De la finitud

by Günter Grass

Brand New. Ship worldwide

Genres: Poetry, Essays, Nonfiction, Germany, Biography, Short Stories, German Literature

184 pages, Paperback

First published August 28, 2015

About the author

Novels, notably The Tin Drum (1959) and Dog Years (1963), of German writer Günter Wilhelm Grass, who won the Nobel Prize of 1999 for literature, concern the political and social climate of Germany during and after World War II.

This novelist, poet, playwright, illustrator, graphic artist, and sculptor since 1945 lived in West Germany but in his fiction frequently returned to the Danzig of his childhood. He always identified as a Kashubian.

He is best known for his first novel, The Tin Drum (1959), a key text in European magic realism. He named this style “broadened reality.” “Cat and Mouse” (1961) and Dog Years (1963) also succeeded in the period. These three novels make up his “Danzig trilogy.”

Helene Grass (née Knoff, 1898 - 1954), a Roman Catholic of Kashubian-Polish origin, bore Günter Grass to Willy Grass (1899 - 1979), a Protestant ethnic German. Parents reared Grass as a Catholic. The family lived in an apartment, attached to its grocery store in Danzig-Langfuhr (now Gdańsk-Wrzeszcz). He has one sister, born in 1930.

Grass attended the Danzig gymnasium Conradinum. He volunteered for submarine service with the Kriegsmarine "to get out of the confinement he felt as a teenager in his parents' house" which he considered - in a very negative way - civic Catholic lower middle class. In 1943 he became a Luftwaffenhelfer, then he was drafted into the Reichsarbeitsdienst, and in November 1944, shortly after his seventeenth birthday, into the Waffen-Schutzstaffel. The seventeen-year-old Grass saw combat with the 10th Schutzstaffel panzer division Frundsberg from February 1945 until he was wounded on 20 April 1945 and sent to an American prisoner of war camp.

In 1946 and 1947, he worked in a mine and received an education of a stonemason. For many years, he studied sculpture and graphics, first at the Kunstakademie Düsseldorf and then at the Universität der Künste Berlin. He also worked as an author and traveled frequently. He married in 1954 and from 1960 lived in Berlin as well as part-time in Schleswig-Holstein. Divorced in 1978, he remarried in 1979. From 1983 to 1986 he held the presidency of the Berlin Akademie der Künste (Berlin Academy of Arts).

During the German unification process in 1989 he argued for separation of the two states, because he thought a unified Germany would resume its past aggression. He moved to the northern German city of Lübeck in 1995. He was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1999. In 2006, Grass caused controversy with his disclosure of his Waffen-Schutzstaffel service during the final months of World War II, which he had kept a secret until publishing his memoir that year. He died of complications of lung infection on 13th of April, 2015 at a Lübeck hospital. He was 87.

Reviews

[Jonfaith · Rating 5 out of 5]

Who was the boy
lying on his back in the sand,
trying to direct
the traffic in that
wash-blue sky?

Herr Grass, oh I miss you. You have been the walking embodiment of literature all my life and now you have gone. Not too soon and not without shuffling the deck before bidding adieu. The wit of these poems, irked perhaps, asks to what effect? The verse is showered with wonderful illustrations. Grass finding infinite curiosity in the design of a feather or a weathered nail. The poems appropriately roost on the declining fortune of his teeth. Is there a more fitting anecdote than Grass was at the dentist when officials came to his house to inform him he'd won the Nobel Prize for Literature?

Grass creates a tension between this waiting to die business and the insatiable need to create. Many of the poems trawl across insomnia and note the available space for another few lines. There is a fascinating interlude where Grass describes how he and his wife design boxes (coffins) for their final resting. A local carpenter builds them and the happy couple give such a test run. Shortly thereafter the boxes are stolen only to mysteriously return the following spring without explanation.

The volume begins with a political awareness, smirks at the recession response of blaming entitlements and immigrants. Grass titles a poem Mutti and waxes on Angela Merkel and her coalition. What would he make of the current shitstorm on Pennsylvania Avenue?

There are slight nods to his many marriages, his missteps. The privations of the postwar milieu are yielded in miniature. His concern towards the volume's end appears to be the curious solidity of the postmortem, he has gathered some dried frog bodies and he appears to submerge into the detail, likewise a pair of mouse skeletons in the returned coffins. These musings are both calm and inquire.

