#friedrich holderlin

[cinematic-literature]

Un beau matin (2022) by Mia Hansen-Løve

Book title

Brief an den Vater (1952) by Franz Kafka

Radetzkymarsch (1932) by Joseph Roth

Der Mann ohne Eigenschaften (1930) by Robert Musil

Hyperion oder der Eremit in Griechenland (1797) by Friedrich Hölderlin

Reigen (1903) / Liebelei (1895) by Arthur Schnitzler

Immanuel Kant (1978) by Thomas Bernhard

Stücke 2 (1998) by Thomas Bernhard

Korrektur (1975) by Thomas Bernhard

Der Kulturer (1962) by Thomas Bernhard

Gedichte by Friedrich Hölderlin

Leben und Werk by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

#austrian literature #german poetry #german literature #leben und werk #johann wolfgang von goethe #gedichte #friedrich holderlin #der kulturer #thomas bernhard #korrektur #stucke 2 #immanuel kant #reigen liebelei #arthur schnitzler #Hyperion oder der Eremit in Griechenland #Der Mann ohne Eigenschaften #robert musil #Radetzkymarsch #joseph roth #Brief an den Vater #franz kafka #books in movies #un beau matin #mia hansen løve

[a-chilleus]

Kramer, Lawrence, ‘The Return of the Gods: Keats to Rilke’, Studies in Romanticism, 17.4 (1978), 483–500 <https://doi.org/10.2307/25600154>

#lawrence kramer #rainer maria rilke #friedrich holderlin #rilke #holderlin #poetry #words #theophany

[edwordsmyth]

Antigone, Danièle Huillet / Jean-Marie Straub (1992)

#daniele huillet #jean-marie straub #bertolt brecht #friedrich holderlin #sophokles

[tonreihe]

Martin Heidegger, Hölderlin’s Hymns “Germania” and “The Rhine”

#martin heidegger #friedrich holderlin #time

[plaudite-amici]

Random Schiller x Hölderlin moments that destroyed me

(Siómón Solomon, Hölderlin’s Poltergeist/Peter Weiss, Hölderlin/H.H. Borcherdt, Schiller und die Romantiker)

