In der Stille der Wörter

Die Stadt erzittert, aber er nicht
Und seine Kunst hat auch keine Angst.
Er schreibt, und lächelt, und schreibt,
Ruhig die Wörter, in den Seiten komischer Wahrheit.

Die Fäden seines Hemds verschwinden nicht,
Im roten licht der Wüste.
Er ist zu Hause,
Sein eiginer Schatten gelegt um sich.

Time

Well, my first semester in this franko-prussian land is at an end. It has been - once again - some time since my last entry. In that month I was wrapping up the semester over here, where most courses are structured to contain very little "homework" until the end of the semester. I had to write some long essays in German, which was quite the experience. Originally this month of February was going to be spent hanging out with a friend who was going to visit me from home, but in the end such an adventure was not found prudent. Instead, I am looking for an electric guitar to rent (there are a lot of cool music rental places around Munich), so that I may finally begin my lessons. This would solve the issue of my parents having to hassle with getting me a guitar from home, and indulge my rock/blues fantasies to no end. I've also taken this opportunity to read a couple English books that have been on the back burner since before my transatlantic repositioning. I read "Big Sur" yesterday in a 5 hour or so sitting, and am hunting down a copy of "On the Road", both by Jack Kerouac. Today I am starting "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance" which is far overdue. I really do like it.

I think I need to start carrying a pad of paper with me at all times. Lately I have been drawing up the most satisfying and poignant sections of prose in my mind, always at the most inopportune of times. I miss America more than ever, but love it here more than ever just as well. It is a very strange feeling, and it changes me, hopefully for the better.

Clear winter days filled with birds. The ethereal light of evening casts weird shadows amongst the cathedrals of this aged city, people come and go. There is a Magpie on my window sill, it tells me the west will never die.

Last evening in Wannweil

Well, tonight was my last night here in Wannweil, a sad day indeed. I have enjoyed my time here more than I could have ever imagined. The Buck Family made me feel right at home and were nice enough to briefly adopt this giant American for the holidays. I've been postponing my return to Munich - and subsequently my return to study - as long as possible, but tommorow, unfortunately, I must be going. So far I have met innumerable friends, cousins, nieces, nephews, second cousins, grandparents, and, finally, one great aunt.

I've enjoyed countless family traditions, long conversations well into the night, endless poker games, and a few rowdy blues sessions featuring Matthias Buck on the Blues Violin. I've learned a unbelievable amount of German in the short time I was here, and cannot wait to return quite soon.

I'm bound to write more about the last amazing couple of weeks later, but for now I need to sit back and let it all ruminate a while. I can say with certainty, however, that I have felt for the first time that I was at home in this foreign land. It was as if -- having finally pierced some sort of cultural shell -- I suddenly became aware that these people aren't Germans, they are just people, and, being friends of our family, are pretty much my kind of crazy. I can't wait to come back.

Christmas in Wannweil, continued.

Well today is Christmas here in Wannweil. Not much snow, but enough to accent the waning winter sun. Last night I was indoctrinated into the German Christmas tradition through a sort of baptism of fire, if you would. The whole family assembled a bit after sundown and marched out of town into a wooded hilly area. There Matthias, beneath an almost full winter moon, produced a three foot long wax torch, which was subsequently ignited. Around this soft and flickering light we proceeded to sing traditional German Christmas carols. Some of the older, wiser persons present shared a few lines of learned wisdom with us younger pilgrims, and slowly the fellowship proceeded homeward, following that noble light which our fearless torchbearer (Oskar) so valiantly carried. Once we had returned indoors the divine flame was employed to light candles in every room throughout the house. We had acquired the holy light, you see, atop that mystic knoll and - having succesfully carried home - could now use it to both warm our souls and cast a pleasing hue across all of the delicious Christmas fare. Janko and Jessica made four gimongously huge meat-streudels which were sliced up and served piping hot: savoury juices bubbling, enticing odours drifting.

Of course there was desert, which included three or four types of pie, several types of ice cream, and yet more varieties of sauces, chocolate and berry in nature. There were games, some of which were simply too hilarious to be recounted. As well as, of course, the presents. Slowly the night drew to a close. The younger children were slowly, painstakingly herded into their bedchambers and the adults soon followed suit. Leaving the older children, myself included, to discuss important matters of politics and philosophy. Which is to say we played some more hilarious German card games over a bottle of Sekt (sparkling german wine), before retiring ourselves.

Christmas in Wannweil, however, was far from over. On the morrow we were scheduled to spend the day at the house of Matthias's father, the benevolent and renowned Teo Buck. Such tales, however, must wait for a later time. Stay tuned, I hope everyone had a grand holiday stateside.


Love to all,


EZ

Christmas in Wannweil, the beginning.

