Beat the drum, Heinrich!*

I have never seen an ass
who talked like a human being,
but I have met many human beings
who talked like asses.

Heinrich Heine (13 December 1797 – 17 February 1856)

* Heine's Doctrine

Heine's Doctrine

Doctrine

Beat the drum and don't be afraid,
And kiss the sutler!
That is the whole science,
That is the deepest meaning of books.

Drum the people out of their sleep,
Drum Reveille with the vigour of youth,
Always march ahead drumming,
That is the whole of science.

That is Hegel's philosophy,
That is the deepest meaning of books!
I have grasped it because I am clever,
And because I am a good drummer. 

Heinrich Heine (13 December 1797 – 17 February 1856)

Moments of solitude

Like a great poet,
Nature knows to produce greatest effects
with most limited means.

– Heinrich Heine (13 December 1796 – 17 February 1856) –

Mail on Sunday

Today it's to be read on the frontpage of an English newspaper that Merkel wants Britain to crawl across broken glass.
Cited is an unspecified source as saying that the German chancellor was determined to see Britain suffer rather than reach a compromise on the sticking points of future government aid and fishing.

And who would not immediately and wholeheartedly believe?! After all it is coming from excellently educated journalists whose living is clean, whose manners are impeccable and who would never lie.

The more surprised I got, when my always trustworthy and absolutely reliable source let me know that she had heard by someone who knows the cousin of the doctor who had once got the opportunity to look in said journalist's brain, that instead of grey matter the one who had written the above has brown matter in his head.
Before I could ask for more details my always best-informed source went on:
"There is no need to worry for the average English(wo)man who does not only want her respectively his money but also her  respectively his sovereignty back.
Alternative fact is that each week 350 million quid will be pumped into the NHS, farmers will become rich, and the blessed English sovereigns will not be able to eat all the fish brave English fisherman will bring back from sea, escorted and protected against all the evil fishermen from abroad."

I hardly could believe my ears.
Finally my extraordinary credible source quoted Heinrich Heine on his 223rd birthday:  

"I have never seen an ass who wrote like a human being, but I have met many human beings who wrote like asses."

P.S. On request of A.Brit, readers may in their grey (sic!) matter replace England and English with GREAT Britain and British, because, of course, the people in Northern Ireland, in Scotland and Wales are blessed GREAT British sovereigns, too, and thus also will enjoy all the most wonderful fruits of what is their majority's will.

Beers & Books XXXVIII

"Where one burns books
one ultimately burns people."
- Almansor, 1832 -

  Heinrich Heine (13. December 1797 – 17 February 1856)

Poet(s) of Love

Long live Heine

Our death is in the cool of night,
our life is in the pool of day.
The darkness glows, I’m drowning,
the day has tired me with light.

Over my head in leaves grown deep,
sings the young nightingale.
It only sings of love there,
I hear it in my sleep.

Heinrich Heine (13.12. 1797 - 17.02. 1856)

The fundamental evil ...

... of the world arose from the fact
that the good Lord has not created enough money.

Heinrich Heine (1797-1856)

The Taoiseach's New Clothes III

Once I don't do 'things' immediately, they would often vanish in the realm of oblivion.
That's why I am thankful to the very inner voice whispering: Carpe noctem.

Be it then: Some - do I need say?: very personal - thoughts before the chapter picture- respectively cowengate is going to get closed.

And some last words before diving in media res: I've been following with interest (and often chucking) what has been posted about this 'issue'. By the following, which I shall be writing 'without filtres', thus as the thoughts come, I do not intend to attack anybody.

*

What has happened?
A 'clever' chap (I promised to come back to this point) unasked nails some caricatures to some museum walls, and ...
... nothing happens.
So, after a while, the 'clever chap' - did anyone notice I did not call him 'artist'? - emails a newspaper.
[Comment: It would not make much sense to hit a nail into the wall of any museum's toilet, as long as noone takes notice, hm?]

Well, and what happens afterwards, meanwhile everybody (at least in the blogosphere) should / could know.

