Take it easy, everybody,
Take it easy, is what I say.
Take it easy, everybody,
The lightning’s gone away.
Take it easy, all us servants
Take it easy is what I pray
Take it easy, that’s my sense.
But what’s a judgement day?
Never mind.
It will work itself out
Back inside the pause.
Please God of my understanding,
help me better understand You,
who surpass my understanding.
I’d rather live for Light than a discombobulated jangled shriek.
Us interwoven spattered gobs sublime,
must each and ev’ry all together meet
In time sometimes but out of time all times.
You two who never do the other greet–
Not even once
My childhood heart yet spans you both my friends
from then, now flung wide out by fate’s broad arc.
Two disciplined safe Christian family men
Debating doctrines, love still hits the mark.
–Enough of the introductions–
Now I must me, untamed sleek chargers sick,
Return to arid scrag and spreading creek.
Author: Oh, you know.
Editors: AMW/BW
Copyright: AMW (since he exists as a legal entity, and BW only as the outskirts of a daydream)
Afternote: I just now changed “monsters” to “chargers” (meaning, I guess, war horses; I may change it to “horses” or something else; leave that word as the warbly, quantum-fluctuating note.
“banshees”
“doldrums”
“vomits”
Note on this translation project:
The idea is to aid with German comprehension: First you read the German with the hard words explained; then you read an English translation; and finally you read the original German with perfect comprehension, as if you were Franz Kafka himself!
These short short stories were all part of the story collection “Ein Landartz” (“A Country Doctor”), published in 1919 (Franz Kafka, author; Kurt Wolff, publisher).
German original available (kostenlos, natuerlich) at Project Gutenberg (or at the very bottom of this page). If, deutschlos, you just want to read my English translation, skip to English Translation
I’ve also written an Analysis and Response Story
Der neue Advocat./The new Lawyer.
1. Wir haben einen neuen Advokaten [lawyer], den Dr. Bucephalus. In seinem Äußern [appearance] erinnert [to remind] wenig [little] an die Zeit, da er noch [still/yet] Streitroß [war horse] Alexanders [genitiv (possessive) case)] von Macedonien war. Wer allerdings [however] mit den Umständen [circumstances] vertraut [to trust] ist, bemerkt [notices] einiges [some OR quite a bit].
1. We have a new lawyer, Dr. Bucephalus. Little in his appearance reminds one of the time he was yet the war horse of Alexander from Macedonia {Alexander the Great}. However, one who is familiar with the circumstances notices a few things.
1. Wir haben einen neuen Advokaten, den Dr. Bucephalus. In seinem Äußern erinnert wenig an die Zeit, da er noch Streitroß Alexanders von Macedonien war. Wer allerdings mit den Umständen vertraut ist, bemerkt einiges.
2. Doch sah ich letzthin [lately, recently] auf der Freitreppe [outside steps] selbst [even Or alone Or myself] einen ganz einfältigen [simple Or simple-minded] Gerichtsdiener [court usher] mit dem Fachblick [expert-look] des kleinen Stammgastes [regular] der Wettrennen [race] den Advokaten bestaunen [to marvel], als dieser [as a pronoun, “dieser” can mean “this one” Or “he” Or “the former”], hoch die Schenkel [thighs] hebend [heben: to raise], mit auf dem Marmor [marble] aufklingendem[ring] Schritt [footstep] von Stufe [step] zu Stufe stieg [climbed].
2. Why, just recently I witnessed a simpleton court usher marvel with the expert eye of a small-time race aficionado as the new lawyer, thighs lifting high, shoes ringing the marble, climbed from step to step.
2. Doch sah ich letzthin auf der Freitreppe selbst einen ganz einfältigen Gerichtsdiener mit dem Fachblick des kleinen Stammgastes der Wettrennen den Advokaten bestaunen, als dieser, hoch die Schenkel hebend, mit auf dem Marmor aufklingendem Schritt von Stufe zu Stufe stieg.