[Vivian · Rating 3 out of 5]

An ode to decay.

This is truly a product of time. Time of things that have passed, the dead and the dying. While it is lyrical and honest in its presentation it is truncated and I honestly wish I had experienced something else by Grass before undertaking this work. I really enjoyed the essentialism of his thoughts if not what he was ruminating about. Some are too short to be more than snippets of an idea that never bloomed, but most were just observations of the ephemeral nature of man. The accompanying sketches were charming studies and display the same repetitiveness as the written text.

[Mehmet]

"Dalgaların püskülünün yanında
Kendime rastlıyorum gidip gelirken
Kumun üzerinde çıplak ayaklı" (s.156)

Kütüphanemde Samuel Taylor Coleridge'in Everest Yayınlarından çıkma ciltli baskı Yaşlı Denizci kitabından beri okumaya kıyamadığım ikinci kitap oldu bu -baskısından ötürü. Dilimize Mehmet Barış Albayrak tarafından bu yıl Kırmızı Kedi Yayınları tarafından ilk defa çevrilen kitap sert kapak olarak basılmış. Yazarın ölmeden tamamladığı son eseri olan Sonluluk Üzerine, bir "son" esere yakışır nitelikte.

Bu kitapla kendisiyle ilk defa tanıştığım Günter Grass'ın çizimleri, düzyazı ve şiirleri yer alıyor, bunların temaları genel geçer konular, geçmişe duyulan özlem ve tabi ki "son" duygusu. Beni 88. sayfadan itibaren yer alan bölüm çok etkiledi. Bu bölümde kendi tabutlarını satın alan yaşlı Grass çiftinin ölümü kabullenişleri beni adeta büyüledi. Bu bölüm bana Nazım'ın şu dizelerini hatırlattı:

"Ne ölümden korkmak ayıp,
ne de düşünmek ölümü (Nazım Hikmet, Karlı Kayın Ormanında)

Bir Son Duygusu, bu kitaptaki kadar naif bir huzur ve metanetle karşılanabilir mi acaba?

"Ve yakında düzeleek
Ve hiçbir şey kalmayacak
Ve sona erecek her şey." (s.167)

M.B.

[Matt · Rating 3 out of 5]

Bis zum Ende

schreibt der Dichter.
Miniaturen in Prosa und Lyrik
dazu in gleicher Zahl Zeichnungen in Blei.
Endlichkait, Verjenglichkait
Memento mori in Wort und Bild
sowie ein Selbstportrait mit letztem Zahn.
Auch ironisch, wütend, klagend – eigentlich wie immer.
Sehr beeindrückend
— teilweise —
in andern Teilen sich mir entziehend.
's war schon 'n Toller, der Jienter.
Mit Biss und bis zum Ende.

[Zoha Mortazavi · Rating 3 out of 5]

Grass is taste-testing his death in his last book, gathering his favorite things around and going through them for the last time. He imagines his funeral, talks about his coffin, includes some sketches and does it all so seamlessly, while- dare I say- staying somehow neutral about it. He is not trying to write something grand, or to stir emotions in readers (although he does anyway), he just wants to think through everything that's about to come and doesn't know any other way than writing poems about it. The peoms are smooth, mysterious but simple, just like death itself.

[Rebecca · Rating 4 out of 5]

(3.5) This posthumous prosimetric collection contains miniature essays, stories and poems, many of which seem autobiographical. By turns nostalgic and morbid, the pieces are very much concerned with senescence and last things. The black-and-white sketches, precise like Dürer’s but looser and more impressionistic, obsessively feature dead birds, fallen leaves, bent nails and shorn-off fingers. The speaker and his wife order wooden boxes in which their corpses will lie and store them in the cellar. One winter night they’re stolen, only to be returned the following summer. He has lost so many friends, so many teeth; there are few remaining pleasures of the flesh that can lift him out of his naturally melancholy state. Though, in Lübeck for the Christmas Fair, almonds might just help? The poetry happened to speak to me more than the prose in this volume. I’ll read longer works by Grass for future German Literature Months. My library has his first memoir, Peeling the Onion, as well as The Tin Drum, both doorstoppers.

Originally published on my blog, Bookish Beck.

