My pen was a gun...

Hello my friends. It's Thursday, August 17, and I'm in Germany. Sitting at my desk, in the dorm, with the window and door open wide to let the breeze through--this reminds me, somehwat, of thefirst few days of here, with the heat. It's only like, 75 degrees right now. A welcome shift from the nights of 49 with constant rain. But the weather isn't the only thing on my mind. I'm listening, obviously (to some!) to "The Year," and it's really fiting, if you substitute "my month in Deutschalnd for the phrase "the Year":

"The year has loosened its grip on me
and i'm taking in air that i've never breathed
you've lifted my burden
and taken me from my tensions..."

I've only had two, maybe three headaches this whole month--a drastic departure from my normal routine. Which is exactly why--I think--I haven't had them....I've departed from my normal routine, a routine of too much stuff to think about. Papers, essays, a film series, reading, scholarships, financial aid, reading, meeting with Profs, reading, TA application, and when all that's done I read a little more. Here, German has been my primary task. Even before I left, this was so--studying Deutsch at UNT for over a month. Hopefully I'll bring this peace back to Texas with me. The air is better here, it seems. The sun shines the same--actually, not nearly enough--but overall the whole area of Marburg seems cleaner, nicer, more beautiful, and more natural than Texas.

It's odd to remember my first few days here, days full of fear and worry. Hesitation, doubt--strange feelings for me; I'm usually full of positivism, optimistic thoughts, smiles and laughter. So a switch for me indeed. And yet, here the end is, standing just a few hundred meters away, hands in his pockets, just waiting. I couldn't see him when I arrived, but not for want of desire! I tried to find him in every building, every room of this city. Eventually, Marburg became a sort of friend; as we got to know each other, and learned from our strengths and weaknesses, I could see the faint outline of the end approaching from far up on Universitätsraße. A part of me was even reluctant to notice him at first. Indeed, my walk through the city to the train station Saturday morning will be bittersweet, but will be 100% cocao.

through the world...
-BW

Essen

When is a mushroom not a mushroom anymore?

When it's been simmering in balsamic for almost an hour--just enough time to let the vinegar turn to glaze--and swirled with a little uns. butter right before serving. That's when it's not a mushroom anymore; it's become a completely different ingredient-al entity. I walked down the hall from the kitchen towards my room balancing the plate and glass of water, and I couldn't resist the temptation. I reached for a quarter of mush and popped it into my mouth. Sure, my fingers were a little black now, but the flavor just burst upon bite and it reminded me of why I play with fire and water in the kitchen when the other students are out at "Fun Park" for free beer night.

Roasted tomatoes [Foil and Oil, right Starchef?], roasted chicken [same mantra], the balsamic mush, and topped with a (say it Brian) poached egg.

I spoke--auf Deutsch--to the girl making her dinner in the kitchen at the same time:
"Zu Hause habe ich alles, dass ich brauche. Hier....also...heir habe ich--"
"Nothing?" she interrupted.
"Well, ja, nichts...ich wollte ein bisschen sagen...aber, ja, nichts!"

I mean, it's not really that bad. I really can't wait to get home though...honestly, I wish Gina was coming here--then we could spend time together exploring Marburg and I could show her what it's like living abroad, buying groceries, speaking to shopkeepers, postal workers, professor, etc. Then I'd have everything...well, except for Bailey Booler. So, yeah, scratch that good idea and throw it in the "bad" pile. I'm coming home in three days, Daggums.

One step closer to knowing....to knowing....
-BW

schöner Tag

Was ein Tag! Ich habe mein Präsentation heute Mittag--also, vielleicht war es kurz vor Mittag --gegeben. Ja, es könnte besser gegangen...aber, weißt man, es ist fast am Ende des Erlebens.
Tha'ts really all I had to say... I'm home in the dorm, after a good day so far. Getting closer to the end! Ausgezeichnet! Thank you to everyone who's been reading these.... O'Malley, where's your comments? Hast du nicht geshen? Es gibt keine..."excuse" for it.... Ach, du.

All right; Enough.

-BW

Feeling homesick...

