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A good friend of mine watched “The Dark Knight” yesterday and sent me and another friend an email about how he didn’t really like it and couldn’t understand the hype and raving reviews. I just sent off my reply and felt like sharing it with more than just the two people to whom the email was addressed.

By the way, we all write each other such mails nearly on a daily basis, of course always about different films, music, or topics; and most certainly not always this long. Come to think of it, we should consider publishing those on the regular. That shit is priceless. (Hey, if you’re reading this, let me know what you think of that.)

So here goes, completely unabridged, unedited, and with unchanged orthography—email style!

(NB: The views and opinions laid out in the following paragraphs are entirely my own. Fuck you if you don’t like ‘em. I can only quote the Joker: “Why so serious?” But kudos if you disagree and speak up. Let’s talk it out.)

well, since you asked… (warning, longish ramblings to follow. i couldn’t stop myself.)

for one, i never really liked christian bale. can’t really say why, though. maybe because he always plays these really weird characters (american psycho, machinist, equilibrium, batman, etc). or maybe it’s because the dude is from wales. no idea. his recent outburst on that movie set didn’t exactly highten my view of him either. the guy has come off as a full-blown arrogant prick for a while now. but whatever… (i, too, was really bothered by his deep voice in “TDK.” wtf?!)

for another, i have never seen a batman film. TDK was my first and will also be my last. i’m not into those comic-book-superhero-vs-supervillain movie adaptations AT ALL (except for the proper ones like “Sin City;” mind you, i don’t have anything against comic books, just movies that are based on them).

i only watched it because of Heath. i had seen the trailer and was immediately blown away by his performance. the man had recently died, which was the first time i had ever heard of the film and probably the only reason why i watched the trailer in the first place. to be perfectly honest, i probably would have never seen the flick if Heath hadn’t died, even if i had heard the same arguments about his “stellar performance” that have been floating around ever since. basically, i was a gawker who wanted to see the film that ultimately killed a man. fortunately, i had seen the trailer before and knew that i was in for a treat (from an actor, not a movie).

with all of that being said, i don’t particulary like the movie as a whole (now that i’m giving it some thought, which i hadn’t bothered to do before). apart from being a comic adaptation, it’s one of those blockbuster-(action)-sequel-flicks (number six or seven in a franchise) that serve no other purpose than the commercial one. i simply despise those movies out of principle. it’s narrow-minded, i know. but fuck you, that’s how i roll. (o; it’s just my way of making a selection in this vast jungle that is the movie industry. james bond, harry potter, matrix, or lord of the rings are just a few examples of movie series that i wouldn’t piss on even if they were on fire.

sure, there were some great scenes in TDK that didn’t have the Joker in them; the camera work was pretty solid throughout; and i even liked the idea of the hero being pushed so far that he’s on the verge of becoming a villain himself. but overall, the story was lame, the film was too long, and there were too many different storylines, iirc.
that whole cliché-moral-dilemma scene (the one with the ships in the harbor; convicts on one, law-abiding citizens on the other; on both ships there’s a detonator to blow up the other one) was just plain bad. the love triangle between chris bale, aaron eckhart, and maggie gyllenhaal?? bitch, please! and why did such fine actors as aaron and maggie “sell out” to such a film? i still remember how i literally yelled at my tv (“what the fuck?! oh come ooonn! jeeesuusss!”) when the half-faced (or two-faced) aaron eckhart just stepped out of his hospital bed and went apeshit on everybody. btw, it was only now (after having typed the word “two-faced”) that i realized he was supposed to be the same character that tommy lee jones played in an earlier film. that tells you a lot about my knowledge of batman.

and to be even more honest, i have no clue why everybody is praising Heath to high heavens now that he’s dead. don’t get me wrong, i’ll be the first to admit that he delivered an astonishing, once-in-a-lifetime performance as the Joker. one that i will surely remember for the rest of my life. but why everyone suddenly considers him the finest actor of his generation, i will never understand. sure, i knew him, saw some of his films, and was even downright shocked when i caught the news of his death. but he was never on my radar of people that i was going to keep an eye on (not that i have any authority on seeing and acknowleding every acting talent that crosses my path, but still…). and there’s a reason.

