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Troviamo le parole. Lettere 1948-1973
Con i carteggi tra Paul Celan e Max Frisch e tra Ingeborg Bachmann e Gisèle Celan Lestrange.
Ingeborg Bachmann e Paul Celan, due fra le piú grandi figure letterarie e poetiche del ’900, si sono scritti per 15 anni tra amori e dissapori, amicizia e incomprensione, ancora amore e silenzio, disperazione, sempre alla ricerca delle parole che li facessero incontrare, mentre Celan affondava cupamente nel cieco dolore per quello che gli sembrava incomprensione dei critici, infedeltà degli amici, “hitleria, hitleria”, fino a buttarsi un giorno nella Senna.
Negli ultimi anni, al loro intenso e straordinario carteggio, si uniscono le voci di Gisèle Lestrange, sposa di Celan, e Max Frisch, nuovo compagno di Ingeborg. Leggere questi carteggi vuol dire assistere impotenti, abbagliati, straziati di pietà reverente, alla vita senza pelle di quattro esseri acutamente autentici – quasi un po’ vergognoso il lettore della sua impudicizia, come quando antiche tombe restituiscono esseri perduti per sempre, miracolosamente ritrovati.
Ingeborg Bachmann e Paul Celan, due fra le piú grandi figure letterarie e poetiche del ’900, si sono scritti per 15 anni tra amori e dissapori, amicizia e incomprensione, ancora amore e silenzio, disperazione, sempre alla ricerca delle parole che li facessero incontrare, mentre Celan affondava cupamente nel cieco dolore per quello che gli sembrava incomprensione dei critici, infedeltà degli amici, “hitleria, hitleria”, fino a buttarsi un giorno nella Senna.
Negli ultimi anni, al loro intenso e straordinario carteggio, si uniscono le voci di Gisèle Lestrange, sposa di Celan, e Max Frisch, nuovo compagno di Ingeborg. Leggere questi carteggi vuol dire assistere impotenti, abbagliati, straziati di pietà reverente, alla vita senza pelle di quattro esseri acutamente autentici – quasi un po’ vergognoso il lettore della sua impudicizia, come quando antiche tombe restituiscono esseri perduti per sempre, miracolosamente ritrovati.
304 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2008
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About the author
Ingeborg Bachmann
185 books618 followers“What actually is possible, however, is transformation. And the transformative effect that emanates from new works leads us to new perception, to a new feeling, new consciousness.” This sentence from Ingeborg Bachmann’s Frankfurt Lectures on Poetics (1959-60) can also be applied to her own self-consciousness as an author, and to the history of her reception. Whether in the form of lyric poetry, short prose, radio plays, libretti, lectures and essays or longer fiction, Bachmann’s œuvre had as its goal and effect “to draw people into the experiences of the writers,” into “new experiences of suffering.” (GuI 139-140). But it was especially her penetrating and artistically original representation of female subjectivity within male-dominated society that unleashed a new wave in the reception of her works.
Although Bachmann’s spectacular early fame derived from her lyric poetry (she received the prestigious Prize of the Gruppe 47 in 1954), she turned more and more towards prose during the 1950’s, having experienced severe doubts about the validity of poetic language. The stories in the collection Das dreißigste Jahr (The Thirtieth Year; 1961) typically present a sudden insight into the inadequacy of the world and its “orders” (e.g. of language, law, politics, or gender roles) and reveal a utopian longing for and effort to imagine a new and truer order. The two stories told from an explicitly female perspective, “Ein Schritt nach Gomorrha” (“A Step towards Gomorrah”) and “Undine geht” (“Undine Goes/Leaves”), are among the earliest feminist texts in postwar German-language literature. Undine accuses male humanity of having ruined not only her life as a woman but the world in general: “You monsters named Hans!” In her later prose (Malina 1971; Simultan 1972; and the posthumously published Der Fall Franza und Requiem für Fanny Goldmann) Bachmann was again ahead of her time, often employing experimental forms to portray women as they are damaged or even destroyed by patriarchal society, in this case modern Vienna. Here one sees how intertwined Bachmann’s preoccupation with female identity and patriarchy is with her diagnosis of the sickness of our age: “I’ve reflected about this question already: where does fascism begin? It doesn’t begin with the first bombs that were dropped…. It begins in relationships between people. Fascism lies at the root of the relationship between a man and a woman….”(GuI 144)
As the daughter of a teacher and a mother who hadn’t been allowed to go to university, Bachmann enjoyed the support and encouragement of both parents; after the war she studied philosophy, German literature and psychology in Innsbruck, Graz and Vienna. She wrote her doctoral dissertation (1950) on the critical reception of Heidegger, whose ideas she condemned as “a seduction … to German irrationality of thought” (GuI 137). From 1957 to 1963, the time of her troubled relationship with Swiss author Max Frisch, Bachmann alternated between Zurich and Rome. She rejected marriage as “an impossible institution. Impossible for a woman who works and thinks and wants something herself” (GuI 144).
From the end of 1965 on Bachmann resided in Rome. Despite her precarious health—she was addicted to pills for years following a faulty medical procedure—she traveled to Poland in 1973. She was just planning a move to Vienna when she died of complications following an accidental fire.
Joey Horsley
Although Bachmann’s spectacular early fame derived from her lyric poetry (she received the prestigious Prize of the Gruppe 47 in 1954), she turned more and more towards prose during the 1950’s, having experienced severe doubts about the validity of poetic language. The stories in the collection Das dreißigste Jahr (The Thirtieth Year; 1961) typically present a sudden insight into the inadequacy of the world and its “orders” (e.g. of language, law, politics, or gender roles) and reveal a utopian longing for and effort to imagine a new and truer order. The two stories told from an explicitly female perspective, “Ein Schritt nach Gomorrha” (“A Step towards Gomorrah”) and “Undine geht” (“Undine Goes/Leaves”), are among the earliest feminist texts in postwar German-language literature. Undine accuses male humanity of having ruined not only her life as a woman but the world in general: “You monsters named Hans!” In her later prose (Malina 1971; Simultan 1972; and the posthumously published Der Fall Franza und Requiem für Fanny Goldmann) Bachmann was again ahead of her time, often employing experimental forms to portray women as they are damaged or even destroyed by patriarchal society, in this case modern Vienna. Here one sees how intertwined Bachmann’s preoccupation with female identity and patriarchy is with her diagnosis of the sickness of our age: “I’ve reflected about this question already: where does fascism begin? It doesn’t begin with the first bombs that were dropped…. It begins in relationships between people. Fascism lies at the root of the relationship between a man and a woman….”(GuI 144)
As the daughter of a teacher and a mother who hadn’t been allowed to go to university, Bachmann enjoyed the support and encouragement of both parents; after the war she studied philosophy, German literature and psychology in Innsbruck, Graz and Vienna. She wrote her doctoral dissertation (1950) on the critical reception of Heidegger, whose ideas she condemned as “a seduction … to German irrationality of thought” (GuI 137). From 1957 to 1963, the time of her troubled relationship with Swiss author Max Frisch, Bachmann alternated between Zurich and Rome. She rejected marriage as “an impossible institution. Impossible for a woman who works and thinks and wants something herself” (GuI 144).
From the end of 1965 on Bachmann resided in Rome. Despite her precarious health—she was addicted to pills for years following a faulty medical procedure—she traveled to Poland in 1973. She was just planning a move to Vienna when she died of complications following an accidental fire.
Joey Horsley
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June 6, 2017Ne može čovek biti mnogo pametan kad su tuđe intimne prepiske u pitanju. Ali nekad mu može biti vrlo teško i mučno dok čita.
I Paul Celan i Ingeborg Bahman bili su pesnici (vrhunski) i osetljive duše i labilne, autodestruktivne ličnosti. I to se vidi na svakoj strani ovih pisama (koja su zapravo srazmerno oskudna, ali su uz uredničke dopune, hronologije i komentare narasla do respektabilnog obima). Bukvalno: kad god se učini da stvari kreću nabolje, jedno od njih povuče najgori mogući potez u datom trenutku, pa tako na smenu (ona neredovno piše; on godinu dana ne predlaže susret, uz ideju „da ona treba sama da se opredeli“; oženi se; ona počne da živi sa posesivnim ljubavnikom koji je istovremeno opsesivni ženskaroš, jer ravnopravnost u vezi ne treba da postoji; i... da stanemo ovde, ali ima toga još). Ima negde u Braći Karamazovima, mrzi me sad da tražim, niz od dva-tri poglavlja s naslovima „Kidanje u sobi“, „Kidanje na ulici“, „Još kidanja“, e ovo je od reči do reči to, ali sa živim ljudima. Zašto prosto ako može komplikovano, zašto srećno ako može žalosno?
