Since I am still convinced that reading forms a person’s mind thus his stance & view on, his position in the world I choose to put World Book Day on first position.
I am going to write about books which seems appropriate for the date.
Memories of (a few) Books
My first novel was from Alexandre Duma: The Three Musketeers (Les Trois Mousquetaires, 1844) – I read it in second grade, I understood nothing – but loved it nevertheless. I re-read it again and again, discovering every inch of it. A few years later I discovered the sequels: Twenty Years After (Vingt ans après, 1845) and The Vicomte de Bragelonne, (Le Vicomte de Bragelonne, ou Dix ans plus tard, 1847). All three are still precious pieces in my bookshelf. I have to admit that I never really got into any other of his novels.
Of great significance in and for my childhood were fairytales: I collected them, dove into them, re-wrote them in my mind and plays. Especially the japanese and chinese were – and still are – dear to my heart. I owe this treasure to my grandmothers – two strong-willed women with a sense for mystical narration.
Another important book is Boris Vian’s L’Écume des jours (Foam of the Days) (1946, published 1947). I read it because I was head over heels for a guy who really liked it. The love for the guy ended – not for the book. It is both a beautiful fairytale of love & dead and a satirical tour the force. It is not short of enjoyable kicks against the philosophical elite of the 1940 Parisian Existentialism aka Jean-Paul Sartre (who seduced Vians wife, which could have been a reason…) – but it is great even without the related knowledge. Vians chansons are also enjoyable.
L’Amour en Cage
Mon coeur s’est pris à tes épaules
Mon coeur s’est pris à tes yeux gris
Le soleil s’est éteint
et la neige est tombée
J’ai eu froid sans mon cœur
Fais Moi Mal Johnny
Which brings me to one of the most important part of my books: Poems. I guess it started with me receiving a love letter with a barely readable, handwritten poem of Yevgeny Yevtushenko: Wenn dein Gesicht sich vor mir hebt… [When your face came rising above my crumpled life…]. 20 years later I still don’t know the sender but I hold the letter dear. The poem made me start reading poems differently. I read poems before – now I was reading them. And I started to collect them. I even found an old bi-lingual collection (Russian-German) with Yevtushenko’s poem – somebody wanted to throw it away it fell into my arms. The newest treasure in my box is a bi-lingual collection of selected erotic poems by e.e. cummings (
how could he not write erotic poems with this name!). An on-the-way discovery which brought quite some pleasure into last saturday~ Apparently he also drew The next will be his complete works – he captured me with his lyrical voice.
And since good erotic can be transformed into mind-blowing sexiness: have Tom Hiddleston read “May I Feel Said He”
to close this post with a feminine voice I will close it with my own – inspired by e.e. cummings