Passeios com Robert Walser

by Carl Seelig

Curyšský nakladatel a novinář Carl Seelig v posledních letech pobytu R. Walsera v léčebném ústavu spisovatele pravidelně navštěvoval a finančně podporoval. Za společných vycházek po okolí zaznamenával rozhovory, které spolu vedli.
Stále důvěrnější přátelství mezi oběma muži přimělo nakonec C. Seeliga, aby svoje jedinečné a mistrně zpracované záznamy uchoval. Patří k nejcennějším textům o autorovi z doby, kdy již sám nic nepsal a s okolním světem přerušil téměř veškeré styky a svědčí o tom, že spisovateli v jeho pozdních letech neubylo nic z jasného kritického rozumu a jemné ironie, naopak: s pocitem zadostiučinění často glosuje marnost a nerozumnost vnějšího světa.

Genres: Nonfiction, Biography, Memoir, Literature, Walking, Diary, Biography Memoir

156 pages, Paperback

First published March 14, 1977

Reviews

[Alwynne · Rating 4 out of 5]

Admired by Kafka, later championed by writers and critics including W.G. Sebald, Christopher Middleton, Moyra Davey and Susan Sontag, Swiss author Robert Walser’s still relatively obscure, possibly best-known for his novel Jakob Von Gunten, inspiration for the film Institute Benjamenta (aka This Dream People Call Human Life). Carl Seelig’s book’s a testament of sorts to Walser’s life and work, often credited as key to keeping Walser’s memory alive. Yet Walks with Walser went against all my expectations, it bears no resemblance to conventional biography, there’s no overview or assessment of Walser’s literary output or of his life; instead Seelig presents a series of ‘snapshots’ of Walser, taken from many years of sporadic contact, organised chronologically walk by walk.

When they first met, Walser was already an involuntary patient at an institution, Appenzell, in Herisau, Switzerland: diagnosed as schizophrenic, although the basis for this is uncertain, he lived there for the rest of his life. Seelig’s first face-to-face encounter with Walser’s in 1936, after a brief exchange of letters. Seelig’s motives for contacting Walser are unclear, although the wealthy Seelig had a reputation as a patron of the arts, he simply states, “I felt the need to do something for his work and for him personally. Of all the contemporary writers in Switzerland he seemed to me the most peculiar. He agreed to let me visit him…,” a reason enigmatic enough to come straight from one of Walser’s own stories.

Seelig and Walser established a routine of long walks through the countryside or nearby towns and villages, broken up by meals detailed with almost as much care as their conversations. As time passed Seelig’s visits were often planned to coincide with Christmas or Walser’s birthday. I found myself puzzling over the dynamics of their relationship, Seelig reveals very little, even when he describes his journeys to Appenzell, he doesn’t reflect on Walser but on local scenery or digresses into accounts of chance encounters like the annoying passengers who invade his railway carriage and ruin his view. His brief observations about Walser’s demeanour or appearance range from playful comments about his shabby felt hat, that suggested a degree of tenderness, to remarks that reminded me of a scientist observing some form of unnerving specimen. As for Walser he sometimes seems wary of Seelig’s intentions but he’s just as frequently expansive and relaxed. There must have been inequalities, issues of power separating them or causing conflict, not just the fact that Seelig’s free and Walser isn’t, but also Seelig’s later position as Walser’s guardian, which gave him unique access to doctors’ reports and other areas of Walser’s life. Certainly, Seelig’s account of Walser paints him as an opinionated man, constantly holding forth on literature from Thomas Mann’s “bloated” fiction to ideas about Strindberg, Wedekind and Hesse; with a habit of spouting aphorisms, revelling in firm pronouncements about the nature of things, as he sifts through anecdotes taken from his memories or daily experiences.

Walser’s fascination with seemingly inconsequential scenes and events from the expression on a waitress’s face to his tendency to “peer into courtyards and gardens as if they’re enchanted islands,” reminded me, at times, of his stories but also gave me a sense of the intense isolation he must have endured during the long years of confinement – it seems remarkable that he retained his delight in small things, undiminished by countless days spent on mundane tasks like folding paper bags and rolling twine. A delight that he retained until Christmas day in 1956 when, after twenty-seven years as a patient, he died alone on one of the walks that obviously gave him so much pleasure. After an awkward start, this developed into a compelling, ultimately moving account that I found hard to put down, well-written and oddly insightful. But Seelig makes no concessions to readers unfamiliar with Walser’s writing, so for anyone looking for an introduction to Walser, this may not be the best place to start.

[Sandra · Rating 4 out of 5]

Una raccolta di colloqui tra Robert Walser e il suo tutore, Carl Seelig, negli anni in cui il primo fu ricoverato nella clinica per malattie mentali di Herisau, durante le lunghe passeggiate che i due uomini fanno abitualmente. Colloqui intimi, amichevoli, mentre attraversano le verdi vallate svizzere colorate dai fiori in primavera, innevate d’inverno, lungo sentieri di montagna e strade che uniscono paesini montani dai campanili appuntiti e con osterie dove è rinfrescante e piacevole bersi una birra. Sono situazioni come queste che favoriscono l’intimità, lo scambio di confidenze, ed anche il parlare a ruota libera di qualsiasi argomento venga in mente, ed è in queste situazioni che emerge il Walser genuino, lucido e tagliente nei giudizi sugli scrittori che ama e che non sopporta così come infantile e bisbetico nei capricci che all’improvviso lo colgono, l’uomo che guarda con occhi capaci di meraviglia i colori sgargianti dei fiori di campo, le greggi di pecore e mucche che pascolano, le nuvole che disegnano giochi nel cielo, e subito dopo ripensa agli sgarbi che gli editori hanno fatto ai suoi scritti, sottovalutati e spesso rifiutati, non con rabbia ma con malinconico distacco, con gli occhi di chi si è allontanato dalle diatribe del mondo ed ha raggiunto la tranquillità interiore, anche se lui, Robert Walser, vuole solo vivere gli ultimi anni della sua vita nascosto dietro un velo che lo separa dal passato doloroso e dal presente di malattia e solitudine.
Un libro che consiglio di leggere quando si sia già letto altro di Robert Walser, per capire meglio l’uomo e apprezzare ancor più lo scrittore.