#friedrich schiller #friedrich holderlin

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Patmos for the Landgrave of Homburg God is near Yet hard to seize. Where there is danger, The rescue grows as well. Eagles live in the darkness, And the sons of the Alps Go fearlessly over the abyss Upon bridges simply built. Therefore, since the peaks Of Time are heaped all about, And dear ones live close by, Worn down on the most separated mountains — Then give us innocent waters; Give us wings, and the truest minds To voyage over and then again to return. Thus I spoke, when faster Than I could imagine a spirit In the twilight Seduced me out of my own home To a place I never thought I’d visit. The shaded forests and longing Streams of my homeland. I couldn’t recognize the lands, but then suddenly In fresh a glow, mysterious In the golden haze, quickly emerging In the steps of the sun, With the fragrance of a thousand peaks, Asia rose before me, and dazzled I searched for something Familiar, since the broad alleyways Were unknown to me: where the gold-ornamented Patoklos comes rushing down from Tmolus, Where Taurus is to be found, and Messogis, And the gardens are full of flowers, Like a quiet fire. Up above In the light the silver snow Blooms, and ivy grows from ancient Times on the inapproachable walls, Like a witness to immortal life, While the joyous, the god-built palaces Are borne by living columns Of cypress, cedar and laurel. But around Asia’s gates Swish pulling here and there At an uncertain sea level With enough unshaded straits, Though the sailor knows these islands. And when I heard, that one of these close by Was Patmos, I wanted very much To put in there, to enter The dark grotto. For unlike Cyprus, rich with springs, Or any of the others, Patmos Is housed on earth poorly, But nevertheless is hospitable And if a stranger should come to her, Sent by shipwrecked or longing for His home or for a departed friend, She’ll gladly listen, and her Offspring as well, the voices In the hot grove, so that where sands blow and heat cracks the tops of the fields, They hear him, these voices, And lovingly sound the man’s grief. Thus she once looked after The seer who was loved by god, Who in his holy youth Had walked together inseparably With the Son of the Highest, Because the Bringer-of-Storms loved The simplicity of this disciple. Thus did that attentive man observe The countenance of the god precisely, There at the mystery of the grapevine, Where they sat together at the hour Of the Last Supper, when the Lord with His great spirit quietly envisioning His Own death, and forespoke it and also His final act of love, for He always Had words of kindness to speak, Even then in His prescience, To soften the violence and wildness of the world. For all is good. Then He died. Much Could be said about it. At the end His friends recognized how filled with joy He appeared, how victorious. And yet the men grieved, now that evening Had come, and were taken by surprise, Since they were full of great intentions, And loved living under the sun, And didn’t want to leave the countenance Of the Lord, and of their home. It penetrated them like fire into iron, And the One they love walked beside them Like a shadow. Therefore He sent The Spirit upon them, and the house Shook and God’s house and weather rolled Over their heads, filled with anticipation, while They were gathered with heavy hearts, Like heroes whose death approached, Then once more He appeared to them At his departure. For now The royal day of the sun Was extinguished, as he cast The shining scepter from himself, With godlike suffering, but knowing He would come again at the right time. It would have been wrong To cut off disloyally His work The work of humankind, since now it brought Him joy To live on in loving night, to preserve Before simple eyes, unrelated The depths of wisdom. Deep in the Mountains grew also living images, Yet it is terrible how God here and there Scatters the living, and how very far they are flung. And how fearsome it was to leave The sight of dear friends and walk off Alone far over the mountains, where The Holy Spirit was twice Recognized, in unity. It hadn’t been prophesied to them: Rather it seized them right by the hair Just at the moment when the God Who had turned from them, looked back, and they called out to Him To stop, and they reached their hands to One another as if bound by a golden cord, And called it evil — But when He dies —He about whom beauty hangs Loved most of all, so that a miracle Surrounded him, and he was the Elect of the heavens — And when those who lived together Thereafter in His memory, became Perplexed and no longer understood One another; and when floods carry off The sand and willows and temples, And when the fame of the demi-god And His disciples is blown away And even the Highest turns aside his Countenance, so that nothing Immortal can be seen either In heaven or upon the green earth — What meaning must we take from all of this? It is the cast of the sower, as he seizes Wheat with his shovel Throwing it into the clear air, Swinging it across the threshing floor. The chaff falls to his feet, but The grain emerges in the end. It’s not bad if some of it gets lost, Or if the sounds of His living speech Fade away. For the divine work resembles our own: The Highest doesn’t want all to be Accomplished at once. As mines yield iron, And Ætna its glowing haze, Then I’d have wealth sufficient To form a picture of Him and see What he was, the Christ. But if somebody spurred himself on Along the road and, speaking sadly, Fell upon me and surprised me, so that Like a servant I’d make an image of the God — Once I saw the lords Of heaven visibly angered, not That I wanted to become something different, But that I wanted to learn something more. The lords are kind, but while they reign They hate falsehood most, when humans become Inhuman. For not they, but undying Fate It is that rules, and their work Transforms itself and quickly reaches an end. When the heavenly triumph proceeds higher. Then the joyful Son of the Highest Is called like the sun by the strong, As a watchword, like the staff of a song That points downwards, For nothing is ordinary. It awakens The dead, those raised incorruptible. And many are waiting whose eyes are Still too shy to see the light directly. They wouldn’t do well in the sharp Ray: a golden bridle Holds back their courage. But when quiet radiance falls From the Holy Scripture, with The world forgotten and their eyes Swollen, then they may enjoy that grace, And study the quiet image. And if the heavens love me, As I now believe, Then how much more Do they love you. For I know one thing: That the will of the eternal Father Concerns you greatly. Under a thundering sky His sign is silent. And there is One who stands Beneath it all his life. For Christ still lives. But the heroes, all his sons Have come, and the Holy Scriptures Concerning Him and the lightening, Explain the deeds of the Earth up to this day, Like a footrace that knows no end. And He is with us too, for his works and all Known to Him from the very beginning. For far too long The honor of the heavens Has gone unseen. They practically have to Guide our fingers as we write, And with embarrassment the power Is ripped from our hearts. For every heavenly being Expects a sacrifice, And when this is neglected, Nothing good can come of it. Without awareness we’ve served at the feet of Our Mother Earth, and the Light Of the Sun as well, but what our Father Who reigns over everything wants most Is that the established Word be Caringly attended, and that Which endures be construed well. German song must accord with this. —Friedrich Hölderlin, Patmos (1803) in: Sämtliche Werke und Briefe, vol. 1, p. 379-385 (Hanser ed. 1970)(SH Trans), first published in Harper's Magazine, July 2007

[Scott Horton]

#poem #poetry #Patmos #Friedrich Holderlin #Scott Horton

[imaginemirage]

"They come and go and it wastes my heart away."