[Noah · Rating 5 out of 5]

Ein gelungenes Alterswerk!

[Lori L (She Treads Softly) · Rating 4 out of 5]

Of All That Ends by Günter Grass is a highly recommended final collection of short pieces and drawings.

This collection is Grass's swan song, his final musings on growing old, writing, and the end of his life. This doesn't mean that the collection is melancholy or depressing throughout; his prose and poetry can really be quite touching, honest, and matter-of-fact. Several of the pieces are simply his observations of everyday things. His original black and white drawings are closely tied into the prose and make his thoughts, stories, and poems even more poignant and, sometimes, whimsical or nostalgic.

Here are two of the shorter pieces

IN FRANKFURT AM MAIN
where Money lives,
Fear has moved in.
Thanks to tenant-protection laws they can’t throw her out,
nor her children, who are noisily playing Black Friday outside the stock exchange.

SO THEY CAN CONVERSE
The soft pencil suggests
that beside the bare elk skull
- a dusty birthday present -
I lay my dentures
to make a five-line poem.

CONTENTS: Free as a Bird; On Each New Leaf; Sepia au Naturel; In an Endless Line; Swoon; Evening Prayer; Abundance; Snail Mail; My Own Sounds; Soliloquy; With Staying Power; I Lack the Strength; On the Inner Life; Which Came First; Farewell to What Teeth Remain; Over the Abyss; The Last One; Self-Portrait; Standing Singly and in Fairy Rings; Complaints of a Traveler Grown Sedentary; Innards; Once; On Payments; in Frankfurt am Main; Everyday Events; Property; What Bird Was Brooding Here?; Letters; Libuše My Love; Where His Humor Fled; In the Rollwenzelei Inn; A Late-Night Visit; After Endless Torment; And Then Came Xaver; According to the Weather Report; Still Life; A Lingering Aftertaste; Roasted Almonds; When My Sense of Taste and Smell Deserted Me; Farewell to the Flesh; Stacked Lumber; Xenophobia; How and Where We Will Be Laid to Rest; To Pass the Time; That’s by Me?; Farewell to Franz Witte; Light at the End of the Tunnel; Mutti; Homesickness; When, as Required by Law; These Are Facts; Before It’s Too Late; Covered Losses; A Winter Too Mild; The Owl’s Stare; About Clouds; Rising to Heavenly Heights; On Writing; Grandpa’s Beloved; Yours and Mine; When the Monster’s Eyes Turn Green; Fear of Loss; Gone Gone Gone; In the Greenhouse; March Again; Unteachable; The End; My Boulder; What the Beachcomber Finds; Last Hope; Now; So They Can Converse; Nail and Rope; Suggestion for a Souvenir; Twisting a Rope; Painting Portraits; Stared Right Through Me; On the First Sunday; On the Back Pew; Superstition; He Called Three Times; Dear Schnurre; Stolen Goods; Found Objects; In What’s Left of the Altstadt; Dances of Death; Stared Right Through; Tracing Tracks; Hunting Season; Open Season; Summing Things Up; Balancing the Books; August; In This Summer Filled with Hate; Herr Kurbjuhn’s Question; Of All That Ends.

Disclosure: My advanced reading copy was courtesy of the publisher/author.

http://www.shetreadssoftly.com/2016/1...

[Agris Fakingsons · Rating 4 out of 5]

..brīžiem šī grāmata ir īsta pasaka. uz atvadām autors sarakstījis visdažādākās pārdomas. bija arī pa kādam līdz galam nesaprastam stāstiņam/dzejolim.

[Elina Tola (Bookeliina) · Rating 4 out of 5]

Grāmata, kas pārsteidza. Nepārdomāti paņemta no bibliotēkas jaunumu plaukta, nevienu darbu no autora neesmu lasījusi.
Par dzīvi, par vecumu, par nāvi un arī par grāmatām. Dzejoļi, stāsti un zīmējumi. Lasīšanu patīkamāku padara biezās grāmatas lapas uz kurām zīmējumi izskatās īpaši labi.
Tie, kas vairāk atmiņā ieķērās:
"Atvadas no atlikušajiem zobiem"
"Iekš kā un kur mēs gulēsim"
"Zagta manta"
"Ilgas pēc mājām"
"Viņa sauca trīs reizes"
"Bilance"
4.5🌟