Well I made it to Stuttgart yesterday without any trouble. I did, however, forget my gift package that I spent so much time on. Left it sitting in my room, smart as I am. Oh well. So far hanging out here has been fun. A little bit insane, (Mathias's house is FULL.) right now we've got: Matthias, his wife, his daughter Theresia, his son Oskar, his son Merlin (yes, that kid has the coolest name ever), Janco, and Jessica is coming today I believe. Add me into the equation and the three story traditional German house is starting to seem substantially smaller. I'm going to take plenty of pictures of everyone, so stay tuned.

Last night I went out with Oskar to a local sort of youth co-op club thing he sometimes works at and played Foosball (kicker, as it is called in Germany). First I must point out that I have been playing a LOT of Kicker since I came to Germany, a LOT. That being established, I can proceed to recount how Oskar and his friends Kickered my American ass. Still lots of fun though, they were surprised I had any game, being an Ami (American). From there I followed Theresa and some of her friends to a Reggae Party. There was good music, to be sure, but hanging out with a predominantly 16-18 year old crowd was very strange. The fact that it was a 16-18 year old crowd of Germans made it all the more strange. Reminded me of high school, a place I don't generally revisit during my meditations. I saw a woman in a wheel-chair rocking out in the middle of the dance floor during a brief parting of the crowd, and the image has been lingering ever since. I wonder what my adventures would have been like had I grown up in a place where one could essentially pick a music/culture scene at will to subscribe to.

Well, Matthias, Merlin, and I are going to go for a stroll around Wannweil (the suburb of Reutlingen - which is itself a suburb of Stuttgart - in which this upstanding German family lives), and I need to put some fresh batteris in my camera.

Bis bald, ('till soon)



EZ

"I like those cold, gray winter days. Days like these let you savor a bad mood."

So sayeth Bill Watterson. Winter has fallen on Munich, or so I have been told. Previously I was under the impression that the increasing frequency of cold, bleak, and bloody cold days were simply the vengeful wrath of an angry God, directed - as it were - at our moral listlessness. I had been hard at work reforming my sinful ways, that the true, wondrous, snow painted Bavarian Winter might be restored, when I was informed that both bone-chilling wind and soul-numbing cold are but mundane occurrences in a mild Bavarian winter. With the terrifying concept of still "wintery-er" months ahead comes the hollow promise that more snow generally corresponds to less wind. I only hope more snow can help magnify what minimal sunshine we've been receiving. Perhaps raising it to a level beyond that which is produced by bioluminescent fish, residing somewhere in the Mariana Trench.

I've been neglecting my blog. I'm not sure what that says about my character, but hopefully things will change. I've created a rather unruly collection of writings and ramblings, many of which I intend to edit and procure for thy reading pleasure. Until then, I hope this small update is not found wanting.

The students on my program organized a Thanksgiving dinner, which turned out quite delicious. With some help from our program director we rented out and decorated a cool room above a library, wherein we fest-ed and feasted well into the night. My Ukelele-Playing comrade and I even provided fare of a musical nature - assuaging the gradual end to sip and sup.

Things have become somewhat routine of late, something not entirely unwelcome after a few months of travel and exploration. My time has been primarily spent studying, reading, writing, and most importantly: playing music. I've been playing guitar more than ever, and though I am happy with my progress, I have decided to finally seek out some lessons, a task which has been hanging ominously o'er my "to do list" since arriving in frozen land. I played my friend's steel string the other day and have also resolved myself to find one for myself. Though I have enjoyed checking out a classical guitar, I simply cannot play the kind of music I want to play on it.

I am heading to Stuttgart for Christmas to visit some family friends. I've been told that one can find both snow and sunlight there, and look forward to playing music with the lord of the manor.


Now is the time for sleep, but I intend to both report on the holidays and throw up some of my more recent pieces when I return. I hope all is well with all ya'all Stateside, and my very best holiday wishes go out to everyone bothering to read this blog. Those who aren't reading it...well, I suppose they could enjoy themselves as well, for now.


Frigidly,



EZ

Westryn Wynd

A west wind salutes me, I think of home.

Many may consider the rural areas of the west similarly as one would aesthete paintings. They look nice, but you wouldn’t really want to live in Victorian England. Some people look at those areas of the map where roads and town markers fade away, and consider the intellectual aptitude of the inhabitants similarly waning. Not I. I have seen things and known people whose very existence screams blatantly to the contrary. There exists a certain marginalized thread of our society wherein one finds long-winded cowboy philosophers, beautiful bleak winter days, and those people who chose to forsake all the comforts of progress in order to be closer to both. Most people look at the tapestry and pass over these seemingly threadbare patterns. Some of us, however, see nothing else. The lines and circles roll away like ripening wheat, and the doubts and terrors of our absurd world roll away with them. A swift sunrise over snow-capped mountains, and I am home