(this originally began as an email to Gina...)
Took a short trip to the Hauptbahnhof today, with James. We walked Susanne to her train, she's going home for a week or so, to Koblenz. It was my first time there since I arrived in Marburg; it felt weird to be there again, remembering the initial thoughts as I looked over my new "home" back on 24 July. I was glad, because I was also there to purchase my ticket back to FRA, which of course will take me back home to you.
I just made dinner. Spinach-stuffed tortellini with roasted chicken in a mushroom cream sauce, fresh grated parmesan on top. What a friggin chef. It's tough trying to work within constraints here, but perhaps it's making me a better cook, having to improvise with nearly no tools. I use the same object to chop onions, crush garlic, stir vegetables, swirl pasta in the pot, cut into the chicken to check for temp., and slice bread. I live in luxury in Grapevine, I realize this now.
I'm at the same place I was two weeks ago: typing onto the blog instead of working on my presentation for tomorrow. This class is really not a big deal at all. I hate to say it, but it's true. It's somewhat entertaining, and I'm usually one of the most vocal participants in discussions. But then again, I'm usually trying to make everyone laugh... Today the discussion centered around "Memes". Anyone know what a meme is? It's a concept derived from "genes", except instead of referring to biology, it refers to mental constructs--ideas, ideologies, religious theories, etc. A Meme also derives, etymologically, from mimesis, another word for "imitation". That's the foundation of this concept: a Meme is something someone does or says, which they have learned by watching someone else do it. Then the new Meme host can pass it on. Holiday traditions, for example, are "memes". I see a tradition observed in my family, and I do it when I have a family of my own--I've contributed to the evolution of a Meme. Is this weird? Yeah. Is it pointless? Yeah, I think so.
So my presentation tomorrow will center not on memes or anything of the sort, but "multiculturalism" and what it is...what it isn't...why it's evil and/or why it's great. The trouble is, I've not yet decided on an answer to any of those questions! I have a couple articles I've read, and hopefully going over them again will situate me more solidly. But I'm still just procrastinating--even if I try to make my blog about my homework. I can't even fool myself...I guess that means I'm a graduate student. Soooo smart.
James watched me cook tonight, asking questions like, "Why do you shake the pan like that?"
"Because it's fun," I responded. "Sometimes, I think amateur cooks feel like they've gotta be doing something or the food won't really cook."
I felt the way you, Brian, must feel all the time. Me standing there, watching, learning. MEME-ing for God's sake, freakin laserbeems I can't escape those Memes. They're like the Langoliers, I swear! Watch out, they're coming to take today away and lock you into perpetual yesterday; little metal balls of gnashing teeth with no heart and no soul, run for your lives!
It's One Thirty in Grapevine. I think of who's there, what they're doing. And I think of who's not there. Who's on their way there--from Florida and also from Germany... I think of a lot today, because I'm feeling a little homesick. Would anyone mind if I type the lyrics to what I just heard as I wrote that last sentence? No? Good.

"So I'll sing a song of my hometown; breathe the air and walk the streets.
Maybe find a place to sit and read. But the ants are welcome company..."

For those who don't know, it's one of my favorite songs, and it's always brought nostalgiac thoughts of "home". Usually it's Por'ey Lou (Port St. Lucie in laymans terms), but while I'm here in Germany it's really just America. Could be in Florida, could be in Grapevine. Could be sitting in my car outside St. Paul Professional Building, waiting for a beautiful nurse to catch my stare, and perhaps return it. Maybe she'll come over, I think to myself. Maybe we'll even have lunch together. Maybe she'll not want to leave my side; we'll spend all day together and sleep in the same bed that night.
These are just thoughts, distant thoughts of a distant place. But it is a reality nonetheless, a reality that's waiting for me when I get back home...

-BW

evening serenade

The clouds are rolling past, swirling in numerous hues of blue, grey, and white. I love this time of the day in Marburg: after eight o'clock, yet the lighting seems perfect for a long stroll with a camera in hand. But I can't go anywhere right now. It's too cool outside, anyways. Overnight low is 49. Plus, I'm organizing items on my desk, writing an email to my mother-in-law, and pondering what will be for dinner. All the while, I'm listening to the soundtrack of this very moment. How often it seems like his words were written just for me, for the exact moment I hear them. Today is something good, indeed.

