Taz 29/30.6.2024
In Internetforen wie r/qanoncasualites (www.reddit.com/r/QAnonCasualties) tauschen sich Menschen aus, die unter der Verwandlung nahestehender Menschen leiden. Der kollektive Rat dort lautet oft: Die Person ist nicht mehr da. Du kannst nichts tun. Nur trauern.
Ika Sperling, „Der Große Reset“. Reprodukt, Berlin 2024. Graphic Novel, farbig, 17 x 22,5 cm, Klappenbroschur. 176 Seiten, 24 Euro
The Naming of Cats is a difficult matter,
It isn’t just one of your holiday games;
You may think at first I’m as mad as hatter
When I tell you, a cat must have THREE DIFFERENT NAMES.
First of all, there’s the name that the family use daily,
Such as Peter, Augusta, Alonzo or James,
Such as Kiki or Jonathan, George or Bill Bailey-
All of them sensible everyday names.
There are fancier names if you think they sound sweeter,
Some for the gentlemen, some for the dames:
Such as Plato, Admetus, Electra, Demeter-But all of them sensible everyday names.
But I tell you, a cat needs a name that’s particular,
A name that’s peculiar, and more dignified,
Else how can she keep up her tail perpendicular,
Or spread out her whiskers, or cherish her pride?
Of names of this kind, I can give you a quorum,
Such as Munkustrap, Quaxo, or Coricopat, Such as Bombalurina, or else Jellylorum-
Names that never belong to more than one cat.
But above and beyond there’s still one name left over,
And that is the name that you never will guess;
The name that no human research can discover-
BUT THE CAT HERSELF KNOWS, and will never confess.
When you notice a cat in profound meditation,
The reason, I tell you, is always the same:
Her mind is engaged in a rapt contemplation
Of the thought, of the thought, of the thought of her name:
Her Ineffable effable
effanineffable
deep and inscrutable singular name.
T. S. ELIOT: OLD POSSUMS KATZENBUCH
Englisch und Deutsch, Illustriert von Nicolas Bentley
Jed nahm als frischgebackener Mini-Promi ohne Schwierigkeit die seinem neuen Status angemessene Haltung bescheidener Gleichgültigkeit ein, was Georges als Experte für Halbprominente mit einem dankbaren Lächeln würdigte.
Seite 81
Michel Houellebecq: KARTE UND GEBIET
Roman Aus dem Französischen von Uli Wittmann
© 2010 Michel Houellebecq/Flammarion
Die französische Originalausgabe erschien 2010 unter dem Titel
La carte et le territoire bei Flammarion, Paris. © 2011 für die deutsche Ausgabe: DuMont Buchverlag, Köln
Unheimlicher als die Geister aber waren die Geschichten über sie: Kunth gab den beiden Jungen Bücher zu lesen, in denen es um Mönche ging, um offene Gräber, Hände, die aus der Tiefe ragten, in der Unterwelt gebraute Elixiere und Séancen, bei denen Tote zu schreckensstarren Zuhörern sprachen.
Solches kam gerade in Mode und war noch so neu, daß keine Gewohnheit gegen das Grauen half. Das sei nötig, erklärte Kunth, die Begegnung mit dem Dunkel sei Teil des Heranwachsens, wer metaphysische Angst nicht kenne, werde nie ein deutscher Mann. Einmal stießen sie auf eine Geschichte über Aguirre den Wahnsinnigen, der seinem König abgeschworen und sich selbst zum Kaiser ernannt hatte. In einer Alptraumfahrt ohnegleichen waren er und seine Männer den Orinoko entlanggefahren, an dessen Ufern das Unterholz so dicht war, daß man nicht an Land gehen konnte. Vögel schrien in den Sprachen ausgestorbener Völker, und wenn man aufblickte, spiegelte der Himmel Städte, deren Architektur offenbarte, daß ihre Erbauer keine Menschen waren. Noch immer waren kaum Forscher in diese Gegend vorgedrungen, und eine verläßliche Karte gab es nicht.
Aber er werde es tun, sagte der jüngere Bruder. Er werde dorthin reisen.
Sicherlich, antwortete der Altere.
Er meine es ernst!