[Lucas Sierra · Rating 3 out of 5]

Cuadernos para un final (Reseña, 2021)

(También disponible en: https://cuadernosdeunbibliofago.wordp... )

Idealmente envejecer es hacer las paces con la muerte, cumplir con la tercera medida de Epicuro para una vida feliz. No sé, sin embargo, si el ideal se cumpla siempre, si en la mirada que se pierde en la habitación puede haber la tranquilidad de quienes saben o de quienes no temen no saber. En mi caso, me reta, me hace temblar pensar en el fin de mi vida. Cada vez que me acerco a ese límite me rasgo. Cada vez que imagino el después me rasgo. Cada vez que contemplo el vacío me rasgo. Procuro convivir bien con mis rasguidos, pero no siempre es fácil. A veces quisiera gritar de espanto.

Este libro de Günter Grass es, en ese sentido, un manual para evitar el grito, esquivar el berrido elemental de quien no desea mirar fijamente su calavera. Compuesto en un doble movimiento de ensayos cortos y poemas, Grass nos invita a visitar su proceso de envejecimiento: la caída de los últimos dientes, el encargo al carpintero para que ensamble su ataúd y el de su esposa, la visita al campo donde dejarán plantados los cuerpos que serán gusanos que serán tierra y viento y árbol. Además de los textos nos entrega el autor sus últimos dibujos: apuntes en carboncillo sobre objetos cotidianos, hojas secas, cadáveres de sapos, clavos, nidos abandonados. Una arqueología del final. Un archivo de las últimas cosas, de las últimas palabras, las últimas creaciones.

La escritura de Grass es escatológica. Su mirada sobre el mundo es material, inmanente. Lo que hay es lo que hay y la muerte no implica trascendencia alguna. El espíritu, el consuelo religioso de la vida tras la vida, de los ecos de la vida tras la vida, no aparece aquí. Aparece, eso sí, una idea de comunión, de tener un lugar, de saber que se ocupa un puesto entre el orden caótico de lo que vive y desaparece, de lo que existe y declina, de lo que dejará tras de sí un espacio que será ocupado por otras cosas. Grass escribe como una cosa entre las cosas. Grass crea como una cosa entre las cosas. Lo hace con humor, lo hace con cierto desconsuelo ante lo que se pierde, lo hace con la honestidad de quien no puede dejar de sonreír, aunque ya no tenga dientes.

¿Un diario de acercamiento al final? Sí, también, un registro de lo mínimo, de lo que se deshace, de lo que deja de existir. Hay poemas hermosos, hay algunos de los ensayos que tienen potencia. Hay otros que son el cascajo en el fluir del río, lo que hace ruido, lo que cae, lo que se revuelve. Dispar, entonces, sí, dispar, pero quizás porque eso es el parpadeo que insiste en enfocar lo que viene en la próxima curva, en la última curva, en la curva oculta. Parpadeos, pequeñas esquelas, trazos veloces. Con torpeza en ocasiones. Pero cargados. Pero alegres. Pero arriesgados a avanzar hasta el barranco y mirar por el borde.

De la finitud es el primer libro de Grass que recorro. Empiezo por el final y creo que me queda claro que encontraré al comienzo. Le hincaré el diente a los demás, mientras tenga dientes que hincarle, o los morderé con las encías, si llega el momento. Y volveré, a estos cuadernos, a estos poemas, a estos dibujos, en algún momento de mi vida. Cerca al final. Si es que el final, como espero sea, se me anuncia.

[Cristian · Rating 3 out of 5]

No sé si encontrarse con un autor por primera vez en una obra póstuma sea la mejor forma de acercarse a él, pero esta fue mi primera lectura de Grass. A pesar de ser un diario/poemario reflexivo, también hay en el libro episodios ricos en Literatura y narraciones que más que las páginas de un diario parecen micro cuentos. Si a ellos sumamos el humor del autor, su nostalgia, sus dibujos, sus inquietudes, tenemos, quizás no el mejor de sus libros seguramente, pero sí el más honesto, porque escribió lo que quiso cuando ya no le importaba absolutamente nada más.

