Daily mythology: Silkworm


“According to an ancient Chinese legend, one day in the year 2640B.C. , Princess Si Ling-chi was sitting under a mulberry tree when a silkworm cocoon fell into her teacup. When she tried to remove it, she noticed that the cocoon had begun to unravel in the hot liquid. She handed the loose end to her maidservant and told her to walk. The servant went out of the princess’s chamber, and into the palace courtyard, and through the palace gates, and out of the Forbidden City, and into the countryside a half mile away before the cocoon ran out. (In the West, this legend would slowly mutate over three millennia, until it became the story of a physicist and an apple. Either way, the meanings are the same: great discoveries, whether of silk or of gravity, are always windfalls. They happen to people loafing under trees.)” (Jeffrey Eugenides, Middlesex)

Daily mythology: Bloomsday, 16th of June



Every year throughout the world Bloomsday is celebrated. On June the 15th, 1904  James Joyce met Nora Barnacle and was deeply impressed. He asked for a walk together, she agreed but didn’t appear. So he wrote her a letter with the same demand (By the way: This proves the quality of postal services in those times: Letters were delivered the same day!). This time it worked and they took a walk on Sandymount-Quai. Along tradition she slipped her hand into his trousers and took it back only when it became wet. I don’t believe this: how can you ejaculate and walk in same time? Maybe they stood still, maybe there was a bank nearby, who knows? Nora later stated: “That was the day I made a man out of him!”. Until James’ death in Zürich they never parted again, lived together in Trieste Paris and, yes, Zürich. After James’ end that girl from Galway spoke a perfect Züritüütsch. To remember that first walk Joyce fixed the day, Leopold Bloom wandered through Dublin on the 16th of June 1904. Noras portrait is given in “Ulysses”too, by Molly Bloom, who lays in the bed and meets Blazes Boylan there. In real life they both hardly had affairs, and when, rather Jim himself…

Mainly people celebrating Bloomsday go for a booze afterwards. Isn’t it congenial?

Mythologie des Alltags: Herrliche Namen

“This name has an aura around it, like an amulet, some charm that’s survived from an unimaginably distant past.” (Margaret Atwood)

Nicht zuletzt Heiko Herrlich

“Herr Heinrich sass am Vogelherd, so froh und wohlgemut”

“Von Troyes der Meister Christian, der hat der Mȁre unrecht getan”

Tja, Wolfram von Eschenbach. Und wie er über Kondwiramur schreibt.

Walther von der Vogelweide. Georges Brassens.

Der andere Christian. Der Fletcher. Zuerst so kühn gegen den Tyrannen Kȁptn Bligh auf der Bounty, spȁter auf Pitcairn nach und nach selber Tyrann. Was man liebt, das tötet man, denkt sich der Eingeborene Minarii.

Robinson und Freitag. Harmlos und Hilflos. Königin Eleonore, die nach dem Turnier nur mit dem blutigen Hemd des für sie gefallenen Ritters bekleidet auf dem Ball erscheint. Jane Birkin, Vanessa Redgrave oder Jeff Beck in “Blow” Up”. Paula Modersohn-Becker. Frida Kahlo. Die schöne Melusine. Die schöne Lau. Lore Lore Loreley. Lale Andersen. Assoziativ, wird Karo Beck sagen.

Mythologie des Alltags: Geissblatt

Geissblatt, Honeysuckle/Woodbine, Hanımeli


Zettel ist in einen Esel verwandelt, Titania, die Pucks Liebestrank genoss, ist blind verliebt in ihn:

Komm, laß uns hier auf Blumenbetten kosen!
Beut, Holder, mir die zarte Wange dar:
Den glatten Kopf besteck ich dir mit Rosen
Und küsse dir dein schönes Ohrenpaar.

Wo ist Bohnenblüte?


Kratz mir den Kopf, Bohnenblüte. – Wo ist Musje Spinnweb?


Musje Spinnweb, lieber Musje, kriegen Sie Ihre Waffen zurhand und schlagen Sie mir eine rotbeinige Biene auf einem Distelkopfe tot, und, lieber Musje, bringen Sie mir den Honigbeutel. Tummeln Sie sich nicht allzusehr bei dieser Verrichtung, Musje; und, lieber Musje, haben Sie acht, daß der Honigbeutel nicht entzwei geht; es würde mir leid tun, Signor, wenn Sie sich mit einem Honigbeutel beschütteten. Wo ist Musje Senfsamen?


Geben Sie die Pfote, Musje Senfsamen; ich bitte Sie, lassen Sie die Reverenzen, lieber Musje.

Was befehlen Sie?

Nichts, lieber Musje, als daß Sie dem Kavalier Bohnenblüte kratzen helfen. Ich muß zum Balbier, Musje; denn mir ist, als wär ich gewaltig haarig ums Gesicht herum, und ich bin ein so zärtlicher Esel: wenn mein Haar mich nur ein bißchen kitzelt, gleich muß ich kratzen.