"Looking out into the horizon, seems like forever's not so far away now.
Never could I peer through my window, it was covered by a wooden square.
Maybe there's a reason for living; I'd like to look into forever's bright blue eyes.
Playing my guitar by the water, seems like the ocean is listening to me.
Singing of the love of my Savior, confident feeling, that He's right beside me.
Falling into my tribulation, one hand holding on to revelation."


I can't help but fall in love with every song he's written each time I listen to one. This was written something like nine years ago, but somehow it worked just then, as the sky swirled, and this city on a mountain seemed to listen to it, too. I wonder what Marburg thinks of your music, Ricky...


-BW

...In the morning...

Today, when we hear His voice
Today, we won't harden our hearts
Today, we are living this choice, now
To fall at His feet, and believe.
To fall at His feet and believe.

What a morning! It's not yet time to leave, but I'm pushing it by getting onto the blog...So... ich muss mich beeilen! (I have to hurry!) I made an amazing breakfast, best I've had since coming to Germany. And it's such a great way to begin the day. It's a little gloomy out today, the sun seems like it's trying realy hard to poke its way through the hazy, grey clouds. I'm rooting for it to win. I've grown tired of the cold. This is not summer weather.
I'll be taking a trip to the AquaMar today (well, it's on my schedule). IT's an indoor and outdoor swimming complex, and I heard there's a big water slide, too, which would be great fun. I haven't been on a water slide in, holy monkey, who freakin knows? There's a soccer game at 4:30, the usual time. I missed the game on Monday, because I feel asleep for THREE hours in the middle of the day. Personal transportation can wipe a brotha out! So I'll try to hit the AquaMar before soccer. I'm loving the music I've opened my day with:

Many men will pour their gold, and serve a thing that shines.
Many men will read Your Word, but they will never change their minds...
But I will not forget: You are my God, my King.
With a thankful heart, I bring my offering.
And my sacrifice is not what You can give,
But what I alone can give to You!

And that will end my post. Perhaps I'll edit this later and add a picture of my breakfast! Haha! I love food shots! Ok, clock's ticking, and the Hörsaalgebäude is waiting...

-BW

From Frankfurt

While in Frankfurt, we walked all over the city. One of the places we stopped at was the Paulskirche, a place I'd been to in 2002. It was empty, and I could sense that the wide open space with hundreds of seats was just begging for an accomplished orator such as myself to take the podium and bring the truth to the Vaterland!

past due post, first meal

This is a little late... I typed it on the laptop a couple weeks ago, ah well:

"First Meal"

Natürlich, habe ich viele Essen schon gegessen, aber ich habe für mir nicht gekocht!

Of course, I’ve already eaten a lot of meals, but I haven’t cooked any for myself!

So what is my first meal cooked here in the Ev. Studenten Gemeinde? Pan-cooked chicken breast, seasoned simply, with EVOO (an abbreviation for extra virgin olive oil), dried basil, salt, and pepper; accompanied by sautéed zucchini, finished off with a sauce made from evoo, salt, pepper, boiled cherry tomatoes and shredded butterkäse. Not bad, not bad!

Of course, I took a picture.




-BW

Spiegelslust Turm

Hey everyone! The weeks are winding down. I'm getting settled into a routine, and even finding that I'm out of time for things some days. When you travel by foot, time goes by quite fast. The third (last) weekend of excursions is approaching quickly...and sooner than I know it I'll be smearing my chive-lime butter over fresh grilled yellow corn (right, Gina?). But there's still things to do here in Marburg! My list went like this:




-visit the AquaMar
-go to the castle
-shop @ ______ (name deleted in order to protect the identity of any gifts from the birthday girl)
-find Birkenstocks
-shop for pens
-Stationery store
-follow the river
-hike to tower
-meander around the Oberstadt
-walk to Elizabethkirche
(yes, these items are listed on my W. C. Card)


So some of them I've done, one of them was today--the tower. We thought it was going to be much longer of a hike to get there...it's not that it's long, just VERY steep. My knees were burning! But the view from the top? Holy Monkey Machine! Unbelievable.

So I did some laundry today, (2 Euro each load) and also got another letter from Gina (that makes 4!). German class is getting annoying, because there's only two of us who are really interested in learning German, it seems. (Yep, that' me and James, the two Grahduate Shtudents (say it like we're from Haaahhhh-vahd) So I'll be working on major German work tonight. Isn't it great that I'm saying this at 10 30 at night? Ha! The night is young!