3. Im allgemeinen [general] billigt [sanction Or approve] das Barreau [french: the bar] die Aufnahme [inclusion Or acceptance] des Bucephalus. Mit erstaunlicher [surprising Or amazing] Einsicht [insight Or understanding] sagt man sich [one says to oneself], daß Bucephalus bei der heutigen Gesellschaftsordnung [social order] in einer schwierigen [difficult] Lage [situation] ist und daß er deshalb, sowie [as well as] auch wegen seiner weltgeschichtlichen [world-historical] Bedeutung [importance], jedenfalls [at least] Entgegenkommen [goodwill Or obligingness Or accomodation] verdient [earned].
3. In general the bar approves Bucephalus’s membership. With astonishing understanding, one says to oneself that Buchephalus is, given today’s social order, in a difficult situation, and that because of that, as well as his world-historical import, he deserves at the least our courtesy.
3. Im allgemeinen billigt das Barreau die Aufnahme des Bucephalus. Mit erstaunlicher Einsicht sagt man sich, daß Bucephalus bei der heutigen Gesellschaftsordnung in einer schwierigen Lage ist und daß er deshalb, sowie auch wegen seiner weltgeschichtlichen Bedeutung, jedenfalls Entgegenkommen verdient.
4. Heute – das kann niemand leugnen [deny] – gibt es keinen großen Alexander. Zu morden [murder, kill] verstehen [understand] zwar [certainly] manche [some]; auch an der Geschicklichkeit [skill], mit der Lanze [lance Or spear] über den Bankettisch [banquet-table] hinweg [over Or across] den Freund zu treffen [hit], fehlt [lacks] es nicht; und vielen [to many (“to”: NOT “too”; this is dative) ist Macedonien zu eng [tight Or narrow], so daß sie Philipp, den Vater, verfluchen [curse] – aber niemand, niemand kann nach Indien führen [lead].
4. Today–no one can deny it–there is no great Alexander. To be sure, some understand how to murder; and the skill to spear one’s friend over a banquet table is likewise not lacking, and for many Macedonia is too cramped, so that they curse Philip, their father,–but no one, no one, can lead into India.
4. Heute – das kann niemand leugnen – gibt es keinen großen Alexander. Zu morden verstehen zwar manche; auch an der Geschicklichkeit, mit der Lanze über den Bankettisch hinweg den Freund zu treffen, fehlt es nicht; und vielen ist Macedonien zu eng, so daß sie Philipp, den Vater, verfluchen – aber niemand, niemand kann nach Indien führen.
5. Schon damals [in those days] waren Indiens Tore [gates] unerreichbar [unreachable], aber ihre Richtung [direction] war durch das Königsschwert [kings-sword] bezeichnet [mark]. Heute sind die Tore ganz anderswohin [elsewhere] und weiter und höher vertragen [to tolerate Or to take] ; niemand zeigt die Richtung [direction]; viele halten [hold] Schwerter [swords], aber nur, um mit ihnen zu fuchteln [brandish]; und der Blick [look], der ihnen folgen [follow] will, verwirrt sich [becomes muddled].
5. Even in those days, India’s gates were out of reach, but their direction was indicated by the king’s sword. Today the gates are utterly elsewhere, carried off further and higher; no one shows the way; many hold swords, but only to brandish them about; and the gaze that would follow them gets muddled.
5. Schon damals waren Indiens Tore unerreichbar, aber ihre Richtung war durch das Königsschwert bezeichnet. Heute sind die Tore ganz anderswohin und weiter und höher vertragen; niemand zeigt die Richtung; viele halten Schwerter, aber nur, um mit ihnen zu fuchteln; und der Blick, der ihnen folgen will, verwirrt sich.
6. Vielleicht [maybe] ist es deshalb [therefore] wirklich [really] das Beste [the best], sich, wie es Bucephalus getan hat, in die Gesetzbücher [law-books] zu versenken [sich~: immerse oneself into Or get absorbed by]. Frei [free], unbedrückt [bedrueckt: oppressed] die Seiten [sides] von den Lenden [loins] des Reiters [(of the) rider], bei stiller [quiet, still] Lampe [light], fern [far] dem Getöse [din] der Alexanderschlacht [Alexander-battle], liest [reads] und wendet [turn] er die Blätter [pages] unserer alten Bücher.
