Autumn at Taos by DH Lawrence

Evening Light on Sangre de Cristo Mountains

 
Evening Light on Sangre de Cristo Mountains, New Mexico.

DH Lawrence wrote that, in New Mexico, a “new part” of his soul “woke up suddenly” and “the old world gave way to a new”. In Native American religion he discovered there were no gods, because “all is god”. In a related way, America, in the shape of Walt Whitman, liberated his poetic landscape.

This week’s poem, “Autumn at Taos”, seems to occur in real time. The speaker is encountered while out riding, and the poem’s rhythms let us experience the small, muscular, intimate “trot-trot” movement of the pony through the contrastingly immense sweep of landscape. Repetitions slow the pace, acting as reins. For instance, when “the aspens of autumn” of line one immediately reappear in the second line, the narrative seems to pause and look around. Lawrence is not an unselfconscious poet, whose brilliancies happen by chance. His judgment is nowhere more apparent than in these repetitions. Look at “mottled” in stanza three. At first we see distantly a mottled effect; then the speaker makes it clear that the mottling is produced by cedar and pinion. No sooner have the trees come into focus than, out of the blue, out of the idea of “mottled”, comes that amazing otter. The word acts as a little visual bridge.

Earlier, aspen and pines formed the stripes of a tigress, and the grey sage of the mesa, a wolf-pelt. The otter, at first, seems only its sleek self, but it’s clear from later in the poem, when the speaker is relieved to get back to “the pine fish-dotted foothills” (curious but effective elision) and “Past the otter’s whiskers”, that this liquescent, “silver-sided” creature embodies another variation of the landscape.

The otter is as fierce as the previous creatures, if less hairy. “Fish-fanged” suggests the slender length of the teeth, and, inevitably, the impaled fish. We get, in effect, a fish’s view of its looming predator.

With the introduction of the mythical hawk of Horus the man on the pony himself becomes mythic. “Behold me” he says, biblically, “trotting at ease betwixt the slopes of the golden/ Great and glistening-feathered legs…” For a moment, we might think of Christ, mounted on an ass, entering Jerusalem. Horus was an Egyptian god represented by the sun as a winged disc but Lawrence may be conflating him with the feather-clad Mexican sun-god, Huitzilopochtli. Whatever his provenance, this bird gets royal poetic treatment. A duller writer might have gone for the “natural” word-order of his trio of adjectives: “great, golden, glistening-feathered…” Lawrence’s arrangement, split by the line-break, redeems the full force of words (“golden”, “great”) that are almost poetic clichés. The tarnished adjectives are suddenly made to tower and flare.

There’s a sexuality in these movements and positions, the rider bestrid by Horus or moving slowly under pines that are like the “hairy belly of a great black bear”. They might even imply different states of being. In Lawrence’s anti-democratic view of society, there were sun-men, an elite, and lesser mortals to be “thrust down into service”. Perhaps here he enacts a passage between both states: at any rate, the speaker is “glad to emerge” from the bearish pine-wood, and celebrates his release with a fresh, sunlit vision of the aspens, which, “laid one on another”, remind him of the hawk-god’s layered feathers.

Looking back on the “rounded sides of the squatting Rockies” unleashes more big-cat imagery, landscaped into metaphor. Possibly the speaker is a little unnerved by the “leopard-livid slopes of America”, comforting himself as he reassures the pony that all these predatory “fangs and claws and talons and beaks and hawk-eyes/ Are nerveless just now”. That “just now” implies only a temporary reprieve. The land, and the sensuous life-force it embodies, will triumph over its colonisers, artists included.

“The essential quality of poetry is that it makes a new effort of attention, and “discovers” a new world within the known world,” DH Lawrence wrote. The effort of attention here is also an effort of painterly imagination and out of the two he has made a strikingly original landscape poem. The creatures in it are not meant to emerge with that vivid, individualised presence of the different beasts of Birds, Beasts and Flowers: even the otter is a quick sketch. But the vision of natural integration between the land and these subliminally-present creatures could not be more alive. And, as so often in the animal poems, part of the charm lies in watching the amused, earnest, marvelling, deeply affectionate man who is watching the animal. Among the creatures in this poem is that small human figure on the pony, not a sun-god, but an English poetic genius, printing in his own way the new paths of technique which the American genius, Walt Whitman, has cleared before him.