[Eddie Watkins · Rating 4 out of 5]

For some reason the last 15 years or so I've been waiting for this to come out I was under the impression this was going to be more "conversations" with Walser than "walks" with Walser, but walks with Walser it most certainly is. There are far more descriptions of walks and landscapes (written by Seelig) than quotes by Walser, but in a way the paucity of direct quotes by Walser makes each quote that much more special. Though this is definitely more Seelig than Walser, Seelig clearly sipped from the Walser fountain, and humbled himself into near invisibility, so a very warm and direct portrait of Walser emerges through a series of visits where the two tramp up and down various landscapes (long heroic walks! especially for an old man...), drink lots of beer (for breakfast even!), interact with waitresses, and weather a series of Walserian mood swings. I didn't end up with much of a sense of what his asylum life was like, besides seeming very dull, but Seelig seemed to have certainly provided Walser with some energizing outings and companionship during the last 10 or 15 years of his life. What emerges is a portrait of a very normal seeming man who was capable of great and subtle joie de vivre - still transported by clouds and flowers even as an old man - and of opaque brown studies, and who to the end seemed to be most concerned with the present moment and all it might have to offer. There is certainly a sadness that pervades the book - thinking of Walser spending his days performing repetitive tasks sitting in a circle in a madhouse - but the warmth and friendliness Seelig bestowed upon Walser left me feeling heartened by it all, and much closer to Walser the (every)man.

[Laurent De Maertelaer · Rating 4 out of 5]

Essentiële lectuur voor iedere rechtgeaarde Walseriaan. Heel interessant zijn de confidenties van Walser over het ontstaan van enkele van zijn romans. 'Jakob von Gunten' bijvoorbeeld, nog steeds een van mijn favoriete boeken aller tijden. Inspirerend zijn Walsers uitlatingen over de strijd die hij voerde om zijn persoonlijke vrijheid van geest te allen tijde te vrijwaren. Walser is en blijft voor mij de enige echte saltimbanco, zoals beschreven door Bachtin.

[Domenico Fina · Rating 4 out of 5]

“A cosa serve all’artista il talento se gli manca l’amore!“ (15 aprile 1938)

Racconto-diario delle passeggiate tra il critico Carl Seelig e Robert Walser dagli anni '30 fino alla morte, nel 1956, dello scrittore. Walser era ricoverato in una casa di cura e Seelig era il suo confidente più assiduo, si incontravano e insieme facevano lunghe passeggiate, escursioni in montagna e spuntini in osteria. Robert Walser era spassoso nelle sue dichiarazioni: "Tutti quei bravi scrittori che si credono in diritto di comandarmi questo o quello e di criticarmi sono dei fanatici di Hermann Hesse". Leggeva e rileggeva con ammirazione Gottfried Keller, era il suo classico in cui riconosceva il vagabondare giocoso e la vita che ti mette alla prova, dei contemporanei preferiva non leggere niente, diceva,"finché sono malato". Per lui gli scrittori contemporanei erano fatti di nimbi d’eroismo e rassegnazione, non sapevano stare al loro posto, erano troppo lagnosi, rozzi, tronfi, scarsi d’esperienza e in fondo non sapevano amare. "A cosa serve all’artista il talento se gli manca l’amore!" esclamò il 15 aprile del 1938 nel bel mezzo di una passeggiata che era diventata per Seelig un pellegrinaggio. Di Nietzsche sosteneva che s’era vendicato del fatto che "nessuna donna l’aveva amato. Quanti sistemi filosofici non sono che vendette per gioie non godute!". Amava appassionatamente le giornate grigie, l’inverno e la neve, un giorno confidò a Seelig: "come sono stato felice stamane quando invece del cielo azzurro, ho veduto le nuvole! Me ne infischio delle viste spettacolose e dei fondali da palcoscenico. Quando la lontananza scompare, le cose vicine ti vengono incontro con tenerezza. Non ci basta un bosco, e qualche casolare tranquillo per sentirci contenti?”. Il fatto che le giornate grigie ci costringono ad ammirare ciò che è più vicino perché il lontano è oscurato lo trovo perfetto. “Hai notato che tutte le persone taccagne diventano vecchissime?” disse il 17 luglio del 1946. Si direbbe che facciano paura anche alla morte, concluse. Era consapevole della difficoltà della sua carriera: "Sai perché ho fatto poca carriera come scrittore? possedevo troppo poco istinto sociale. Non ho dato abbastanza spettacolo per quello che la società si aspettava; come sbaglia lo scrittore supponendo che il resto del mondo s’interessi alle sue faccende private!".

[António Dias · Rating 5 out of 5]

Um testemunho maravilhoso sobre o espírito de um escritor enigmático, que passou as últimas décadas de vida num sanatório, tendo como "protector/tutor" o compatriota (e também escritor) Carl Seeling.

