By Wolfgang Borchert · View Translated Work ↑. Das hohle Fenster in der Da lag ein halbes Brot. Und eine Blechschachtel. Du rauchst? fragte der Mann. Europe Germany Hamburg. Wolfgang Borchert () is a German short-story writer and playwright. He is considered to be the. Die klassischen Kurzgeschichten “Das Brot” von Wolfgang Borchert und ” Saisonbeginn” von Elisabeth Langgässer: Kompetenzorientierter Unterricht, Analyse.

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Borcherf I thought, this could never end. She never said anything more, just: That he lied after they had been married for thirty nine years. Und er sah durch die Beine des Mannes hindurch. And then I heard her putting the plates away again, when I had already gone to my room and turned out the light. Unser Haus kriegte eine Bombe.

The kitchen clock

And I always went straight into the kitchen. She lifted her hand to the light switch. This has nothing to do with the bombs. Suddenly she woke up.


That was completely matter of course, I found, that she made me food at half past two at night in the kitchen. Aber du kannst hier ja nicht weg. By continuing to use this website, you agree to their use. Da lag ein halbes Brot. He had a very old face, but as he approached, it was noticeable that he was actually only about twenty. And barefoot — always barefoot. Death and Fame — two sides of war Dad gehst du denn gar nicht nach Hause?

Wolfgang Borchert „The Bread“ | BALTIC-BLACK SEA TEXT

They both felt their way across the dark hallway to the bedroom. Then you must know how much three times nine is, right?

When the bomb goes down, the clocks stop. The subjects of his works are the war and postwar events, also life, often darkened by the harsh reality.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Notify me of new comments via email. Moldova Lost in Transition She had just been asleep. And then he showed them what was in his hand. Ja, die essen doch von Toten.

She listened in the direction of the kitchen. Overburdened Germany Moves Out the Refugees While they are trying to sleep, she hears her husband chewing the slice of bread secretly. As old as he was. She came to his aid: What do you think? They saw him from far off, coming towards him, because he dad out.

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Rats Sleep at Night

Ein kleines, oder was meinst boechert The bread which could be seen as a symbol for the self-preservative drive of the husband, is also a trigger for the conflict. With the tip of his finger he traced a careful circle around the edge of the plate clock. She never wore shoes at night.

The kitchen clock | The Rhino Column

Three poems from Lo solo del animal Sophia Dahlin translates from the Spanish. Every night that happened. Viele sind noch ganz jung. Europe under the gun You are commenting using your Twitter account.