Autumn at Taos

Over the rounded sides of the Rockies, the aspens of autumn,
The aspens of autumn,
Like yellow hair of a tigress brindled with pines.

Down on my hearth-rug of desert, sage of the mesa,
An ash-grey pelt
Of wolf all hairy and level, a wolf’s wild pelt.

Trot-trot to the mottled foot-hills, cedar-mottled and pinion;
Did you ever see an otter?
Silvery-sided, fish-fanged, fierce-faced, whiskered, mottled.

When I trot my little pony through the aspen-trees of the canyon,
Behold me trotting at ease betwixt the slopes of the golden
Great and glistening-feathered legs of the hawk of Horus;
The golden hawk of Horus
Astride above me.

But under the pines
I go slowly
As under the hairy belly of a great black bear.

Glad to emerge and look back
On the yellow, pointed aspen-trees laid one on another like feathers,
Feather over feather on the breast of the great and golden
Hawk as I say of Horus.

Pleased to be out in the sage and the pine fish-dotted foothills,
Past the otter’s whiskers,
On to the fur of the wolf-pelt that strews the plain.

And then to look back to the rounded sides of the squatting Rockies.
Tigress brindled with aspen,
Jaguar-splashed, puma-yellow, leopard-livid slopes of America.

Make big eyes, little pony,
At all these skins of wild beasts;
They won’t hurt you.

Fangs and claws and talons and beaks and hawk-eyes
Are nerveless just now.
So be easy.

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Full article and photo: http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2011/nov/14/poem-of-the-week-d-h-lawrence

Neutrino experiment repeat at Cern finds same result

The team which found that neutrinos may travel faster than light has carried out an improved version of their experiment – and confirmed the result.

Neutrinos travel through 700km of rock before reaching Gran Sasso’s underground laboratories

If confirmed by other experiments, the find could undermine one of the basic principles of modern physics.

Critics of the first report in September had said that the long bunches of neutrinos (tiny particles) used could introduce an error into the test.

The new work used much shorter bunches.

It has been posted to the Arxiv repository and submitted to the Journal of High Energy Physics, but has not yet been reviewed by the scientific community.

The experiments have been carried out by the Opera collaboration – short for Oscillation Project with Emulsion (T)racking Apparatus.

It hinges on sending bunches of neutrinos created at the Cern facility (actually produced as decays within a long bunch of protons produced at Cern) through 730km (454 miles) of rock to a giant detector at the INFN-Gran Sasso laboratory in Italy.

The initial series of experiments, comprising 15,000 separate measurements spread out over three years, found that the neutrinos arrived 60 billionths of a second faster than light would have, travelling unimpeded over the same distance.

The idea that nothing can exceed the speed of light in a vacuum forms a cornerstone in physics – first laid out by James Clerk Maxwell and later incorporated into Albert Einstein’s theory of special relativity.

Timing is everything

Initial analysis of the work by the wider scientific community argued that the relatively long-lasting bunches of neutrinos could introduce a significant error into the measurement.

Those bunches lasted 10 millionths of a second – 160 times longer than the discrepancy the team initially reported in the neutrinos’ travel time.

To address that, scientists at Cern adjusted the way in which the proton beams were produced, resulting in bunches just three billionths of a second long.

When the Opera team ran the improved experiment 20 times, they found almost exactly the same result.

“This is reinforcing the previous finding and ruling out some possible systematic errors which could have in principle been affecting it,” said Antonio Ereditato of the Opera collaboration.

“We didn’t think they were, and now we have the proof,” he told BBC News. “This is reassuring that it’s not the end of the story.”

The first announcement of evidently faster-than-light neutrinos caused a stir worldwide; the Opera collaboration is very aware of its implications if eventually proved correct.

The error in the length of the bunches, however, is just the largest among several potential sources of uncertainty in the measurement, which must all now be addressed in turn; these mostly centre on the precise departure and arrival times of the bunches.

“So far no arguments have been put forward that rule out our effect,” Dr Ereditato said.

“This additional test we made is confirming our original finding, but still we have to be very prudent, still we have to look forward to independent confirmation. But this is a positive result.”

