Monday, November 15, 2004

Dear Anne, are you truely universal? [III]

I remember having posed this question actually a while back, already in times of wife and her journalist. I wrote a short note on how universal this Anne Frank would be; hence thereafter I wrote a note about it, but alas! there was a technical failure and my note was unfortunately lost. It was very sad... yesterday actually I finished reading the Diary of Anne Frank for the 99th time I think. Yet I promised to myself I'd never read it again, oh well I know I'd always read whatever I'd come across on the subject of Anne Frank, I grew up with that book anyway... but not the diary itself. It's a closer chapter.... or let's say it's not as yet... until I write the corresponding note. That'll be actually a long one, and shall include therein as well my poems about the concentration camps and my short stories on the holocaust altogether with quotations from Elie Wiesel (which I don't have as yet... my notebooks are somewhere else). That would be actually a good "annex" to my notes about Diana Wang and the Holocaust; next time I can sit by a computerI promise I'll write the notes about the Postwar I owe already two weeks ago.

Here I go, from the diary of Anne Frank.... an opera of human life saved from the ashes of dread and death left by World War the 2nd. After I grew up I realized children's books are the most intellectually challenging and dense books, it's all so clear that it takes a while until you can diggest it. In the aftermath I'll comment, of course I chose the most universal paragraphs altogether with paragraphs that I find personally relevant. To be continued.

I hope I shall be able to confide in you completely, as I have never been able to do in anyone before, and I hope that you will be a great support and comfort to me.
"Paper is more patient than man"
I come to the root of the matter, the reason for my starting a diary: it is that I have no such real friend.

But I'm not so sorry, memories mean more to me than dresses.

"Misfortunes never come singly"

Ordinary people simply don't know what books mean to us, shut up here.

The only way to take one's mind off it all is to study, and that I do a lot.

"Go outside, laugh, and take a breath of fresh air," a voice cries within me, but I don't even feel a response anymore; I go and lie on the divan and sleep, to make the time pass more quickly, and the stillness and the terrible fear, because there's no way of killing them.

I do talk about "after the war", but then it's only a castle in the air, something that will never really happen. If I think back to our old house, my girl friends, the fun at school, it is just as if another person lived at all, not me.

Der Man hat einen grossen Geist
Und ist so klein von Taten!
[The spirit of man is great,
But how little in deeds he is]

"Leave me in peace, leave me alone," that's what I'd like to keep crying out all the time. Who knows, the day may come when I'm left alone more than I would wish!

"As long as this exists," I thought, "and I may live to see it, this sunshine, the cloudless skies, while this lasts, I cannot be unhappy."

When I looked outside right into the depth of nature and God, then I was happy, really happy. And Peter, so long as I have happiness here, the joy in nature, health and a lot more besides, all the while one has that, one can always recapture happiness. Riches can all be lost, but that happiness in your own heart can only be veiled, and it will still bring you happiness again, as long as you live. As long as you can look fearlessly up into the heavens, as long as you know that you're pure within, and that you will still find happiness.

And no one, especially the stupid "know-alls" here, can understand us, because we are much more sensitive and much more advanced in our thoughts that anyone here would ever imagine in their wildest dreams.

He clings to his solitude, to his affected indifference and his grown up ways, but it's just an act, so as never, never to show his real feelings. Poor Peter, how long will he be able to go on playing this role? Surely a terrible outburst must follow as the result of this superhuman effort?

God has not left me alone and will not leave me alone.

You know and I know that I'm strong, that I can carry most of my burdens alone.

I am the best and sharpest critic of my own work. I know myself what is and what is not well written. Anyone who doesn't write doesn't know how wonderful it is; I used to bemoan the fact that I couldn't draw at all, but now I am more than happy that I can at least write. And if I haven't any talent for writing books or newspaper articles, well, then I can always write for myself.

I want go on living even after my death! And therefore I'm grateful to God for giving me this gift, this possibility of developing myself and of writing, of expressing all that is in me.

I can shake off everything if I write; my sorrows disappear, my courage is reborn.

Who has inflicted this upon us? Who has made us Jews different from all other people? Who has allowed us to suffer so terribly up till now? It is God that has made us what we are, but it will be God, too, who will raise us up again. If we bear all this suffering and if there are still Jews left, when it's over, then Jews instead of being doomed, will be held up as example.

If Miep had taken us to the party we shouldn't have left any rolls for the other guests. I can tell you, we possivitely drew the words from Miep's lips, we gathered round her, as if we'd never heard about delicious food or smart people in our lives before! And these are the granddaughters of a millionaire. The world is a queer place!

Is it really good to follow entirely my own conscience?

"For in its innermost depths youth is lonelier than old age."


celestial blue said...

just stumbled upon your blog and wanted to say hi...

Ari Amaya-Akermann said...

Thanks for your comments ;)
You're always welcome to browse around and drop me a line if you find anything interesting.