Good Evening Herr Goethe.

As you have seen by now, I ignore borders and explanations forced upon us by language, culture, and time. I write to you as I would write to friends; as a matter of fact I will open this account of my impressions to family and friends once I arrive in Weimar. Addressing you is a matter of personal preference and it goes along with the importance of your words in my life, right now. Writing in English profits my friends; the lack of translation into German (maybe later I will change that) shows my laziness. But just this once I would like to go into a bit of detail about the modes of transportation and communication of the 21^st century and I would like to give you a quick overview of the niceties that surround me, conveniences that let me write away an afternoon of rain and global unrest.  

Imagine, for a moment, if you can, that I sit at my desk. In front of me is a little machine with lots of powers, my computer. I write and arrange my thoughts on it, send letters, gather information, play games. When I look up I watch, through a large window, rain flood gutters and wind take the last leaves off a tree across the street. On my other machine, the television, I can see the world at large. The discussion among experts is about terrorism and the state of affairs in US politics. My television has a screen that is 19 inches (around 45 centimeters) in diameter, just a little larger than my computer screen. It allows me to select and view the imaginative compositions and findings of those with more experience, or, depending on my mood, the often rather trivial outbursts of ordinary characters. Herr Goethe, if you were alive today, you would probably sit in an official “studio,” where you would recite one of your plays or a poem, or simply say, “Frohe Weihnachten,” and millions of us would see and hear you on the television or computer, and many more would follow you on various other gadgets, such as iphones, ipads, netbooks, blackberries, nooks, kindles, etc. Every word you’d utter publicly would race around the world in minutes. Hard to imagine, isn’t it?

Goethehaus Frankfurt  circa 1930

These programs travel over the air into living rooms across the globe. The other day I saw a segment on Weimar. Increasingly, over the last two years, I have wanted to travel to Weimar; this short profile settled it; I bought my plane ticket.

“A plane ticket?” you ask.

A plane is just another one of our machines; this one flies like a bird and carries hundreds of us in its belly. The one I will be traveling on will land in the city of your birth: Frankfurt. The Frankfurt of 2010 is quite different from the Frankfurt of 1749, the year you were born. The house of your birth at Grosser Hirschgraben was almost totally destroyed during World War II, but has been rebuilt true to the original design. You are, Herr Goethe, Frankfurt’s most famous son.

Which makes me wonder, do you keep track of your legacy? I suppose this is part of the big question, “is there life after death?” If your spirit is reborn, or if you roam the universe, how much do you know about my century? How much is important to know? Are you part of the collective unconscious? Did your genius reappear in a baby born in India or Africa? As Faust would say,

Ihr schwebt, ihr Geister, neben mir;

Antworted mir, wenn ihr mich hört!

(Spirits! I feel you hov’ring near;

Make answer, if my voice ye year!)

There are other parts of my life that I want to tell you about. For instance, I am part of the masses, Pöbel, as you call them, and yet I have the financial means and time to travel occasionally. I live in America. I have been to China, Egypt, Morocco, Jamaica, Canada, Italy, France, Greece, Turkey, England, Croatia, and, of course, Germany, the country of my birth.

Machines aid in almost all the chores of my daily life. I wash and dry laundry without getting my hands wet. My meals take very little preparation; often I cook them in a batch and keep them frozen in a refrigerator. I own an oven, a microwave oven, and a toaster oven. I clean my carpets with a vacuum cleaner. I dispose of vegetable and fruit waste products through a garbage disposal. Light and water come to my house via cables and pipes. My outings, shopping and visiting with friends, are made quick and easy by way of an automobile.

Herr Goethe, these are just a few things that come to mind as I sit here and compare our lifestyles. It is difficult to remember all the material advantages of my time, but we do have things in common. Important things. We both love to walk, and though you often had no choice and I have many other ways to get from one place to another, we both do it with joy in our hearts. And – I hesitate to say it, because you are clearly the master -  we both love to write. I can think of no better way to spend an afternoon, than to write. Well, maybe photography tops it at times. Photography, too, was invented after your death, but you might have heard of Louis-Jacques-Mandé .Daguerre, who tinkered with it during your lifetime. You would have liked it. You will see lots of my photographs once I arrive in Weimar. What I can’t say with words I say with pictures.

Until later,

Ihre Gisela

(photograph of Goethe's house of birth from www.altfrankfurt.com)