6. Maybe it is therefore really best to, like Bucephalus, lose oneself in old law books. Free, sides not pressed by a rider’s loins, by still and quiet lamp, far from the din of the Alexander battle, he reads and turns the pages of our old books.
6. Vielleicht ist es deshalb wirklich das Beste, sich, wie es Bucephalus getan hat, in die Gesetzbücher zu versenken. Frei, unbedrückt die Seiten von den Lenden des Reiters, bei stiller Lampe, fern dem Getöse der Alexanderschlacht, liest und wendet er die Blätter unserer alten Bücher.
Author: Franz Kafka
Translation Team: AMW & BW Translation Services, Ink(well)
Der neue Advocat./The new Lawyer.
We have a new lawyer, Dr. Bucephalus. Little in his appearance reminds one of the time he was yet the war horse of Alexander from Macedonia {Alexander the Great}. However, one who is familiar with the circumstances notices a few things. Why, just recently I witnessed a simpleton court usher marvel with the expert eye of a small-time race aficionado as the new lawyer, thighs lifting high, shoes ringing the marble, climbed from step to step.
In general the bar approves Bucephalus’s membership. With astonishing understanding, one says to oneself that Buchephalus is, given today’s social order, in a difficult situation, and that because of that, as well as his world-historical import, he deserves at the least our courtesy. Today–no one can deny it–there is no great Alexander. To be sure, some understand how to murder; and the skill to spear one’s friend over a banquet table is likewise not lacking, and for many Macedonia is too cramped, so that they curse Philip, their father,–but no one, no one, can lead into India. Even in those days, India’s gates were out of reach, but their direction was indicated by the king’s sword. Today the gates are utterly elsewhere, carried off further and higher; no one shows the way; many hold swords, but only to brandish them about; and the gaze that would follow them gets muddled.
Maybe it is therefore really best to, like Bucephalus, lose oneself in old law books. Free, sides not pressed by a rider’s loins, by still and quiet lamp, far from the din of the Alexander battle, he reads and turns the pages of our old books.
Original:
Wir haben einen neuen Advokaten, den Dr. Bucephalus. In seinem Äußern erinnert wenig an die Zeit, da er noch Streitroß Alexanders von Macedonien war. Wer allerdings mit den Umständen vertraut ist, bemerkt einiges. Doch sah ich letzthin auf der Freitreppe selbst einen ganz einfältigen Gerichtsdiener mit dem Fachblick des kleinen Stammgastes der Wettrennen den Advokaten bestaunen, als dieser, hoch die Schenkel hebend, mit auf dem Marmor aufklingendem Schritt von Stufe zu Stufe stieg.
Im allgemeinen billigt das Barreau die Aufnahme des Bucephalus. Mit erstaunlicher Einsicht sagt man sich, daß Bucephalus bei der heutigen Gesellschaftsordnung in einer schwierigen Lage ist und daß er deshalb, sowie auch wegen seiner weltgeschichtlichen Bedeutung, jedenfalls Entgegenkommen verdient. Heute – das kann niemand leugnen – gibt es keinen großen Alexander. Zu morden verstehen zwar manche; auch an der Geschicklichkeit, mit der Lanze über den Bankettisch hinweg den Freund zu treffen, fehlt es nicht; und vielen ist Macedonien zu eng, so daß sie Philipp, den Vater, verfluchen – aber niemand, niemand kann nach Indien führen. Schon damals waren Indiens Tore unerreichbar, aber ihre Richtung war durch das Königsschwert bezeichnet. Heute sind die Tore ganz anderswohin und weiter und höher vertragen; niemand zeigt die Richtung; viele halten Schwerter, aber nur, um mit ihnen zu fuchteln; und der Blick, der ihnen folgen will, verwirrt sich.
Vielleicht ist es deshalb wirklich das Beste, sich, wie es Bucephalus getan hat, in die Gesetzbücher zu versenken. Frei, unbedrückt die Seiten von den Lenden des Reiters, bei stiller Lampe, fern dem Getöse der Alexanderschlacht, liest und wendet er die Blätter unserer alten Bücher.
March 7, 1985
And then all year on TV
All our pop stars were there–about half white and half black.
They were singing to raise money for Africa.