Somente li um livro de Robert Walser (Jacob von Gunten), e de imediato fiquei inpressionado pelo génio deste personagem tão autêntico e (aparentemente) desligado do mundo.

Este pequeno diário, relata as caminhadas que Seeling fez com Walser ao longo de 20 anos, entre 1936 e 1956, nas visitas com que foi presenteando o escritor ao sanatório de Herisau.
Não são grandes impressões filosófico-psicológicas o que Seeling nos conta mas o dia a dia, os passeios pela montanha, as bruscas variações de humor de Walser, o que comiam, as paisagens com que se deparavam bem como as conversas sobre literatura e algumas impressões soltas sobre a actualidade, que percorreu duas décadas de uma bonita amizade.

É muito interessante, fascinante mesmo, caminhar junto a estes dois personagens, percorrer com eles as montanhas da sua intimidade, uma intimidade que era só deles, e por isso aparentemente tão irrelevante para o resto da humanidade, mas que ganha uma enorme luminosidade por ser uma das poucas portas abertas para a vida de Walser.
Como defendia Joe Gould, a História também se faz (ou faz-se sobretudo) dos pequenos acontecimentos do quotidiano e não só das grandes batalhas ou mudanças sociais ou tecnológicas. 'Caminhadas com Robert Walser' mostra-nos isso: a beleza das pequenas coisas mas que, para quem as vive, podem ser grandes ao ponto de se transformarem em quase tudo o que possuem. Estas caminhadas trazem-nos um retrato de uma belíssima amizade.

[M. Sarki · Rating 4 out of 5]

https://rogueliterarysociety.com/f/wa...

...I am astonished by his appearance: a round, childlike face that looked as if it had been struck by lightning, with a hint of red in the cheeks, blue eyes, and a short golden mustache…

All around Walser was a charming and interesting fellow. Just the type of man I would enjoy hanging out with. No wonder he wrote such simple and beautiful prose.

...An artist must keep his distance. The masses must have respect for him. Any person whose talent is based on trying to write more like a man of the people than others must be a real dolt. Writers should feel fundamentally obligated to think and act nobly and to strive for greatness...Do you know why I didn’t make it as a writer? I want to tell you: I possessed too little social instinct. I performed too little for society’s sake…Calmly and modestly going one’s own way is the surest path to happiness…

Walser had no bent nor design for fame. Of course he would have liked to be appreciated and respected for his work, but he knew the work itself was more important than acquiring celebrity.

...Writing, too, requires all of one’s strength. Yes, it downright bleeds one dry. Writing on the side, as an arabesque, so to speak, rarely yields anything lasting…

Jim Harrison is another writer who gave his entire life to writing. Everything he did was to further his work and that included hunting, fishing, eating, drinking, fucking, sightseeing, hiking, camping, and wandering. He lived to write.

...what a mistake it is when creative people make compromises in favor of their material livelihood…It is up to the author alone to decide which literary genre he should turn himself to…
It is quite irrelevant whether the rest of the world says yes or no…

Interesting that Walser chose to stay in hospital and finish what remained of his life stashed away in an asylum. Carl Seelig was a fortunate man to have spent so much time with Walser. This is one great memoir. Very enjoyable read.

...Without internal darkness an artist remains a half-formed thing, a scentless greenhouse plant...It is only through flaws that a character attains depth…

[trovateOrtensia · Rating 4 out of 5]

Per vent’anni, con regolarità, entusiamo e cura, il critico Carl Seelig accompagnò Walser in molte delle sue lunghe passeggiate fuori dalla clinica per malattie mentali di Herisau, in cui lo scrittore restò ricoverato sino alla morte.
Seelig annotò quelle passeggiate, e pubblicò i suoi appunti in questo libro: si tratta di brevi stralci di conversazioni su vari argomenti, illuminazioni su momenti di quotidianità, descrizioni di paesaggi, di pranzi e colazioni, trascrizioni dei silenzi, degli stati d’animo e dei repentini cambi d’umore di Walser. Ogni tanto qualche frase folgorante, una conversazione sull’arte, uno scambio di opinioni su Holderlin, Keller, Thomas Mann. Poi di nuovo i silenzi, la allegria infantile di Walser che avanza sotto la neve, senza cappotto, con “il colletto sfrangiato e la cravatta un po’ di traverso”, il suo “viso rotondo, infantile, come diviso a metà da un colpo di fulmine”.
Quel che mi ha colpito di più, ed è il motivo per cui consiglierei di leggere questo libro, è il senso di umanità che lo anima, il grande rispetto con cui Seelig si avvicina a Walser e, vincendo la sua radicale diffidenza, ci restituisce la figura di quest’uomo "distrutto e al contempo salvato" dalla malattia, impegnato - come disse lui stesso-, a “scomparire il più discretamente possibile”.
Passeggiate con Robert Walser è la testimonianza di una amicizia profonda e sincera, di una vicinanza e di un legame che persistono nonostante e oltre la malattia e la la fine. Un libro gentile.
(Che mi ha anche commosso, un po’)

Il 25 dicembre 1956, all’imbrunire, guardavo dalla mia casa immersa nel buio le finestre dei vicini, dietro le quali brillavano le prime candele degli alberi di natale. Accanto a me era steso ammalato il mio cane dalmata Ajax. Non avevo voluto lasciarlo solo quella sera, e in considerazione del suo stato pietoso avevo rinviato da Natale a Capodanno la prossima passeggiata con Robert Walser. - Ad un tratto squillò il telefono. Era il medico capo; m’informò che nelle prime ore del pomeriggio Robert era stato trovato morto su un campo di neve - proprio là dove nel giorno di Natale del 1954 e nel Venerdì santo del 1955, avevamo trascorso insieme ore indimenticabili.
Quella notte non potei più guardare gli alberi di Natale. Le loro luci mi facevano troppo soffrire.

