En este libro, la personalidad y el genio de Walser se encumbran en la cima del naturalismo y de la percepción de un modo magistral. El Paseo nos recuerda la. Robert Walser – “Every sensitive person carries in himself old cities enclosed by ancient walls.” On the of December Walser was found, dead of a heart. El paseo (Libros del Tiempo) (Spanish Edition) Robert Walser. La vida de Robert Walser es una de las más apasionantes tragedias de la literatura.
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The Walk is my first exposure to Walser, and it makes me eager ready to read more. I quickly forgot that up in my room I had only just a moment before been brooding gloomily over a blank sheet of paper. Professor Meili trod his way; in his hand he held an unbendable scientific walking stick, which infused me with dread, reverence, and esteem.
The text is weighted by a listedness ; it renders what might be an aimless ramble more of a trudge. He also speculates on art, nature, adornment, and more as he wanders and eventually recalls…but, that would be a spoiler. Goodreads helps you keep track of books you want to read.
Want to Read saving…. Want to Read Currently Reading Roberh. Refresh and try again. Open Preview See a Problem? Thanks for telling us about the problem. Return to Book Page. Preview — The Walk by Robert Walser. The Walk robeert Robert Walser. The novel I am constanly writing is always the same one, and it might be described as a variously sliced-up or torn-apart book of myself.? One of the great writers of the twentieth century – and an important influence on Kafka – comes to light in this selection of the best of his short ‘For me the sketches I produce now and then are shortish or longish chapters of a novel.
One of the great writers of the twentieth century – and an important influence on Kafka – comes to light in this selection of the best of his short fictions. Through his protagonists – young men of modest means, famous artists, society women, animals endowed with the gift of speech – Robert Walser captures the dislocated unease of life in early twentieth-century Europe.
Paperbackpages. Published June 15th by Serpent’s Tail first published February 1st To see what your friends thought of this book, please sign up. To ask other readers questions about The Walkplease sign up. Lists with This Book. Modernism, romanticism, melancholia, irony: Crossing the path of a variety of passers-by, he gives a tragi-comical account on his impressions, thoughts, waser undertakings and encounters on his walk through a nameless little town and the countryside.
As in a manic frenzy, he natters on, slowing down his walking pace, almost stumbling over his own words in his eagerness to report on every detail hitting his eye or striking his mind. It is a walk without a purpose or wapser.
As the day and the walking progress, the hypersensitive narrator experiences a multitude of mood swings, changing from frantic happiness and ecstatic joy, an almost neurotic rapturous state, to walaer, indignation and back to euphoria: The soul of the world had opened and I fantasized that everything wicked, distressing and painful was on the point of vanishing….
In the glowing present, I myself glowed. The earth became a dream; I myself had become an inward being, and I walked as in an inward world.
The exuberant torrent of words is obviously hiding something. Behind this sprightly verbosity, there is despair, loneliness and angst. Which demons is the voluble narrator running from? The dark thoughts that the narrator so skilfully tries to keep at bay on his stride, slowly obfuscate the pleasure he takes in the Arcadian scenery.
His bumping into the pitiable giant Tomzack, an allegoric alter ego of himself, could be seen as a first gloomy omen: Without motherland, without happiness he was; he had to live completely without love and without human joy.
Theatre by foot: “El paseo de Robert Walser” (The walk of Robert Walser)
He had sympathy with no man, and with him and his mopping and mowing no man had sympathy. Past, present and future were to him an insubstantial desert, and life was too small, too tiny, too narrow, for him. For him there was nothing which had meaning, and he himself in turn meant something to nobody. Out of his great eyes there broke a glare of grief in overworlds and underworlds.
Infinite pain spoke from his slack and weary moments. A hundred thousand years old he seemed to me, and it seemed to me that he must live for eternity, only to be for eternity no living being. He died every instant and yet he could not die. For him, there was no grave with flowers on it. Once one becomes used to his curvy, hyperbolic style, the whimsical, syntactically almost derailing sentences turn out strikingly appropriate and functional, as a cunning mimicry of moving, funny ineptitude.
He profuses with uncongenially solemn courtesy, is obsequiously polite, while inwardly or in writing scolding and disdaining the high and mighty, oscillating from self-disparaging and cowardice to elation; self-destructive recklessness, supercilious megalomania and delusions of grandeur. In all its jocularity and irony, this relation, for Walser, could only be one of torment, according to his friend Carl Seelig.
Often the narrator directly addresses the reader, seeking his approval and legitimating himself to the point of absurdity. While on the one hand he attempts to ingratiate himself with the reader, he simultaneously lectures the reader on the radical freedom of the artist, making crystal clear that writing is not a game of give and take to oblige the reader.
Perhaps there were a few repetitions here and there. But I would like to confess that I consider man and nature to be in lovely and charming flight from repetitions, and I would like further to confess that I regard this phenomenon as a beauty and a blessing. Of course, one finds in some places sensation-hungry novelty hunters and novelty worshippers, spoiled by overexcitement, people who almost every instant covet joys that have never been seen before.
The writer does not write for such people, nor does the composer compose for them, nor does the painter paint for them. On the whole I consider the constant need for delight and diversion in completely new things to be a sign of pettiness, lack of inner life, of estrangement from nature, and of a mediocre or defective gift of understanding.
It is little children for whom one must always be producing something new and different, only in order to stop their being dissatisfied. The serious writer does not feel called upon to supply accumulations of material, to act the agile servant of nervous greed ; and consequently he is not afraid of a few natural repetitions, although of course he takes continual trouble to forfend too many similarities.
