جنبه، کافکا نویسندهی مرگه و به شکلی از سعادت ابدی معتقد نیست. ما از روز تولد داغ مرگمون رو توی پیشانیمون داریم و این پایان -شاید فقط برای ماها!- وقتی خوش تلقی میشه که در هر لحظه مرگ رو درک کرده باشیم. اون موقع میتونیم بیلی پیلگریمِ حقیقی خودمون باشیم.
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...از آنجا کاملاً دور میشوم و تقریباً تا نیمه راه دالان منتهی به اتاقک بعدی حرکت میکنم. در واقع این کار را از سر شوخی انجام میدهم. چنان که گویی میخواهم به خود ثابت کنم که منشا این مزاحمت در اتاق مورد علاقهم نیست بلکه آن را در هر جای دیگر نیز میتوان یافت و با لبخند شروع میکنیم به گوش کردن. اما به زودی لبخند از لبانم محو میشود. چرا که واقعاً هم همان صفیر را در اینجا نیز میشنوم. واقعاً هیچ چیز نیست و گاه�� میاندیشم که کسی جز من این صدا را نمیشنود. اما در واقع درست در چنین لحظهای آن را واضحتر از همیشه میشنوم، در چنین لحظهای که گوش من در اثر تمرین، کوک و میزان شده است صدا را واضحتر میشنوم. هر چند که با مقایسه تاثراتم اثبات این امر آسان است که این صدا در واقع در همهجا دقیقاً یکسان است و وقتی به جای گوش خواباندن بر دیوار، از میان راهرو به صدا گوش میدهم، کشف میکنم که صدای کذایی به تدریج بلندتر نمیشود. آنگاه تنها با فشار زیادی که بر گوش خود وارد میکنم و از طریق گوش کردن با جذبه کامل میتوانم ببیش از آن که بشنوم جسته و گریخته اثر بسیار ضعیفی را از این صدا حدس بزنم. اما دقیقاً همین یکدست بودن صدا در همهجاست که بیش از هرچیزی مرا آزار میدهد، زیرا این یکدستی با فرضیهی اصلی من به هیچ وجه نمیخواند. اگر حدسِ من راجع به علت و منشا صدا درست بود صدا میبایست از نقطهای معین که تا حالا میبایست کشف شده باشد با حداکثر شدت صادر میشد و سپس به نسبت دوری از آن نقطه کم کم ضعیفتر و ضعیفتر میگردید. اما اگر توضیحات من صحیح نباشد، پس توضیح درست چه میتواند باشد؟
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مواجهه با کافکا برای من انگار درون میدانی از خوف و رجای سکولار اتفاق میوفته؛ ترس از بلعیده شدن در سیاهچاله، در مالیخولیا و امید به نجات پیدا کردن از میان این جملات بیپایان... (امید چه تعبیر عجیبیه برای این رهایی)
علاوه بر اون، شکلی از همانگاری چندشآور میان راوی اول شخص سوبژکتیو (خرِ خاکی غول)، کافکا و خواننده درونگرای بیچاره رخ میده که آقای نویسنده با روایت انسانی-رئالیستی اون موجود، خواننده رو دیوانه میکنه... جوری از درون ذهن حیوانات حرف میزنه که باور میکنیم که این موجود ذهن یه انسان وسواسی رو داره و این حرفهای یه انسانه (روانپریش؟)، برای همین، گاهاً که روی جزئیات حرکات حیوانات کوچکتر ریز میشم (حیوانات کافکایی که انگار دیگه بالاخره میتونم دوست داشته باشمشون؛ مثل رو نگرفتن از تماشای یک موش...) حس میکنم که درون وسواس عجیب و غریبی غوطه میخورن؛ از این جنبه شاید بزرگترین هیستریکها حیوانات باشند و ما وسواسیهای لجوجِ نیمه حیوان-نیمه خدا به فکر رهایی از این ارتباط، بیشتر و بیشتر توی باتلاقِ خودمون فرو میریم. هر ثانیه جزئیات بیشتر میشن و تصویر امید نجات تنها زمانی واضحتر میشه که بتونیم دربارهی تمام جزئیات به قدر کافی فکر کرده باشیم؛ اما حیف که حالا پیرتر از اونیم که بتونیم دوباره از اول شروع کنیم...