Most of the other students are out at a bar/club called...wait for it.... "Fun Park" Yeah, incredibly German, I know what you're thinking. But, as most of you know, bars aren't my favorite place to be! So I'm at home, typing, laundering, studying... I made a great dinner after I got back form the hike (pictures will be after all of these words): it wasn't THE sandwich, Jimmy, Gina.....but it was the Deutsch equivalent.....minus the bacon... It was daggum good, though. (If anyone wants to know what THE sandwich is, ask Erica, she's got my copy of Spanglish) I'm thinking of cooking tomorrow night....but I've got to ask Gina if I can take more money from the ATM....I keep running out of money; trying to eat healthy gets quite expensive in Germany...if only because the ice cream, which is incredibly cheap and really good, is also incredibly good and really cheap. Hope that's clear.

Ok, time for more pictures. (It's raining again)
Up at the top is me, being me.
Below is me shooting at Marburg, then another of me aiming, and finally the view. If anyone has any questions, go ahead and leave a comment! Shalom!





















Wow....You can barely make anything out...The bottom right corner is where I live. I'm standing at the top of a tower...you can probably tell how high it is from the absence of detail on most of the buildings in the distance. There's a small tower of some sort in the left part of the picture, and that's the area where most of the ISU action taks place....I'll try to post some more pictures later. Goodnight!

-BW

Yeah, it's a real one...

Mormons

I'm not sure, Doug, Robert, if you're reading this or not, but I saw some mormons the other day and thought about you guys. Well, at least I think they were mormons. They looked alike, had ties (it wasn't cold that day), and were reading out of a little book to another student. Although, it could just be that they were the MSP, and they were hot on my trail! (MSP=Mormon Secret Police)

So what's happening guys? I've eaten a Kinder egg; just one. I'll definitely bring some home. And Douglas, I am trying....really hard.....but I can't find your notebook. I've been in stationery stores, school supply stores.....but I've not thrown in the towel...Oh no. So we'll see...

I use my planner everyday. Isnt' that fun? More than one occasion I've said to another student, "Yeah, but we've got that thing tomorrow at 3:00." and the response is "Oh, crap, I forgot about that!" Ha! I win!
I really hope someone in Club Synergy is reading this, because who else cares about my binder, eh? I know, Erica, that you posted a comment a few posts back, Thank you!!!
Alright, if I want to have time to stop by the bakery on the way to class I've gotta get going.
I hope Texas and Florida has great weather...I'm getting a little tired of the 96% humidity and overnight lows of 50 degrees. I'll welcome the atmospheric Satan with open arms when I return. And I can't wait to fire up the grill. Get some cowboy burgers from Central Market, Gina! hahaha....

Auf Wiedersehen,
-BW

CIA (the other one)

(cooking in my dorm; wonder who my teacher was?)
I feel a little more connected to the States, to "back home" when I get emails like this:





"I have just been formally accepted to the Culinary Institute of America. Thanks for all your help."

So that makes me pretty happy. I've been desiring a turn in his life as much as anyone else, including him, and now it's finally here. At last, I'll drive over to Will's place and he just won't come to the door, he won't ride in the front, won't hit the batting cages with me, won't always be there. He'll be somewhere else, doing something else--something that really matters. And everyone is better because of it. Congratulations, Brian. We're extremely excited for you.
-BW

"Not Tonight"

One long night is over, one long night,
But more remain. One night
Is not enough; restrain the eye,
Retrain the eye, without another night
With you in view, without another night
For far more nights than I
Would like to count.

The night comes so quickly,
Lingers far too long.
Days are easy; they are busy and
Go by so easily, easily.
Another day is gone, another day has passed.
Another day will get me closer to you,
But not tonight.

Nighttime beckons familiar
Feelings, “Come and be warmed
By the fire.” But nighttime’s veil of
Darkness hides the heat of even your flame,
Unkindled, unfanned, unsparked.

This Marburg night seems innocent, seems
Kind to me, soft breeze and dim light.
Another night enticing me
To write: to you, to me, to everyone
In between. Another night, another week,--
Another and another--I’ll be home,
But not tonight.