[Anka · Rating 4 out of 5]

Es geht viel um das baldige Sterben, die eigene Vergänglichkeit. Mit 27 bin ich glücklicherweise noch weit vom Alter entfernt, umso interessanter war es, das Altsein aus fremder Perspektive zu betrachten.
Mir hat auch sehr gut gefallen, wie die Gedichte angeordnet waren. Immer mal wieder wurden Motive aus vorherigen Gedichten aufgegriffen. Sprachlich hat der Gedichtband auch meistens meinen Geschmack getroffen.

Ich bin selbst überrascht, wie gut ich es fand.

[Leyles Leon · Rating 3 out of 5]

Este libro póstumo nos embarca en un viaje íntimo por la vejez, el paso del tiempo y la muerte. Con crudeza, humor e ironía, explora estos temas a través de ensayos, poemas e ilustraciones propias. Estas son un complemento perfecto para sus textos y añaden una capa más de profundidad a la obra.

El texto está plagado de pensamientos fúnebres y reflexiones sobre la decadencia física. Grass no rehúye detallar la vejez, desde la caída de los dientes hasta la necesidad de encargar su propio ataúd. Sin embargo, lo hace sin caer en la autocompasión o el sentimentalismo.

De la finitud es un libro que no deja indiferente. Invita a meditar sobre la finitud de la existencia humana. Me quedo con los títulos Adiós a los dientes que quedan (p. 32), Adiós a la carne (p. 71), Sobre la escritura (p. 118).

« Cada vez más palabras consumidas. Continuamente muere alguien con precipitación. Ya lo que pretende ser real se entrega de segunda mano. Ya me quedo a un lado del borde del campo de juego. Ya se acaban las cerillas. Ya vacilo en decir ahora.
Alguien, bien intencionado, me aconseja poner punto final mientras no me tiemble la mano».

[Inita · Rating 4 out of 5]

Šajā darbā ir apkopoti īsprozas un dzejas darbi, kurus Ginters Grass ir rakstījis sava mūža nogalē. Lielākoties visi darbi arī ir par beidzamību, pienākušo galu un savā ziņā arī atvadas no šīs dzīves, cilvēkiem un spējām. Man patika. Visvairāk man patika - Būt brīvam kā putnam, Ar bezgalīgu līniju, Atvadas no miesas, Iekš kā un kur mēs gulēsim, Tava un mana, Bailes no zaudējuma, Mans akmens, Pēdu lasīšana un Par beidzamību.
Cilvēks vienmēr var cerēt uz saprātu arī dzīves beigās, bet ne visiem tas tiek dots. Šeit tas ir. Zīmējumi man šķita ļoti atbilstoši grāmatas noskaņai.

Citāts no darba:
Pēdu lasīšana

Visgarām viļņu malai
nāku es sev - turp un atpakaļ -
basām kājām pa smiltīm pretī.

[nayezi · Rating 3 out of 5]

Während es an den Zeichnungen nichts zu bemängeln gab, so ließen die Prosatexte einiges zu wünschen übrig. Vielleicht bin ich zu jung alles nachzuvollziehen, jedoch empfand ich manche Texte als repetitiv und nicht vollends ausgearbeitet im Bezug auf Rhythmen und stilistische Aspekte. Dennoch gab es ein paar einschlägige Werke, weshalb ich noch 2.5 Sterne vergebe.

[Oskars Kaulēns · Rating 4 out of 5]

labi, ka vismaz cilvēkam ir iespēja apcerēt savas nāves tuvošanos. un tad vēl darīt to tik rāmi un pašpietiekami, kā to paveic Ginters Grass savā beidzamībā.

[Sara Jesus · Rating 4 out of 5]

Um livro que desafia a nossa mente humana. Abordando textos sobre a finitude do tempo (por exemplo); sobre a velhice; a politica; os países bálticos; a cultura grega e a própria Grécia e outras questões sociais( ex. os refugiados)

A obra mistura texto em prosa, poesia e ilustração. Não é para o agrado de todos. Tem um alguns textos sarcásticos e que despem em poesia o corpo de uma mulher. O seu escritor, Gunter Grass, nasceu no Polónia e ganhou o Prémio Nobel da Literatura.

Agradou-me, essencialmente, por ser a nível estético muito bonito as ilustrações que conferem vida aos textos e possui poemas mui belos. Este livro representa a sua última obra publicada.