[Guttersnipe Das · Rating 5 out of 5]

I bought ‘Walks With Walser’ as a gift to myself, a delicacy, a luxury, a memoir of my favorite writer. A sort of literary macaron. I was right and I was mistaken. Because this book is not just a postscript, not only a curiosity. It’s a wonderful book in its own right, and, if you love Robert Walser, it is a necessity, not a footnote.

This is Carl Seelig’s memoir of his walks with Walser, while Walser lived at the asylum in Herisau. Seelig was his champion, literary executor and last friend. No small feat! As this book attests, Seelig took a lot of very arduous long walks in bad weather, with a hero who could be chatty or surly. Seelig’s literary heroism, along with that of Christopher Middleton, is a lot of the reason we still remember and rediscover Walser.

In the 20 years that I’ve been reading Walser, I had a really silly, simplistic, fade-to-black view of his final years -- 27 of them -- in the asylum at Herisau. In my mind it was only a tragedy, just a loss. But of course that is nonsense, in view of Walser, his philosophy, and his writing.

My favorite writer didn’t write for the last 27 years of his life. Turns out he spent many of his last days untangling and sorting twine at the post office. He clearly had no problem with that. Why should I?

As a writer who also lives on the edge of society, I loved Seelig’s account most when it praised living simply, in obscurity, and rescued Walser’s words from oblivion, words that are both help and vindication, for example:

"Wherever I've lived there have always been conspiracies to keep out vermin like myself. Anything that does not fit into one's world is always grandly and haughtily repelled. I never dared to push my way in. I wouldn't even have had the courage to take a peek into that world. And so I lived my own life on the periphery of bourgeois existence, and was that not a good thing? Does my world not also have the right to exist, even if it seems like a poorer world, a powerless world?"

[WillemC · Rating 4 out of 5]

Vanaf 1936, toen Walser al ongeveer zeven jaar in psychiatrische instellingen zat, begon Carl Seelig zich wat over hem te ontfermen. Ze trekken er samen op uit om lange gesprekken te voeren, al stappend Zwitserland te verkennen en uiteraard veel te eten en te drinken. Alhoewel ik echt geen wandelaar ben, was ik toch graag met hen meegeweest. Een zeer onderhoudend en interessant boek. 4.25/5

"Hadden wij zo ongestoord, zonder benzinestank en automobilistengevloek, op deze landweg kunnen kletsen als de benzine niet op rantsoen was? Er wordt tegenwoordig überhaupt te veel gereisd. Met horden dringen mensen vreemde landschappen binnen, zonder schroom, alsof ze er de legitieme eigenaar van zijn." (28 december 1944)

[Fábio Fernandes · Rating 4 out of 5]

Interesting and illuminating. If you want to know more about Walser, you'll get lots of info here - but I was a bit disappointed to know he was a very conservative writer, and had some nationalistic ideas that sound pretty silly today (even though he despised Nazism, for which I'm grateful). Even so, it's worth reading.

[Dionysius the Areopagite · Rating 5 out of 5]

A great little unhashed treasure for all Walser admirers bigthyme & udderwise.

[SB · Rating 4 out of 5]

Walser has not had the benefit of a truly exhaustive and definitive biography, at least not in English (translation), and so this book stands out as a rare insight into the actual man behind the "clever child" (T. Mann) caricature. It is a revealing, charming, but also quite sad ("tragic" seems misplaced here) description of Walser's inner and outer world during the latter half of his life (spent in a Swiss sanatorium) in a prose style that even in translation is effortless and unpretentious - and Seelig's writing, it must be noted, is almost as surprising and delightful a revelation for me as Walser's was more than a decade ago (when I read an article about him in the New Yorker which led me to a copy of Jakob von Gunten). It is a shame that even more so than Walster, Seelig seems to have been a self-effacing writer who contented himself with commenting on, and "producing", as editor and publisher, the works of others.
The reason I say the "clever child" image of Walser is a caricature is that he emerges here as a fully grown man with his own mind, opinions, prejudices, foibles, obsessions, and struggles. Middle-aged Walser is most certainly not Jakob von Gunten, nor is he some sort of tortured Kafaesque cliche endlessly and heroically reflecting the dehumanizing drama of the modern writer in a war-savaged Europe. He is actually quite conventional at times (his curmudgeonly Swiss conservatism is disarmingly endearing), cheerful (taking delight in peasant food, rural landscapes and chainsmoking), slightly small-minded and self-pitying, and even, at times, vaguely hopeful in a small everyday sort of way that we can all "relate" to. It is easy to imagine him as an eccentric uncle who just knows (and won't shy away from telling you) why revolutions fail, why editors are bastards, why Germans are always stirring up trouble, why it's better to make your peace with the world than to take up arms against it, why self-interested do-gooders will always end up badly, etc. This is Walser very much warts-and-all and if anyone is expecting a zen master full of wise paradoxes and winged aphorisms, they are likely to be disappointed. Certainly there are nuggets of Walserian wit in here, but they are not likely to knock you into a higher plane of consciousness. Rather they reflect the ups and downs of a regular unsaintly life, one lived with gusto, suffering, silence, self-doubt, hopefulness and hopelessness, and in spite of many and difficult hurdles.
There is also a dark side (and Walser himself acknowledges it, though never quite directly) to the lovable curmudgeon (his denial of his beloved sister's wish to see him on her deathbed, his spikes of paranoia into truly pathological levels, his stifled but clearly violent outbursts triggered by trivial things), but then it is important to remember that beyond his humanity, his geniality, his world-weary stoicism, Walser's mental health problems were actually very real.