A negde ubrzo posle emotivnog vrhunca ovih pisama, jednog srazmerno kratkog perioda umerene zajedničke sreće (uz znanje i pristanak Celanove supruge Žizele koja u nekom trenutku počne da se dopisuje s Ingeborg i da je teši [da, i piše mužu „kako si mogao da budeš tako okrutan prema njoj“] i koja, barem u ovoj prepisci, deluje kao daleko najzdravija ali i najplemenitija osoba, za razliku od Maksa Friša o kome što manje to bolje) kreće sunovrat koji nije neposredno vezan za centralni ljubavni odnos. U pismima postaje sve vidljivije ono što se u poeziji preobražava: Celanova psihička bolest koja uzima sve više maha. I strašno je to pratiti i sa distance nezainteresovanog čitaoca, a kamoli iz blizine voljene osobe kojoj su pisma upućena.
Dodatni problem – ovo neću moći, možda, dovoljno jasno da formulišem – jeste što je zaista teško ne videti da su koreni Celanove paranoje realni. Nemojmo se lagati, antisemitizam nije legao i uginuo 1945. Očigledno je da su napadi na Celana često bili motivisani i ličnim neprijateljstvom i antisemitizmom. Od nekog trenutka, međutim, njegove reakcije (a zaista je teško nazvati ih preteranim ako imamo u vidu istorijski i biografski kontekst), njegova pisma, i ono što saznajemo o ličnom životu (a nešto sumnjam da ću uskoro uzeti da čitam neku biografiju, jer – teško mi je) počinju da pokazuju simptome čiste paranoje i iz razumljive povređenosti lagano se sklizne u deluzije. I kako to biva, njegovom okruženju (opet: izuzev, možda, njegove žene) treba mnogo vremena da pohvataju šta se zapravo dešava a za to vreme Celan uglavnom prekida sa svima. Sa svoje strane, Ingeborg Bahman spušta se vlastitom spiralom depresije i autodestrukcije i u nekom trenutku manje-više konačno prekida prepisku i lični kontakt sa Celanom. To deluje (meni danas) kao očajnički pokušaj da se sačuva bar minimum distance i živa glava na još koju godinu. Stvarno, njihovi životi posle kraja prepiske, kad se pogleda turobna hronologija u drugom delu knjige, samo nižu boravke po klinikama, prolazna i letimična poboljšanja i trajne padove.
Ne mogu ovo čista srca da preporučim da se čita jer, kao što rekoh na početku, na momente je vrlo mučno i još mučnije kad se zna kako se sve završilo. A gajim i turobno uverenje da bih sa šesnaest godina mislila da je ovo najlepša i najtužnija ljubavna priča u istoriji i da je velika sreća što nisam tada naletela na ovu prepisku. (Sa šesnaest godina mislila sam i da je Žilijen Sorel baš super izbor za ljubavnika, ne, zaista, mladost je u raznim aspektima precenjena).
I Paul Celan i Ingeborg Bahman bili su pesnici (vrhunski) i osetljive duše i labilne, autodestruktivne ličnosti. I to se vidi na svakoj strani ovih pisama (koja su zapravo srazmerno oskudna, ali su uz uredničke dopune, hronologije i komentare narasla do respektabilnog obima). Bukvalno: kad god se učini da stvari kreću nabolje, jedno od njih povuče najgori mogući potez u datom trenutku, pa tako na smenu (ona neredovno piše; on godinu dana ne predlaže susret, uz ideju „da ona treba sama da se opredeli“; oženi se; ona počne da živi sa posesivnim ljubavnikom koji je istovremeno opsesivni ženskaroš, jer ravnopravnost u vezi ne treba da postoji; i... da stanemo ovde, ali ima toga još). Ima negde u Braći Karamazovima, mrzi me sad da tražim, niz od dva-tri poglavlja s naslovima „Kidanje u sobi“, „Kidanje na ulici“, „Još kidanja“, e ovo je od reči do reči to, ali sa živim ljudima. Zašto prosto ako može komplikovano, zašto srećno ako može žalosno?
A negde ubrzo posle emotivnog vrhunca ovih pisama, jednog srazmerno kratkog perioda umerene zajedničke sreće (uz znanje i pristanak Celanove supruge Žizele koja u nekom trenutku počne da se dopisuje s Ingeborg i da je teši [da, i piše mužu „kako si mogao da budeš tako okrutan prema njoj“] i koja, barem u ovoj prepisci, deluje kao daleko najzdravija ali i najplemenitija osoba, za razliku od Maksa Friša o kome što manje to bolje) kreće sunovrat koji nije neposredno vezan za centralni ljubavni odnos. U pismima postaje sve vidljivije ono što se u poeziji preobražava: Celanova psihička bolest koja uzima sve više maha. I strašno je to pratiti i sa distance nezainteresovanog čitaoca, a kamoli iz blizine voljene osobe kojoj su pisma upućena.
Dodatni problem – ovo neću moći, možda, dovoljno jasno da formulišem – jeste što je zaista teško ne videti da su koreni Celanove paranoje realni. Nemojmo se lagati, antisemitizam nije legao i uginuo 1945. Očigledno je da su napadi na Celana često bili motivisani i ličnim neprijateljstvom i antisemitizmom. Od nekog trenutka, međutim, njegove reakcije (a zaista je teško nazvati ih preteranim ako imamo u vidu istorijski i biografski kontekst), njegova pisma, i ono što saznajemo o ličnom životu (a nešto sumnjam da ću uskoro uzeti da čitam neku biografiju, jer – teško mi je) počinju da pokazuju simptome čiste paranoje i iz razumljive povređenosti lagano se sklizne u deluzije. I kako to biva, njegovom okruženju (opet: izuzev, možda, njegove žene) treba mnogo vremena da pohvataju šta se zapravo dešava a za to vreme Celan uglavnom prekida sa svima. Sa svoje strane, Ingeborg Bahman spušta se vlastitom spiralom depresije i autodestrukcije i u nekom trenutku manje-više konačno prekida prepisku i lični kontakt sa Celanom. To deluje (meni danas) kao očajnički pokušaj da se sačuva bar minimum distance i živa glava na još koju godinu. Stvarno, njihovi životi posle kraja prepiske, kad se pogleda turobna hronologija u drugom delu knjige, samo nižu boravke po klinikama, prolazna i letimična poboljšanja i trajne padove.
Ne mogu ovo čista srca da preporučim da se čita jer, kao što rekoh na početku, na momente je vrlo mučno i još mučnije kad se zna kako se sve završilo. A gajim i turobno uverenje da bih sa šesnaest godina mislila da je ovo najlepša i najtužnija ljubavna priča u istoriji i da je velika sreća što nisam tada naletela na ovu prepisku. (Sa šesnaest godina mislila sam i da je Žilijen Sorel baš super izbor za ljubavnika, ne, zaista, mladost je u raznim aspektima precenjena).
December 8, 2020
A correspondência entre as pessoas que se amam é mais terna que qualquer biografia das suas vidas, cheia de suposições que falam na terceira pessoa.
O tempo foi demasiado escasso para estes corações. Ficou a beleza.
Um livro muito bonito.
"Eu amar-te, apesar de tudo, é uma coisa que desde então só a mim diz respeito. Seja como for, não vou procurar como tu fazes, por esta ou aquela via, com esta ou aquela acusação, pôr-te de lado, esquecer-te ou expulsar-te do meu coração. Sei hoje que talvez nunca vá superar isto, mas não há-de ser por essa razão que o meu orgulho será afectado, ao contrário de ti, que um dia te vais sentir orgulhoso por teres deixado de pensar em mim, como que quem deixa de pensar numa coisa muito má."
O tempo foi demasiado escasso para estes corações. Ficou a beleza.
Um livro muito bonito.
"Eu amar-te, apesar de tudo, é uma coisa que desde então só a mim diz respeito. Seja como for, não vou procurar como tu fazes, por esta ou aquela via, com esta ou aquela acusação, pôr-te de lado, esquecer-te ou expulsar-te do meu coração. Sei hoje que talvez nunca vá superar isto, mas não há-de ser por essa razão que o meu orgulho será afectado, ao contrário de ti, que um dia te vais sentir orgulhoso por teres deixado de pensar em mim, como que quem deixa de pensar numa coisa muito má."