[Linda · Rating 4 out of 5]

Grass var atļauties šitā rakstīt. Izlobījies no jaunības grēkiem, ģimenes locekļu balsīm, trakās ikdienas un vēl trakākās literatūras pasaules, viņš satiek sevi. Pēc visiem šiem piedzīvojumiem un ceļojumiem viņš atgriezies mājās, savā ādā, savā apziņā un pašrefleksijā.

Jāatzīst, ka prozas gabaliņi mani uzrunāja daudz vairāk kā dzeja (un gribētos ticēt, ka Silvija Brice kā vienmēr ir savas tulkotājas pienākumu augstumos), tomēr viens bez otra tie šajā gadījumā nav iedomājami, tāpat arī ar autora zīmējumiem. Neatdalāma trīsvienība, caur ko Grass sarunājas - man gan vairāk šķiet, ka pats ar sevi, ne lasītāju.

Kopš pirmās lapas, pat kopš skaistā vāka noglaudīšanas mani nepamet sajūta, ka man ir uzticēts kas patiesi intīms un personisks. Un nav svarīgi, vai viņš ar savu kundzi patieši pasūtītajos zārkos glabājis puķu stādus, vai viņa zobiem bija tieši tāds liktenis. Tas viss man ir uzticēts, iečukstēts, iezīmēts. Paldies autoram par uzticību!

Protams, ka šis darbs ir piecu zvaigžņu vērts, bet es esmu popsa literatūras izlutināta un līdz galam nespēju iedabūt sevī šo lielo darbu.

[Metin Dirim · Rating 4 out of 5]

BAYGINLIK

Baygınlık, eski bir sözcük: Ayıltıcı esanslar, kendilerine gelsinler diye
pudralı hanımların burunlarına tutulduğu zamanlarda toplumsal açıdan
kabul edilebilirdi. Şu ya da bu güce karşı gerekli eylemde bulunulamadığında
ağız dolusu mazeret olarak işe yarardı. Ama baygınlık artık her şeyi saracak
bir şekilde yayılıyor.
İflas edenler kurtarma paketleriyle susturulurken ya da kışı batık bankalara
sığınarak geçirmeyi umut ederken, bütün dünya —hemen olmasa da yakında—
her şeyin düzeleceğine, hatta iyiye gideceğine inanırken ve o sorumlular, sanki hâlâ
zaman varmış gibi, toplantıdan toplantıya giderek hiç bir eylemde bulunmazken, özgür
irademizle bırakıyoruz kendimizi internetin kollarına.
Gece gündüz erişebilir olmak. Hiç bir yerde göz önünden ayrılmamak. Fare tıklamasına
hapsolmak. Bebe pudrasına kadar geri giderek her şeyi kaydetmek. Hiçbir şey kaçmaz.
Ucuzcu dükkanlarına, sinemaya, tuvalete gidiş gelişlerin sonu gelecek gibi değil… Aşkımızın
uzun yıpratıcı geçmişi, tırnak büyüklüğünde bir çipe saklanmış. Saklanacak yer kalmamış.
Her şey görüş alanında. Uyku bile kaçamaz bundan. Yalnızlık yok artık.
Ne yapmalı? Baygın bir halde sakınıyorum kendimi, arz edilenden kaçıyorum. Gözlük, tütün,
ve pipo arasında cep telefonu yok; hiçbir imleç öğretemez bana arama yapmayı, google’lamayı,
tvitlemeyi. Facebook, dostlarımı ve düşmanlarımı sayamaz. Gizli gizli tüy kalemimle oyalanıyorum.
Arada sırada, konusu inek dışkısı, Descartes’ın cini ya da karıncalarda ilerleme kavramı olan kısık
sesli konuşmalar yapıyorum kendi kendime; yine de bir güç sarıyor boynumu, kendisine pek çok
ad verilse de, nasıl çağrılacağı henüz bilinmeyen bir güç.
Hiçbir ses uyarak yakasına yapışmıyor. Fazla nitelikli ahmaklıktan besleniyor. Bir zamanlar dinî
makyajla her yeri sararken, şimdi ağırbaşlı bir tavırla ortaya çıkıp sivil toplumun kimliği olarak
sunuyor kendini.
Hayır! Şeffaflaştırıyor her şeyi, bellekten vazgeçiyor. Sorumluluğu kaldırıyor. Şüpheyi siliyor. Özgürlüğü taklit ediyor. Debeleniyoruz ağda, elimiz kolumuz bağlı.

