Der Zuschauer

Dear Readers,
I am in the Fares Tower of the Tisch Library of Tufts University and have an Oxford Duden German Dictionary and a copy of Georg Heym’s Dichtungen und Schriften, of which I am to translate various poems for Max Klinger and Der Zuschauer. I have also been asked to review a copy of The Oxford History of Literary Translation in English, Vol. 4: 1790-1900. I am now walking with a cane as much for balance as the left ankle, and I am also very interested in this question of Samuel Beckett and Karl Valentin that Klinger has raised. The autumn season here in Somerville/Cambridge has been gorgeous, and good theatre goes on all over the place. It is good to be out of hospital capitivity and see daily such things as hopping sparrows and harrier jet squirrels. These are days to be envied by those living and working on Guam Island. There are new biographies out on Leon Trotsky and I suppose Editor Degout is working on that. I have been thinking about how Henry James essays On the Art of Fiction (e. Edel) are of great value to the interst of all working dramaturgs. I am unsure if I am in any way a 21st century writer but at least it is clear I shall die one. We hope you enjoy your Turkey Day and all the trimmings.

Stanley Richardson
for Der Zuschauer

Dear Readers,
I have great piles of publications to review, many of them the spent condoms of tedious minds; I did enjoy Samuel Beckett’s Letters, and Viktor Shklovsky’s Theory of Prose.I can say little of
The Cambridge History of English Romantic Literature (2009), ed. James Chandler. We had initially invited Isaiah Berlin to review the book from beyond the grave but he is off table-knocking somewhere. Why can’t Yugoslavians all just get along? I should also like to alert readers to the fact that I have never ridden on the surface of the water, with planks of laminated wood, beneath my jaunty thighs. Sometimes at editorial meetings I find it necessary to remind everyone “we are all just another asshole.” By the way, the one instance, or instances, that struck me most about Beckett’s Letters were his encounters with the caberet artist Karl Valentin. Has anyone looked into this or written on this? i do appreciate your general laudation of our titalia and illustrative pubic photograhps. Some people just don’t seem to know how to get a bone on. See Victor Serge’s Memoires of a Revolutionary 1901-1941. Why is Christian Grabbe trying to sell me on an article on Tsunamis in Mongolia?” Are people out of their minds? And if so why?

Yours in Guam and Higher Education,
Max Klinger, Editor in Chief
Der Zuschauer

The great poet and jailbird: Alexsander Wat

Verbum sat est.

Nude Volley Ball has suffered severe blows from all the rainstorms and thunder-clapping clouds of late, as have most nude beach activities, not to mention the US Open. Many established groups, such as the writer’s colony in Provincetown, Norman Mailer’s group, and the reconstituted Partisan group do their volley balling indoors in Truro, Wellfleet, etc., where all the talk is about Obama’s influence on the recent events in Tehran, or possible retaliation to a North Korean missile strike on Pearl Harbor. Super models continue to get knocked up, bait shops are open, and Critical Inquiry is still on sale at the bookstore in Vineyard Haven; thus you have to drive back to Oaks Bluff to get alcohol with your moralism, or is it the other way round? Savvy salty dogs have their TLS or NYRB delivered via post or internet. Your correspondent appreciates writing on the internet via this Journal for really big bucks, but I do not listen to Little Dorrit on an I-Pod or I-Phone, or try to read it online with any of the various new reading technologies now available. If you can’t get sand in it in the summertime why go to Marseille or Chatham in the first place. Of course the situation hasn’t changed that much. Reading a New Yorker after an Ivy League BA is held the height of casual awareness. There is much perfect storm discussion of the French airliner “disapeared” over the Atlantic. The usual blather about the Red Sox and the Yankees, spottings of Ayn Rand paperbacks continue, as well as the odd Decline of the West or Civilization and its Discontents. There always seem to be more French readers than German readers on Cape Cod and the Islands. Almost everyone now drinks Aussie Swill-Shiraz, which is the current dago red. John Ashbery seems set to live forever and one can’t help but think somewhat fewer Europeans will weep if he dies, than as they did for Lord Byron. My editors continue to remind me they are due articles on Icelandic economic reform and the Mongolian theatrical avant-garde. Max Klinger is in heavy debate with scientists over the presence of hotel resorts and spas in the Marinas Trench. C.D. Grabbe and Ekaterina Degout are no longer speaking to another.
Dear Reader, I write to you from the broad, sandy beaches which surround the hill-populations of Somerville, City of Trees and Dogshit. I travel to my local Brazilian Beer Store on an outboard-powered skiff. I have promised Herr Klinger more on this topic later, and some translations from the German poems of George Heym. My Best to you.
Stanley Richardson, Correspondent for Der Zuschauer
Northeast Corridor All Rights reserved Guam Battalions

We are pleased to announce that a considerable section of Trotsky’s writing on women and the family has been added, along with a montage of ripened female intellectuals, to the It is I, Ekaterina Degot page, entitled Breeder Reactors, or, the Knocking Shop. We trust you will take due note. Our Best to you.

Degot, Grabbe, and Shadewell

So far there is little to say; he is recovering.

He may survive. Editors, Grabbe and Degot, under investigation.

I remain at the helm,
Thomas Shadewell

Dear Readers,
It is true that our august editor, Max Klinger, has suffered a heart attack while dealing with some iconographic issues regarding this journal. These have been resolved and he is recovering in a Guam Island hospital room surrounded by a bevy of Gooney Bird interns. Christian Grabbe and I soldier on here although we have lost contact with writer Stanley Richardson, who seems convinced we, the afore mentioned editors, were behind die Blendung in the first place. Some of you have asked where in the hell has Mrs. Inchbald gone to and does she paint her nails? Broad-Rump speaking, we’ve no idea. Klinger is, in his lordly hospital bed, reading Witold Gombrowicz’s Diary, and Nabokov’s Speak, Memory. He has also had his toe-nails painted cherry red.

Ekaterina Degot

Grabbe, here, Well, one thing that is being bruited about in the editorial offices heeeeeeeeeeeere on Guam Island at Der Zuschauer, is why do so many suspension-bridge engineers so often collapse into bra construction and design as a way to keep body and soul alive? Can Fichte help us on this question?

Dear Readers, We ask for your help? Christian Grabbe.