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Vom Glück, in Dresden aufzuwachsen: Erich Kästner und seine Stadt
Erich Kästner verbrachte seine Kindheit in Dresden und bewahrte die Erinnerungen an diese Stadt stets in seinem Herzen. Dieser Band versammelt Gedichte und Texte des Autors, die Dresden aus seinem Blickwinkel zeigen und dabei ein wunderbar plastisches Bild der Stadt zum Anfang des 20. Jahrhunderts zeichnen.
»Dresden war eine wunderbare Stadt, voller Kunst und Geschichte und trotzdem kein von sechshundertfünfzigtausend Dresdnern zufällig bewohntes Museum.«
»Dresden war eine wunderbare Stadt, voller Kunst und Geschichte und trotzdem kein von sechshundertfünfzigtausend Dresdnern zufällig bewohntes Museum.«
- GenresNonfiction
71 pages, Kindle Edition
Published August 17, 2022
11 people want to read
About the author
Erich Kästner
299 books611 followersErich Kästner (1899–1974) was a German author, poet, screenwriter and satirist, known for his humorous, socially astute poetry and children's literature.
A stout pacifist and democrat, he was expelled from the national writers' guild during the Nazi era, with many of his books being burned in public. Today, he is widely regarded as one of Germany's most prolific and beloved children's book authors.
AKA:
Έριχ Καίστνερ (Greek)
A stout pacifist and democrat, he was expelled from the national writers' guild during the Nazi era, with many of his books being burned in public. Today, he is widely regarded as one of Germany's most prolific and beloved children's book authors.
AKA:
Έριχ Καίστνερ (Greek)
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Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews
May 26, 2024
Wenn man sich etwas in Dresden auskennt, macht das Buch sehr viel Spaß. Besonders aus einem historischen Blickwinkel. Und Kästner schreibt auch einfach schön
February 16, 2024
This is a compilation of writer Erich Kästner's memoirs, poems, diaries, letters and novel fragments on his home city of Dresden. Kästner is most famous in Germany for his Weimar Republic children's books: Emil und die Detektive, Das doppelte Lottchen (made into movies) and others. I hadn't realised he also wrote poetry. These texts on Dresden are very sweet. As someone who didn't grow up in one place and is not rooted in any 'Heimat', I am fascinated by (and somewhat envious of) writings from authors who are rooted somewhere, move away because they feel trapped there, feel deeply attached nevertheless.
It is particularly poignant in the case of someone from Dresden. The saddest texts are those that Kästner wrote in 1945 and 1946. Dresden was razed to the ground in the night from 13 to 14 February (Valentine's Day means something different in this city where I happen to be visiting and typing these words -- well, not 'happen' as I specially bought the Kästner book locally) so in a way, Kästner then did become truly uprooted. It makes me wonder to what extent generational trauma applies to those whose parents and grandparents came from bombed-out cities and towns. Certainly, I find my walks through Dresden's former Baroque centre terribly sad and prefer its less destroyed suburbs.
Anyway, Kästner: good memories, bad memories, difficult memories, above all: vivid memories, tied to specific streets and houses (meticulously located by the editor Sylvia List so that one can go to them today; many of them have plaques commemorating their famous former resident). A biting pacifism re World War One gloria and hooray. A melancholic nostalgia re childhood games. A deep love for his ravaged home town.
'Freunde hatten gesagt: "Fahre nicht hin. Du erträgst es nicht." Ich habe mich genau geprüft. Ich habe den Schmerz kontrolliert. Er wächst nicht mit der Anzahl der Wunden. Er erreicht seine Grenzen früher.' (Sept.1946)
My translation: 'Friends said, "Don't go. You won't be able to bear it." I tested myself carefully. I checked the pain. It doesn't grow with the number of wounds. It reaches its limits earlier.'
'Wenn es zutreffen sollte, dass ich nicht nur weiß, was schlimm und hässlich, sondern auch, was schön ist, so verdanke ich diese Gabe dem Glück, in Dresden aufgewachsen zu sein. Ich musste, was schön sei, nicht erst aus Büchern lernen. ... Ich durfte die Schönheit einatmen wie Försterkinder die Waldluft.' (p.12)
My translation: 'If it's true that I not only know what's terrible and ugly but also what's beautiful, then I owe this gift to the good fortune to have grown up in Dresden. I didn't have to learn what was beautiful from books. ... I was allowed to breathe in beauty like woodsmen's children breathe in the forest air.'
'Gedächtnis und Erinnerung sind geheimnisvolle Kräfte. Und die Erinnerung ist die geheimnisvollere und rätselhaftere von beiden.' (from the autobiographical Als ich ein kleiner Junge war (1957)). (p.25)
My translation: 'Memory and remembering are mysterious forces. And remembering is the more mysterious and enigmatic of the two.'
It is particularly poignant in the case of someone from Dresden. The saddest texts are those that Kästner wrote in 1945 and 1946. Dresden was razed to the ground in the night from 13 to 14 February (Valentine's Day means something different in this city where I happen to be visiting and typing these words -- well, not 'happen' as I specially bought the Kästner book locally) so in a way, Kästner then did become truly uprooted. It makes me wonder to what extent generational trauma applies to those whose parents and grandparents came from bombed-out cities and towns. Certainly, I find my walks through Dresden's former Baroque centre terribly sad and prefer its less destroyed suburbs.
Anyway, Kästner: good memories, bad memories, difficult memories, above all: vivid memories, tied to specific streets and houses (meticulously located by the editor Sylvia List so that one can go to them today; many of them have plaques commemorating their famous former resident). A biting pacifism re World War One gloria and hooray. A melancholic nostalgia re childhood games. A deep love for his ravaged home town.
'Freunde hatten gesagt: "Fahre nicht hin. Du erträgst es nicht." Ich habe mich genau geprüft. Ich habe den Schmerz kontrolliert. Er wächst nicht mit der Anzahl der Wunden. Er erreicht seine Grenzen früher.' (Sept.1946)
My translation: 'Friends said, "Don't go. You won't be able to bear it." I tested myself carefully. I checked the pain. It doesn't grow with the number of wounds. It reaches its limits earlier.'
'Wenn es zutreffen sollte, dass ich nicht nur weiß, was schlimm und hässlich, sondern auch, was schön ist, so verdanke ich diese Gabe dem Glück, in Dresden aufgewachsen zu sein. Ich musste, was schön sei, nicht erst aus Büchern lernen. ... Ich durfte die Schönheit einatmen wie Försterkinder die Waldluft.' (p.12)
My translation: 'If it's true that I not only know what's terrible and ugly but also what's beautiful, then I owe this gift to the good fortune to have grown up in Dresden. I didn't have to learn what was beautiful from books. ... I was allowed to breathe in beauty like woodsmen's children breathe in the forest air.'
'Gedächtnis und Erinnerung sind geheimnisvolle Kräfte. Und die Erinnerung ist die geheimnisvollere und rätselhaftere von beiden.' (from the autobiographical Als ich ein kleiner Junge war (1957)). (p.25)
My translation: 'Memory and remembering are mysterious forces. And remembering is the more mysterious and enigmatic of the two.'
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