Eve of all Hallows, Day of all Saints

Well, halloween came and went. We attempted to recreate the spirit here in Studentenstadt, and succeded to a degree. We trick-or-treated throughout our fair Student City, visiting each persons building for goodies. It was very cold, and one girl made Gluhwein (hot German spiced wine), mmmmm. Another building also featured hot cider, good stuff. Jammed out on Wharf Rat for a while, that Asus2 chord is a pretty nifty place on the guitar I must say. Fun to hang around there. It's probably a bad thing to be in this habit of just diddling along with Grateful Dead songs, since I should be attempting to become competent at barring. I am bar-challenged. I cannot play bar chords if my life depends on it. I can barely change to C minor and maybe an F or F sharp. I read some scary horror stories of guitarist playing for twenty years and never really being able to bar. And playing eight note melodies to Dead songs all day sure isn't helping any. I got my first package from my parents yesterday (Happy Birthday Mom!), and I've already almost decimated the dried fruit found therein. I also received some CD's from Dad, some mighty fine CD's. Today is All Saints Day, which in Germany is a national holiday, and we have no classes. Hopefully this fellow on our program who plays Ukelele and I are going to jam later, and its a surprisingly sunny winter day. Maybe we'll throw on some pullovers and let our melodies ring out over the cold Munich air. Or maybe we'll contain amateur hour to the indoors.
We were going to head out to Berchtesgaden tommorow (Nazi party leader retreat/vacation town) and see The Eagle's Nest, but we found out that is is closed for winter. It would have been neat to ride in that gold-plated elevator up to Kelsteinhaus, guess it'll have to wait 'till the fervent tides of spring. This album "Rear View Mirror" by Townes Van Zandt is plain amazing. I recommend it. Some people and I are going to make dinner soon. Until next time my friends.

The Self and The Dead

I have now been in Germany for two months. The past eight weeks have been heavy, to say the least. A lot of new information to perceive. My somewhat infrequent newsletters home have undoubtedly helped in the decompression process.

- nearly two hours of playing along with Grateful Dead here -

This blog, however, will be somewhere I can jot down more frequent reflections and ramblings. I just started my actual semester at Ludwig Maximilian Universität, although two of my classes there are in English. It seems a bit lame, taking English classes in Germany, however it is a must if I wish to retain any hope of acquiring my desired second major. They are also really great classes. The one - "Self and Society in the Victorian Novel" - has already peaked my interest a great deal. Last year I wrote an involved paper at Lewis & Clark which analyzed this same theme in George Eliot's Silas Marner, an excellent Victorian work. Said paper was also not the first time I had explored the topic. In fact the themes of society, the individual, and the relations therebetween have been persistently following me since I began studying literature. The works spanning roughly 1830-1925 seem to address this topic continuously. So many great and terrible forces assaulted traditional societal forms in those years. Shattering the safe and familiar foundations of how one's self was perceived, baptizing the individual through tempestuous revolutions both industrial and civil. I am currently reading William Thackeray's Vanity Fair for the aforementioned "Self and Society" course, whereon I must present a small paper and discussion in a few weeks, focusing on this ever so prevalent theme.

My language skills are improving, I suppose. The biggest challenge upon arrival was understanding actual Germans. Although my pronunciation and vocabulary have both benefited from these first immersive weeks, I feel that I could have expressed myself regarding most mundane topics (employing perhaps odd and/or roundabout methods or tactics) before having visited the fatherland. Understanding Germans, however, is entirely its own facet of this foreign adventure. Thanks to my ever-increasing cognition of spoken German I am now aware of how often Germans make fun of us Americans. Not to imply that Germans are particularly mean, on the contrary the communities of Munich and Ludwig Maximilian Üniversität therein are both quite familiar with international students. One might even regard them as largely international communities. They do, however, cherish their "Ami" (German abbreviation for "American") jokes. Generally they are somewhat apologetic and always surprised when I make it clear that I am quite capable of communicating in the comical tongue, as it were.

I sure do enjoy The Grateful Dead. Anyone who as iTunes should go into the podcasts, there is a free GD podcast named "The Dead show on KOPN 89.5". Each week sees old Dead show tapes (mostly high quality) posted by this fellow John Henrikson. He executes the whole affair with admirable craft. The notes for each session/show are articulate and complete. Good stuff. Podcasts in general are definitely one of the nicest vehicles for the free dissemination of art. You'll be surprised at what one finds sometimes.


Well, it is done. I, Ezekial Hale, have blogged. A blog has been - by me - written.

I believe I will end this post with a verse from the Townes Van Zandt song titled "To Live is to Fly":

"Goodbye to all my friends
It’s time to go again
Think of all the poetry
And the pickin’ down the line
I’ll miss the system here
The bottom’s low
And the treble’s clear
But it don’t pay to think to much
On things you leave behind.
I will be gone
But it won’t be long
I'll be a’bringin’ back the melodies
And rhythm that I find."