"Neunzig Verweht" Jünger docu - now with English subtitles!

The popular Jünger documentary "Neunzig Verweht" has been given English subtitles and is now available along with the original German version on my Youtube channel, ErnstJuengerAnarch.

On behalf of non-German speaking fans of Ernst Jünger's work, many thanks go out to Stefan Jarl, who took on the tedious but evidently gratifying job of transcribing and then translating the German dialogue.

* If anyone else has Jünger videos or old VHS tapes archived somewhere, I'd be happy to convert and upload them to what is certainly now the largest collection of Jünger videos on the net.

Baden-Badener "Dichterclub" über Ernst Jünger - 1995

Ich lass die Literaten selbst reden - Hochhut und Herhaus mindestens haben was richtiges mitzuteilen. (Und ich bedanke mich bei Holger, der mir die originale VHS Aufnahme geschickt hat!)

(Wenig überraschend, dass für Theweleit nur die "Annäherungen. Drogen und Rausch" interessant sind.  Nur in diesem Bereich sieht er aus, als ob auch er vielleicht etwas Erfahrung hat ;-).  Aber in den anderen Bereichen in denen er den Kritiker spielt, bleibt er, wie so viele andere, ein reiner Theoretiker - wenn er vorschreibt, wie man sich im Kriege ethisch verhalten soll, spricht er einfach aus der pazifistischen Theorie und nicht in Bezug auf den konkreten Fall Jünger, etwa in Paris.

Warum müssen die Mehrheit sich immer so berechenbar verhalten?! Ein gepflegter Aristokrat wie Jünger, der über Jahrzehnten mit allerlei Drogen experimentiert, ist dagegen kein Klischee....)

Über die Drogenerfahrungen von Jünger (endlich was!)

Erstaunlich wenig wird über diesen unerlässlichen Teil von Jüngers Lebenserfahrung gesprochen. Deshalb mache ich gerne etwas Werbung für Herrn Eves....

Das Werk wurde auch von Hanfjournal rezensiert - aber unerklärlicherweise wird das eigentliche Hauptquelle Annäherungen: Drogen und Rausch nicht einmal erwähnt!

(Selbstverständlich ist es am alle wichtigsten, die "Annäherungen: Drogen und Rausch" selber zu lesen und - vielleicht aber nicht unbedingt - eigene Erfahrungen zu sammeln.... )


Das Werk „Jüngers Drogenerfahrungen“ ist eine grundlegende Erörterung der Erfahrungen, die der deutsche Schriftsteller Ernst Jünger (1895‐1998) im Laufe seines Lebens im Umgang mit Drogen und Räuschen gemacht hat. Die Spur der Begebenheiten verläuft von den jugendlichen Alkoholräuschen über die durch den Ersten Weltkrieg vermittelte Bekanntschaft mit den Opiaten, den Experimenten mit Haschisch, Äther, Chloroform und Kokain bis hin zu den späteren Reisen, die er, im Beisein fachkundiger Freunde wie Walter Frederking und Albert Hofmann, mittels der „neuen“ Drogen LSD, Meskalin und Psilocybin unternommen hat. – Das Ziel der Erörterung war es, dieses von der literaturwissenschaftlichen Forschung bisher weitgehend vernachlässigte Thema in der Vielfalt seiner Aspekte zu umreißen und seinen zentralen Stellenwert im Jüngerschen Oeuvre aufzuweisen: Nach der Abklärung einiger wichtiger Grundfragen in den Kapiteln „Kleiner ontologischer Grundriss“ und „Drogenerfahrungen“ beginnt im dritten Kapitel eine Betrachtung des Lebens Ernst Jüngers unter besonderer Berücksichtigung seines Verhältnisses zu den Drogen und Räuschen. Im vierten Kapitel gibt es einen sondierenden Gang durch die Werke von 1922 bis 1952. Im fünften Kapitel erfolgt schließlich eine Annahme der Herausforderung, die der Dichter seinen Lesern 1970 mit dem Essay „Annäherungen. Drogen und Rausch“ unterbreitet hat. Auf der Grundlage dieser Erörterung ist es nun möglich, über das Thema „Drogen und Räusche bei Ernst Jünger“ einen geordneten Diskurs zu führen.

Jetzt im Buchhandel erhältlich.

www.MichaelAnthonyEves.de

Norderstedt, Books on Demand GmbH, 1. Version
2011, 496 Seiten – 135 x 215 mm, 34,90 € //
ISBN 978‐3‐8423‐8122‐3

Flying dreams - Jünger's and mine

December is for dreaming and my own clear favourites are flying dreams. Here then, from Das Abenteuerliche Herz, Zweite Fassung, is my translation of "Flugträume", followed by an exposition of my own flying dreams and perhaps comments from readers with theirs!