It was a nice idea, a beautiful song masterfully done, an inspiring studio video. And it did raise some money to help some people in Africa, which at that time seemed hopelessly impoverished to eight year olds in Lawrence Park outside Erie next to Lake Erie across from Ontario.
That’s where we thought we were growing up: in USA for Africa and That’s What Friends Are For.
Weren’t we?
Isn’t it one of the places we grew up in?
Now the rest of the world is coming on stronger, free markets, refrigerators, cars and pop stars abound. Plus there’s the internet, where people everywhere upload their notions.
Meanwhile our political climate has fallen apart and our societal fabric strained, limbo-ing us mighty patriots and our nuclear arsenal, which I’m proud to say is still quite capable of destroying I don’t know how many trillions of living things–including, for example, all of us.
It will all work out I guess.
Now it is 7:03.
It does no good to whine.
A soul trapped in a mind with no vision
a heart with no scope
A nation lost in a funk with no laughter
a burp with no end.
In our cages like monkeys there for experiment.
In our living rooms like kings there in luxe.
Watching people make the moves, fight the fights, find the words, tackle the love, hit all the notes that we’d like to.
Waiting for the weekend to end and work to corner us again.
In the wrong somehow
Sullied it seems
By forces we’ve not adequately defined or resisted, no matter how sure we sometimes are of ourselves.
Yet
Innocent through it all by virtue of our round-eyed wonder; by virtue of how we’ll never leave the brown shag rug of the redbrick rowhouse where early morning cartoons My Little Pony Jabberjaw those years your mother treasured when she was young and her family was too; by virtue of your inability to understand the wide creek, the cement bridge undergirded by two steel I-beams, the fallen creek-crossing trees with criss-crossing thick-ridged lightbrown bark and branches sticking every which way, the slabs of rough offwhite concrete worn raw so the gray pebbles show everywhere; by virtue of bodies and minds living east of Eden while souls stay forever eating from the Tree of Knowledge, becoming more and more overawed and grateful.
These times are running through my fingers while I sit with my feet up on a sofa I would’ve never got around to buying on my own, but which I now enjoy all by lonesome. What to make of this? Clearly there is a path more worthy than freewriting bored and desperate on MLK Jr day at 6:27PM.
What to do about sexuality? Ignore it and it takes you down. Indulge in it and it takes you down. Fight it and you become a hypocrite for a little bit before it takes you down. I think you’re sick in the stomach or the head. Maybe we should carry you out of your car and lay you down on the soft dark green grass by the road.
Movies books and all that form a dialogue with a time and evolve together. Greater works speak at a fundamentaler level and so are timelesser. I’m just killing time, which is another way of saying waiting to die. Surely we can do better than this. Surely we should
AMW/BW
Walking, hand in hand, through the tall grasses, beneath clear blue sky so fresh and soft with a dollop of muggy fun where the bees buzz the grasshopper thwack the dragonflies purr and you and laugh.
Ah the lives we’ve had!
The tiger circles his tail.
The flamingo folds down like a jackknife standing on one leg in the artificial pond.
A penguin fluffs and shakes with, opening and tucking back her little razorblade wings, stunning in her black tux.
I bought the tickets. You ate the popcorn. No one said a thing.
These days, as ominous gray storm clouds come to roost all around our castle, I squeeze your hand and you look up, slouch your shoulders a little backward, pout your lips a little forward. I guess you should’ve been a rock star with moody creative outbursts and loyal fans, but you spent your youth picking daffodils by the pond’s edge, with that grumpy old swan sailing suspiciously and superciliously by, curling his black flippers in the tepid water.
Who’s to blame for the stolen decades?
We’ll start a planetarium and offer free lectures every Thursday. We’ll build a forge and turn disadvantaged youths into master blacksmiths. We’ll forage the oceans, removing all plastic bottles, aluminum cans, and even suck up the chemical spills. We’ll make something out of this yet!
The LORD God walked in the Garden, dreamy musculature in a thin white open-collar button-up, hands in grey tweed slacks, whistling an easy tune.
He hears a rustling in the sumptuous foliage and, craning his neck with a curious cockeye, discovers The Man hiding behind a mighty cedar tree.