[Johan Kronquist]

Robert Walser - Betydande människor kallar mig ett barn: Mikroskrifter i urval | Promenaden, följd av Bilden av fadern | Carl Seelig - Vandringar med Robert Walser. Samtliga utgivna av Bokförlaget Faethon 2019 och översatta av Peter Handberg.

Robert Walser har alltid varit något av en författarnas författare. Har har fascinerat och inspirerat namn som Franz Kafka, Hermann Hesse, Robert Musil, Walter Benjamin, Elias Canetti, Giorgio Agamben, Susan Sontag Elfriede Jelinek och många andra. För allmänheten var han under samtiden tämligen okänd, men på senare år har han fått ett internationellt erkännande och översättningar av hans böcker har kommit på många språk. Dock tycks han fortfarande mest vara en angelägenhet för andra skribenter, litteraturvetare och vittra finsmakare. Det är inte rättvist. Walser är långtifrån någon svår författare och han är värd en betydligt större läsekrets. Hans klurigt humoristiska, skarpögt melankoliska texter skulle lätt gå hem hos en bredare allmänhet. På svenska finns sedan tidigare en handfull böcker, men de är alla slut hos förlagen och de flesta svåra att hitta även antikvariskt. Att bokförlaget Faethon nu gör en satsning med dessa tre böcker är därför mer än välkommet.

Walser föddes i schweiziska Biel 1878, levde ett rastlöst och kringflackande liv, bland annat i Berlin 1905-13, och hankade sig fram på ströjobb, tidningsartiklar och snålt säljande böcker. Han avled i hemlandet 78 år gammal. Periodvis led han av svår ångest, tilltagande alkoholism och gjorde även några självmordsförsök, och efter ett sammanbrott blev han till sist inlagd. De sista 28 åren tillbringades på mentalsjukhus, först på Waldau, utanför Bern, och från 1933 i Herisau i nordöstra Schweiz. Från den dagen fram till sin död skrev han inte ett ord. När frågan kom på tal svarade han, med eftertryck: ”Jag har inte kommit hit för att skriva. Jag har kommit hit för att vara galen!”.

”Betydande människor kallar mig ett barn” rymmer ett urval av Walsers så kallade mikroskrifter. Med små, millimeterhöga bokstäver skrev han på allt han kom över: vykort, kvitton, refuseringsbrev. Över några färgplanscher i boken kan dessa krumelurer beskådas. De är som konstverk i sig. Först femtio år efter hans död lyckades man dechiffrera dessa märkvärdiga skrifter.

Texterna är korta, 53 stycken på knappa 250 sidor, och behandlar allt från Karl XII till halshuggna flugor. Här skymtar konstnärer och författare, nunnor och Nietzsche, bratwurst och björngropen i Bern. Humorn är sträv, som dåliga vitsar man motvilligt ler åt, för att de faktiskt ä r roliga, trots allt. Världen betraktas från ett kompromisslöst utanförskap, med distans, ironi och en pragmatisk syn på tillvaron. Meningarna kan flyta ut över en halv sida eller komprimeras med paradoxal exakthet till livsvisdomspackade enradingar; ”I detta avseende är jag gudskelov lika mänsklig, d.v.s. svag, som alla andra.”.

Walser var den ständige flanören, den evige vandraren. Aldrig stilla på samma ställe, alltid nya lägenheter (”ofta var det mycket sunkiga ställen”), nya städer och gärna rejäla heldagspromenader över berg och dal, med paus för öl och ost på något lämpligt världshus (”flankanfall” från krogen, kallar han det någonstans). Att han dog, i hjärtinfarkt, mitt under en promenad juldagen 1956 känns därför som en logisk och värdig avslutning.

”Promenaden” är just vad den heter: en fiktiv skildring av en dag av walserskt promenerande. En dag utanför ”skrivarlyan eller spökkabinettet”. Det låter kanske inte så upphetsande, men det går inte en sida i denna säregna kortroman utan att man blir intellektuellt belönad. Hans charmigt omständliga språk rör sig obehindrat mellan absurdistiska lustigheter och filosofiska funderingar i molande moll. Det är oavbrutet underhållande, oavsett om han utsätts för ett grymt kulinariskt practical joke av lunchvärdinnan Fru Aebi, beundrar arkitektur eller en vacker flicka, eller, som när han passerar en skola, önskar att han ”återigen var ett barn och en olydig skolgosse, att han åter gick i skolan och som straff för sitt dåliga uppförande fick ta emot ett välförtjänt kok stryk”.

