I'd nearly forgotten the pleasures of German... I don't read German much, and it tends to be academic - what my teacher and friend V used to deride as "teutonic prose." But here's some limpidly lovely German, part of a poem written by playwright Carl Zuckmayer in 1939. (The full poem, for reading and hearing!) He taught at The New School 1939-42, one of the many granted refuge by the University in Exile. Mostly he taught at Erwin Piscator's Dramatic Workshop, but he also offered one course on "Humor in the Drama," also in 1939. What amazing legacies we have...
Benita Luckmann, "New School - Varianten der Rückkehr aus Exil und Emigration,"
Exil, Wissenschaft, Identität: Die Emigration deutscher Sozialwissenschaftler 1933-1945, ed. Ilja Srubar (Suhrkamp, 1988), 353