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این بار سعی میکردم مچ کافکا رو بگیریم، سعی میکردم یه جملهی بیربط (توی قضیهای که از اساس بیربط به نظر میاد) پیدا کنم، جایی رو که داستان ریتمش رو از دست میده. جایی که خرخاکی-من رو به مزخرفگوئی بیاره ولی کافکا -این پدر تمام رئالیستای جادوئی- دقیقاً میدونه تا کجا پیش بره. ریتم رو از دست نمیده و در قلب هر جملهش انگار ضرورتی پنهان وجود داره که به سادگی به فهم نمیاد، دیریابه و وقتی توش گیر افتادی قبول میکنی که خرِ خاکی هستی...
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یکی از المانهای مهم توی اکثر نقدهایی که به آثار میشه پایان بندیشونه.
چه آثاری که در یک لحظه سعی میکنن منطق کل چیزی رو که دیدی و خوندی رو تغییر بدن و با شکلی از تغییر راوی مجازی داستان رو جمع کنند (فایت کلاب طور: این خیلی عجیبه برای اینکه ذهن باور نکنه که کلک خورده باید منطق جدید ابداع کنه و کل قضیه رو بهش الصاق کنه، بچسبونه). ولی باید قبول کرد که هر پایانی در نهایت تا مغز استخوان ایدئولوژیکه (واژهی سرانجام شکل بامزهای از یه بازی زبانی رو عرضه میکنه؛ یعنی تکلیف «سرت» چی میشه؟ :)). در این صورت تنها پایان قابل قبول مرگه و شیادانهترینِ تمام پایانها: در سعادت تمام، به خوبی و خوشی زندگی کردند
یکی از مثالهای جالب توی این مورد «رازهای سرزمین من» رضا براهنیه که هر شخصیت دقیقاً تا جایی توی داستان هست که کشته میشه (برای همین ابتدا قرار بوده اسمش، پیش از آنکه سرها بیفتد، باشه). با اینکه این ایده سختیهای تکنیکی زیادی به وجود میاره ولی در نهایت در حد یه تجربهی فرمال باقی میمونه و توی شکلی از ایدئولوژی محو میشه. ولی برای کافکا هیچکدوم از اینها مهم نیست، چون درنهایت بزرگترین ایدئولوژی، سوپر اِگوی ماست. ضرورتی بیمعنی که کورکورانه باید ازش پیروی کرد. نوشتن در مورد رنج روزمره، رنجی که جوری بدخیم درونت ریشه کرده که فقط با مردن میشه ازش خلاص شد («تنها تصور ما از مفهوم زمان باعث میشود تا داوری واپسین را بدین نام بخوانیم. در حقیقت روز داوری، یک دادگاه صحرائی دائمیست»). از اینجنبه هر داستان نیمهکارهی کافکا، هر روایتِ تماماً صادقانهی کافکا حقیقیترین پایانیه که میتونه برای زندگی وجود داشته باشه: تکرار هر روزهی محاکمه و رنج عظیم دقیقاً در همین نکتهست: این محاکمهست که تو رو زنده نگه میداره. این همون آغازگاه، همون تکیهگاهیه که باید ازش شروع کرد. هرچند همه ما میدونیم (هرچند نمیخواهیم قبول کنیم) و کافکا پذیرفته بود که همهی این نمایش یه دروغ بزرگه. اگه بیننده، خدا (سوپر اگوی اعلا) باشه وسط کار میتونه، لبخند بزنه، دست بزنه و دستورِ Show Must Go On رو صادر کنه
و در نهایت تاناتوس، مثل یه تاریکیِ گشوده، یه اَبَرپایان، (که توی اکثر آثار بی اهمیت دیگه به شکلی نمایشی از مرگ دور میشه تا به زندگی برسه؛ دروغ محض) بیرون مسیر نشسته و تقلای ما رو تماشا میکنه. از این جنبه، کافکا نویسندهی مرگه و به شکلی از سعادت ابدی معتقد نیست. ما از روز تولد داغ مرگمون رو توی پیشانیمون داریم و این پایان -شاید فقط برای ماها!- وقتی خوش تلقی میشه که در هر لحظه مرگ رو درک کرده باشیم. اون موقع میتونیم بیلی پیلگریمِ حقیقی خودمون باشیم.