"Flying dreams are like memories of the possession of a special spiritual power. In truth, they are more dreams of floating, throughout which a sense of gravity always remains. We glide forth into the twilight, close over the ground, and if we touch it the dream breaks off. We float down the stairs and out of the house and occasionally raise ourselves over low obstacles like fences and hedges. At these points, we push ourselves up with an exertion that we feel in our bent elbows and balled fists. The body is semi-prone, as though we were lying comfortably in an armchair, and we float with legs forward. These dreams are pleasurable; but there are other horrible ones in which the dreamer flies over the ground in a rigid posture, bent forward with his face down. He raises himself stiffly from the start, in a sort of catalepsy, by tracing a circle over his toes with his body. He glides in this manner over nightly streets and squares, once in while popping up like a fish before lonely passersby and staring into their terrified faces.

How effortless by contrast seems the lofty flight that we see on early floating pictures. Pompey is a site for such finds as well. A wonderful, uplifting vortex bears up the figures here, though it barely seems to ruffle their hair or robes."

Years ago, an unorthodox biology professor of mine made an informal survey of the various flying dreams we students had - soaring, floating, prone, upright, etc. At the time I had nothing to contribute, but at some later point, I began "learning to fly" in my dreams. Regarding the possibility of learning in dreams, Jünger himself talks of waking up after certain dreams with the impression that he had been "practicing with exotic new weapons". In my case, once initiated upon this new course of study, it developed over the years to the point that I could now outclass Superman and perhaps even soar with an angel!

The first tentative flights were low, Tibetan monk-like levitations, undertaken from a cross-legged position and powered by great mental concentration. As in Jünger's experience, gravity was a force to be overcome, and the hovering only succeeded when the concentration was sufficiently intense and steady. Any momentary lack of confidence or fear of falling weakened it and I would then sink back down in fulfilment of these fears.

But soon I learned to take off from a standing position, simply rising off my feet or springing into the air, and then fly with arms stretched forward or out to the sides like the wings of a gliding bird. A real evolution over time occurred, because with each successive dream I remembered where I had left off last time, what I could already do, and so moved onto new experiments. The pull of gravity also steadily disappeared with this evolution and the quality of concentration required became more subtle, less effortful. I gained confidence and with it a new delight in flying. Indeed, my day after a night of flying is nearly always a cheerful one, because I wake up so optimistically - once I manage to drag myself into mundane waking reality from the incomparably more exciting adventures of the bed.

Soon I could do loops, even backwards like a hummingbird, fly with perfect control in buildings or soar very high, above the skyscrapers and clouds, and even play with plummeting to the ground and breaking off the dive just before impact. In one particularly memorable dream, I flew to the moon and installed a reflecting mirror on its dusty, grey surface so that when I returned to earth and to waking reality I could prove that I had "in fact" been there! In another exquisite, never-repeated dream, I did looped over and around people and then flew right through their bodies, like a ray of light through glass or water.

Curiously, I always fly alone, though a few times I have taken a woman in my arms and flown with her, usually without labouring under the extra weight. Even more curiously, and in contrast to Jünger, the people on the ground have never marvelled or even noticed my aerial antics. They do not ignore me, they simply don't see me - and because this hurts my vanity, I perform yet more acrobatics to gain their attention and admiration. I am astonished by this lack of attention and think: my God, if some human being flew by in the main street, wouldn't people fall down on their knees in astonishment?!

Yesterday however I believe I solved this riddle and in the process also had a minor epiphany on dying....!

I was lying on the coach listening to some heavenly Vivaldi and consciously relaxing my tired eyes by "palming", as described by Aldous Huxley in his "Art of Seeing". Part of this exercise consists in imagining in one's mind's eye a pleasant scene from the past. Having had a flying dream the night before where I circled around in the dome of an enormous cathedral and then lifted it up off its supporting walls with my shoulders, I actively recalled these images and sensations. Forgetting my body and further uplifted by the music, I almost seemed back in the dream - flying and yet awake.

Suddenly a remarkable idea flashed through my mind: could this be what dying is like?!! An ecstatic flying dream in which one is blissfully and permanently liberated from earthly gravity and concerns; one rises up and plays in the air above the living or soars way up into heavenly strata whose rarified atmospheres I can almost extrapolate from the moderate heights I have reached in my dream flights.

With hot tears in my eyes and a glow in my chest, I revelled in this wonderfully liberating image of death, one that eliminates all dread and seems positively desirable, better than life itself! If something yet more blissful than my most ecstatic flying dreams really awaits at the end of my life, why then I can be infinitely patient, tolerate whatever trials life may present in the meantime. Such faith would be like having an absolute guarantee of an exquisite, endless vacation at the end of a hard year's work - no matter how terrible the here and now, one day we will lift off the ground for a heavenly altitudes!