Jag får känslan av att ”Promenaden” (liksom många av hans andra texter) bara är en något tillknycklad och skruvad självbiografi; kanske av samma torrt humoristiska släkte som exempelvis Emmanuel Boves ”Mina vänner���? Faktum är att han själv, tämligen walserskt, sammanfattar boken bra: ”under sådana tålmodiga promenader träffar [jag] på jättar, har äran att få skåda professorer, i förbifarten uppsöker bokhandlare och banktjänstemän, samtalar med sångerskor och skådespelarinnor, äter lunch hos själfulla damer, genomkorsar skogar, postar livsfarliga brev och slåss vilt med baksluga, ironiska skräddarmästare”. Inte illa av en man som är ”fientligt stämd mot världen och mig själv, främmande för båda två”.

Carl Seelig (1894-1962) var en tysk-schweizisk rikemansson, skribent, mecenat och från och med 1944 Robert Walsers förmyndare. Han besökte Walser på anstalten redan 1936 och hade sedan dess för vana — och sjukhusdirektörens tillåtelse — att ta med den nyckfulle författaren på långa söndagsutflykter till fots, med tåg och buss.

I ”Vandringar med Robert Walser” har Seelig, likt en Eckermann (om Goethe) eller en Boswell (om Samuel Johnson), samlat en del av de samtal som han genom åren trots allt fått ut av den periodvis tjurskalligt tvära och tystlåtna författaren. Men i takt med att deras vänskap fördjupas öppnar sig Walser allt mer, och talar, när han är på bäst humör, öppenhjärtligt om minnen och erfarenheter, politiker och konstnärer.

Seelig skriver med uppenbart skönlitterära ambitioner, men det är inte där boken styrka ligger. Den finner vi istället i Walsers författarskvaller och rikliga anekdoter ur sitt kringflackande liv. Tips till (blivande) författare har han gott om och någon form av poetik skymtar emellanåt i samtalen: ”Vet ni varför jag aldrig lyckades som författare? Jo, det ska jag berätta: jag hade för dålig social instinkt. Jag spelade för lite teater”, ”Konstnären måste hänföra eller plåga sin publik”, ”Författare utan etik förtjänar ett ordentligt kok stryk”, ”Utan avgrunder förblir varje konstnär bara något halvdant, en luktfri drivhusplanta”.

Hitler och ”nassarna” har han inte mycket till övers för och trots att han tycks vara konservativ, ja, i vissa anseenden rentav reaktionär politiskt (men ”besten ’kapitalism’” borde drivas tillbaka ”i buren igen”), sätter han den personliga friheten främst: ”Aldrig, inte ens under perioder av största fattigdom, skulle jag ha låtit mig köpas av samhället”.

Promenaderna avbryts med jämna mellanrum för intag av mat och, inte minst, vin och framförallt öl. Walser spottade inte heller på senare år i glaset och han trivdes utmärkt i bayerska ölkällare: ”Märkvärdigt vad ölet och halvmörkret kan skölja bort alla laster”.

Från de sista promenaderna gjorde Seelig inga anteckningar. ”Kände jag instinktivt att slutet närmade sig?”, frågar han sig. På grund av Walsers dåliga hälsa skjuter han upp vandringen från jul till nyår 1956, men i skymningen den 25:e december får han ett samtal från överläkaren på Herisau. Promenaderna är över.

Självklart anser jag att alla tre titlar borde vara obligatorisk läsning, men tvingas jag av någon outgrundlig anledning välja måste jag nog säga ”Betydande människor...”, då den visar upp den största bredden och variationen hos denna unika (ja, faktiskt!) författare, och därför lämnar läsaren med mersmak.

Slutligen, en stor eloge till översättaren Peter Handberg (som även levererar lärda förord), som utfört trollkonster med Walsers märkvärdiga prosa. Inte en enda gång känns det krystat eller obekvämt – bara melodiskt och tidlöst. Och jag undrar hur länge han fick klura innan det underbara ordet ”kuragöst” infann sig? Stående ovationer, om jag får be.

[Iona Stewart · Rating 3 out of 5]

I got hold of this work when looking for books about walking. I had no idea who Walser was.

It was written in German but I can’t read German and couldn’t get it in English due to the Corona crisis. So I got it in Danish.

It turned out that Robert Walser was a noted Swiss writer who had checked in to a mental institution subsequent to experiencing some minor mental problems. He remained there for the rest of his life, though it didn’t seem to me from his conversation that he had any particular mental complaints. He did no writing while in the institution. I think he got some rest, though; perhaps all his walking resolved his problems, as I’ve heard it can do.

His friend, Carl, visited him there regularly and accompanied him on long walks, which he describes in the book.

These walks took place between 1936 until 1956, when he died, appropriately enough, when out on a walk, but this time on his own.

At first, I wondered why the author, Carl, was continuously enlightening us on everything Walser said on the walks, no matter how inconsequential. It was at this point I discovered that he was a well-known author (in Switzerland, at least, and at that time).

We’re informed of the routes of all these walks. Walser always wore a suit when out walking, but no overcoat, even in winter.

They talked mostly about Swiss writers all completely unknown to me, though they also discussed some famous authors.

They generally visited cafés and restaurants to eat breakfast and other meals, and we’re informed of what they eat; they drink beer, wine and vermouth. I’m 95% vegan and was also on Medical Medium cleanses while reading the book (and still am), and thus don’t eat dairy products or other such unhealthy things; and it seemed like Robert and Carl were always eating eggs and cheese (and lots of cakes). I wasn’t envious, I just kept thinking about what an unhealthy diet they ate.

This book and this review will undoubtedly be of little interest or if of interest, only to elderly Swiss. I just kept on with it because I liked reading the details of where they walked and hearing about the various authors I’d never previously heard of.

But now I intend to order Robert Walser’s own book, “The Walk”, from the library, if I can now obtain it in English, that is.