Ambulo ergo sum — I walk therefore I am Pierre Gassendi Walser, the walker, fits in the long tradition of numerous walking writers and philosophers Kant, Nietzsche, Rousseau, Sebald, Woolf, the Dutch philosopher Ton Lemaire, the list is endless. For the narrator, and for Walser, walking is not only stimulating aesthetical and philosophical reflection. A Remembrance of Robert Walser. A part of this essay which however does not relate much to The Walk can be found here.
El paseo: ROBERT WALSER: : Books
View all 75 comments. May 03, s. This is a sentiment that I too share, as I find I do my best thinking and arrive at my best inspirations while out on a run—I never review a book without getting at least one run in between the completion of the novel and sitting down to write so I can contemplate what it is I want t The earth became a dream; I myself had become an inward being, and I walked as in an inward world.
This is a sentiment that I too share, as I find I do my best thinking and arrive at my best inspirations while out on a run—I never review a book without getting at least walwer run in between the completion of the novel and sitting down to write so I can contemplate what it is I want to say and formulate at least one satisfactory statement to include in the review.
There is a certain clarity that seems to accrue with my heart thumping out in the greater world as I attempt to conduct phrases to the rhythm of my footfalls down the paths cut between the trees, a clarity and rejuvenation of heart and soul that the narrator of The Walk seems to enlist as a canvas for his literary creations.
Although others question his walks as being the sign of a lazy man, he is proud of them and considers them a high point of industriousness. The reader sees how pasel emotional and intellectual state is so tied to his walks and the world around him as the bright, welcoming sky raises his spirits, while oppressive encounters with offensive others instantly plunge him into fear and sadness.
It is in the solitude of nature where he finds himself most at peace, and the ineffable beauty of the natural world quickly assuages any dark thoughts and pulls him to ecstatically aware of his place in the present.
These walks instill a near-religious experience in him and allow him to comfortably—and without the fear of shadows, pain and phantoms but guided by warmth and love instead—move inward into his soul and paaseo self where he can extract the essentials needed to produce his literature.
While the sight of a pretty woman inspires great confidence and loquacious praise to her talents, his encounters with the wealthy or those with airs of power get his blood boiling. Each event chronicled into text becomes an exceptional allegory for the society around him, and Walser emphasizes the comical grotesqueries in each scene to give an absurdly surreal look at the people and places that pass before the rovert. The upper class and those with power are typically the ones that most come under his satirical aim.
Even the sight of golden lettering on a bakery inspires a vitriolic rant. His sources of income are few and far between, and even then, they are suffocating.
The narrator makes a plea for the author and artists.
Is not all music, ever the most niggardly, beautiful to the person who loves the very being and existence of music? Is not almost any human being you please – even the worst and most unpleasant – loveable to the person who is a friend pasfo man? What he argues for is a polite society where we accept we all have weaknesses.
I here implement a policy of softheartedness, which has a beauty that is not to be found anywhere else; but I consider a policy of this sort to be indispensible. Propriety enjoins us to be careful to deal as severaly with ourselves as with others, to judge others as mildly as we judge ourselves… The narrator attempts to practice what he preaches and always checks himself when he lets his indignation get out of hand and apologizes to the reader.
When this moment arrives, it is utterly heart wrenching and leaves the reader drenched in sorrow and pity, yet full of blossoming adoration. The narrator writes in an engaging, highly descriptive style that often robfrt tenses to occasionally accommodate a present tense.
As he often addresses the reader, pontificating and apologizing to the reader at times in an attempt to appear as a cordial, good natured narrator, these shifts in tense help build a sense that the reader is out on the walk with them, with the narrator occasionally overtaking them or walking along-side them. It also helps highlight the difference between the narrator-on-the-walk and the wasler, with the reader always conscious that the narrator must return to his gloomy room and battle with the blank page before him to wrangle his experiences into words.
While the reader is aware of the joys experienced wslser the walking narrator, they are always besieged by the omnipresent melancholy of the authorial narrator locked away in dobert shadowy studio—despite the comedic nature of most events, on the fringes lurks a vicious sadness that keeps the reader in a state of unease even in the most jovial of passages knowing that the narrator must leave the warm inward world or the outdoors to enter the vicious introspection behind closed doors.
The final pages of the book are sure to break the readers heart, hinting at a looming sadness and allowing them to feel the burden of his painful self-criticisms.
Robert Walser, el maestro de Kafka que menguó tanto que acabó desapareciendo
While the novel is a blend of both images of the narrator, the interplay between both mindsets it what brings out the sheer brilliance of this short book. Walser has a very special story to tell about being an author and offers a very positive plea for those who appreciate art to be good to one another and to not drown authors in negative criticism or suffocate them with elitism. This is a wonderful little book the New Directions Pearl edition is 96pgs and about the size of a checkbook with a wide wealth of ideas to ponder on your next walk.
I will certainly be back for more Walser. Now I need to go for my own walk.
View all 80 comments. Nuevamente acabo maravillado por lo aparentemente injustificado que se me antoja el placer que me proporciona leer a Walser. View all 12 comments. I love walking and the weather has been so pleasant lately that I have been taking long walks everyday. But this morning it was raining, so instead of walking, I sat by the open window, listened to the sweet summer rain pouring down, and read The Walk.
But it was a very different walk I took with Walser than I have ever taken on my own! Walser observes everyone and I love walking and the weather has been so pleasant lately that I have been taking long walks everyday.