because, let’s face it, he was in a bunch of shit movies playing shit characters. maybe he acted well, but certainly not so well that i’d put him at the top of his entire generation of actors (although i could very well be just an ignant motherfucker). almost everything (with maybe the exceptions of The Four Feathers and Monster’s Ball) that he did before Brokeback Mountain was crap. certainly the movies themselves were. and since then, he had only been in a handful of other films. but all of a higher quality than the stuff before “the gay one.” so, even if it sounds rude, he just got a huge bag of pity (germanism alarm!) handed to him by the yellow press. they just love stories like his. “young actor (accidentally?) kills himself while at the top of his game professionally. leaves ex-fiancée and child behind.” on a humane level, it’s undoubtedly a cruel story. but don’t make him a saint “just” because he did extremely well during his last job and died afterwards. it reveals more about the people who are spreading these stories than about the man himself.

nevertheless, due to his sudden death at such a young age and his mind-blowing Joker (which will always be his legacy), he’ll forever be the James Dean of our generation. i have no doubts about that. whether that’s a good or a bad thing remains to be seen/discussed.

in short, TDK is mediocre at best when it comes to “cineastic” quality. (it would be very interesting to debate whether “cineastic quality” was one of the Nolan brothers’ intentions.) but it is quite entertaining, i have to admit. probably due to its fast pace. the 150 or so minutes just flew by. Heath, on the other hand, is amazing in it and had far too little screen time. i remember thinking “when’s the joker gonna have another scene?” when i watched it in september or so. i’d gladly re-watch the film just to witness that unique on-screen aura again.

alright. nuff said. sorry for the ramified commentary.
(believe it or not, i just wasted 90 minutes of my life for that. what is wrong with me?)

Cheeri-Os,
r

Let’s hear it, folks. Tear me a new one. I’d love to indulge in this topic.

(This one’s for you, Niner.)

Instead of offering just one poem today, I would like to introduce a poet. Not that he needs introduction per se, as he is already fairly well-established, but even if only one person starts to read his works because of my musings to follow, then it was worth it. The poet in question is Terrance Hayes. (You are probably going to notice throughout the month that I have a knack for African-American poets and their work.)

He was born in 1971 in South Carolina, earned his creative-writing MFA at UPittsburgh, and has been teaching the same at Carnegie Mellon for a number of years now. (In case you are curious, the person right above Hayes on the CMU staff page, Yona Harvey, is his wife.) He has published three collections to date: Muscular Music (1999), Hip Logic (2002), and, most recently, Wind in a Box (2006).

I would very much argue that he is a legitimate heir of Langston Hughes’s, in terms of style as well as in his scope, the choice of thematic elements, and his efforts to place African-Americans in an all-American cultural and historical context. This is especially true for Wind in a Box, a remarkable collection of which I still have vivid memories. I devoured the entire book in just a few hours almost exactly one year ago (on April 10, 2007), having read Hip Logic right before within two days.

Numerous passages from Wind in a Box struck at my core. Here are just two:

When I threatened to run away
my mother said she would take me wherever I wanted to go.

from “The Blue Terrance”

or that we were too dumb to run the other way
when we saw the wide white sails of the ships
since given the absurd history of the world, everyone
is a descendant of slaves (which makes me wonder
if outrunning your captors is not the real meaning of Race?)

from “Woofer (When I Consider African-American)”

The latter poem, “Woofer,” is also the one I want to draw special attention to today. It was the first Hayes poem I read. That was two years ago during the second round of the Daily Poem Project. Strangely enough, the month the poem appeared on Poetry Daily was also April. I am beginning to think that there must be some supernatural connection between Terrance Hayes, myself, and the fourth month of the year (the first time I encountered Hayes was in April 2006, the first time I read two of his books was in April 2007, and now, in April 2008, I am praising him to high heavens). What is going to happen in April next year, I wonder. More likely, it is all mere coincidence. Also, my vote during the grand finale of DPP2 went to this poem.

Anyway, back in 2006, I wrote a short close-reading essay on “Woofer” which you can read just a bit further down at the end of this post. But first, indulge in this fantastic poem (do not forget to come back here when you are done):

Terrance Hayes, “Woofer (When I Consider the African-American)”

I looked around a bit on the internet for some more legitimate material by and about Hayes. Here is what I found:

• profile at the Academy of American Poets – links to several poems in the right sidebar
• short portrait at the Poetry Center at Smith College – includes photos (check out that mohawk) and a few poems
• selection of a few poems from his staff page at Carnegie Mellon (PDF) – mind you, there is a “The Blue Terrance” among them, but it is not the same I quoted from earlier; there are several “blue Terrances” in Wind in a Box
• three poems at the Fishouse – each with an audio recording; you have to check out “The Blue Seuss,” one of my favorites from Wind in a Box
• “New Folk” at Poetry – with a short Q&A
• three poems over at Guernica – rather recent, from this past November
• a review of Wind in a Box – by Peter Blair from the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette
• a five-day journal for the Poetry Foundation – from June 2006
• “Carp Poem” – at the Konundrum Engine Literary Review
• “The Blue Bowie” – from Jubilat 6
• “Serenade” – at Fugue

~~~~~

Other poems for April

Poets.org: Ciaran Carson, “The Assignation”

Knopf: Kenneth Koch, “To Psychoanalysis”

~~~~~

And here goes the slightly revised version of my 2006 essay on “Woofer.” Please read the poem first.