Das sei ihm klar, sagte der Ältere und rief einen Diener, um Tag und Stunde zu bezeugen. Einmal werde man froh sein, diesen Augenblick fixiert zu haben.Daniel Kehlmann
Die Vermessung der Welt, Seite 21
Roman
Copyright © 2005 by Rowohlt Verlag GmbH, Reinbek bei Hamburg
klein ist’s man sieht es kaum
singt doch so schön, dass wohl von nah und fern alle die Leute gern kommen und …
„I’s gone!“ sighed the Rat, sinking back in his seat again. „So beautiful and strange and new! Since it was to end so soon, I almost wish I had never heard it. For it has roused a longing in me that is pain, and nothing seems worth while but just to hear that sound once more and go on listening to it for ever. No!
There it is again!“ he cried, alert once more. Entranced, he was silent for a long space, spellbound.
„Now it passes on and I begin to lose it,“ he said presently. „O, Mole! the beauty of it! The merry bubble and joy, the thin, clear happy call of the distant piping! Such music I never dreamed of, and the call in it is stronger even than the music is sweet! Row on, Mole, row! For the music and the call must be for us.“ The Mole, greatly wondering, obeyed. „I hear nothing myself,“ he said, „but the wind playing in the reeds and rushes and osiers.“
The Rat never answered, if indeed he heard. Rapt, transported, trembling, he was possessed in all his senses by this new divine thing that caught up his helpless soul and swung and dandled it, a powerless but happy infant in a strong sustaining grasp.
In silence Mole rowed steadily, and soon they came to a point where the river divided, a long backwater branching off to one side. With a slight movement of his head Rat, who had long dropped the rudder-lines, directed the rower to take the backwater. The creeping tide of light gained and gained, and now they could see the colour of the flowers that gemmed the water’s edge.
„Clearer and nearer still,“ cried the Rat joyously.
„Now you must surely hear it! Ah – at last – I see you do!“
Breathless and transfixed the Mole stopped rowing as the liquid run of that glad piping broke on him like a wave, caught him up, and possessed him utterly. He saw the tears on his comrade’s cheeks, and bowed his head and understood. For a space they hung there, brushed by the purple loosestrife that fringed the bank; then the clear imperious summons that marched hand-in-hand with the intoxicating melody imposed its will on Mole, and mechanically he bent to his oars again. And the light grew steadily stronger, but no birds sang as they were wont to do at the approach of dawn; and but for the heavenly music all was marvellously still.
On either side of them, as they glided onwards, the rich meadow-grass seemed that morning of a freshness and a greenness unsurpassable. Never had they noticed the roses so vivid, the willowherb so riotous, the meadow-sweet so odorous and pervading. Then the murmur of the approaching weir began to hold the air, and they felt a consciousness that they were nearing the end, whatever it might be, that surely awaited their expedition.
Kenneth Grahame: The wind in the willows – 1908
„The bank is so crowded nowadays that many people are moving away altogether. O no, it isn’t what it used to be, at all. Otters, kingfishers, dabchicks, moorhens, all of them about all day long and always wanting you to do something – as if a fellow had no business of his own to attend to!“
Kenneth Grahame: The wind in the willows – 1908
„Nice? It’s the only thing,“ said the Water Rat solemnly, as he leant forward for his stroke. „Believe me, my young friend, there is nothing – absolutely nothing – half so much worth doing as simply messing about in boats. Simply messing,“ he went on dreamily:
„messing – about – in – boats; messing -„
„Look ahead, Rat!“ cried the Mole suddenly.
It was too late. The boat struck the bank full tilt.
The dreamer, the joyous oarsman, lay on his back at the bottom of the boat, his heels in the air.
„- about in boats – or with boats,“ the Rat went on composedly, picking himself up with a pleasant laugh.
„In or out of ‚em, it doesn’t matter. Nothing seems really to matter, that’s the charm of it.“
„Whether you get away, or whether you don’t; whether you arrive at your destination or whether you reach somewhere else, or whether you never get anywhere at all, you’re always busy, and you never do anything in particular; and when you’ve done it there’s always something else to do, and you can do it if you like, but you’d much better not.“
„Look here! If you’ve really nothing else on hand this morning, supposing we drop down the river together, and have a long day of it?“
The Mole waggled his toes from sheer happiness, spread his chest with a sigh of full contentment, and leaned back blissfully into the soft cushions. „What a day I’m having!“ he said. „Let us start at once!“
Kenneth Grahame: The wind in the willows – 1908
