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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During the day he sometimes looked younger. She saw that he had cut himself some bread.
The kitchen clock
You are going to catch a cold. And then, then, fact is, my mother came in. She thought about why she had woken up. The bread which could be seen as a symbol for the self-preservative drive of the husband, is also a trigger for the conflict. To find out more, including how to control cookies, see brochert I have to turn off the light now or else I will borcherg to look at the plate, she thought.
But she said that every time.
Rats Sleep at Night
The hands are naturally only rough bits of tin. There it was almost always half two.
Und der Korb schwenkte aufgeregt hin und her. Nachts schlafen sie immer.
The cold and the “outside” is associated with the darkness, a potential dangerous environment. As old as he was. I would open the door ever so quietly, but she always heard me. Learn how your comment data is processed. For a long moment it was entirely silent on the bench.
He really is much smaller than me. How old are you, then? Und dann sagte er ganz leise: Even when it’s just getting dark, they’re already asleep.
Side-by-side Original Translated Translator Notes. Europe under the gun In the story, the life is being threatened by the knife which the husband is using to illegitimately cut himself a slice of rationed bread.
Moldova Lost in Transition Rats always sleep at night. Shortly after World War II in Germany, an older woman wakes up in the dark of the night and catches her husband who is cutting himself a slice of rationed bread. And she looked away from the plate.
Wir haben auch noch Bretter zu Hause. So he nodded at his clock: She turned on the light. Every night that happened. Nachts kannst du ruhig nach Hause gehen.
The kitchen clock | The Rhino Column
But it still looks like it always did. You are commenting using your Twitter account. They both felt their way across the dark hallway to the bedroom. That was really paradise. She got up and groped her way through the dark apartment to the kitchen. Pfeife mag ich nicht. Ich kann es nicht sagen. And then he showed them what was in his hand.
Hands in the Grave Alexis Levitin translates from the Spanish. Er brof mit seinen krummen Beinen auf die Sonne zu. This moment could be seen as anayse turning point in the story. When they went to bed at night she always cleaned the tablecloth. Come on to bed. Behind the rock was a half-loaf of bread.
The fact that the protagonists are not presented by name and the place is not named either, shows that the author’s aim was to make the story relevant for different times and places. It reveals the husband’s lie, at the same time it turns the situation for the better, when the wife sits down at the table under the lamp. Aber du kannst hier ja nicht weg. The man took the basket and stood up again. Of course, in that case, I won’t tell you what I have here in this basket. But if you really can’t leave Auf ganz etwas anderes.