October 27, 2020
These letters provide a tale. The narrative sings of displaced souls, it heralds ill-fated lovers who cannot outrun the penumbra of history. Blanketed and ultimately crushed by the Shoah, these two poets found one another in the ruins of Vienna: if only they had a Holly Martins, one down on his luck to point the way to resolution. Redemption sells.
Alas, Celan scarred and sensitive by his experiences instead finds the younger Bachmann, she who's father was quick to join the ranks of the Greater Reich. This couple of kindred souls suffer ill-coordinated circumstances. Their stars are never properly aligned. Bachmann appears to have never been on the correct page in her life, yet she selflessly decides she will be the champion of Celan's voice in the German-language circles. She is the one who eases him into the context of Gruppe 47 and she is the one (amongst others) who defends him against charges of plagiarism and then later the thinly veiled Anti-Semitic reviews of his admittedly obscure later tomes. Both sought stability in domestic relations with others and yet both were drawn back for stray weekends, late night phone calls and obviously these desperate if often clipped letters. I told someone that Celan's letters often made me gasp.
I can't find a more piercing endorsement.
Oh and easily five stars for the annotations, which contrary to the other collections of letters which I have recently enjoyed, these were examples of sterling erudition.
Alas, Celan scarred and sensitive by his experiences instead finds the younger Bachmann, she who's father was quick to join the ranks of the Greater Reich. This couple of kindred souls suffer ill-coordinated circumstances. Their stars are never properly aligned. Bachmann appears to have never been on the correct page in her life, yet she selflessly decides she will be the champion of Celan's voice in the German-language circles. She is the one who eases him into the context of Gruppe 47 and she is the one (amongst others) who defends him against charges of plagiarism and then later the thinly veiled Anti-Semitic reviews of his admittedly obscure later tomes. Both sought stability in domestic relations with others and yet both were drawn back for stray weekends, late night phone calls and obviously these desperate if often clipped letters. I told someone that Celan's letters often made me gasp.
I can't find a more piercing endorsement.
Oh and easily five stars for the annotations, which contrary to the other collections of letters which I have recently enjoyed, these were examples of sterling erudition.
December 2, 2024
Subjektiv für mich das beste Buch im Lesejahr.
November 7, 2019
Creo que fue hace ya un tiempo, cuando renuncie a hablar, o más bien, a escribir algo sobre los libros que leía, a decir de qué iban o qué maravillas se encontraba en ellos. Desde entonces mis recomendaciones sólo se atreven a alcanzar a mis más cercanos y van acompañadas siempre de la lectura de algún fragmento del libro en cuestión o de un «tienes que leerlo», a lo que poco más puedo añadir, puesto que en verdad, es eso todo lo que tengo y puedo decir. Ya lo decía Bachmann: todo lo que podemos decir de una obra es siempre mucho más débil que la obra.
Sin embargo, en este caso me atrevo a hacer una excepción porque siento la necesidad. Hacia tiempo, desde que leí Malina con su «podríamos decir que toda la postura del hombre frente a la mujer es enfermiza, y enfermiza de un modo muy peculiar, al punto de que ya nunca podrá liberarse a los hombres de sus enfermedades», que no sentía unas palabras y unos sentimientos tan cercanos como los que se muestran en la correspondencia entre Bachmann y Celan. Mi fascinación por la autora no viene de ahora y aunque peco de haber leído demasiado poco a Celan, no puede contenerme ante la idea de descubrir un poco más sobre la misteriosa, sí, misteriosa, Ingeborg Bachmann. Así, he descubierto gratamente que lo que veía como misterio no es tal, si no que lo que hay, las palabras y las ausencias que muestra me son bastante conocidas, y creo, alcanzo a comprenderlas mejor de lo que cabría esperar.
«Estuve algunas veces a punto de decidir en contra de mí misma, y es posible que siempre tenga que volver a elegir entre mí y algo muy claro que siempre ha estado conmigo, entre una persona que no quiere complicaciones, que busca la comodidad, que es frívola y muchas cosas más, y lo otro, aquello de lo cual y por medio de lo cual vivo realmente, y de lo que en definitiva —no puedo sino decirlo de esta manera banal— no me apartaré por nada del mundo».
La relación entre Celan y Bachmann fue una relación marcada por el signo de las palabras y sobre todo, de los silencios. La poesía del uno parece invocar al otro y el antiguo medio postal como herramienta de comunicación no dejo de causar largos y temibles malentendidos entre ambos y las personas que les rodeaban, que indiscutiblemente se veían igualmente afectadas.
«Callé tanto tiempo y sin embargo pensé tanto en ti, porque en una época en la que lo único que hubiera podido escribirte era una carta que no dijera lo que realmente estaba pasando, el silencio me pareció más honesto».
En esta historia plagada de silencios, malentendidos y palabras insuficientes, siempre permaneció, sin embargo, una unión más fuerte y más profunda que el tiempo en silencio, que las rupturas y que las palabras hirientes, que los miedos y las tristezas, que todos los sentimientos que podemos experimentar ante la soledad del otro que interpela a la propia y que muchas veces no tiene nada que decir. Si hay algo que me ha fascinado de la correspondencia entre Celan y Bachmann es la claridad en las palabras y los mensajes de esta, su sinceridad y su cariño, la capacidad de enfrentarse al miedo «tuve todavía unos días difíciles, con muchas dudas, desesperaciones, pero con los miedos sólo se puede llevarlos a la realidad y resolverlos allí, no en el pensamiento», es capaz, como le dice a Celan, de apostarlo todo a una carta y perder. Lo que más me ha fascinado, sin duda, es esa voz femenina profundamente impertinente y directa que ya conocía por Malina, es esa voz la misma que escribe la carta que no llega a enviar a Paul Celan un 27 de septiembre de 1961, una carta abrumadora por la franqueza con la que se dirige al poeta, con la que le habla, parece que le conoce mejor que de lo que se conoce el mismo a sí mismo.
Me quedo con eso, con la sinceridad, el cariño y la impertinencia de Ingeborg, con su franqueza, y también con la lazo que les unión, con la comprensión que he desplegado en mi interior y con la sensibilidad.
Ingeborg Bachmann, Viena, 27 de junio de 1951.
«¿Por qué ya no sientes que todavía quiero estar contigo, con mi corazón loco y caótico y contradictorio, que de vez en cuando sigue trabajando contra ti? Lentamente empiezo a comprender por qué me he defendido tanto de ti, por qué tal vez nunca deje de hacerlo. Te amo y no quiero amarte, es demasiado y es demasiado duro; pero te amo por encima de todo. Te lo digo hoy, aun a riesgo de que ya no lo escuches o no quieras escucharlo».
Paul Celan, Levallois, 7 de julio de 1951.
«Allí donde creíamos estar parados, Inge, los pensamientos hablan en favor de los corazones, pero no al revés».
Sin embargo, en este caso me atrevo a hacer una excepción porque siento la necesidad. Hacia tiempo, desde que leí Malina con su «podríamos decir que toda la postura del hombre frente a la mujer es enfermiza, y enfermiza de un modo muy peculiar, al punto de que ya nunca podrá liberarse a los hombres de sus enfermedades», que no sentía unas palabras y unos sentimientos tan cercanos como los que se muestran en la correspondencia entre Bachmann y Celan. Mi fascinación por la autora no viene de ahora y aunque peco de haber leído demasiado poco a Celan, no puede contenerme ante la idea de descubrir un poco más sobre la misteriosa, sí, misteriosa, Ingeborg Bachmann. Así, he descubierto gratamente que lo que veía como misterio no es tal, si no que lo que hay, las palabras y las ausencias que muestra me son bastante conocidas, y creo, alcanzo a comprenderlas mejor de lo que cabría esperar.
«Estuve algunas veces a punto de decidir en contra de mí misma, y es posible que siempre tenga que volver a elegir entre mí y algo muy claro que siempre ha estado conmigo, entre una persona que no quiere complicaciones, que busca la comodidad, que es frívola y muchas cosas más, y lo otro, aquello de lo cual y por medio de lo cual vivo realmente, y de lo que en definitiva —no puedo sino decirlo de esta manera banal— no me apartaré por nada del mundo».
La relación entre Celan y Bachmann fue una relación marcada por el signo de las palabras y sobre todo, de los silencios. La poesía del uno parece invocar al otro y el antiguo medio postal como herramienta de comunicación no dejo de causar largos y temibles malentendidos entre ambos y las personas que les rodeaban, que indiscutiblemente se veían igualmente afectadas.