Woofers: New Drums for a New Generation

TERRANCE HAYES has written a beautiful poem about the new African-American self. In order to describe it, he mocks cliché traditions, ridicules stereotypes, and satirically plays with the term “African-American”. All of these methods involve the reader’s experience with race and racism.

Hayes juxtaposes the stereotypical African-American image and the way he sees it by using the formula “When I consider the African-American, I think not of [...], but of [...].” This is a paradox, though. It is impossible for him to state what he does not think of (as it is for everybody); by saying what he did not think of, he had to think of it. This method plays with people’s inevitable associations when they see someone of another race. The racial stereotypes are automatically projected onto that person, and Hayes does exactly that when he (paradoxically) says what he does not think of.

His “not-thoughts” are filled with self-mockery, which indicates that he is basically immune to accusations, such as “we were too dumb to run the other way / when we saw the wide white sails of the ships.” But his “thoughts” are not exactly free of clichés, either. On Thanksgiving, a chicken was “slaughtered” and not a turkey, by a witchdoctor to boot, a clear reference to voodoo. The closest he has “ever come to anything remotely ritualistic” were drums from hi-fi woofers. It is one of the clichés that all African-Americans still connect to their African roots and heritage. That they might have a culture of their own does not come to mind. The “drums drumming from woofers” combine these two cultures. The woofers are the drums of the new generation—again a cliché that African-Americans always listen to loud, thumping music.

Hayes also plays with the term “African-American” itself, raising the question why they are not just called “Americans,” or why people have to be divided into races at all. The girl’s “bi-continental nipples” are a great example of this. They are bi-continental in so far as that she is African and American, but also, on a smaller scale, that one is on each breast. They both belong to the same body, as Africa and America belong to the same world. “Linked by a hyphen filled with blood” is also ambiguous. For one, it points out America’s history of violence and slavery. But since Hayes uses the expression in connection with “the two of us there in the basement,” it can also be a reference to them having sex.

Hayes questions race and racism in a funny way that never loses track of its purpose or its audience. The pickup line he uses in the beginning of the poem — “‘You can return it when I see you again’” — is not only meant for the girl, but also for the reader. Since the line is so original, he can count on the reader to keep going, hopefully beyond the poem as well.

(written on May 30, 2006)

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The post about the striking writers is going to have to wait. I’m trying myself at a little more thorough research and such stuff (“that dreams are made on”).

Only today have I realized that Radiohead have released a new album on October 10, entitled In Rainbows. The “strange” thing about it is that the band put it up for download at their website, letting people decide for themselves how much they would want to pay for it. So you can put in any price from £0.00 to £99.99 (they don’t allow anything higher than that).

You can get the album here: www.inrainbows.com. And here is a New York Times opinion piece about this stunt.

It was quite weird to type three zeros in the price field because this openly states to the artists, “I’m not going to pay for your great work.” I can imagine it is an even weirder feeling than downloading music from a P2P network, where one at least does not practically rub it in the face of the artist directly. But this just goes to show that there are still musicians out there, popular ones at that, who care more about the music and about delivering it to the public than about the profits from ever declining record sales; most of which would go to the labels anyways. There are plenty of other ways they can earn their livings; concerts, for example. Then they would at least get in touch with the fans again and maybe realize what the true meaning behind their music is and what that feels like.

By the way, In Rainbows is an incredible album, very creative, calm at times, even dreamful. The tunes are catchy and come with a drift-off guarantee—drifting off by the listener, that is, not the music. The music and Thom Yorke’s voice are always one step ahead of the listener’s ear, waiting to catch the mind by melodious surprise, only to take it some place else entirely.

Get a hold of the album and prepare for a wonderful ride.

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Per Pettersons Sehnsucht nach Sibirien habe ich mit einigermaßen großen Erwartungen gelesen, welche nach der letzten Seite auch beinahe ganz erfüllt wurden. Diese rührten hauptsächlich daher, daß ich vor ein paar Monaten den über alle Maßen wunderschön poetischen Roman Pferde Stehlen von ebendiesem Per Petterson gelesen habe.