Thus, end of the beforegoing.

De gustibus not est disputandum.
Quite. Either you have it, or you have it not.

So, why would I publish caricatures of a naked Taoiseach?

Ladies, gentlemen, this is not about a "clever chap" trying to advertise his 'artwork'/name; this is about freedom of speech / music / arts / satire ...
... and - last not least - freedom from censorship!!

Yes, again, I am writing this 'without filtres', without caring about 'wrong' syntax, 'wrong' prepositions, 'wrong' idioms.

Satire is satire is satire.

Imagine all the flags burning if this were, f.e. about a naked Mohammed or any of the very genleman's afficionados.

Conclusion:
Ha, ...
... what a great fun to show a Taoiseach without clothes;
... what a fun to attack the 'fucking bastards' elected by a majority of most intelligent voters;
... what a fun we (bloggers) had while ...

... approximately 280,000 children died of starvation.

Oops. Did I spoil the fun? Sorry. Am I a fucking kill-joy? Forgive me.

After all, who cares, hm?

We - the great champions of the blogosphere had a splendid time, hadn't we?

Exactly the fun, Heinrich Heine once defined:

Der Knecht singt gerne Freiheitslieder
des Abends in der Schenke.

The peasant loves to sing songs of freedom (rebel-songs)
in the pub at night.

- - -

I am proud of myself ... as I knew before that I'd not be able to express my thoughts (in English).

So, please, forgive me and head on to read the very best post on this very topic.

The peace of the night.


The Taoiseach's New Clothes

The Taoiseach's New Clothes II

Brian, Borges & Bioy

Want a T(aoiseach)-Shirt?

Physiognomy of fine gentlemen

The Impossible Fact

Heine's dead - long live Heine

Ich weiß nicht, was soll es bedeuten,
dass ich so traurig bin ...

I don't know what it may signify
That I am so sad ...

Heinrich Heine (December 13th, 1797 - February 17th, 1856)

Nachtgedanken / Night Thoughts

Denk ich an Deutschland in der Nacht,

Dann bin ich um den Schlaf gebracht.
Ich kann nicht mehr die Augen schließen,
Und meine heißen Tränen fließen.

Thinking of Germany at night
Just puts all thought of sleep to flight;
No longer I can close an eye,
Tears gather and I start to cry.

On your genius, gentlemen!

Born 20 years after five ships under the command of Sir Francis Drake left Plymouth to sail around the world, and 140 years earlier than Robert Gernhardt, today Heinrich Heine would celebrate the 210th anniversary of his birth.

Well, he (possibly) can't; but by his work he made himself (hopefully) immortal.

And Heinrich Heine Price laureate Robert Gernhardt, who died in June 2006? Too early to say he will be remembered in 200 years. For sure, in his lifetime he was one of if not the best German word magician.

So, gentlemen, thanks for giving me reason to raise my glass twice tonight: On your genius, Slàinte!

Your turn, Lysistrata

Oh dear. Reading this makes really difficult to tame one's fingers not to produce indecent words. So I should like to give over these huMAN judges to the Devil's Kitchen. He would find the right rants. Although I am not sure the letters of alphabet will do. Perhaps it's time to create some more.

But one decent wish should be allowed.
Waking up tomorrow, I should like to hear this breaking news:
"On behalf of and authorised by 28 million Iranian women Lysistrata delivers the very ultimatum!

The Peace of the Night.

P.S. Ah, resorting oneself either to wishful thinking and/or swearing; talking Billingsgate, railing, cursing and execrating: All this is fine from time to time, and - yes - it demonstrates, it can demonstrate solidarity; a kind of solidarity.
Unfortunately, though, it does not change anything. It does, f.e. not help these women.
And that is why sometimes I do ask myself, if what I am writing here and others there is not just a sign of helplessness, of defeatism, of ... loquacious cowardice.

As Heinrich Heine said:
Der Knecht singt gerne Freiheitslieder
des Abends in der Schenke.

The peasant loves singing rebel songs [songs of freedom]
in the pub at night.