So The LORD God said to The Man: “Hey! Who told thee that thou wast naked? Hast thou eaten of the tree, whereof I commanded thee that thou shouldest not eat?”
And The Man, long broad hand over his puny mortal genitalia, stepped forward into the golden sunshine filtering through great trees not seen on this world since the time of the Giants, saying, “Well, The Woman whom thou gavest to be with me, she gave me of the tree, and I did eat.”
Then, from behind the shadeful cedar came a high-pitched, “Hey!” and out stepped The Woman, an arm across her ample breasts, a hand in the diamond center of her wide, world-populating hips. But, under a narrowing of The LORD God’s bewitching blue eyes and his steady-on “What is this that thou hast done?”, she lowered her eyes and, with a softer deeper voice said, “The serpent beguiled me, and I did eat.”
Oh now they’ve done and gone it!
Might as well get matching “Shoot Me, Please!” target T-shirts.
And so The strong-jawed enchantingly-wry-mouthed LORD God of gleaming white teeth, beefcake hands on solid hips, doled out appropriate reprimands:
The tempter Snake should wriggle forever in the dust and an enmity should arise between him and the dupes, The Woman’s childbirth pains would have to be considerably increased and her free agency seriously curbed: “in sorrow thou shalt bring forth children; and thy desire shall be to thy husband, and he shall rule over thee.” And for The Man: “Because thou hast hearkened unto the voice of thy wife, and hast eaten of the tree, of which I commanded thee, saying, very specifically, Thou shalt not eat of it: cursed is the ground for thy sake; in sorrow shalt thou eat of it all the days of thy life; Thorns also and thistles shall it bring forth to thee; and thou shalt eat the herb of the field; In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread, till thou return unto the ground; for out of it wast thou taken: for dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return.”
But what is this strange aside?
And most strange of all: why let us in on it?
I mean this: Directly after sewing several cute matching outfits for occasions from formal to casual and sporty to labory–complete with coordinated footwear–, and directly before driving The Man out of Eden (letting his clingy baby doll follow after him) and placing at the east of the garden of Eden Cherubims and a flaming sword which turned every way, to keep the way of the tree of life, The LORD God makes the following statement: “Behold, the man is become as one of us, to know good and evil: and now, lest he put forth his hand, and take also of the tree of life, and eat, and live for ever:” Therefore the LORD God sent him forth from the garden of Eden, to till the ground from whence he was taken.
Are we supposed to know how close we got to being a God? And who is this “us”? Wasn’t there supposed to just be the one God? Or is it that The LORD God is more like a demigod, and the one God too infinite and pre-body/mind to flaneur gardens? Was this an unguarded moment from The LORD God, or a calculated hint to keep us in the game through century upon century slogging through the mud and crumbling with the dust? I don’t think any of us could countenance the argument that The LORD God spoke to deceive us poor, already woefully uninformed mortal worms; No, that can’t be it!
Be that as it may, The Man started calling himself “Adam”, and he dubbed his chick “Eve”, because she was the mother of all living, and because in the witching hour, as the dark swallows every ambition and blind naked poking longing climbs forward, stripped of all but its most basic outlook, a certain vampishness can improve the mood and grease Necessity playfully along.
No, no luck.
Not a story of God’s eternal love, just a silly riff on the Tree of Knowledge story.
AMW/BW
Attempt 2
Sure, this my soul of mine does honest speak!
If this my heart in me could only feel
And this my mind might follow close and clear,
how much my soul divine to me would teach!
Alas trod I an over-shadowed path,
far long from joyful discipline’s rich fruits!
So stupid pride in lazy impulse-field
my life divine does shapeless waste away.
What to do?
What, oh what to do?
of God and Good, of friendship without end
Attempt 1
In this my heart of mine where stepping from
the angels robed by shining Light declare
yet all be well as all is one so none
shall slip beneath great God’s whole tender care.
!Up speak my soul! as wind blown ghosts in sheets
more white than desert bone snort chortle shriek,
mock heaven, joy and discipline with bleats.
!Up speak my soul! to lift me when I’m weak.
How kind is God? How wide the realm divine?