Sehnsucht nach Sibirien – im norwegischen Original Til Sibir betitelt – erschien 1996, und 1999 erstmals in deutscher Übersetzung von Ina Kronenberger im Hanser Verlag. Darin begleiten wir ein dänisches Mädchen von ihrem siebten bis zu ihrem dreiundzwanzigsten Lebensjahr. Auch wenn sie selbst die Geschichte mit über sechzig erzählt, sagt sie nichts von ihrem späteren Leben. Es ist die Zeit vor, während und nach des Zweiten Weltkrieges und Dänemark hat mächtig unter der deutschen Belagerung zu leiden.

Der Bruder der Protagonistin, Jesper, ist ein paar Jahre älter als sie und bekennender Kommunist. Schon von Klein auf setzt er sich gegen das System zur Wehr, in dem er zum Beispiel hinter dem Straßenbeleuchter herläuft und eine Laterne nach der anderen wieder ausmacht. Es sind nur kleine Dinge, aber später ist er im Untergrund tätig und hilft den jüdischen Einwohnern der kleinen Stadt bei deren Flucht nach Schweden.

Die beiden Geschwister verstehen sich sehr gut, sie sind einander die besten Freunde. Im Verlauf des Romans ist ihre Beziehung die einzig stabile und über Landesgrenzen hinweg nicht zu schwächen. Als kleine Kinder wollen sie die Welt entdecken. Er will nach Marokko und sie mit der Transsibirischen Eisenbahn durch Rußland fahren, daher auch der Titel. Jesper erreicht sein Ziel, was ihm zum Verhängnis wird, aber seine Schwester reist nur im Dreieck zwischen ihrem dänischen Städtchen, Stockholm und Oslo hin und her.

Sie schafft es nie über die skandinavischen Grenzen hinaus. Jedenfalls nicht bis zu ihrem dreiundzwanzigsten Lebensjahr. Was danach passiert, weiß nur sie allein. Die letzten zwei Sätze des Buches sind traumhaft: "Poker [ein Hund] lief am Wasser entlang mit einem Möwenflügel in der Schnauze, und ich war damals so jung, und ich erinnere mich, dass ich dachte: Ich bin dreiundzwanzig, das Leben ist vorbei. Jetzt kommt nur noch der Rest." Weil ihr Leben vorbei war, erzählt sie auch nicht weiter davon; nicht, was danach passierte, nicht, ob sie je nach Sibirien kam und auch nichts von ihrem Kind.

Erst als ich mit dem Lesen fertig war, ist mir aufgefallen, daß Herr Petterson seiner Protagonistin gar keinen Namen gegeben hatte. Gekonnt hat er diese Sache umspielt. Die Tatsache, daß alles aus ihrer Perspektive erzählt wird, macht es natürlich einfacher. Aber auch ihre Familie und keiner ihrer Freunde nennt sie je beim Namen und ihr Bruder ruft sie nur "Schwesterherz".

Auch der Rezensionsauszug aus der Zeit, der auf dem hinteren Buchdeckel abgedruckt ist, ist ein wahres Gedicht:

So ein Buch ist das. Man liest es, und es ist, als läge man warm im Bett und der Regen spielt Klavier auf dem Dach, und das Leben könnte Sinn gehabt haben, jedenfalls bis zur letzten Seite. Danach ist ja sowieso immer alles anders.

Dem kann ich nur beipflichten. Allerdings wird Pferde Stehlen dieser Beschreibung noch gerechter. Sehnsucht nach Sibirien empfehle ich jedem, der zur Abwechslung einmal ein gutes und poetisches Buch lesen will. Pferde Stehlen erkläre ich, wie auch schon vorgestern Die Vermessung der Welt, zur absoluten Pflichtlektüre für alle, wobei der norwegische Roman noch einen Tick besser ist.

Am 3. Februar 2007 veröffentlicht der Hanser Verlag die dritte deutsche Pettersonübersetzung. Es handelt sich um das im Jahr 2000 erschienene I Kjølvannet. Der deutsche Titel soll Im Kielwasser lauten. Es wurde, wie die beiden vorherigen Romane, von Ina Kronenberger übersetzt. Eine englische Ausgabe – In the Wake – ist bereits auf dem Markt. Man darf gespannt sein.

Daniel Kehlmanns Die Vermessung der Welt ist eines der besten deutschsprachigen Bücher, das ich in der letzten Zeit gelesen habe. Außerdem ist es das meistverkaufte seit mehr als 20 Jahren. Ich habe mein Exemplar etwas mehr als ein Jahr nach Erscheinen erworben und es ist eines der 27. (!!) Auflage (651.-675. Tausend). Seit Patrick Süskinds Parfum lief es nicht mehr so gut für einen deutschen Autor.