That confirmation may be much longer in coming, as only a few facilities worldwide have the detectors needed to catch the notoriously flighty neutrinos – which interact with matter so rarely as to have earned the nickname “ghost particles”.

Next year, teams working on two other experiments at Gran Sasso experiments – Borexino and Icarus – will begin independent cross-checks of Opera’s results.

The US Minos experiment and Japan’s T2K experiment will also test the observations. It is likely to be several months before they report back.

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Full article and photo: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/science-environment-15791236

The man lowered his weapon and left without a word.

Apparently the robber’s conscience got the better of him.

Kids Thwart Robbery With Piggy Banks

An attempted robbery in the German state of Lower Saxony took an unexpected turn earlier this week when an armed burglar called off his own holdup, having been shamed by a pair of children.

At around 6:25 p.m. on Monday evening, an armed robber wearing a ski mask and a long black coat forced his way into a private home in the town of Schwanewede after a babysitter answered the door, police reported Wednesday.

Hearing the commotion, two small children in the house came downstairs — holding their piggy banks.

They approached the gunman, who had been holding his weapon under the babysitter’s nose, and offered him their life savings.

The man lowered his weapon and left without a word.

“We’re assuming that in the face of these small children holding out their piggy banks, he regretted his course of action and chose to retreat,” police spokesman Jürgen Menzel told SPIEGEL ONLINE.

Though nothing was stolen, the would-be robber isn’t entirely off the hook. Authorities are now seeking a perpetrator assumed to be in his early twenties, about 185 centimeters (6 feet 2 inches) tall, for attempted robbery.

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Full article and photo: http://www.spiegel.de/international/zeitgeist/0,1518,798372,00.html

When Heaven Freezes Over

Hotels and bars made out of ice have been common for a while — now a church is the latest project to get the cold treatment. In the Bavarian Forest, one congregation wants to build a place of worship out of 1,400 cubic meters of snow, just as their ancestors did 100 years ago.

Everything is in place in Mitterfirmiansreut for the mountain village’s biggest construction project in a century — everything, that is, but the snow. Because residents in the Bavarian village near the Czech border are planning to erect a full-size church made entirely out of snow, in homage to their ancestors who did the same thing 100 years ago.

Once completed, the church will be able to accommodate up to 190 people. The plans call for a sweeping design, with a main room 26 meters long and 6.5 meters high and a tower soaring 17 meters high. Inside there will be sculptures, an altar and pews — all made out of ice. In total, 1,400 cubic meters of snow will be needed.

Although the snow church doesn’t even exist yet, requests for weddings and baptisms have already been flooding in to Bernd Stiefvater. The 45-year-old restaurateur has worked with friends on plans for the church for two years. Some 200 people have since become involved in a booster club.

An Unusual Protest

Stiefvater wants the snow church to serve as a reminder of an extraordinary event in local history. At the beginning of the 20th century, a trip to Sunday mass for people living in the remote mountain village of Mitterfirmiansreut meant an arduous 90-minute walk to the neighboring town of Mauth. After their pleas for a church of their own fell on deaf ears, the villagers decided to mount an unusual protest during the Christmas season of 1911: They built their own church out of snow.

“For me this is a really touching story of how people of faith can achieve anything,” says Stiefvater. He wants the new version of the snow church to honor this commitment 100 years later. The planning and construction of the church will cost about €100,000 ($135,000), according to the booster club. The money for the church is coming from sponsors, and the organizers are hoping to win financial support from an EU program.

The plans for the snow church have been drawn up by architect Alfons Doeringer. “Nothing in this project is routine. There were no standards and no norms,” he says. Designs for the church’s vaulting shape were created in collaboration with structural engineers. Doeringer is very aware of the potential risks: “That is an extremely heavy mass of snow, and people will be underneath it.”

The architect says 20 centimeters of snow is needed before construction can begin, with the grand opening planned for Dec. 17. There will be concerts and prayers held in the church, as well as an ice sculpture exhibition from Jan. 22 to 28 and a market with traditional handicrafts on Feb. 12.

Interest in the project has been brisk, and Stiefvater says numerous tour groups have registered to visit the church. And if there is not enough snow in Mitterfirmiansreut this year?

“That is very unlikely,” says Stiefvater. “But then we would just build the church next winter.”