Of course, after returning to earth and to my rational mind, I recalled that many religious after-life conceptions include a feathered soul of one kind or another - the Egyptian BA, our own angels, and so forth.  And near-death experiences are also said to be ecstatic, extremely desirable flight-like departures from the body.

But it is always quite another experience, a far more powerful and important one, when one comes to an independent discovery of some universal truth. In the end, the personal discovery is the only thing that matters.

Anyhow, now it is also now clear to me why those on the ground never notice me flying - because they are flights in the spirit, not the body.

So much for my experiences and Jünger's - what about your flying experiences!?

The Tree - an unofficial translation for the Munich exhibition

For any non-Germans visiting the Munich photographic exhibition "Über Bäume und Gestein. Albert Renger-Patzsche und Ernst Jünger", here is my unofficial translation of "Der Baum". (Stay tuned for "Stone" in the next weeks as well.)

"Every language contains a wealth of words that constitute its being. Poetry lives by them. As if a bell had been rung, they awaken an aura of echoes in us. “Tree” is one of these words.

Albert Renger-Patzsch, Astwerk einer Solitärfichte, ca. 1960, Albert Renger-Patzsch Archiv | Stiftung Ann und Jürgen Wilde, Pinakothek der Moderne © Ann und Jürgen Wilde, Zülpich / VG Bild-Kunst, Bonn

The Tree is one of life’s great symbols, perhaps its greatest. And thus it has been admired, honored and also worshipped through the ages by men and by peoples. Its height and breadth, its many centuries of age, and its majestic, protective stature seemed worthy of veneration.

The Persian kings had old plane trees adorned with golden chains and appointed attendants to serve them. The Germanic tribes worshipped the World Father in ancient oaks, and they regarded the universe as an ash tree. From the crowns of sessile oaks, the druids cut mistletoe with which to adorn the horns of white bulls; as the tree of the dead, the yew protected the graves in Celtic cemeteries. And in the rustling trees of Dodona´s holy groves, the priestesses heard the voice and decrees of Highest Zeus.

Zeus was, Zeus is, Zeus always will be, o mighty Zeus!

Even in today’s godless world, we fright when we hear the wind rising and falling in the forest, at one moment hardly ruffling the leaves, in the next playing on the high trunks like on the strings of a Aeolian harp. Touched even more profoundly than by the sound of an organ, something old and long-forgotten awakens in us.

Over treetops gusting back and forth

It takes a breath, then swells and pushes

And moves along –

And calming -

Off it whooshes.

This is from Peter Hille, a homeless and long-forgotten poet who often turned for refuge to his “mossy dreamer”, the forest. In the course of life, like many before and after him, he sought consolation and freedom in the forest. Our brother Man has often deserted us, brother Tree has never.

What was it that comforted us in this rustling noise? When stillness has again fallen “over all peaks” and the song has faded away, we try vainly to recall its words of consolation. In the same way, we try fruitlessly to interpret our dreams in the light of day; we find no solution. We must descend again into the night, where it awaits us. The poet senses this:

Only wait: soon
you too will rest.

Does the Tree belong to the Father’s or to the Mother’s world? This cannot be answered in one short sentence. As we assign the heights to the Father, so we like to ascribe the depths to the Mother. We find protection under the treetops, but in the lattice of the roots there is security. The branches reach out like arms stretching up to Heaven, while the roots take hold in the realm of earth.

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"November" - a Jünger translation for the season

When I met Ernst Jünger in 1995 in the company of the Association Eumeswil Florence and asked about any particular works he desired to be translated into English, he produced a compilation of essays entitled "Grenzgänge" (Border Crossings). Here is one essay I have just finished in unofficial translation - just in time for this grey month of darkness and dying, and already dreaming of spring renewal!

"With each fall, the angel of melancholy comes. We should sacrifice to him, not flee from him. This is one way of celebrating the mystery of death: dying too must be practiced. The fruit ripens and is harvested; the leaves change color and fall. Crows gather in flocks and circle over the bare fields. The days become shorter, night falls earlier; fire and light are discovered anew. The time approaches for the festivals of the dead and walks in the cemetery, but also for nightly visits of charitable deities. Our dreams start to transform; mantic traits slip in. We near the most secret time of the year, the bleak nights and the festivals of light. The light is safeguarded; it becomes the light of the cave, hidden auspicious light.

In the gardens, the first frost has ruined the flowers: the nasturtiums, dahlias, asters, morning glories, the last lilies and the colorful sweet peas on the fence. Only the chrysanthemums, filled and unfilled, continue blooming in many colors, also late roses, often right into December. Our steps rustle in the yellow foliage of the hazel bushes, in the coppery leaves of beeches and the deep red ones of wild grapes.

