Gora, Dirk
Stories
1
Chapters
46
Words
30.3 K
Comments
0
Reading
2 h, 31 m
No man could have possibly thought yesterday that it was Sunday. There was nothing to make us realize what day it was. For three days these Anarchists have been passing through our place. Many thousands went by, and everyone robbed. No horse has been left to the farmers. And yet this is the time of sowing winter wheat. But strange to say, nobody cares to do things like that. As long as these Makhno-bandits stay with us our only concern is how to remain alive. Most of the people have become so…- 30.3 K • Completed
- Here I am, back at our house. I am pretty certain that it is less turbulent up here than it is in the streets where the stream of men-at-arms is passing by all the time without interruption. And I am still alive. I hardly believe it myself— that it has been possible to escape. I am writing in the dark. Light would betray us. There is a temporary pause just now between the soldiers’ visits—there are pauses sometimes of half an hour until the invasions are repeated. I must utilize this time. I…
- 30.3 K • Completed
- They are here! Who they are and for what political watchword they fight—nobody knows. All that we see is brutal madness, is robbery, killing: one colonist—I heard his name was Dyck—I saw lying dead by the side of the brook.... I hear them coming in... Evening. I bring forth again my crumpled little note sheets. How strange it looks in my room! The doors of the cupboards are open, the drawers of my desk lie on the floor. The contents are scattered around; everything valuable was taken away.…
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- Ich ruf es in die Welt hinaus,Und mag es laut und schrill ertönen, Und tut’s den zarten Ohren weh—Ich kann dem Drang nicht wehren!Des Herzens Not verlangt Gehör,Die Welt, sie muss es hören!Denn unsrer Seelen Not ist schwer;Es muss der Schrei die Lösung bringen! I call out to the worldAnd may it sound loud and shrill, and hurt the delicate ears— I can’t resist the urge!The heart’s need demands hearing,The world needs to hear it!Because the need of our souls is heavy;The scream must bring…
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- I was on the island. The ferry is but half a mile away from our house up there behind the pear tree. A breach in the high rock bank makes an anchoring place for the ferryboat. It was noiselessly quiet all around as the silent boatman rowed me over. I felt in the same mood as when looking on Boecklin’s “The Island of Death.” I got off on the bank of the island and plodded heavily through the deep sand, directing myself toward the pine woods. I then left the main road and found solid ground. At once…
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- For five days I have been here on the bank of the Dnieper. From our beautiful sunny house, far up on the slope, I overlook the peaceful settlement which lies below, as if placed there to be carefully preserved after having been brought over from a foreign land. Indeed, these colonists came here some hundred and thirty years ago from distant western countries. Now I turn my eyes to the stream quietly flowing on and on; it makes me think that these waters, coming down from far away, have deposited here a bit…
- 30.3 K • Completed
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