[Andrew]

Even if I hadn’t known and loved the writings of Robert Walser already, I would have adored this. And loving Walser, I adore it even more. Seelig and Walser traipse the Swiss hills for long hours, discussing the work of other Alpine weirdos (Stifter, Keller, Gotthelf, all of whom I love too), stopping to refresh themselves with obscure Swiss country wines (and damn, I could use a glass of Fendant right about now). This is not for everyone -- many people will find this to be pointless and boring. They are wrong, and their literary opinions do not deserve your time.

[Bobparr · Rating 3 out of 5]

Il titolo è più evocativo del testo.
Molto interessante il lavoro di Seelig, ma Walser non è una compagnia particolarmente saggia o affascinante, nel dialogo.
E' un personaggio curioso, lo è per come ha vissuto e per come ha trascorso gli ultimi decenni della sua vita.
Un libro intimo, tenero, ma a mio avviso di non grande valore letterario

[Alba]

autoreflexió amb humilitat i senzillesa i alguna esperança molt feble de recuperar l’essència d’humanitat perduda que mai s’arriba a esbrinar quina és

[Kate · Rating 3 out of 5]

should read more Walser

[Teddy Kristiansen · Rating 5 out of 5]

Wonderful read and other indsight to Walser.

[Cooper Renner · Rating 5 out of 5]

Not five-star in most ordinary senses, but rather for the glimpses into the character of a strange and remarkable writer.

[Paulus Voerman · Rating 4 out of 5]

Wandelingen met Walser - Carl Seelig - vertaling Machteld Bokhove - Koppernik 2022

Mooi! Heel mooi!

Seelig is af en toe ongemeen bloemrijk:

We slaan de richting naar Abtwill in. De met rijp bedekte tuinhagen hangen als luchtige visnetten in het landschap, zo teder als een pentekening. Het is alsof de bomen elk ogenblik als ballonnen de hemel in kunnen vliegen.
(wandeling 28/12/1944 - Seelig (officier) noemt het wandelen regelmatig 'marcheren')

Na nachtelijk onweergedreun komt de felblauwe morgen aangezeild met lange, visachtige föhnwolken. Er stapt jubelende jeugd in de trein om aan een schoolreisje te beginnen.
(wandeling 17/7/1946)

In Gossau stuiten we op een veldprocessie waaruit de rode mantels van misdienaren als geraniums oplichten.
(wandeling 26 mei 1947)

Maar gelukkig laat hij vooral Walser zelf aan het woord (voor de goede orde: Robert Walser en niet de deze maand overleden schrijver Martin Walser die ik niet ken. In het boek komt ook nog ergens een onbekende Jakob Walser voor - pagina 131):

Wat de muziek betreft, die zou voorbehouden moeten blijven voor de hogere klassen. In grote kwantiteiten werkt ze op de massa afstompend. Tegenwoordig krijg je in ieder urinoir muziek geserveerd. Maar de kunst moet een geschenk van genade blijven waar het gewone volk verlangend naar opkijkt.
(wandeling 21 maart 1941)

Weet u waarom ik als schrijver niet veel bereikt heb? Ik zal het u zeggen: ik bezat te weinig maatschappelijk instinct. Ik heb ter wille van de maatschappij te weinig toneelgespeeld. Beslist, zo was het! Dat begrijp ik nu volkomen. Ik liet me tot mijn persoonlijke genoegen veel te veel gaan. Ja, het is waar, ik had de neiging een soort generator te worden en verzette me daar nauwelijks tegen. Al dat subjectieve gedoe heeft de lezers van De Tanners geërgerd. (...) Mijn literaire debuut kon al de indruk wekken dat ik me gruwelijk verveelde met gegoede burgers, dat ik hen niet helemaal voor volwaardig aanzag. Dat zijn ze nooit vergeten. Daarom bleef ik voor hen altijd een dikke nul, een galgenbrok. Ik had een beetje liefde en droefheid, een beetje ernst en bijval in mijn boeken moeten stoppen - ook een beetje edele romantiek zoals Hermann Hesse dat heeft gedaan in Peter Camenzind en in Knulp.
(wandeling 28 januari 1943)

Een merkwaardig klein percentage weet te genieten van de ouderdom. Terwijl het zoveel vreugde kan brengen. Je hebt geleerd dat de wereld zich beijvert om altijd weer naar de eenvoudigste, elementaire dingen terug te keren. Uit gezond instinct verzet de wereld zich ertegen dat het exceptionele, het uitzonderlijke dominant wordt. De onrustige begeerte naar het andere geslacht is uitgegloeid, en je begeert alleen nog maar de troost van de natuur en de mooie concrete dingen die voor iedereen toegankelijk zijn die ernaar verlangt. Eindelijk ben je niet ijdel meer en zit je, als in een milde bijzon, in de grote stilte van de ouderdom.
(wandeling 19 oktober 1943)

Over de nu (1955) gebruikelijke, massale uitdeling van schrijversprijzen aan debutanten spreekt hij geringschattend:> ‘Als je hen zo vroeg al verwent, blijven het eeuwige schooljongens. Om een man te worden heb je leed, miskenning en strijd nodig. De staat mag geen vroedvrouw van schrijvers worden.’ (wandeling kerstmis 1955)

[Panteist · Rating 5 out of 5]