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Full article and photos: http://www.spiegel.de/international/zeitgeist/0,1518,797988,00.html

Trenches: St Eloi by TE Hulme

British troops marching to the trenches

 
British troops in silhouette march towards trenches near Ypres at the western front during the first world war. 

The author of this week’s poem is remembered today chiefly for the anthology-favourite, “Autumn”. TE Hulme published only six short poems in his lifetime. Without Ezra Pound’s faintly ambiguous championship, he might not be known as a poet at all. Though omitting his work from the official Imagist anthologies, Pound added Hulme’s five earlier poems to his own 1912 collection, Ripostes, “for good fellowship: for good custom, a custom out of Tuscany and Provence… and for good memory…”, as he put it in the preface.

No original manuscript of “Trenches: St Eloi” remains. According to some accounts, Hulme recited it from memory to his fellow Imagists at the Poets’ Club while home on leave from the front (he served with the Royal Marine Artillery). Pound’s epigraph suggests the even more informal origins of a conversation. The poem was transcribed either by Pound himself, or by Hulme’s lover, Kate Lechmere. Pound admired the poem sufficiently to include it later on in his Catholic Anthology, in the august company of Eliot, William Carlos Williams and Yeats, among others. If Pound had made revisions or “abbreviations”, Hulme must have approved them.

It’s arguably the most radical of any of the English first world war poems. (Isaac Rosenberg and Herbert Read are the writers who come closest.) The style and structure are casual, but a stringent craft underlies the appearance of improvisation.

The opening scene-setting needs some effort of imagination. “Flat slopes” could imply naturally low slopes, slopes flattened in battle, or even the trenches of the title. The image of the sandbags is contrastingly precise and arresting. To this disturbed pastoral is added one further detail – “night”, set on its own line, so that it seems to expand into the surrounding space. Hulme had a romantic predilection for nightfall in his earlier poems, but this night, unembellished, is absolutely unlike the others.

The poem illustrates the unceremonious way the routines and horrors of warfare coexist. The depiction of the men walking about casually, “as on Piccadilly” is a brilliant novelistic stroke. We can just about see them, “making paths in the dark”, instinctively feeling their way. And then the scattered horses and the dead Belgian’s belly are introduced not simply in the midst of these casual comings and goings, but virtually underfoot. Juxtaposition is everything. Hulme adds no grisly detail. He trusts the shocked listeners, including those non-combatant poets, to imagine it for themselves.

Despite the superb imagist technique, the poem is interested in something besides the visual. The later stanzas head for the psychological interior. The flat reportage of “The Germans have rockets. The English have no rockets” seems childishly naive, and verging on self-pity, perhaps, but is perhaps intended to mime the obsessive, simple litany of despair. The image of the cannon, “lying back miles”, resembles the earlier wall of sandbags, only on a vaster, breathtakingly intimidating scale. Then the single abstract noun, “chaos”, declares what lies ahead: the defeat of the image by the indescribable.

Hulme’s speaker repeats twice the grammatical structure of the line about the rockets. The first line of this modernist couplet is completely unexpected: “My mind is a corridor. The minds about me are corridors.” The word “corridor” evokes emptiness, in utter contrast with the busy pottering and walking to and fro of the earlier scene. It originally meant a place for running. What runs through the hollowed-out mind might be the vague, impossible thought of running endlessly away. The stoic, Beckettian last line rebuffs it. “Nothing suggests itself. There is nothing to do but keep on.” Hulme might be thinking about the poem, his sense that there is nothing more to say. But the whole horrible war must often have aroused a similar hopeless thought among those on the ground.

An aesthetic philosopher, influenced by Henri Bergson, Hulme seems to have arrived at an imagist theory independently of Pound, and perhaps earlier. He was a pugnacious character, sent down from Cambridge, allegedly, for brawling, and he became fascinated by military strategy. Possibly he thought war would be his métier.

“Trenches: St Eloi” reflects innocence transformed. In the previous poems, the images are a little whimsical. The moon is “like a red-faced farmer” in “Autumn”. Then there is the “old star-eaten blanket of the sky” that the fallen gentlman wishes could provide a warm cover in “The Embankment”, and the moon as a lost balloon in “Above the Dock”. The free-verse structure, and the brevity, make such poems seem fresh, but there is romanticism, or at least aestheticism, in the nocturnal air, and, sometimes, an anachronistic flourish: “Once, in finesse of fiddles found I ecstasy…” None of that fiddling obstructs the chilly line of “Trenches: St Eloi.” The poem is as stark as the period’s cubist art.