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...از آنجا کاملاً دور میشوم و تقریباً تا نیمه راه دالان منتهی به اتاقک بعدی حرکت میکنم. در واقع این کار را از سر شوخی انجام میدهم. چنان که گویی میخواهم به خود ثابت کنم که منشا این مزاحمت در اتاق مورد علاقهم نیست بلکه آن را در هر جای دیگر نیز میتوان یافت و با لبخند شروع میکنیم به گوش کردن. اما به زودی لبخند از لبانم محو میشود. چرا که واقعاً هم همان صفیر را در اینجا نیز میشنوم. واقعاً هیچ چیز نیست و گاه�� میاندیشم که کسی جز من این صدا را نمیشنود. اما در واقع درست در چنین لحظهای آن را واضحتر از همیشه میشنوم، در چنین لحظهای که گوش من در اثر تمرین، کوک و میزان شده است صدا را واضحتر میشنوم. هر چند که با مقایسه تاثراتم اثبات این امر آسان است که این صدا در واقع در همهجا دقیقاً یکسان است و وقتی به جای گوش خواباندن بر دیوار، از میان راهرو به صدا گوش میدهم، کشف میکنم که صدای کذایی به تدریج بلندتر نمیشود. آنگاه تنها با فشار زیادی که بر گوش خود وارد میکنم و از طریق گوش کردن با جذبه کامل میتوانم ببیش از آن که بشنوم جسته و گریخته اثر بسیار ضعیفی را از این صدا حدس بزنم. اما دقیقاً همین یکدست بودن صدا در همهجاست که بیش از هرچیزی مرا آزار میدهد، زیرا این یکدستی با فرضیهی اصلی من به هیچ وجه نمیخواند. اگر حدسِ من راجع به علت و منشا صدا درست بود صدا میبایست از نقطهای معین که تا حالا میبایست کشف شده باشد با حداکثر شدت صادر میشد و سپس به نسبت دوری از آن نقطه کم کم ضعیفتر و ضعیفتر میگردید. اما اگر توضیحات من صحیح نباشد، پس توضیح درست چه میتواند باشد؟
February 10, 2023
قدرت مندترین وجه قلم مرگبار کافکا در هویت بخشی به تجربه زندگی ست،در هر قالبی که باشد ذهن کافکا آنچنان تواناست که دغدغه حیات را در هر ظرفی میتواند به حقیقی ترین شکل به کلمات تبدیل کند،کلمانی که با خواندنشان گویی ما نیز محسور حیات مخلوقات کافکا می شویم،مخلوقاتی که هرگز از آنچه خود حس می کنیم دور نیستند،گویی آنان نیز در جوامع ما و در کالبد ما زیسته اند..فابل های کافکا گاه از حیات معمولی انسان ها نیز انسانی تر اند.
November 28, 2021
حیوانِ ارائه شده در «نقب» را میتوان كنایهای از خود كافكا دانست كه فاصلهگیری از هیاهوی روزمره را نیز برای نویسندگی كافی نمیداند. او چیزی فراتر از این شرایط را جستجو میكند. به نظر كافكا «سكوتِ اطراف آدم در موقع نوشتن كفایت نمیكند و حتی شب هم به اندازه كافی شب نیست.» مأمن او برای نویسندگی «درونیترین اتاقك یك سرداب بزرگ دربسته» است. این سرداب بزرگ دربسته در نقب بنا میشود. جایی كه شخصیت اصلی (حیوان- نویسندهای سختكوش) با تلاشی شگرف و پایانناپذیر در دل زمین هزارتویی قلعهوار بنا میكند و در آن جای میگیرد
April 18, 2025
Nouvelle très courte et inachevée, écrite par l'auteur 6 mois avant sa mort. Se lit ou s'écoute d'une traite. Long monologue d'un personnage anthropomorphe qui perd la raison en tentant de se construire un terrier, acculé par des forces / ennemis extérieurs.
Une lecture complète est disponible sur le compte YouTube de France Culture.
Une lecture complète est disponible sur le compte YouTube de France Culture.
May 1, 2014
الإنسان في مواجهة الآخر.. دائما الإنسان في مواجهة الآخر عند كافكا..
و دائما كل ما يحيط بالإنسان هو بمثابة خطر عليه مهما كان هذا الشئ أو الشخص..
ماذا يفعل الإنسان عندما يشعر بهذا التهديد الدائم من الآخرين؟ ماذا يفعل الإنسان عندما يشعر أنه خائف من التعامل مع كل شئ؟ أو بالأحرى غير قادر مع التعامل مع أي شئ؟
الحل بسيط.. إنه جحر صغير... عرين.. كهف.. مأوي بسيط يخفيك عن الأنظار!