For two decades the author walks with a prominent Swiss writer Robert Walter who enclosed himself in the mental asylum. These walks are not a leisurely sauntering, but a real ramble through mountains, forests and towns, sometimes 25 km a day and more. They walk and speak and drink (that's quite often) while time passes with Nazis just across the border, with the war and all the other sufferings. A few times a year, walk to walk, Seelig notes Walser's memories and opinions, his peculiar habits and there shared routes. Walser is not an easy person. He tends to be suspicious, unsociable and his opinions are sometimes morally controversial. Nevertheless, the author succeeds in making friends with him and this attitude, genuine to both of them, gives the book its warmth you may feel even on every page. Seelig builds a monument to the great writer with this book, but as well - to their friendship. When on the Christmas evening he gets a call from the doctor, who tells that Walser was found dead on the walking route this day, he writes: "That night I wished to see no more Christmas trees. Their light pained me too deeply".
This book is like a safe and cozy place where time barely moves. You may enter it at any page to share the walk with two older gentlemen, to listen to what they talk about and to see gorgeous sceneries. And to come back to the muddy waters of our everyday life.

[Graychin · Rating 3 out of 5]

I think I prefer Walser the man, as revealed in this memoir by Carl Seelig, to Walser the writer. Then again, my only exposure to his writing is Jakob von Gunten, which I found amusing but not especially memorable, and who knows what may be lost in the translation from German. Walser himself was not German, of course. He was Swiss, and most of the “walks” here are pretty fantastic long-distance treks through the Alps, from village to village and pub to pub. There must be a special pleasure in walking through gorgeous surroundings half drunk all day. Seelig fails to record how often they must have stopped to relieve themselves behind a tree or a boulder. Each outing begins and ends at the asylum where Walser was perfectly content in his confinement. His conversation is pleasurable, his observations are occasionally enlightening, his opinions sound. Many of the references to Swiss and German literature are beyond my range, but I found this a curiously moving book.

3.5 stars

[Gonçalo Ferreira · Rating 4 out of 5]

June 27, 1937
(...)
“Do you know what my downfall has been? Listen carefully! All the dear, sweet people who think they have the right to criticize me and order me around are fanatical admirers of Hermann Hesse. They don’t trust me. For them it is either/or: ‘Either you write like Hesse, or you are and always will be a failure.’ They are extremists in their judgment. They have no faith in my work. And that’s the reason I have ended up in this asylum . . . I simply lacked a halo, and that is the only way to be successful in literature. Any aura of heroism, martyrdom, or the like and the ladder to success rises before you . . . I am seen as rather merciless, which I am. And thus no one takes me very seriously.”
(...)
"Walks With Walser" by Carl Seelig

[Carlos · Rating 3 out of 5]

I had long been wanting to read this book, in which Carl Seelig documents the walks and conversations he had with Robert Walser - one of my literary heros, a soul searching for nothingness - during 20 years, while Walser was a patient in the mental asylum of Herisau. A must read for anyone who loves Walser's subtle prose.

"I require nothing more. In the asylum I have the quiet I need. It is time for young people to make the noise. It suits me now to disappear, as inconspicuously as possible. Was this day not beautiful? We're no idolaters of the sun. We love the fog and the dusky woods as well. I will think often of the silver-gray of Lake Constance, the fairy-tale woods in the park, and the sleepy, aristocratic little town of Rorschach."

[Paul Stevenson · Rating 5 out of 5]

A beautiful and touching memoir of the author's meetings with Robert Walser. Seelig's writing is spare but paints a vivid blend of the physical, mental, external, internal, historical, and literary impressions of his and Walser's during the last 20 years of Walser's life. The emphasis is more on Walser, with his thoughts sprinkled throughout the recollections, as (Walser) increasingly reluctantly looks back on his literary life. Seelig, though, is as much an actor here, and his love for Walser shows in this singularly beautiful, poignant and understated memorial. To both of them.

[Blitzsche · Rating 5 out of 5]

Lese den tagebuchartigen Bericht in verschiedenen Zügen. Immer in Urnäsch, im hinteren Appenzellerland. Dort, wo Vormund Seelig mit seinem Mündel Walser spaziert, wandert. Herrliche Beschreibung von Land und Leuten zwischen Bodensee und St. Gallen. Versprengt mit zeitgenössischen Diskussionen zu Hitler, subventionierten Künstlern, Berliner Schauspielerinnen, Familie, Eifersucht und Strebsamkeit, gute, wahre Literatur. Wer spricht? Seelig oder Walser? Ist letztlich egal. Guter Aufbau mit dem Finale, der letzten Schneewanderung ob Herisau. Walser ein Denkmal geschaffen. Post mortem.

[Pedro Anjos · Rating 4 out of 5]

Gostei de sentir a bela e sincera amizade que transparece nas descrições das caminhadas que o autor faz com Robert Walser. Sinto que o livro tem possivelmente mais interesse quando se conhece a obra de Walser, mas não deixa de ser muito apreciável pelas descrições da natureza e do contexto que rodeia os dois amigos quando se juntam, do caráter peculiar de Walser e dos seus pontos de vista. Um livro simples e belo.

[Ferre Wyckmans · Rating 5 out of 5]

Seelig schreef met het verslag van zijn wandelingen tussen 1936 en 1955 met, de in een psychiatrische instelling verblijvende, Robert Walser een ode aan Walser, aan hun vriendschap en aan de (Zwitserse) natuur.
Buiten dit alles is dit boek ook een verslag van hun leesparcours en persoonlijke recensies. Alle boeken lezen die hun pad kruisen zou een jaar kosten.
Heerlijk boek.