(I wrote this on July 30, in reference to the long, sad first night I had here in Marburg)

-BW

Soccer at a field under a bridge

The image beneath this

I forgot to mention that I took the picture in the below post while sitting in the portion of the Philipps Universität that was opened in 1527. It is the window of the main lecture hall of the Uni. More pictures of this place will come, along with more words from my wild brain. Danke schön!
-BW

Ich habe geschrieben ( an essay written for my class here)

History and Identity

A division arises among the authors we have engaged with in these two weeks:
There are those who seek to dig deep into their roots, and from this sense of place, write great literature; there are those who traverse the globe in order to discover themselves for the first time (perhaps in a museum), and from this more complicated position write great literature; and there are also those whose sense of history is somewhat lost, and who discover their identity by celebrating the present as its own tradition, and from this dais write great literature. In each case, the predicament comes as a result of what Rushdie calls cultural transplantation—the issue that lies at the center of this varied collection of literature. Despite the incongruities we have discovered relating to the lives of these writers outside their writing (of course I’m referring to our Rushdie-hatred), I have decided to let the writing speak for itself. I take as a foundation Salman Rushdie’s Imaginary Homelands, in which I find an expression of the post-colonial predicament that most certainly applies, in one way or another, to all of the authors we have read in this class. Rushdie’s essay addresses two of the principal concerns for the post-colonial writer today, the notion of history and identity.

What role does history play in the creation of literature for our writers? At first, I aligned Walcott against the past, with Naipaul fighting for it and Rushdie somewhere in between. Yet, when deconstructed, Walcott’s negative depiction of the sigh of history must yield to his theory of the broken vase; in order for the pieces to be put back together, with the glue of a “stronger love,” it must be broken in the first place. The long sigh of history is the culprit. Perhaps Walcott simply isn’t sure where he stands. In defiance of history, he disregards the numerous traditions that serve as the foundations of his current culture by embracing the present and future, while simultaneously defining the process of poetry as “one of self-excavation and of self-discovery.” Were he to excavate the Antilles—not physically but culturally—he would indeed find the ruins that the islands themselves lack. His ancestry traces back to Rushdie’s India, Soyinka’s Nigeria, the South Africa of Coetzee and Gordimer. Walcott cannot escape history.

Naipaul replaced Proust’s “talent” with hard work and luck. This luck, which puts you in the right place at the right time, also has the ability to put you in the wrong place at the wrong time. Perhaps this is really what makes for great literature: the experience of trial and hardship. But what can one reach out and grab hold of during oppression and pain if not their past? It is fitting that writers such as those gathered in our compilation all speak of history. It is the responsibility of the international writer to deal with such an issue. To write in the post-colonial moment, one must confront the history of colonialism and with it, breathe the long sigh that remembers the transplantation from mainland to island.

The Nobel committee recognizes the necessity of this confrontation. Let us consider these phrases, taken from some of the Nobel pronouncements of the past fourteen years: “arbitrariness of history” (Kertesz, 2002), “see the presence of suppressed histories” (Naipaul, 2001), “portray the forgotten face of history” (Grass, 1999), “exalt…the living past” (Heaney, 1995), “sustained by historical vision” (Walcott, 1992). Why are these authors celebrated for their writing? Because they excavate the shared history of humanity. The story of the Yoruba and the Zulu and the stories of the Antilles belong as much to the students of the ISU as those told by Proust, Dickens, Kafka, or Melville.

The second imperative our authors share can be found within the speech of the Nobel committee. Harold Pinter, the most recent recipient, was awarded the Prize for a literature that “forces entry into oppression’s closed rooms.” The reason they are closed is because a writer has not yet entered them—at least a writer who is publishing in English to a wide audience. From the act of entering into these rooms, which were closed by the colonial world, new identities emerge.

Naipaul traversed the globe because his story had not been written even behind the gate of his own house. Rushdie has sought out world experiences in order to critique them. Soyinka writes in an effort to shout words beyond the confines of his Yoruba world, or perhaps even his prison cell. Underneath all of these writers lies the urge to resist suffocation by obsession with ones own culture. Rushdie clarifies with a suggestive dictum, which speaks against a “ghetto mentality”: “To forget that there is a world beyond the community to which we belong, to confine ourselves within narrowly defined cultural frontiers, would be, I believe, to go voluntarily into that form of internal exile which in South Africa is called the ‘homeland’.” I think Gordimer agrees. She refers to the post-adolescent maturation of the as “(t)he process of standing apart and being involved…” To this, I hear Rushdie responding in kind, linking Gordimer’s post-adolescence with the current state of being in post-colonial literature: “we are at one and the same time insiders and outsiders.”