بطل الرواية يفعل هذا.. يبني لنفسه جحرا أو عرينا.. يسميه قلعته أو حصنه.. يحتمي فيه من كل أخطار الحياة.. ينعزل فيه عن الناس.. أو انه في الحقيقة حيوان؟ فأر صغير؟ لا أعلم بالتحديد لأن طوال أحداث القصة لم يصرح كافكا بهذا..
على أي حال سواء كان فأرا أو إنسانا.. فالنتيجة واحدة.. إنه شخص يهرب من مواجهة الحياة بأنه ينعزل في جحر خاص به.. يظل يبنيه حسبما يري هو.. إنها رمزية لحياته التي يبنيها حسبما يراها .. و لكنه في أثناء وجوده مع الناس فإنه لن يستطيع أبدا أن يبني حياته كما ينبغي.. سيظل دائما تحت رحمة الآخرين.. الذين أيضا يريدون بناء حياتهم كما يريدون.. و من هنا ينشأ الصراع و الصدام الدائم بين الإنسان و بين الآخر.. و هو الصراع الذي يظل متواجد دائما عند أبطال كافكا.. فهم دائما في حالة إنغلاق و أنعزال عن الشعور المجتمعي العام.. أو هو الشعور الإنساني بشكل أدق؟!
البطل يبني حياته كما يحب.. يبني حصنه حسبما يفكر و يريد.. و لكنه لا يستطيع الإنعزال كليا.. فلابد له من فتحات للحصول على الهواء و الطعام.. و هو أيضا لابد له من مدخل مفتوح دائما ليسهل عليه الهروب عند مواجهة الخطر.. فلو أنه قد احكم إعلاق حصنه هذا من كل الجهات فسيجد نفسه محاصرا و سيموت ... و هنا تظهر المشكلة.. فهو لا يستطيع أن يعزل نفسه كليا و يبني حياته حسبما يريد.. فهو يحتاج للآخرين أحيانا.. و هذا الإحتياج مهما حاول الإنسان الإستغناء عنه في معظم الأوقات فإنه سيأتي وقت ما تكون الحاجة ملحة .. و هى التي رمز لها كافكا بالهواء و الطعام.. الذان يتوقف عليهما حياة الإنسان بأكمله..
و كما انها لا يستطيع أن يعزل نفسه كليا.. فهو إذن لا يعيش في حصن حقيقي.. و لا يعيش حياته كما يريدها بالفعل.. بل هو يتنازل عن كثير من الاشياء و في المقابل لا يربح شيئا..
الأسوأ هو ان تنعزل و تبني جحرك كما تخطط .. تبني حياتك كما تريد.. ثم تتوقف لتكتشف انك قد أخطأت.. و انك قد أضعت عمرك بأكمله في طريق خاطئ.. ستظل تلوم نفسك كثيرا.. و لكن الوقت قد فات و حصنك أصبح سهل الإختراق.. و حياتك أصبحت هشة ضعيفة..
ثم ياتي الخطر.. و تشعر بالتهديد يلوح حول حصنك.. تشعر بإقتراب الآخرين من حياتك المنعزلة.. إنك لا تدرك أبعاد هذا الخطر. لا تدرك ماهيته.. لا تدرك هدفه.. لكنك تدرك شيئا واحدا .. أنه لن يكن في مصلحتك.. هذا الشك الدائم... هذا الشعور بعدم الآمان بالرغم من كل ما فعلته.. هل نحن نتحكم في حياتنا إذن؟ هل نستطيع أن نصنعها بأيدينا و نشعر فيها بالراحة و السعادة؟ هذا لم يحدث.. البطل أنهارت كل دفاعته بمجرد الشعور بالخطر الخفي و لكنه يحاول أن يطمئن نفسه بأن يقنعها بأن الخطر لا يعرف انه موجود..
القصة تطرح إشكالية الحياة مع الآخر.. و لكن يعيبها هو الطول المبالغ فيه.. فالجمل التي تحمل نفس الأفكار ترددت أكثر من مرة .. مما جعلني متململا قليلا أبحث عن الانتهاء منها بأقصى سرعة.. كانت لتصبح قصة جيدة جدا لو كانت أقصر من هذا بكثير..
و دائما كل ما يحيط بالإنسان هو بمثابة خطر عليه مهما كان هذا الشئ أو الشخص..