Günter Grass - Sonluluk üzerine

[Lesebiene · Rating 3 out of 5]

Grass wird wohl nicht mehr mein Lieblingsautor werden, weil seine doch manchmal sehr vulgäre Sprache einfach nicht so meins ist. Aber einige Verse haben es mir doch angetan und ich bereue es nicht, den Band gelesen zu haben.

[Edward · Rating 4 out of 5]

Written near the end of his life (he died in 2015 at the age of 87), this book is a collection of his poems, short prose pieces, and black and white drawings. As you would expect, many, if not most, of them concern the reflections of an old man. I haven't read that much of Grass, who received the last Nobel Literature prize awarded in the 20th century, but remember well reading THE TIN DRUM (1959) many years ago and then seeing the movie based on the book. In a sense, I suppose, Grass was always preoccupied with World War II and its effects upon the German people. This concern is muted but still visible in this short book.

This moving book is difficult to summarize but there are a few pieces that stand out for me and point toward the last thoughts of Grass. One is "With Staying Power" in which he writes about rereading books, one author of which he says has staying power - Rabelais. He says he can't get enough of a "work that always seems new . . . authored by a man who was plagued by the censor, who feared the Inquisition all his life, yet never ceased to be a thorn in their side . . . with me right behind him." It would seem Grass was thinking about his relationship with German society, often a harsh critic.

Another is "That's By Me". He asks who he was when he was young. What did he want to become? He remembers Berlin, a city that in clearing away the ruins of war was also ridding itself of memories, and I can't but help but think THE TIN DRUM was meant as a corrective. Memories have to be dealt with, yes, but not erased.

On his coming mortality, he writes, "More words wear out. People keep dying before their time. Reality comes secondhand. I'm on the sidelines. Running short of matches. I'm slow to say Now." An acceptance of the inevitable and his diminishing grasp of experience?

Among the pencil drawings which include birds, feathers, a broken egg shell; collections of leaves and nuts, roots, dried-out vegetables, pieces of wood, his own hands.is one of his discarded pipes, ones he loved o smoke when he was younger. Doctors convinced him that smoking was lethal, "so now my pipes lie scattered about, cold and ill-tempered." Yet, he hates to discard them - an apt metaphor for his life and memories which are still important to him.

One of the many short poems is about a cow, "Stared Right Through":

by the cow behind the fence
I whistle the dog back.
Barking for no reason.
Nothing troubles her gaze.

What is that but an a acknowledgement that he is about to absorbed into a universe of which he is no longer a spectator or interpreter, but closer to a senselessly barking dog?

The title comes from the last poem which has an earthy and oddly comic line, ". . . nothing stirring now. Not even a fart. . ."

[Nelson Wattie · Rating 5 out of 5]

Günter Grass’s last book is a collection of short pieces, some in verse, some in prose, all lyrical, covering themes that recur throughout his work – love, happiness, jealousy, social justice, post-war traumata, the richness of natural life and, of course, death. It is illustrated with his own pen drawings.

The longest piece, set at the centre of the book, is a conversation between the writer, his wife and a carpenter about the construction of two boxes. “He had no objection to our request for two different woods: pine for my wife, birch for me. … My box would be five centimetres wider, to match my shoulders.”

My special friend, who has always been close to me over the past sixty-six years, even though we have usually lived far apart, and who has consistently stimulated my mind and heart and given me pleasure with his gentle humour, is now in the advanced stages of a terminal illness. Three weeks ago he wrote to me: “A lovely find of mine recently was Gunter Grass's Of All That Ends (2015) - his earthily local and everyday farewell to the planet he'd leave that same year. Plants and birds and the simplest verbal music do honour to his life nearly lived but strongly and with the greatest humour and grace still his own.”

Thanks, mate, I've read it now, and can add nothing to what you have said.