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Ausstellung: "Über Bäume und Gestein – Albert Renger-Patzsch und Ernst Jünger" - Aus der Münchener Abendzeitung

Fotografie: Auf den Marmorklippen unter der Weltesche

Von Christa Sigg, aktualisiert am 06.11.2011 um 18:55

Albert Renger-Patzsch, Astwerk einer Solitärfichte, ca. 1960, Albert Renger-Patzsch Archiv | Stiftung Ann und Jürgen Wilde, Pinakothek der Moderne © Ann und Jürgen Wilde, Zülpich / VG Bild-Kunst, Bonn

In der Pinakothek der Moderne ist die Fotografie-Ausstellung „Über Bäume und Gestein. Albert Renger-Patzsch und Ernst Jünger” zu sehen

Kühltürme hat er fotografiert und Kaffeetassen. Eisenbahnbrücken und Zugfedern. Wegen seines sachlichen Blicks auf die Industriekultur war Albert Renger-Patzsch (1897-1966) schwer gefragt, berühmt geworden sind seine Schuhbügeleisen aus den Fagus-Werken. Doch am Ende kam der Mann, der die Zivilisation mit so kühlem Auge ins Visier nahm, wieder auf ganz Ursprüngliches, ja Archaisches zurück, das den Menschen nicht braucht: „Bäume” und „Gestein”.

Renger-Patzsch widmet ihnen seine letzten Bildbände, die „Summe seiner Existenz”, wie er betont. 28 Originalfotografien aus diesen Zyklen bilden nun in der Pinakothek der Moderne eine außergewöhnliche Schau.

Für München ist die Sammlung Wilde ein Sensationsfang.

Schon die zweite übrigens aus den Beständen der Sammlung Wilde – das Kölner Galeristen-Ehepaar hat den Staatsgemäldesammlungen seine sensationellen Schätze vermacht mit Fotografien von Karl Blossfeldt und August Sander, Man Ray oder den Bechers. Im aktuellen Fall macht die Renger-Patzsch-Ausstellung allerdings neugierig durch ihren eher fotografie-fernen Titel-Zusatz „Ernst Jünger”.

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Ernst Jünger: Pionier der Entschleunigung

Wieder einmal muss ich mich bei Tobias Wimbauer bedanken für den Hinweis auf diesen Artikel aus "Jungen Freiheit":


JF, 2/11 / 14. Oktober 2011

Der konservative Pionier der Entschleunigung

Der Germanist Jan Robert Weber hat sich in seiner Dissertation der umfangreichen Reiseliteratur des „Jahrhundertmenschen“ Ernst Jünger gewidmet und entdeckt unerwartete Kleinodien.

Michael Böhm

Heinrich Böll ist nur ein Kolumbus in der deutschen Literatur des 20. Jahrhunderts. 1957 schilderte er in seinem vielgelesenen „Irischen Tagebuch“, wie er auf der Günen Insel einen Hafen besuchte und dort einen „alten Mann“ wahrnahm,, „der auf einer steinernen Bank“ vor einer Ruine saß: „Der Mann hätte vor dreihundert Jahren dort sitzen können“, schrieb er, „daß er Pfeife rauchte, ändert nichts an der Vorstellung; mühelos ließen sich Tabakspfeife, Feuerzeug und Woolworth-Mütze ins siebzehnte Jahrhundert transponieren.“

Doch der stillstehende „vormoderne Beharrungsraum“, dem Böll angesichts der bewegten, schnellen Zivilisation der Städte in poetischer Sprache huldigte – er war in Deutschland schon literarisch betreten. Wie Kolumbus, dem „Entdecker der Neuen Welt“, ging auch Böll dem „Entdecker literarischer Langsamkeit“ von 1957, ein Erik der Wikinger voran: Ernst Jünger. Zu diesem Zeitpunkt lag hinter Jünger schon über ein Vierteljahrhundert literarischer „Entschleunigung“; hatte er in seinen Reisetagebüchern aus Sizilien, Norwegen oder Brasilien bereits ausschließlich Refugien der Muße, der Kontemplation und des verminderten Tempos beschrieben – und damit räumliche Utopien entwickelt zu den Zumutungen und Überforderungen der sich rasant verändernden Welt. „Der ferne Anblick der grauen Ringmauer von Korcula mit ihren runden, mächtigen Wehrtürmen“, heißt es etwa in Jüngers „Dalmatinischem Aufenthalt“ von 1934, „steigert das Gefühl der Zeitlosigkeit; man könnte meinen, daß man sich an einem vergessenen Gestade des Mittelalters oder selbst der homerischen Welt befand.“

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