ماذا يفعل الإنسان عندما يشعر بهذا التهديد الدائم من الآخرين؟ ماذا يفعل الإنسان عندما يشعر أنه خائف من التعامل مع كل شئ؟ أو بالأحرى غير قادر مع التعامل مع أي شئ؟
الحل بسيط.. إنه جحر صغير... عرين.. كهف.. مأوي بسيط يخفيك عن الأنظار!
بطل الرواية يفعل هذا.. يبني لنفسه جحرا أو عرينا.. يسميه قلعته أو حصنه.. يحتمي فيه من كل أخطار الحياة.. ينعزل فيه عن الناس.. أو انه في الحقيقة حيوان؟ فأر صغير؟ لا أعلم بالتحديد لأن طوال أحداث القصة لم يصرح كافكا بهذا..
على أي حال سواء كان فأرا أو إنسانا.. فالنتيجة واحدة.. إنه شخص يهرب من مواجهة الحياة بأنه ينعزل في جحر خاص به.. يظل يبنيه حسبما يري هو.. إنها رمزية لحياته التي يبنيها حسبما يراها .. و لكنه في أثناء وجوده مع الناس فإنه لن يستطيع أبدا أن يبني حياته كما ينبغي.. سيظل دائما تحت رحمة الآخرين.. الذين أيضا يريدون بناء حياتهم كما يريدون.. و من هنا ينشأ الصراع و الصدام الدائم بين الإنسان و بين الآخر.. و هو الصراع الذي يظل متواجد دائما عند أبطال كافكا.. فهم دائما في حالة إنغلاق و أنعزال عن الشعور المجتمعي العام.. أو هو الشعور الإنساني بشكل أدق؟!
البطل يبني حياته كما يحب.. يبني حصنه حسبما يفكر و يريد.. و لكنه لا يستطيع الإنعزال كليا.. فلابد له من فتحات للحصول على الهواء و الطعام.. و هو أيضا لابد له من مدخل مفتوح دائما ليسهل عليه الهروب عند مواجهة الخطر.. فلو أنه قد احكم إعلاق حصنه هذا من كل الجهات فسيجد نفسه محاصرا و سيموت ... و هنا تظهر المشكلة.. فهو لا يستطيع أن يعزل نفسه كليا و يبني حياته حسبما يريد.. فهو يحتاج للآخرين أحيانا.. و هذا الإحتياج مهما حاول الإنسان الإستغناء عنه في معظم الأوقات فإنه سيأتي وقت ما تكون الحاجة ملحة .. و هى التي رمز لها كافكا بالهواء و الطعام.. الذان يتوقف عليهما حياة الإنسان بأكمله..
و كما انها لا يستطيع أن يعزل نفسه كليا.. فهو إذن لا يعيش في حصن حقيقي.. و لا يعيش حياته كما يريدها بالفعل.. بل هو يتنازل عن كثير من الاشياء و في المقابل لا يربح شيئا..
الأسوأ هو ان تنعزل و تبني جحرك كما تخطط .. تبني حياتك كما تريد.. ثم تتوقف لتكتشف انك قد أخطأت.. و انك قد أضعت عمرك بأكمله في طريق خاطئ.. ستظل تلوم نفسك كثيرا.. و لكن الوقت قد فات و حصنك أصبح سهل الإختراق.. و حياتك أصبحت هشة ضعيفة..
ثم ياتي الخطر.. و تشعر بالتهديد يلوح حول حصنك.. تشعر بإقتراب الآخرين من حياتك المنعزلة.. إنك لا تدرك أبعاد هذا الخطر. لا تدرك ماهيته.. لا تدرك هدفه.. لكنك تدرك شيئا واحدا .. أنه لن يكن في مصلحتك.. هذا الشك الدائم... هذا الشعور بعدم الآمان بالرغم من كل ما فعلته.. هل نحن نتحكم في حياتنا إذن؟ هل نستطيع أن نصنعها بأيدينا و نشعر فيها بالراحة و السعادة؟ هذا لم يحدث.. البطل أنهارت كل دفاعته بمجرد الشعور بالخطر الخفي و لكنه يحاول أن يطمئن نفسه بأن يقنعها بأن الخطر لا يعرف انه موجود..
