Month: June 2022

by

Escape

City of the Dead

In September of 1941, the Wehrmacht surrounded Leningrad, thinking that bombardment and starvation would eventually allow the German army to march unhindered into a dead city. The siege lasted 872 days, but Leningrad never surrendered. In Symphony for the City of the Dead (2015), M.T. Anderson describes the work of the librarians:

“The Leningrad Public Library remained open throughout the siege and became a place for people to congregate. ‘People came to the library to read, even when weak from cold and exhaustion,’ one of the librarians explained. ‘Some died in their places, with a book propped up in front of them. We would carry the bodies outside, hoping that the trucks would take them away, but increasingly they were just left in the snow.’

“The building itself had been seriously damaged during air raids—though fortunately, the shell that fell on the interlibrary loan department didn’t explode. In the course of the war, the librarians greatly expanded the collection, purchasing books from the starving, who were desperate to sell anything for food. Some of the city’s librarians scoured bombed ruins for volumes, scrabbling over the piles of brick with their backpacks full of salvaged books.

“The heat in the library gave out early, and the plumbing eventually froze and burst. In late January, the building finally lost its electricity. The librarians still searched the shadowed stacks with lanterns, and, when they ran out of oil, with burning pieces of wood. They still served patrons and sought out the answers to practical questions posed by the city government: alternative methods of making matches or candles, forgotten sources of edible yeast. As the building grew colder and more battle-scarred, they closed the reading rooms one by one. Finally, patrons and librarians all huddled in the director’s office, where there was still a kerosene lamp and a buzhuika stove.

“Reading novels and writing diaries and poetry were surprisingly popular during the siege, especially when the circumstances grew particularly grim. Activities like these reminded people of another life and prodded them to remember the codes and routines of civilization in the midst of chaos. It allowed them escape when they were entrapped.”

by

On Originality

I had a fraternity brother who, in parting, often advised us to “keep a low silhouette.” This is standard advice in combat zones, but it can easily be transposed into other areas. Consider the case of Luxembourg’s Jeff Dieschburg.

For some time, Dieschburg has been doing paintings using the work of contemporary photographers, without a hint of attribution, unnoticed and uncaught.

But then, at the 2022 Contemporary Art Biennale in Luxembourg, Dieschburg won the Prix d’Encouragement – €1,500 and a gallery exhibition – for a painting which bears a striking resemblance to a photograph from Harper’s Bazaar Vietnam.

Dieschburg 1a

Perhaps someone whispered in his ear, “Behalen eng niddereg Silhouette,” but money and fame deafened him. Photos, press releases, social media ensued, and Dieschburg’s head appeared above the ramparts.

Dieschburg 1

The first to notice was the original photo’s creator, Jingna Zhang, who took to social media to voice her frustration. The U.S.-based photographer posted Dieschburg’s painting and her photo side-by-side on Instagram and Twitter. This prompted a response from Dieschburg, who “mansplained” his artistic philosophy and copyright law, showing little or no knowledge of copyright law.

Dieschburg 2

Photographer Bekka Björke saw Jingna Zhang’s post and realized Dieschburg had appropriated two of her photos. She wrote, “Don’t do this; this is not inspiration, study, nor cheeky derivative art. It’s personal profit at the expense of your contemporaries.”

Dieschburg 3a

The next day, another “original” painting by Dieschburg emerged, a straight rip from a photo by Doreen Kilfeather.

Dieschburg 4

Suddenly the subject of worldwide attention, Dieschburg took down his website and social media accounts, and hired a lawyer. The attorney said that Dieschburg was “by far the most talented artist in the country,” a cruel thing to say about Luxembourg.

by

By Request

Concert Listeners

In the early days of World War II, invading peaceful nations and dealing out death was lonely work for the men of the Wehrmacht. To lighten their spirits, many sent letters to the Großdeutscher Rundfunk with song requests that reminded them of home. In response, the Reich Ministry for Public Enlightenment and Propaganda created the Wunschkonzert, the “Request Concert for the Wehrmacht,” broadcast for the first time on October 1, 1939.

Concert Fanfare

Master of Ceremonies Heinz Goedecke opened each program with words of welcome: “This is Greater German Radio: Dear soldiers, dear listeners in the home country, dear friends beyond the borders, the fanfare is summoning the Request Concert for the Armed Forces.”

Concert 4

The Wunschkonzert was seen as the soldiers’ very own show and forged a link between the German armed forces and their families on the home front. The host relayed personal messages to the troops in return for donations to charity. The program became a showcase for famous songs: “Bomben auf Engeland” had its first public performance on the Wunschkonzert. The first broadcast also honored a heart-rending request for “Gute Nacht Mutter,” a song that became a staple of the Wunschkonzert.

Concert 3

Wir beginnen das Wunschkonzert für die Wehrmacht, a history of the program, went through many printings and included an introduction by Joseph Goebbels, who described the program as a Nazi “national broadcasting treasure.”

However, as the war went on, casualties mounted and victories became harder to come by. In Berlin, the likelihood grew of an air raid interrupting a broadcast. On May 25, 1941, the concert was broadcast for the last time as scheduled.

* * *

My thanks to the “Swap Shop” at the Skaneateles Transfer Station, where this volume appeared among five boxes of German-language books.

by

The Postman

“In 1884, when Mamie Fisher got out of high school, she wanted to go on the stage, but her unladylike and godless urge was discouraged by her family… Deprived of a larger audience, the frustrated comedienne performed for whoever would listen, and once distressed a couple of stately guests in her father’s home by descending the front stairs in her dressing gown, her hair tumbling and her eyes staring, to announce that she had escaped from the attic, where she was kept because of her ardent and hapless love for Mr. Briscoe, the postman.”

— From “Lavender with a Difference” by James Thurber