Zum Inhalt muß nicht mehr viel gesagt werden, die meisten werden ihn kennen. Nur kurz: Es geht um Alexander von Humboldt und Carl Friedrich Gauß, zwei große deutsche Entdecker und Wissenschaftler des späten achtzehnten und frühen neunzehnten Jahrhunderts. Humboldt schlägt sich mit seinem Assistenten (oder doch Mitarbeiter?) Bonpland in Südamerika durch den Busch und Gauß schlägt sich daheim in Deutschland mit Mathematik, Astronomie und nichtsnutzigen Studenten herum.

Humboldt hat in seinem ganzen Leben noch keine Frau lustvoll angefasst. Herr Kehlmann deutet an, daß er homosexuell gewesen sei. Gauß hingegen kann nicht wirklich ohne die Frauen leben, obwohl er es manchmal möchte. Er ist ein klassisches Muttersöhnchen, geht jahrelang zu ein und derselben Prostituierten und will sich umbringen, wenn er von Johanna keine Zusage auf seinen Heiratsantrag bekommt. Aber seine wahre Liebe ist die Wissenschaft. In seiner Hochzeitsnacht (Johanna hat zugesagt) steht er mitten im Akt auf, um sich eine Formel zur approximativen Korrektur der Meßfehler der Planetenbahnen zu notieren. Eine köstliche Passage:

Er wälzte sich auf sie, und weil er fühlte, daß sie erschrak, wartete er einen Moment, dann schlang sie ihre Beine um seinen Körper, doch er bat um Verzeihung, stand auf, stolperte zum Tisch, tauchte die Feder ein und schrieb, ohne Licht zu machen: Summe d. Quadr. d. Differenz zw. beob. u. berechn. → Min., es war zu wichtig, er durfte es nicht vergessen. Er hörte sie sagen, sie könne es nicht glauben und sie glaube es auch nicht, selbst jetzt, während sie es erlebe. Aber er war schon fertig. Auf dem Weg zurück stieß er mit dem Fuß gegen den Bettpfosten, [...] (150)

Das ganze Buch ist so wunderbar geschrieben wie dieser Auszug. Schon auf der ersten Seite läßt Herr Kehlmann seinen irrwitzigen Formulierungen freien Lauf:

Nun also versteckte sich Professor Gauß im Bett. Als Minna ihn aufforderte aufzustehen, die Kutsche warte und der Weg sei weit, klammerte er sich ans Kissen und versuchte seine Frau zum Verschwinden zu bringen, indem er die Augen schloß. Als er sie wieder öffnete und Minna noch immer da war, nannte er sie lästig, beschränkt und das Unglück seiner späten Jahre. (7)

Es haben auch einige andere Größen Gastauftritte. Da wäre zum Beispiel Immanuel Kant, der als hilfloses, schwaches, altes Männchen beschrieben wird. Goethe ist auch mit von der Partie, sowie der amerikanische Präsident Thomas Jefferson und zahlreiche europäische Adelige der damaligen Zeit. Auch Mason und Dixon werden kurz erwähnt; vielleicht eine kleine Anspielung auf Thomas Pynchons Roman?

Die Vermessung der Welt kann man in kein wirkliches Genre einordnen. Es ist kein Historienroman, keine Satire, kein Abenteuerroman; es ist vielmehr eine einmalige Mischung aus all diesen. Der Guardian hat einen interessanten Artikel darüber, was das Buch eigentlich ist, veröffentlicht. Darin geht es auch um die Einflüsse und Besonderheiten der jungen deutschen Autorengeneration. Sie sind nämlich wieder auf dem Vormarsch und stellen ihre "Eltern", wie zum Beispiel Günter Grass, in den Schatten, indem sie sie gar nicht beachten.

2005 war der Roman für den Deutschen Buchpreis in der engeren Auswahl. Gewonnen hat ihn schließlich Arno Geiger mit Es geht uns gut. Das müßte ja heißen, daß dieses Buch noch besser ist. Ich werde es bald herausgefunden haben und darauf zurückkommen.

Humboldts und Gauß’ Vermächtnisse, nämlich deren Leben in einen Roman verpackt, kann ich ruhigen Gewissens weiterempfehlen. Ich möchte behaupten, daß es Pflichtlektüre ist. Um es mit Denis Scheck zu sagen: "Ein gutes Buch" (cf. Platz 2).