Google Doodle of Mascha Kaléko by Ramona Ring
I.
I must admit, I'm not a big fan of Google Doodles; i.e., the decorative changes made to the Google logo on their homepage in order to mark a wide range of anniversaries and events and memorialise the lives of dead artists, scientists, and other figures whom Google deem it appropriate that we should know (and presumably care) about.
Having said that, I was glad to see today's Doodle by the German illustrator Ramona Ring celebrating the life and work of the German-language poet Mascha Kaléko ...
II.
Kaléko quickly found success as a young poet in Berlin's avant-garde literary scene in the late-1920s and early-30s and her work captures something of the uniquely exhilarating - and uniquely monstrous - spirit of those times, as well as the daily life of ordinary citizens.
Her first collection - Das lyrische Stenogrammheft - was published in the same month that Hitler was appointed Chancellor (January 1933) and was soon subjected to Nazi censorship. Nevertheless, the following year, she published her second book, Kleines Lesebuch für Grosse.
Obviously, it would not have been wise as a Jewish woman to have stayed in her adopted homeland (Kaléko was born in what is now southern Poland) long after this date. For it was not only within her dreams that a storm was brewing. And so, in 1938, she fled Germany and emigrated to the US with her husband and child.
It wasn't until the end of the war, however, that Kaléko finally published her third volume of poetry, Verse für Zeitgenossen (1945). And it wasn't until 1956 that she could finally face visiting Berlin.
She returned to the city again in 1959, when she was awarded the Berliner Kunstpreis for literature, only to turn it down when she discovered that one of the judges - Hans Egon Holthusen, himself a poet and literary scholar - was also a former Nazi and member of the Waffen-SS.
That same year, she moved to Israel, where she continued to write poetry until her death in 1975.
One of my favourite poems of hers is entitled Mein schönstes Gedicht and contains the following verse:
Mein schönstes Gedicht,
Ich schrieb es nicht.
Aus tiefsten Tiefen stieg es.
Ich schwieg es.
Which we might translate into English as:
My loveliest poem,
I didn't write it.
It rose from the deepest depths.
I silenced it.
Notes
Sadly, Mascha Kaléko remains little known in the English-speaking world and it wasn't until fairly recently that a representative selection of her poems became available in book form. See: No matter where I travel, I come to Nowhereland: the Poetry of Mascha Kaléko, trans. Andreas Nolte, (The University of Vermont, 2010).
Photo of Mascha Kaléko (1933)