«Callé tanto tiempo y sin embargo pensé tanto en ti, porque en una época en la que lo único que hubiera podido escribirte era una carta que no dijera lo que realmente estaba pasando, el silencio me pareció más honesto».
En esta historia plagada de silencios, malentendidos y palabras insuficientes, siempre permaneció, sin embargo, una unión más fuerte y más profunda que el tiempo en silencio, que las rupturas y que las palabras hirientes, que los miedos y las tristezas, que todos los sentimientos que podemos experimentar ante la soledad del otro que interpela a la propia y que muchas veces no tiene nada que decir. Si hay algo que me ha fascinado de la correspondencia entre Celan y Bachmann es la claridad en las palabras y los mensajes de esta, su sinceridad y su cariño, la capacidad de enfrentarse al miedo «tuve todavía unos días difíciles, con muchas dudas, desesperaciones, pero con los miedos sólo se puede llevarlos a la realidad y resolverlos allí, no en el pensamiento», es capaz, como le dice a Celan, de apostarlo todo a una carta y perder. Lo que más me ha fascinado, sin duda, es esa voz femenina profundamente impertinente y directa que ya conocía por Malina, es esa voz la misma que escribe la carta que no llega a enviar a Paul Celan un 27 de septiembre de 1961, una carta abrumadora por la franqueza con la que se dirige al poeta, con la que le habla, parece que le conoce mejor que de lo que se conoce el mismo a sí mismo.
Me quedo con eso, con la sinceridad, el cariño y la impertinencia de Ingeborg, con su franqueza, y también con la lazo que les unión, con la comprensión que he desplegado en mi interior y con la sensibilidad.
Ingeborg Bachmann, Viena, 27 de junio de 1951.
«¿Por qué ya no sientes que todavía quiero estar contigo, con mi corazón loco y caótico y contradictorio, que de vez en cuando sigue trabajando contra ti? Lentamente empiezo a comprender por qué me he defendido tanto de ti, por qué tal vez nunca deje de hacerlo. Te amo y no quiero amarte, es demasiado y es demasiado duro; pero te amo por encima de todo. Te lo digo hoy, aun a riesgo de que ya no lo escuches o no quieras escucharlo».
Paul Celan, Levallois, 7 de julio de 1951.
«Allí donde creíamos estar parados, Inge, los pensamientos hablan en favor de los corazones, pero no al revés».
November 22, 2023
"Our lessons are becoming more and more difficult. May we learn them." - Ingeborg Bachmann
I would never have expected a collection of letters to be so fascinating. This collection offers an astonishingly intimate and humane window into the quiet lives of two of the greatest German-language poets of the post-war period. You'll never read Malina or "Corona" the same way again, that much is certain.
The drama of their evolving relationship is captivating in its own right, and this work would almost be worth reading, even for someone who had never read their work.
It contains some illuminating discussion of their art and thoughts, and I was particularly interested by a dialog regarding whether or not Bachmann should provide a solicited contribution to a Festschrift celebrating Martin Heidegger.
I would never have expected a collection of letters to be so fascinating. This collection offers an astonishingly intimate and humane window into the quiet lives of two of the greatest German-language poets of the post-war period. You'll never read Malina or "Corona" the same way again, that much is certain.
The drama of their evolving relationship is captivating in its own right, and this work would almost be worth reading, even for someone who had never read their work.
It contains some illuminating discussion of their art and thoughts, and I was particularly interested by a dialog regarding whether or not Bachmann should provide a solicited contribution to a Festschrift celebrating Martin Heidegger.
September 2, 2019
Känns skumt att betygsätta någons personliga korrespondens. men trots allt, såhär: en stark trea på korrespondensen som sådan. Med efterföljande bilagor och efterord blir det sammantagna betyget en klar fyra. Det intressanta med boken ligger i det oskrivna - de långa perioderna med tystnad från den ena eller andra parten, de aldrig skickade utkasten och bilagorna samt de kryptiska meddelandena Bachmann och Celan sänder varandra genom till exempel dedikationer.
January 25, 2010
Zwei Dichter ringen um Worte und um Liebe. Der schönste Satz des Buches, bei dem mir die Tränen in die Augen schießen: "Wie weit oder wie nah bist Du, Ingeborg? Sag es mir, damit ich weiß, ob Du die Augen schließt, wenn ich Dich jetzt küsse. Paul"
November 12, 2018
Cum mi se-ntîmplă totdeauna cu jurnalele intime, corespondenţele şi chiar memoriile, închei lectura acestui volum cu sentimente amestecate: pe de o parte jena de a fi pătruns în intimitatea celor doi mari scriitori, pe de alta frustrarea de a nu fi clarificat unele dintre spaţiile albe din biografia lor (nici Google n-a ştiut să-mi răspundă la unele curiozităţi de operetă, cum ar fi motivul despărţirii celor doi), dar mai ales cu revolta constatării - a cîta oară? - că omul de rînd este invidios şi distructiv, că preferă să strivească decît să fie recunoscător pentru razele de lumină pe care marii artişti i le trimit cu generozitate să-i încălzească sufletul. Ingeborg a trăit aproape toată viaţa la limita sărăciei, iar acuzaţia nedreaptă de plagiat adusă lui Paul Celan, suprapusă peste ororile îndurate ca evreu în Cernăuţiul celui de-al doilea război i-a distrus acestuia viaţa.
Sîntem prea mici ca să-i putem privi pe zei, şi atunci ne străduim cu entuziasm să le dărîmăm statuile şi templele, pentru a-i obliga să ne semene.
Sîntem prea mici ca să-i putem privi pe zei, şi atunci ne străduim cu entuziasm să le dărîmăm statuile şi templele, pentru a-i obliga să ne semene.
May 31, 2021
"É que começo lentamente a perceber porque me defendi tanto de ti, porque é que talvez nunca vá deixar de o fazer. Amo-te e não te quero amar, é de mais e demasiado difícil; mas, acima de tudo, amo-te"
Apesar de não ser particularmente apreciadora de narrativas epistolares, fascinou-me a dinâmica entre Bachmann e Celan. De um lado, um intelecto semelhante, de outro, uma relação amorosa com os seus altos e baixos, com os seus arrebatamentos e arrufos. Um amor tão intenso que foi aceite e compreendido pela mulher de Celan e pelo marido de Bachmann.
Já não se escrevem cartas de amor, e é uma pena...
Apesar de não ser particularmente apreciadora de narrativas epistolares, fascinou-me a dinâmica entre Bachmann e Celan. De um lado, um intelecto semelhante, de outro, uma relação amorosa com os seus altos e baixos, com os seus arrebatamentos e arrufos. Um amor tão intenso que foi aceite e compreendido pela mulher de Celan e pelo marido de Bachmann.
Já não se escrevem cartas de amor, e é uma pena...
December 19, 2020
a correspondência trocada entre Celan e Bachmann lê-se como uma novela, levando-nos aos seus quotidianos. mas o conjunto é de uma infinita tristeza. ela ama-o, ou admira-o ou as duas coisas. percebe-se que gosta muito dele. ele também gosta muito de si próprio, parecendo que nada existe para além do seu ego. mal se percebe que uma relação tao esquizo possa ter durado tanto tempo.
February 4, 2017
წერილების წერა დიდი საკრალური რამეა ჩემთვის.
სხვისი წერილების, მითუმეტეს ასეთი უხილავი კავშირებით გადაბმული ორი ადამიანის მიმოწერის კითხვა კიდევ დიდი სიამოვნება ყოფილა, და დამაიმედებელიც, რომ ასეთი კავშირები არ ქრება. მოკლედ ყოველდღიურად ვიზოგავდი და ვიკარგებოდი სხვათა წერილებში.
ძირითადად ერთმანეთის ურთიერთობაზე, მეგობრობასა და საგამომცემლო ამბებზე, წიგნების გაცვლა-გამოცვლაზე საუბრობენ, რაც ჩემთან პირდაპირ კავშირში აღმოჩნდა და სიამოვნებითაც ავყევი.
