Monday, October 26, 2015

When Kafka Was Seventeen Years Old...

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HOW MANY WORDS (1900)
How many words are in books! 
They’re meant for reminders! 
As though words were ever reminders!

Because words are poor mountaineers and mountain men. 

They do not fetch treasures from the mountaintops and 
mountain deeps. 
But there is a live remembrance which 
beyond the worth of any reminder gently leads there 
like a coaxing hand. And if from this ash flame rises, 
glowing and hot, mighty and strong and you stare within,
as spellbound with the magic of it, then–

But in this chaste remembrance, one cannot 
inscribe oneself with clumsy hand and rude 
implement, one can do that only 
in these white, undemanding sheets. 

That did I on September 4, 1900.

Franz Kafka
(3 July 1883 – 3 June 1924)
Translated by
Christopher Mulrooney  


If you seriously want to know what it means 
to be Kafkaesque, click  here.

For the next GoFather/Kafka page–written with
tongue firmly imbedded in cheek–click  there. 
 
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