القصة تطرح إشكالية الحياة مع الآخر.. و لكن يعيبها هو الطول المبالغ فيه.. فالجمل التي تحمل نفس الأفكار ترددت أكثر من مرة .. مما جعلني متململا قليلا أبحث عن الانتهاء منها بأقصى سرعة.. كانت لتصبح قصة جيدة جدا لو كانت أقصر من هذا بكثير..
April 30, 2015
يا إلهي ما هذا الكافكا!!!
مبدع مدهش كئيب سوداوي عبقري،، كوكتيل مرعب لذيذ
كل كلمة لها وقع خاص في النفس،،،
أنشأ له عالماً خاصاً بعيداً عن كل متاهات حيواتنا،، لعيش بمفرده داخل جحره الخاص لينعم بصمته لوحده،، لكنه يبقى يعيش في حالة من التقرب والشك لوجود كائنات وهمية تتربص به وتحاول اختراق عالمه،،،
مبدع كافكا مبدع بكل ما يكتب
مبدع مدهش كئيب سوداوي عبقري،، كوكتيل مرعب لذيذ
كل كلمة لها وقع خاص في النفس،،،
أنشأ له عالماً خاصاً بعيداً عن كل متاهات حيواتنا،، لعيش بمفرده داخل جحره الخاص لينعم بصمته لوحده،، لكنه يبقى يعيش في حالة من التقرب والشك لوجود كائنات وهمية تتربص به وتحاول اختراق عالمه،،،
مبدع كافكا مبدع بكل ما يكتب
November 23, 2020
Benutzt übelst oft das Wort bau musste es für uni lesen bin übelst gut dazu eingepennt also cheers to that
February 27, 2021
como la persona pretenciosa que soy debo decir que me encanta kafka, pero que sea un relato inacabado me da rabia pero bueno las cosas que te mandan en la universidad 🙄
March 24, 2022
Maddening. I hope little animals dont really get this anxious about their little burrows
December 1, 2022
this book reminded me of all of my unfinished google docs, and why i love to write.
April 22, 2024
Τί αναπάντεχο αριστούργημα είναι (και) αυτή η νουβέλα του Κάφκα !
January 3, 2025
RIP Kafka. You would've loved Minecraft pvp games.
October 30, 2025
Me impressiona profundamente a capacidade de alguém escrever páginas e páginas sobre a sensação de um animal que cava uma cova para se proteger do mundo e, nesse processo, acaba ficando preso, tomado por uma ansiedade crescente e por uma alienação sufocante.
O texto inteiro é uma espécie de monólogo obsessivo, em que o protagonista (um rato? uma marmota? um inseto?) examina cada detalhe da toca, cada ruído, cada hipótese de invasão. O que começa como autopreservação se transforma em ansiedade existencial e, finalmente, em autodestruição.
Kafka nunca terminou de escrever o conto, e ele acaba bruscamente no meio de uma frase. Na ânsia de nos protegermos das ameaças externas, acabamos nos isolando dentro das nossas próprias defesas.
O texto inteiro é uma espécie de monólogo obsessivo, em que o protagonista (um rato? uma marmota? um inseto?) examina cada detalhe da toca, cada ruído, cada hipótese de invasão. O que começa como autopreservação se transforma em ansiedade existencial e, finalmente, em autodestruição.
Kafka nunca terminou de escrever o conto, e ele acaba bruscamente no meio de uma frase. Na ânsia de nos protegermos das ameaças externas, acabamos nos isolando dentro das nossas próprias defesas.
June 1, 2025
"Gerade die Vorsicht verlangt wie leider so oft, das Risiko des Lebens."
Ein wunderbares Bild für das, was Schreiben für Kafka bedeutete. Ein Rastplatz, eine Sicherheit, eine lähmende Angst, eine endlose, ermüdende, Körper und Geist an seine Grenzen bringende Arbeit, ein Labyrinth. Alles umfassende, tödliche, schmerzhafte und glückselige Liebe.
Ein wunderbares Bild für das, was Schreiben für Kafka bedeutete. Ein Rastplatz, eine Sicherheit, eine lähmende Angst, eine endlose, ermüdende, Körper und Geist an seine Grenzen bringende Arbeit, ein Labyrinth. Alles umfassende, tödliche, schmerzhafte und glückselige Liebe.
February 28, 2021
que esté sin terminar es un poco desconcertante, pero es la prueba definitiva de que la literatura es inherente a la vida
me ha encantado la verdad, se puede aplicar a muchos conflictos del pensamiento
me ha encantado la verdad, se puede aplicar a muchos conflictos del pensamiento
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