4 ვარსკვლავს ვუწერ ორიგინალ გამოცემას უფრო სწორად ჩემ წარმოდგენას როგორი კარგი შეიძლებოდა ყოფილიყო წიგნი, რადგანაც ქართული გამოცემა პირდაპირ ვიტყოდი და საქს! ძალიან მეპარება ეჭვი რომ ორიგინალ გამოცემაში, სადაც ბახმანი და ცელანი წერილებს საკუთარ ლექსებსაც ურთავდნენ, იქ მხოლოდ ლექსის სათაურები წერია -_- მკითხველს არ უნდა უწევდეს ლექსების კრებულებში ქექვა რომ გაარკვიოს აი ახლა ცელანმა რა შინაარსის ლექსი მისწერა ბახმანს.. თუმცა დიოგენეს მიერ გამოცემული ცელანის კრებული კი გამომადგა და დიდი უცნაურობაც დატრიალდა, თაროზე რომ ავძვერი ცელანის კრებულის გამოსაძვრომად უპს თურმე მაქს ფრიში და პაულ ცელანი გვერდიგვერდ მომითავსებია (მაქს ფრიში და ინგებორგ ბახმანი წლების განმავლობაში ცხოვრობდნენ ერთად), მოკლედ წიგნების თაროზე ასეთი უხერხული ამბებიც შეიძლება დატრიალდეს.
სხვისი წერილების, მითუმეტეს ასეთი უხილავი კავშირებით გადაბმული ორი ადამიანის მიმოწერის კითხვა კიდევ დიდი სიამოვნება ყოფილა, და დამაიმედებელიც, რომ ასეთი კავშირები არ ქრება. მოკლედ ყოველდღიურად ვიზოგავდი და ვიკარგებოდი სხვათა წერილებში.
ძირითადად ერთმანეთის ურთიერთობაზე, მეგობრობასა და საგამომცემლო ამბებზე, წიგნების გაცვლა-გამოცვლაზე საუბრობენ, რაც ჩემთან პირდაპირ კავშირში აღმოჩნდა და სიამოვნებითაც ავყევი.
4 ვარსკვლავს ვუწერ ორიგინალ გამოცემას უფრო სწორად ჩემ წარმოდგენას როგორი კარგი შეიძლებოდა ყოფილიყო წიგნი, რადგანაც ქართული გამოცემა პირდაპირ ვიტყოდი და საქს! ძალიან მეპარება ეჭვი რომ ორიგინალ გამოცემაში, სადაც ბახმანი და ცელანი წერილებს საკუთარ ლექსებსაც ურთავდნენ, იქ მხოლოდ ლექსის სათაურები წერია -_- მკითხველს არ უნდა უწევდეს ლექსების კრებულებში ქექვა რომ გაარკვიოს აი ახლა ცელანმა რა შინაარსის ლექსი მისწერა ბახმანს.. თუმცა დიოგენეს მიერ გამოცემული ცელანის კრებული კი გამომადგა და დიდი უცნაურობაც დატრიალდა, თაროზე რომ ავძვერი ცელანის კრებულის გამოსაძვრომად უპს თურმე მაქს ფრიში და პაულ ცელანი გვერდიგვერდ მომითავსებია (მაქს ფრიში და ინგებორგ ბახმანი წლების განმავლობაში ცხოვრობდნენ ერთად), მოკლედ წიგნების თაროზე ასეთი უხერხული ამბებიც შეიძლება დატრიალდეს.
April 10, 2015
Birisi toplama kampından çıkmış, birisi de savaşın yükünü hep üstünde hissetmiş iki insanın yakıcı aşkı. Öyle ki ne uzaklık, ne de başka insanlarla beraber yaşamak aşklarına ve dostluklarını azaltmış. Ve sonunda birisi kendini Seine Nehri'ne atarak, birisi de yakarak öldürdü. Zaten şöyle yazmıştı mektuplardan birinde Inge, "Beni Seine Nehri'ne götür, küçük balıklara dönüşene ve birbirimizi yeniden tanıyana kadar bakalım sularına."
January 24, 2020
I didn't expect this to be such a page turner, but there I was, rushing through letter after letter because I couldn't wait to see what would happen next. Two great writers, involved in one of the most astonishing public debates of the century, and in a love affair, and in various other intrigues--and they're both a little sensitive, to say the least. Includes wonderful poems as well, of course. An unexpected delight, and highly recommended.
February 14, 2021
Non serve una valutazione, né un commento, né una recensione.
Tutto quello che si può dire, lo dice il carteggio.
Il resto è una lotta lacerante contro il vuoto.
Tutto quello che si può dire, lo dice il carteggio.
Il resto è una lotta lacerante contro il vuoto.
November 16, 2015
De briefwisseling tussen Ingeborg Bachmann en Paul Celan: een dramatische liefde
Ze determineerden elk op hun manier de dichtkunst van het naoorlogse Duitsland en stortten zich vol overgave in een moeizame liefde, gedoemd om te mislukken. Ze leerden elkaar kennen in het door de geallieerden bezette Wenen, maar hadden een volstrekt verschillende levensloop. Zij was een studente filosofie en dochter van een lid van de nazipartij NSDAP; hij een stateloze, Joods-Roemeense dichter uit Czernowitz, wiens beide ouders gedeporteerd werden en die zelf een werkkamp had overleefd. Ingeborg Bachmann en Paul Celan, de twee tenoren van de Duitse literatuur, begonnen in 1948 een “exemplarische” liefdesrelatie waaruit tussen 1948 en 1967 een intense briefwisseling ontstond. Meulenhoff stelt deze brieven voor het eerst ter beschikking in een uitmuntende Nederlandse vertaling van Paul Beers.
Brieven als waarheid
Wat meteen opvalt is dat de briefwisseling tussen beide dichters grote hiaten vertoont. In sommige periodes is er een overvloed aan brieven, tijdens andere periodes wordt een obstinaat stilzwijgen aangehouden. Het woelige leven van beide schrijvers is daar natuurlijk niet vreemd aan. In deze verzorgde uitgave zijn niet alleen brieven onverkort opgenomen, maar ook telegrammen, postkaarten, opdrachten in boeken en korte notities. Maar de allerbelangrijkste bijdrage van deze editie is het grote aantal niet verstuurde brieven, die hier als getuigen van een mislukte communicatie gewoon tussen de andere brieven staan die wél op de bus gingen. Het zijn schetsen, kladversies, vaak nog niet helemaal ontdaan van de scherpe kantjes, die meer uitvoerige brieven aankondigen of juist vragen om het zwijgen te doorbreken, en waarvan de lezer meer dan eens de indruk krijgt dat ‘de waarheid’ er ongekuist in verwoord wordt. Wat niet geschreven kan worden, staat hier te lezen, zwart op wit. En dat is meer dan eens zeer leerrijk of onthullend.
Grosso modo zijn er 6 periodes in de correspondentie te onderscheiden, telkens verbonden met biografische keerpunten. De epistolaire relatie neemt een vliegende start wanneer op 24 juni 1948 Celan zijn eerste brief aan de 6 jaar jongere Bachmann schrijft. Hij voegt er het cryptische liefdesgedicht “In Egypte” bij, dat hij bovendien aan haar opdraagt. Hij is dan 27 jaar en heeft al enige roem verworven met een eerste dichtbundel, Der Sand aus den Urnen. Beide dichters hadden elkaar een maand ervoor in Wenen leren kennen, en als we Bachmann in een brief aan haar ouders mogen geloven, was het liefde op het eerste gezicht: “De surrealistische dichter Paul Celan, die ik twee avonden geleden bij de schilder Jené nog met Weigel leerde kennen en die heel fascinerend is, is stapelverliefd op me geworden. Mijn kamer is op dit moment een papaverveld, want hij heeft er plezier in me met deze bloemen te overladen.” (20.05.1948). Kort hierna beginnen Bachmann en Celan halsoverkop een relatie die slechts een paar weken stand zou houden, maar wel bepalend zou zijn voor hun verdere leven. Vanaf dan zien we beiden trouwens opduiken in elkaars werk, met als meest flagrante voorbeeld Bachmanns sleutelroman Malina. In juni 1948 verhuist Celan naar Parijs waar hij in 1952 trouwt met de bemiddelde Gisèle de Lestrange.
Vanaf begin 1949 volgt een losse reeks brieven, die vooral een mijmerend karakter hebben en nostalgische herinneringen oproepen aan de gloed van hun eerste ontmoeting. Iedere poging tot herstellen van wat was, lijkt te mislukken. Hun gezamenlijke vrienden Nani en Klaus Demus worden tevergeefs meerdere keren ingeschakeld als bemiddelaars en zelfs de Parijse bezoeken van Bachmann eind 1950 en begin 1951 leveren weinig op. De correspondentie van deze periode draait vooral rond Celan, in de eerste plaats door zijn werk, waarvoor Bachmann het opneemt in de mate van haar mogelijkheden, pogingen waarover ze hem regelmatig en uitvoerig bericht. Door de vele vruchteloze initiatieven tot toenadering, haalt Bachmann hier emotioneel de overhand.