Your children decked out dress-up seek a sign
in marble halls by whisper jungle stream
our silly fingers stretch when fool’s gold gleams.
Journey There
With A-frame legs to even out the jars,
of stature small, robust in faded jeans
by longjohns thickened, acorn face pale,
and pretty topaz short round fingernails.
Come settle early morning bounce and beam
right here upon this leaning longing lap!
Or stride out dainty with arms crossed snugly
with me inside kind Reason’s damping clench
at twenty Fahrenheit on plastic bench.
Journey Home
We’re packed in tight when hulk in quilted black
his footing bobbles and then backward flails.
I’m shoved against a sleeping Inca’s jeans.
What caught an eye before the fall and smoosh?
As tall as me–not as a woman small–,
with black hair wavy tight upon fair head.
Horseshoe nose ring, thin hand on bubble brew.
Another wide-eyed searching flicker glance
to set my silly motor idling loud.
Oh what is man that he should know he lies,
yet still believe with deft and rousing pride?
While There
In solemn meditation pushing for
a little brighter lighter wider sight,
then pie-eyed agreeing that we too, sore
hearts open and minds clearskycalm, must fight
so that the Good defeat all injustice–
inclusive one’s own false exuberance.
Conclusion
You can’t just go through the motions.
It takes a consistent effort.
How to stand up within yourself and push out from within over and over again, growing into the Light?
AMW/BW
Die Wale, ein Sonderfall
Vögel sind gefiederte Saurier. Sie vermissen ihre Verwandten, sind aber gleichzeitig ihrer Verschwindung erleichtert. So ist es wenn man wunderbare, schreckliche Verwandten verliert.
Menschen sind haarlose Affen. Wir vermissen nichts, weil enge Verwandten noch leben. Sie sind aber ganz enttäuschend: haarig, stinkend, und oft sogar gewalttätig und unmoralisch.
Für die Wale ist es aber ganz anders. Ihre engste Verwandten sind zwar nicht mehr hier auf der runden Erde, aber sie sind sowieso mit den Ausgereisten stets in engster Verbindung. Jeden Tag im Dunkel der Tiefsee sprechen träumende Wale mit dem weitentwickelnten Wasservolk, das vor zwanzigtausend Jahren die Erde verlassen haben.
Sie reisen durchs Weltall in Raumschiffe voller Seewasser, sehen wie Miniaturseekühen aus, sprechen eine singende walartige Sprache, haben seit Jahrtausend kein Geschlechtsverkehr gehabt, und bewegen Objekten mit der Energie ihrer außerordentlichen Gedanken.
Wenn du ein Walfisch wärest, träumtest du jede Nacht von kleinen pummeligen grauen Seemenschen, die die Erlebnissen deines Tages begierig belauschten. Und am Ende, gegen Morgen, füllten sie dir mit dem Wissen, daß den See einen wunderschönen Liebhaber sei, und daß du außerordentlich glücklich sei, dadurch schwimmen zu dürfen, und, weiter, daß du unbedingt die Gelegenheit ergreifen solle, immer wie weit und tief wie möglich zu erkunden. Dann wachtest du mit der vagen verwirrten Idee auf, daß du etwas besonderes weißt. Diese Idee würdest aber immer innerhalb wenige Sekunden zu trüb zu folgen werden. So teiltest du dein Leben dazwischen: auf der einen Seite, tierische Tage des Schwimmens, der Fütterung, des Kamps, und–wenn du Glück hättest–der schwimmenden Geselligkeit, manchmal sogar des nassen Geschlechtsverkehrs, und, auf der anderen Seite, Nächte der Aufklärung über die Macht des Geistes, die Erhabenheit und Vielfalt des Universums, und die Herrlichkeit des Sees.
Aber du bist doch kein Walfisch, sondern ein Menschen, und du und deine Affenverwandten seid einander gegenseitig verlegen. Es könnte aber schlechter sein: du könntest ein Vögel sein, und ständig in betrauender und schuldiger Einsamkeit zu Grunde gehen.
AMW/BW
This was written as a response to “Die Sorge des Hausvaters”. What do they have in common? Um, they both discuss mythical creatures and cultivate a silly weirdness.