Klingsors last summer
It is nice that we are still having such a beautiful autumn. If the weather is good and you have some time to spare I would like to take you on a little adventure.
Buy a good bottle of wine and maybe something to smoke, and then go out to a quiet place. Look for a mountain, a hill or, if there’s nothing like that around, at least a small spot of land.
It has to be a place where you can lie down and sunbathe without anybody disturbing you. Enjoy the warmth, the heat on your skin and the flickering in the air. Listen to the buzzing flies, the rustling wind, and smell the dust, the dry grass and the hot stones.
And then, if you feel that you escaped the world, at least for a moment, take a sip of wine and enjoy Klingsor’s story.
Klingsor, the magician. Klingsor, the seducer of women. The friend of Li Tai Po. The drinker. The painter. The poet. And the seeker. The man who lived a life like a candle burning on both sides.
Klingsor, the man who paints, cries, walks around the world and talks. He paints, dreams, lacerates his heart with laughter. The man who loves women, looks at the world, tries to finish every drink to capture it on a canvas later on.
And it burns.
For another summer.
Klingsor, the aging painter who wants to taste a small piece of youth once more, one last time.
And failed. Destroying and sweeping away everything in the process.
Klingsor, a fool in a world that considers itself reasonable. A world that imposes rules and laughs about artists,about those who follow a butterfly, a laughing child, or simply a dream.
The story of Klingsor. And his last summer.
But it is not just the story. It is not just the narrative, the language, or the virtuosity of Hesse. It is ratherthe feelings the book triggers in us, and the mood it transmits.
Linguistically and technically, Hesse reached his peak in a playfulway. With this work, he created what he always wanted since he was a child – either he becomes a “poet, or nothing”.
I don’t know if you already read “Klingsor’s Last Summer”, but that is not important.
Simply pick a hot day, hide in a lonely spot, and enjoy one of the most beautiful books of his time for an hour or two.