Na een korte ontmoeting in Niendorf eind mei 1952 volgt een lange, ‘magere’ periode in de correspondentie, slechts 11 documenten in 5 jaar, met 1 opdrachtexemplaar als Celans bijdrage. Deze periode is belangrijk omdat Bachmann hier voor het eerst met eigen dichtwerk naar voren treedt. Zo stuurt ze 4 gedichten mee in een brief voor een Oostenrijkse bloemlezing die Celan zou gaan samenstellen. Celan verwaardigt zich niet te antwoorden, maar neemt wel een van de gedichten veelzeggend op in zijn uiteindelijke keuze. Dit is ook de periode waarin Celan voor het eerst geconfronteerd wordt met plagiaatbeschuldigingen (zie verder).
Een kort weerzien op een symposium over literatuurkritiek in Wuppertal eind 1957 verandert het karakter van de briefwisseling. Celan domineert en hij overlaadt Bachmann met geestdriftige brieven. Bachmann lijkt ter zelfbescherming afstand te willen houden, nu Celan getrouwd is en een zoon heeft, maar deze periode is qua intensiteit het absolute hoogtepunt in het briefcontact, getuige de aangrijpende brief die Celan 31 oktober 1957 schreef: “Je weet ook: je was, toen ik je ontmoette, beide voor mij: het zinnelijke en het geestelijke. Dat kan nooit gescheiden worden, Ingeborg.” (pag. 83)
In december 1957, januari 1958 en in mei 1958 reisde Celan nog drie keer naar München om bij Bachmann te zijn. In mei 1958 liep de liefdesrelatie voor de zoveelse keer af. Eind juni 1958 verbleef Bachmann een poos in Parijs. Ze ontmoette er zowel Celan als zijn vrouw Gisèle Lestrange (Bachmanns veelzeggende correspondentie met Lestrange is hier eveneens opgenomen). In juli 1958 ontmoet Bachmann de Zwitserse architect en romanschrijver Max Frisch, met wie ze een koppel zou vormen tot in 1962. Op 11 oktober 1959 verschijnt er een door Celan als antisemitisch ervaren recensie van zijn bundel Sprachgitter. Celan vraagt Frisch om hulp, maar die probeert te goeder trouw te waarschuwen voor de vermenging van andermans anti-Joodse gevoelens met eigen rancune over een negatieve recensie. Kort daarna barst de Goll-affaire los, waarin Celan ten onrechte van plagiaat beschuldigd werd door de weduwe van Yvan Goll. Vanaf dan gaat het bergaf met Celan, die zich steeds dieper ziet neerdalen in een spiraal van manische depressie. In 1965 zou hij zijn vrouw proberen vermoorden. Hij wordt voor het eerst opgenomen in een psychiatrische kliniek. Hij zet zelf een punt achter zijn lijdenstocht in 1970 door zich in de Seine te werpen.
Na 1961 bewaart Bachmann het stilzwijgen, hoewel ze Celan blijft verdedigen in de pers als dichter en vertaler. In 1963 en 1967 zou Celan nog twee korte brieven schrijven als reactie op berichten over Bachmann in de krant. Tot na de dood van Celan zou Bachmann blijven corresponderen met Lestrange.
Dramatische hartstocht
Een dramatische liefde lezen ligt niet voor de hand. Het is een veeleisend boek dat de lezer herhaaldelijk een oncomfortabel gevoel geeft, hoewel het tegelijkertijd een unieke inkijk geeft op de psyche van twee getormenteerde zielen. In een brief van 19 mei 1960 verwijt Celan zijn geliefde onverschilligheid: “Ingeborg, waar ben je? – Daar komt zo’n Blöcker tevoorschijn, zo’n grafschenner, ik schrijf je in wanhoop, en je hebt geen lettergreep voor me over (…) Schaam je je niet, Ingeborg? Ik schrijf je, Ingeborg.” (pag.180). Deze scherpe en verbitterde toon is kenmerkend voor de intensiteit van een briefwisseling tussen 2 correspondenten voor wie schrijven tout court cruciaal is. Het worstelen met zichzelf, met een onwillige wereld, maar vooral met de taal staat centraal. Het bijwijlen hermetische taalgebruik vergemakkelijkt de lectuur evenmin. Reken daar de labiele psychische toestand van de depressieve Celan bij en je komt al snel tot een vrij explosieve cocktail. Het is dan ook vrij verbazend dat we als lezer gelokt worden door een achterflaptekst die ons ‘schitterende, hartstochtelijke liefdesbrieven’ belooft. Schitterend ? Zeer zeker. Hartstochtelijk ? De passie druipt eraf. Maar wie hoopt even te kunnen wegzwijmelen bij wat onvervalste romantiek zal toch bedrogen uitkomen.
In Een dramatische liefde werden voor de volledigheid ook de briefwisselingen tussen Max Frisch en Celan, en tussen Bachmann en Gisèle Celan-Lestrange opgenomen. Bepaalde ingewikkelde kwesties worden zo in de juiste context geplaatst, denk maar aan de koele brief van Frisch aan Celan waarin hij stelt dat hij geen zijde wil kiezen in de hele plagiaatskwestie, een houding die hem niet in dank werd afgenomen, noch door Celan, noch door Bachmann. Verder vinden we omstandige nawoorden van Barbara Wiedemann, Bertrand Badiou, Hans Höller en Andrea Stoll, een overzichtelijke tijdskalender in twee kolommen en een tiental foto’s, facsimiles en illustraties.
Veertig jaar nadat Paul Celan zich van de Parijse Pont Mirabeau in de Seine gooide, legt deze verhelderende editie niet alleen een stevige basis voor onze kennis van de relatie tussen beide auteurs, maar verstevigt meteen ook het mythische karakter van deze tragische liefdesgeschiedenis.
Ingeborg Bachmann & Paul Celan - Ingeborg Bachmann, Paul Celan: Een dramatische liefde : briefwisseling, Meulenhoff Amsterdam, 2010, 334 p. : ill., € 24,95., vertaling door Paul Beers.
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April 23, 2023Paul an Ingeborg, 11. November 1957:
“(…) Morgen ziehst Du in Deine neue Wohnung: darf ich bald kommen und mit Dir eine Lampe suchen gehen? ” - Paul
Ingeborg an Paul, 14 November 1957:
“(…) Ich rede manchmal zu Dir nach Paris, als wärest Du allein dort, und oft verstumme ich , wenn ich Dich wahrhabe mit allem hier. Dann aber werden wir Klarheit und keine Verwirrungen mehr stiffen – und die Lampe suchen gehen! ” - Ingeborg
Paul an Ingeborg, 16. November 1957:
“(…) Montag ziehe ich mich um; wenn Du mir schreibst, so bitte an die neue Adresse.”
Lampensuchenderweise ,
Paul
….
LAMPENSUCHENDERWEISE ?!
Kann es sein, dass ich mit Dichtern verliebt bin? Ja. Geil…
Liebe ist Tot. Die Ausnahme? Die zwei hier.
Das Lesen solcher Notizen und auch Tagebücher fühlt sich immer ein bisschen pervers an? Es ist etwas intim, aber auch sehr faszinierend. Man bekommt einen Einblick in die Psyche der beiden. Man merkt, dass solche berühmten Namen auch Menschen sind. Wie du und ich. Sie müssen arbeiten, sie müssen kochen, und sie können krank werden. Das ist eine seltsame Erkenntnis. Vor allem, weil wir in einer Zeit leben, in der so gut wie jeder, der eine Plattform hat, vergöttert wird.
“(…) Morgen ziehst Du in Deine neue Wohnung: darf ich bald kommen und mit Dir eine Lampe suchen gehen? ” - Paul
Ingeborg an Paul, 14 November 1957:
“(…) Ich rede manchmal zu Dir nach Paris, als wärest Du allein dort, und oft verstumme ich , wenn ich Dich wahrhabe mit allem hier. Dann aber werden wir Klarheit und keine Verwirrungen mehr stiffen – und die Lampe suchen gehen! ” - Ingeborg
Paul an Ingeborg, 16. November 1957:
“(…) Montag ziehe ich mich um; wenn Du mir schreibst, so bitte an die neue Adresse.”
Lampensuchenderweise ,
Paul
….
LAMPENSUCHENDERWEISE ?!
Kann es sein, dass ich mit Dichtern verliebt bin? Ja. Geil…
Liebe ist Tot. Die Ausnahme? Die zwei hier.