[Ana González Toledo · Rating 3 out of 5]

Leer a Gunter Grass siempre me ha resultado difícil, y en este libro en particular, percibo que circunstancializa más y hay que prestar más atención, pero también que es más atinado y sabio a la hora de exponer y transmitir un punto esencial. Creo que mucho del revoltijo de latinos textos es debido a la traducción, estoy segura que en alemán es una prisa deliciosa y rítmica .
Este libro me daba hambre de mollejas y también me hacía sentir mucha compasión , me transmitió mucha , muchísima nostalgia y me ponía a reflexionar acerca de como todos genios o no, nos vamos menguando mental y físicamente.
Pocos llegan a la edad que él, con la lucidez suficiente, para escoger su propio ataúd, hacerse un autorretrato sin dientes y repasar sus placeres sexuales favoritos con bastante exactitud.
Me llama la atención como haber vivido en tiempos de guerra impregna al individuo hasta el tuétano y lo transforma en una persona orientada a prevenir el hambre, la pérdida y el caos.
Me parece que al leer este libro, me puedo formar una idea de quién es como persona Gunter Grass uno de los grandes escritores del siglo pasado .

[Michael · Rating 3 out of 5]

The stories that struck me were: Dear Schnurre, How and Where We Will Be Laid To Rest, Stolen Goods, Xenophobia, Farewell to the Flesh. Those alone made it an enjoyable and memorable read.

As with Shel Silverstine's work. I appreciated the poetry mixed with drawings.

[John Hatley · Rating 4 out of 5]

A fantastic collection. I can't help but like Günter Grass. He's a grand human being.

[Tuan · Rating 5 out of 5]

Bản tụng ca của những kết thúc, một lời chia tay của tác giả với sự nghiệp viết văn và cuộc đời.

[Ricardo Munguia · Rating 3 out of 5]

Libro de poesía, escritos reflexivos y dibujos al carboncillo póstumo del autor y debo de decir, bastante mórbido por momentos, literalmente escrito por alguien que sabe que a a morir pronto y retrata esos pensamientos muy claramente. Habla sobre amigos muertos, la pérdida de funciones corporales y el decaimiento de la vida en general. El escrito más largo del libro trata sobre cómo mando a pedir el ataúd en el que fue enterrado y una frase que dijo su esposa se me quedó bien guardada. "Te veías tan contento ahí dentro".

También habla de la situacion europea actual, la migración y la crisis económica. Y como no debe de faltar en su obra, sobre la cocina y el campo.

Los dibujos me gustaron muchos, casi todos de naturaleza muerta. El ritmo de su poesía es lenta y minusiosa, no muy rítmica pero profunda. El libro me gustó, pero creo que para apreciarlo mejor es necesario conocer un poco más de su obra. Recomendado para aquellos de quienes buscan un libro con reflexiones sobre la muerte, una poesía pesada y obras de un gran dibujante.

[Ryan · Rating 4 out of 5]

Another old white man writer from (mostly) the 20th century. Another one who I had heard of over and over again throughout the years, but had never read. I'm pretty sure I've bought and lost multiple books by Grass, but never got to read one. Then I saw Of All That Ends for $1 at a library in New Jersey, so I bought and read it.

This is the final book that Mr Grass published, and it reads like it. It's full of poems, super short stories, and pencil drawings. They're mostly about the distant path or the looming death faced by him and his wife and they're not bad; not good, but not bad. Sure enough, he died right around the time this book came out.

Although this was around 170 pages long, there were only five or six of those pages that were completely full of words. Most had very short poems or drawings, so getting through it all is quite a breeze. It wasn't enough to make me love or hate Grass, but I definitely got enough to get a sense of his style and want to read more.

[Istvan Kis · Rating 4 out of 5]

Bevallom, csak azért vásároltam meg Grass könyvét az Európa Könyvkiadó garázsvásárán tegnap, mert kíváncsi voltam, hogy Nobel-díjas íróként milyen stílusban, hogyan ír. Ennek megfelelően első találkozásom az íróval, de ebben a kötetben rögtön verseivel és elbeszéléseivel/novelláival is megismerkedhettem. Külön kedvemre valók voltak a félig-meddig illusztráció gyanánt készített grafitrajzok is. Nehezen indult, el kellett telnie néhány oldalnak, hogy megtaláljuk a közös hangot, de ezt követően már könnyedén folyt a kezeim között. Elmúlásról, nosztalgiáról, visszaemlékezésről ír többnyire, sokszor minden mindegy alapon. Szerettem, de azt gondolom, hogy érdemes lesz majd 70+ évesen is újra elolvasni, vélhetően egész mást fog akkor nyújtani.