But I question whether this is universally possible. When the space between insider/outside is crossed, perhaps one must take sides. Is Walcott still a partaker of his culture? Or has he been sufficiently successful so as to become merely a caretaker—a watchful yet distant observer of the culture that his writing has introduced to the world? Of course this anticipates the debate over a writer’s motivation and the question of Audience. Behind this question lies the critic’s own motive of moral evaluation. Do I accept the author’s motivation as valid and valuable? From their place, their home, their dais, the written words project out into the world. The world can then choose whether to accept, reject, embrace, or ignore them. What action we choose individually does not diminish the fact that each of our authors has taken the shattered fragments of suppressed histories and written them into an international literature through the linguistic amalgamation of English.

One could put forth an argument based on ratios and proportions of minority and majority populations in certain countries, but perhaps the imaginary homeland is simply the world in which we live today--where the residuals of modern, colonial existence insist themselves in the literature of our greatest, most gifted writers. A combination of talent, luck, and hard work, this writing attempts to restore the fragments of shattered histories in order to engender an emerging, self-conscious identity. Post-colonial, as a term, not only contains an inherent chronology but also pushes the focus towards the culture, indeed once a colony, which has now emerged from imperial darkness. But it also becomes easy to appropriate the concept of the colonialism of the empirical powers to other, somewhat connected moments in our collective history: the destruction of European Jewry, the Civil Rights movement, Apartheid. These and other events suggest further that perhaps we have not yet entered the post-colonial age.

Tegut

I couldn’t walk home from the grocery store in Grapevine even if I really wanted to. If the distance didn’t exhaust me completely, the atmospheric Satan known as “Summer in Texas” would claim me as its victim (and probably cook whatever food I’d bought!) So there’s something about Marburg that I know I’ll miss. Ok, I guess now would be the right time to say that I ended up taking the bus home anyways…but not every time! Sometimes I walk. Today, it just happens to be in the low 50’s…very windy…and rainy. So why walk?

The grocery store here is a wild animal. I couldn’t find salt today. Salt! The very basic, foundational ingredient in worldwide cuisine! Salz, auf Deutsch (“auf Deutsch” means “in German”). Oh, they had varieties of salt: salt for chicken, salt for vegetables, salt for herbs, salt for tomato and mozzarella salad. I just wanted plain, regular salt. The epicurean in me really wanted to buy the Fleur de Sel for 2.95€, but I thought that was extravagant for a poor student in a dorm. I found something called Tafelsalt and thought, Table salt? No, Table ist Tisch auf Deutsch…Tafel means “blackboard”. So I didn’t get it. I got the tomato and mozzarella stuff. We’ll see how it goes. The ratio of non-beer-buying customers to beer-buying customers is another thing; it is still strange to walk through the student union at noon-thirty and see beer bottles on most of the tables…

I can’t possibly get tired of the view form my dorm window ( I just looked up, and had to write something about it). I’m at an impasse. I can’t decide whether to a. clean my room, b. eat something, c. study German, or d. write a paper. I think, perhaps, I should work backwards, sound good? Sometimes, when I’m by myself and there’s noone around on this end of the hall, it’s hard to motivate myself to do anything, which is why I’m still writing on this thing instead of doing any actual work! I think I try to convince myself that it is just as important to blog as it is to do my work….hmmm…

So I’ll get to work. Danke for reading this.

-BW

Soda!

I’m working on some writing and I had to type in that I’m drinking a diet coke (Coke Light in Europe) and it is awesome. So cold, so good. Man, some things America just does right!

A window in Goethe's house. Yes, that Goethe.

Waschautomat

Translating the instructions on the washing machine...

Burgwald

This is just before heading up the mountain for a hike. What a beautiful day it was for a hike in the Burgwald. (Wald means forest)

And another, from the middle of the hike.