Das Lesen solcher Notizen und auch Tagebücher fühlt sich immer ein bisschen pervers an? Es ist etwas intim, aber auch sehr faszinierend. Man bekommt einen Einblick in die Psyche der beiden. Man merkt, dass solche berühmten Namen auch Menschen sind. Wie du und ich. Sie müssen arbeiten, sie müssen kochen, und sie können krank werden. Das ist eine seltsame Erkenntnis. Vor allem, weil wir in einer Zeit leben, in der so gut wie jeder, der eine Plattform hat, vergöttert wird.
May 27, 2021
I’m usually such a slow reader of letters (god knows I’ve been stuck inside of Kafka’s Letters to Milena and Nabokov’s Letters To Vera for years), but I devoured these in a week. I haven’t been so in awe of the way a book is edited in a while, but my adoration for this collection is certainly owed in part to how expertly and with such obvious care it is compiled. Footnotes expounding on the letters’ contents immediately follow each one (as opposed to being relegated to the back), allowing the reader to understand the full context of Paul and Ingeborg’s lives and careers into which their correspondence fits. A real narrative emerges from the biographical details, and the timeline falls into place more naturally. More than just an intimate portrait of their affair, I came to understand this compilation as a glimpse at two scarred people using poetry as a means of overcoming the horrors of World War II, and surviving life — and often, too, themselves — on a daily basis. Their letters speak pain and love and tenderness, and reveal a desperate desire to make their traumas felt to one another in order to reach a deeper understanding. One is able to trace the waxing and waning of their on-and-off affair through mental illnesses, spousal problems, and professional controversies. Some months or years they were on the same wavelengths; others, one would send off several distressing letters only to be met with the addressee’s radio silence. Longer letters in which their emotions poured forth left me speechless in their honesty, and I’d feel a catch in my throat when I read the words “unsent draft” beside the letter’s heading; usually a more muted, restrained revision of the same letter was actually postmarked, the words flattened by the fear of saying something wrong. So much is gleaned from the crossed lines and scrapped drafts, what was never said, the ways they failed each other just as often as they championed one another’s work. And yet what they were able to say, their candor — not at all rare in these letters — astounds.
The inclusion of their letters to each other’s spouses (Paul to Max Frisch and Ingeborg to Gisèle Lestrange) further illuminate the care they had for one another, most of all in the glaring absence of the intimate language, the intensity that radiates forth from the letters meant only for each other’s eyes. The commentary and poetological afterword are fascinating in the examination of the effects of the poets’ relationship on their work, down to the individual words that are paralleled and referenced between their poems. I was just staggered again and again at the thought of the massive undertaking the research for this collection and the supplementary materials must’ve been; the translators’ and editors’ efforts to create a truly lifelike portrait of the two poets is certainly evident and incredibly powerful.
The inclusion of their letters to each other’s spouses (Paul to Max Frisch and Ingeborg to Gisèle Lestrange) further illuminate the care they had for one another, most of all in the glaring absence of the intimate language, the intensity that radiates forth from the letters meant only for each other’s eyes. The commentary and poetological afterword are fascinating in the examination of the effects of the poets’ relationship on their work, down to the individual words that are paralleled and referenced between their poems. I was just staggered again and again at the thought of the massive undertaking the research for this collection and the supplementary materials must’ve been; the translators’ and editors’ efforts to create a truly lifelike portrait of the two poets is certainly evident and incredibly powerful.
March 3, 2019
I had a very strange feeling when I first started reading this book: it was like reading someone's diary. Well, so close, since these are real letters where Ingeborg and Paul are real...
That feeling vanished quite quickly and I was absorbed in the drama going on there and I felt for them, for pretty much all of them.
Highly recommended.
That feeling vanished quite quickly and I was absorbed in the drama going on there and I felt for them, for pretty much all of them.
Highly recommended.
October 27, 2022
I thought this book a gem. Started rereading almost as soon as I had finished it.
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June 5, 2025And this is why your friends tell you to go no-contact with an ex!
I was enjoying this letter exchange when all of a sudden this agitating, graving voice (Max Frisch) interrupted my quirky read …
I’ll also make sure to never read a letter exchange again, I promise. At this point, I feel it is just borderline creepy; intimacy should never be dissected, reviewed and rated from voyeurs who claim to “relate” and “understand”…
I was enjoying this letter exchange when all of a sudden this agitating, graving voice (Max Frisch) interrupted my quirky read …
I’ll also make sure to never read a letter exchange again, I promise. At this point, I feel it is just borderline creepy; intimacy should never be dissected, reviewed and rated from voyeurs who claim to “relate” and “understand”…
March 2, 2023
Werkelijk waar prachtig. Het boek is precies goed opgesteld, van begin tot eind klopt alles. Heeft mijn interesse naar Bachmann en Celan verder aangewakkerd. ‘Breng me naar de Seine, we zullen net zo lang in het water kijken tot we kleine vissen zijn geworden en elkaar herkennen.’
Mijn hart.
Mijn hart.
April 13, 2021
“Tu citești acum. Mă gândesc la vocea ta”
Paul Celan către Ingeborg Bachmann, Paris, 11.01.1958
Paul Celan către Ingeborg Bachmann, Paris, 11.01.1958
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January 17, 2021Brev skrivna av två poeter! Kan det bli mer kärleksfullt? Nej tror inte det
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December 6, 2022The correspondence between these two great literary minds traces an intense love relationship that never quite came to fruition: two people whose connection was deep enough to survive distance, turmoil, and committed relationships to other people.
Celan and Bachmann fell in love in occupied Vienna in 1948. However, their romance was interrupted by Celan's felt need to leave Vienna despite the fact that his literary roots were firmly placed in the world of German letters. Everywhere he looked, he was disgusted by the profound complicity of the people around him in the crimes of the Nazi era, as well as by what he perceived as their constant failures to really overcome the antisemitism that had led to so much pain and death in Celan's own life. So, he moved to Paris, where he would live for the rest of his life.
Despite their separation, for years thereafter he and Bachmann wrote passionate love letters to each other. Bachmann's career ambitions and Celan's understandable unwillingness to return conspired to keep them apart, but they yearned for each other, constantly trying but failing to find a way to reunite. Eventually, in 1951 Celan married Giselle Lestrange. However, he and Bachmann continued their correspondence, at times endeavoring to maintain a fond but platonic friendship, at times feeling the need to reunite as lovers. In very touching letters, Bachmann reaffirmed her love for Celan, but urged him to remain with his wife, and admitted to him she'd found meaningful romantic relationships of her own. Still, their bond survived, not the least because of their shared literary passions as they collaborated on editorial projects, and acted as advocates for each others' work.
Sadly, as time went on, Celan's wartime traumas began taking their toll on his mind, not the least because of the famous Goll Affair, in which the widow of the poet Yvan Goll falsely accused Celan of plagiarizing her late husband's work using thinly veiled antisemitic rhetoric and cruel personal attacks that caused Celan to become more and more paranoid in his later years. Thus, the final phase of his correspondence with Bachmann becomes truly tragic. As his paranoia grew, Celan began turning against his friends, including Bachmann. He suspected them of conspiring against him, or exploded in outrage precisely at their attempts to defend his reputation against the widow Goll's vicious attacks. The mixture of sadness and anger mixed with undimmed love in Bachmann's letters from this period is so very tragic, as are Celan's outbursts of hostility mingled with apologies and desperate attempts to maintain his connection to Bachmann or to beg for her help.
These are real documents of a very real relationship between two people. There's no author pulling the strings to satisfy the reader, so there's no clean resolution. Instead, their correspondence simply petered out around 1961, and on a tragically unresolved note. We know that Celan's state of mind only grew worse, even as he was, in his last decade, writing some of the most astonishingly strange and beautiful poetry of the 20th century. We know that eventually he simply gave up and cast himself into the Seine in 1970, and that Bachmann died only three years later in a cruelly arbitrary way - burnt to death after falling asleep with a lit cigarette in her hand, possibly as a result of barbiturate abuse. Despite these tragic ends, though, their correspondence remains a beautiful yet complicated love story between two remarkable people.
Celan and Bachmann fell in love in occupied Vienna in 1948. However, their romance was interrupted by Celan's felt need to leave Vienna despite the fact that his literary roots were firmly placed in the world of German letters. Everywhere he looked, he was disgusted by the profound complicity of the people around him in the crimes of the Nazi era, as well as by what he perceived as their constant failures to really overcome the antisemitism that had led to so much pain and death in Celan's own life. So, he moved to Paris, where he would live for the rest of his life.