Friedrich Holderlin

#friedrich holderlin #quote #poetry #quotes #poem #poet #love #heart

[krisis-krinein]

Il « habite » la folie. Il faudrait faire retour à l’étymologie du mot « folie » en allemand (« Wahnsinn ») et à « Wahn », l’illusion. À l’origine se trouve une racine, « ven », qui veut dire « aimer » et qu’il faudrait reconnaître dans des termes comme « Wonne », « délice », mais aussi « Gewohnheit », « habitude », « habitus », et « wohnen », « habiter » ; le lecteur familier d’Approche de Hölderlin aura reconnu les éléments du vers que commente Heidegger : « C’est poétiquement que l’homme habite sur cette terre » – en allemand « dichterisch wohnet der Mensch ».

#giorgio agamben #friedrich holderlin

[ridingbipolarexpress]

"He who has thought most deeply loves what is most alive".

- Friedrich Hölderlin

#friedrich holderlin #beauty #socrates #heidegger

[lunamarish]

#friedrich holderlin #pericolo #vita #vivere #salvare #salvarsi

[thenewgothictwice]

Friedrich Hölderlin, "Mnemosyne (second version)", translated by David Constantine.

"We are a sign with no interpretation

Painless we are and abroad

Have almost lost our language.

For when over mankind

There is quarrelling in heaven and the moons

Go violently, the sea

Speaks too and rivers

Must seek themselves a way. But One

There is without a doubt. He

Can change it any day. He hardly needs

Law. And the leaves resound, the oaks move in the wind

Then beside the snows. For the gods in the heavens

Cannot do everything. Mortals indeed

Reach sooner to the abyss. So the echo turns

With them. Time

Is long but what is true

Will happen.

But the things we love? We see

Sunshine on the ground and dry dust

And deep with shadows the woods and the smoke

Flowers from the roofs about the old crowns

Of towers, peaceably; and lost in the air

The larks trill and under the daylight

Shepherded forth the sheep of heaven graze.

And snow like lilies of the valley

Denoting nobleness

Wherever it be is shining with

The Alps' green meadows

Half and half where

Speaking of the cross set for the dead

Along the way a traveller went

The steep road and

The other with him, but what is this?

At the fig tree my

Achilles died

And Ajax lies

By the caves near the sea

By streams that neighbour Scamander.

The spirit bold in him in a roaring of the winds, after

His native Salamis' sweet

Custom, great

Ajax died abroad

Patroclus however in the king's armour. And others died,

Many besides. By their own hands

Sad, many, wild in the soul, but forced to

By gods in the end, but the others

Standing in their fate, in the field. For he riles the gods

Who will not compose himself

And spare his soul, although he must. And grief

Likewise goes wrong."

#friedrich holderlin #from my book collection #poetry

[nibelmundo]

King Oedipus has, perhaps, an eye too many. These sufferings of this man, they seem indescribable, unspeakable, inexpressible. Which comes when drama represents such things.... The sufferings of Oedipus seem like a poor man lamenting what he lacks. Son of Laios, poor stranger in Greece! Life is death, and death is also a life.

Friedrich Hölderlin, Hymns and Fragments (1984, 252)

#friedrich holderlin #on the phenomenology of negative dialectics #quotes #words #pathei mathos #reiner schürmann #on the tragic structure of subject formation

[vaciocaotico]

Hiperión | Friedrich Hölderlin

«Pero en el país de los bienaventurados, quien habita es el silencio, y más arriba de las estrellas, olvida el corazón su indigencia y su lenguaje».

#IMPERIVM #Hiperion #Friedrich Holderlin

[edwordsmyth]

The Death of Empedocles, Danièle Huillet / Jean-Marie Straub (1987)

#daniele huillet #jean-marie straub #friedrich holderlin

[tonreihe]

Martin Heidegger, Hölderlin’s Hymn “Remembrance”

#martin heidegger #friedrich holderlin #night

[plaudite-amici]

Introducing: Schiller, the Don Giovanni Unrepentant

#look at the exclamation marks #I feel you author I feel you #with all due respect #Kirms sounds like some random character invented just to preserve the heteronormative narrative #friedrich schiller #friedrich holderlin