Willst du Musik vernehmen, süßer Freund?

Ich hab ein räsonabel gutes Ohr für Musik; spielt mir ein Stück auf der Maultrommel.

Sag, süßer Freund, was hast du Lust zu essen?

Ja, meiner Seel! Eine Krippe voll Futter. Ich könnte auch guten, trocknen Hafer käuen. Mir ist, als hätte ich großen Appetit nach einem Bunde Heu; gutes Heu, süßes Heu hat seinesgleichen auf der Welt nicht.

Ich hab ‘nen dreisten Elfen, der nach Nüssen
Im Magazin des Eichhorns suchen soll.

Ich hätte lieber ein oder zwei Hand voll trockner Erbsen. Aber ich bitt Euch, laßt keinen von Euren Leuten mich stören. Es kommt mir eine Exposition zum Schlaf an.

Schlaf du! Dich soll indes mein Arm umwinden.
Ihr Elfen, weg! Nach allen Seiten fort! –
So lind umflicht mit süßen Blütenranken
Das Geißblatt; so umzingelt, weiblich zart,
Das Efeu seines Ulmbaums rauhe Finger:
Wie ich dich liebe! wie ich dich vergöttre!

William Shakespeare, Ein Sommernachtstraum)

I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,
Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows
Quite over – canopied with luscious woodbine,
With sweet musk – roses and with eglantine.

(William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream)

Daily mythology: Gender


(to Bob Dylan’s birthday the 24.5.)

Oh Mama, can this really be the end, to be stuck inside my gender with the sexual blues again?

It is not the end! Because we all know, that old men look more and more like women and old ladies sometimes like Charles Bukowski.

We all have a gender. We just have to look in between our legs (we think). Alas, some are born into the wrong one and try later to correct that.

But just watch portraits of the young Bob Dylan: doesn’t he look sweet and tender like a girl? No wonder Cate Blanchett could play him easily… And I am sure everybody has other examples for this fact.

Well, I don’t mean that Bob should become a woman (he took about 70 years to look mannish), I mean: we all have both – and even more – genders in us, more or less. We could live it, we could play with it. We could sing it out.

Daily mythology: Llandudno


It is the largest and best loved sea-side resort in Wales, opening in the north of the country to the Irish Sea. The beach extends in between the Little Orme and the Great Orme. The latter shows the church of patron saint St. Dudno. He is said to be the son of a King, whose realm was flooded by the sea (for sure because that sinner loved alcohol and hedonist life). After that St. Doudno lived in a cave high upon the sea – which makes him, in my opinion, to a follower of St.Kevin of Ireland, but who will prove this? – and later – 6th century – he had a church built in his honour. In the 12th century the church was reneved and is still to be seen.

A huge graveyard covers the rest of Great Orme, until the 20th century the people of Llandudno burried their dead there. For the funeral the tramways of the town had three special wagons to get there, 1, 2 and 3.

In the 19th century a British family, the Liddells, regularly spent their holidays in Llandudno. For sure they went by tram too, but of course not with the wagons 1, 2 or 3. (No, they didn’t, the tram was only built in 1902)

The Liddell-family came from Oxford. The father was a dean there, along the customs the couple Lidell had several (6 or 7?) children. One of these was Alice Lidell.

In Oxford the Liddells made the aquaintance of Charles Lutwidge Dodgson. This man, a photographer, went to be a close friend of the kids and rather often took them to picnics or excursions. On one of those trips – by boat – Alice and two other sisters asked to have a story. Charles told them the story of Alice in Wonderland, taking Alice Liddell as the heroine of that, shall we say, fairytale?

Soon after Charles Lutwige Dodgson took the artist name Lewis Caroll and published that story. It went to be a huge success. Even nowadays nearly everbody knows “Alice in Wonderland”, some the following sequel  “Behind the looking glass”. Apparently children’s books these stories are holding deep secrets.

If you happen to travel by time-machine, go to Llandudno in a summer around 1850-60, you might meet with Alice Liddell, the role model for Alice in Wonderland.

Mythologie des Alltags: Ichs, ehemals zukünftig

“Ichs, ehemals zukünftig. Verinnerlichung und Entäusserung – zwei literarische Verfahrensweisen” (Hector Abad, in Lettre 91)


An der Felswand der Reichenbachfälle nahe dem schweizerischen Grindelwald erinnert eine Gedenktafel daran, wie Sherlock Holmes seinen Erzfeind Mortiarty in den Abgrund stürzte.

In Dublin ist die Tür des Hauses von Leopold Bloom zu besichtigen.

In Toboso wohnt Don Quijotes und Sanco Pansas schöne Dulcinea.

In Verona bewundern wir den Balkon, auf dem Julia zu Romeo hinunterschaute.

Am Ufer nahe des Fener bei Turgutreis sitzt Oben Kundura und erzählt seine Märchen.

Don Quijote war ein Narr. Er glaubte, dass die Gestalten seiner Ritterromane wirkliches Leben hätten……