Despite their separation, for years thereafter he and Bachmann wrote passionate love letters to each other. Bachmann's career ambitions and Celan's understandable unwillingness to return conspired to keep them apart, but they yearned for each other, constantly trying but failing to find a way to reunite. Eventually, in 1951 Celan married Giselle Lestrange. However, he and Bachmann continued their correspondence, at times endeavoring to maintain a fond but platonic friendship, at times feeling the need to reunite as lovers. In very touching letters, Bachmann reaffirmed her love for Celan, but urged him to remain with his wife, and admitted to him she'd found meaningful romantic relationships of her own. Still, their bond survived, not the least because of their shared literary passions as they collaborated on editorial projects, and acted as advocates for each others' work.
Sadly, as time went on, Celan's wartime traumas began taking their toll on his mind, not the least because of the famous Goll Affair, in which the widow of the poet Yvan Goll falsely accused Celan of plagiarizing her late husband's work using thinly veiled antisemitic rhetoric and cruel personal attacks that caused Celan to become more and more paranoid in his later years. Thus, the final phase of his correspondence with Bachmann becomes truly tragic. As his paranoia grew, Celan began turning against his friends, including Bachmann. He suspected them of conspiring against him, or exploded in outrage precisely at their attempts to defend his reputation against the widow Goll's vicious attacks. The mixture of sadness and anger mixed with undimmed love in Bachmann's letters from this period is so very tragic, as are Celan's outbursts of hostility mingled with apologies and desperate attempts to maintain his connection to Bachmann or to beg for her help.
These are real documents of a very real relationship between two people. There's no author pulling the strings to satisfy the reader, so there's no clean resolution. Instead, their correspondence simply petered out around 1961, and on a tragically unresolved note. We know that Celan's state of mind only grew worse, even as he was, in his last decade, writing some of the most astonishingly strange and beautiful poetry of the 20th century. We know that eventually he simply gave up and cast himself into the Seine in 1970, and that Bachmann died only three years later in a cruelly arbitrary way - burnt to death after falling asleep with a lit cigarette in her hand, possibly as a result of barbiturate abuse. Despite these tragic ends, though, their correspondence remains a beautiful yet complicated love story between two remarkable people.
October 28, 2017
For two poets / writers, the correspondence between them is disappointing. I expected something more like Vlam in die Sneeu, but the letters are generally short, often confusing, often mundane, and rarely poetic or self-aware. An interesting realisation! I suppose it is intended primarily as a work of scholarly interest. For instance, the letters fill less than half the book, the rest being primarily explanatory notes along with a time line, epilogues, illustrations, etc.
October 31, 2014
Paul Celane Ingeborg Bachmann, Pariz, 18.10.1957.
Vrijeme srca,
odsanjani stoje
za ponoćnu brojku.
Ponešto je govorilo u tišini, ponešto šutjelo,
ponešto je išlo svojim putem.
Izgnano i izgubljeno
ostalo je kod kuće.
..................................
Vi katedrale.
Vi katedrale neviđene,
vi vode neosluhnute,
vi ure duboko u nama.
Vrijeme srca,
odsanjani stoje
za ponoćnu brojku.
Ponešto je govorilo u tišini, ponešto šutjelo,
ponešto je išlo svojim putem.
Izgnano i izgubljeno
ostalo je kod kuće.
..................................
Vi katedrale.
Vi katedrale neviđene,
vi vode neosluhnute,
vi ure duboko u nama.
March 14, 2022
struggente, struggente, struggente
February 23, 2017
hayatta kaldığını zanneden Celan ve neredeyse yaşayacak gibi duran Ingeborg. bizim kafamızın tam basmayacağı bir şey var: der tod ist ein meister aus deutschland yani ölüm bir alman ustalığıdır. hep dediğim gibi: bohem insanları açıkçası hiç insancıl bulmuyorum. hepsi birbirinden naif ve nasıl yaşanacağını çözemiyorlar. bence mutluluk gerçek bir insan gibi hayat koşuşturmacasında kendini kaybedip yıllarını geçiren, bilincinin üzerine eğilip kendini önemsemeyen insanlarda. bu yüzden Celan'ı, Gisèle Lestrange hak ediyor işte.
September 26, 2025
La differenza tra un romanzo epistolare e un carteggio reale è che qui si tocca con mano la materia viva e incandescente del cuore umano. Si ha la sensazione di mettere le dita nelle ferite aperte come il San Tommaso di Caravaggio che ti fa male solo a guardarlo.
Con questo spirito ho letto l'epistolario tra Ingeborg Bachmann e Paul Celan e tra loro e i loro compagni di vita ufficiali (rispettivamente Max e Gisèle) tra il 1948 e il 1973, con il respiro che di tanto in tanto mi mancava, con la speranza di una felicità per loro, anche solo momentanea, ma soprattutto con il timore dei silenzi, dei rifiuti, delle incomprensioni quasi che toccassero me.
Non sempre è semplice seguire il flusso delle loro parole. Le lettere procedono per salti temporali, alludono a fatti e circostanze che sfuggono al lettore e che l'esile apparato di note non chiarisce. Ci si trova sballottati tra altalene umorali, trasferimenti continui per mezza Europa, di due anime sempre inquiete, travolte da vicende editoriali che tuttavia non rendono Inge meno appassionata né Paul meno tragico.
In ogni circostanza, anche la più quotidiana, entrambi emergono con le loro sensibilità esasperate: lei più aperta e lineare persino nell'infelicità. Lui, il sopravvissuto, chiuso, involuto, a tratti duro come chi da lungo tempo si incammina verso il destino ineluttabile che ha scelto.
Le lettere di Paul le ho trovate più difficili. È stato tuttavia affascinante constatare come una storia d'amore durata qualche mese si sia dilatata negli anni solo attraverso queste lettere ("troviamo le parole" cioè diamo una forma a ciò che siamo), qualche veloce incontro, vestendo - chissà quanto di buon grado - i panni dell'amicizia, senza perdere mai d'intensità.
Mi ha stupito il rispetto che legava Inge a Gisele, la moglie di Paul. E lo sforzo di Max, il compagno di Inge, di instaurare una cortese amicizia con Celan (i due uomini tuttavia appaiono meno spontanei)
E mi hanno colpito le lettere finali. Le condoglianze, telegrafiche, nude che Inge manda a Gisele quando la notizia del ritrovamento di Paul nella Senna si diffonde.
Che dire? Inge e Paul hanno fatto ottima poesia anche solo amandosi.
Con questo spirito ho letto l'epistolario tra Ingeborg Bachmann e Paul Celan e tra loro e i loro compagni di vita ufficiali (rispettivamente Max e Gisèle) tra il 1948 e il 1973, con il respiro che di tanto in tanto mi mancava, con la speranza di una felicità per loro, anche solo momentanea, ma soprattutto con il timore dei silenzi, dei rifiuti, delle incomprensioni quasi che toccassero me.
Non sempre è semplice seguire il flusso delle loro parole. Le lettere procedono per salti temporali, alludono a fatti e circostanze che sfuggono al lettore e che l'esile apparato di note non chiarisce. Ci si trova sballottati tra altalene umorali, trasferimenti continui per mezza Europa, di due anime sempre inquiete, travolte da vicende editoriali che tuttavia non rendono Inge meno appassionata né Paul meno tragico.
In ogni circostanza, anche la più quotidiana, entrambi emergono con le loro sensibilità esasperate: lei più aperta e lineare persino nell'infelicità. Lui, il sopravvissuto, chiuso, involuto, a tratti duro come chi da lungo tempo si incammina verso il destino ineluttabile che ha scelto.
Le lettere di Paul le ho trovate più difficili. È stato tuttavia affascinante constatare come una storia d'amore durata qualche mese si sia dilatata negli anni solo attraverso queste lettere ("troviamo le parole" cioè diamo una forma a ciò che siamo), qualche veloce incontro, vestendo - chissà quanto di buon grado - i panni dell'amicizia, senza perdere mai d'intensità.
Mi ha stupito il rispetto che legava Inge a Gisele, la moglie di Paul. E lo sforzo di Max, il compagno di Inge, di instaurare una cortese amicizia con Celan (i due uomini tuttavia appaiono meno spontanei)
E mi hanno colpito le lettere finali. Le condoglianze, telegrafiche, nude che Inge manda a Gisele quando la notizia del ritrovamento di Paul nella Senna si diffonde.
Che dire? Inge e Paul hanno fatto ottima poesia anche solo amandosi.
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