Pound wrote that Hulme “set an enviable example to many of his contemporaries who have had less to say”. Had Hulme not been killed in action in 1917, and had he continued to write poetry, the category “War Poets” might have had far wider connotations.

Trenches: St Eloi
(Abbreviated from the Conversation of Mr TEH)

Over the flat slopes of St Eloi
A wide wall of sand bags.
Night,
In the silence desultory men
Pottering over small fires, cleaning their mess- tins:
To and fro, from the lines,
Men walk as on Piccadilly,
Making paths in the dark,
Through scattered dead horses,
Over a dead Belgian’s belly.

The Germans have rockets. The English have no rockets.
Behind the line, cannon, hidden, lying back miles.
Beyond the line, chaos:

My mind is a corridor. The minds about me are corridors.
Nothing suggests itself. There is nothing to do but keep on.

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Full article and photo: http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2011/oct/10/poem-of-the-week-t-e-hulme

Poem of the week: Square One by Roddy Lumsden

City workers walk across London Bridge

 
City workers walk across London Bridge.

Several commentators on recent books blogs have said they’d like to see a discussion of Roddy Lumsden’s poetry, and PotW’s own MeltonMowbray posted a request earlier this year. So for this week’s poem, I’ve chosen one of my favourites from Lumsden’s latest collection, Terrific Melancholy (recommended if you haven’t already got a copy). I hope aficiandos and new readers alike will enjoy the elegiac virtuosity of “Square One.”

Panning shots of the razzmatazz of contemporary London begin with an unnaturally motionless River Thames, which contrasts with the surrounding fluidity of endless construction and self-invention. The location is mirrored in spirited, slangy diction, and a repetitive device that stitches all together in bright gold lamé thread. On the page, you almost see the green light. Read the poem aloud, and you hear the gunning of engines in the repetition of the hard “g” – described in phonetics as a voiced, velar stop.

This technique recalls the generative devices of the poets and novelists of the Oulipo (Ouvroir de littérature potentielle) who choose specific verbal constraints as a means of triggering ideas. The most famous, and diabolically complicated, is probably the “story-making machine”, set in motion by Georges Perec in the construction of his novel, Life: A User’s Manual. Poets have experimented with lipograms, palindromes, etc. Whereas these techniques need not, and mostly do not, emerge from the material, the “go” device in “Square One” connects directly to the poem’s theme and rhythmic energy-supply. It also echoes the dominant phonemes in the names of the two mythological giants who’ll emerge in the poem’s last line – Gog and Magog.

This is the London of Boris, bendy buses and bad bankers, but it’s also a tumult of lives harder to record, more slippery and edgy. As well as “the emos, indie kids/ Goths and ravers melting down the day” in stanza one, the prefix nets a jolly haul of “gowks”, “gonzos”, “gorillas” and “gomerils” to flesh out the “city’s multiplicity of fools”. Food is a vivid class-indicator: the “retired politicians” feast on dumplings and meggyleves (Hungarian sour-cherry soup) as well as scandal, while others “stare at bangers and bubble, tea/ gone cold … “. But the poem seems to imply freedom of choice. I like the fact that the power-brokers are simply given their space in the gorgeous, rotted tapestry, without comment. Brand- and place-names, from Gossamer to Gospel Oak, add further texture.

Are any other Oulipan devices used in the poem? I had a subliminal sense that further patterns were sometimes employed, but without being able to put a finger on them. I even wondered about the game of Go, which can be played with a 13 x 13 board (the stanzas are all 13-liners here), but drew a blank.

The title might suggest the Square Mile, or any of London’s many squares: it also recalls Larkin’s famous reference in “The Whitsun Weddings” to “postal districts, packed like squares of wheat”, a curious simile, since, contrary to northern myth, London has many postal districts nearer the breadline than the cornbelt. “Square One” might be anywhere, but it implies return, a reluctant new start. While elegising a lost Albion, the poem knows that new mythical creatures are constantly being born.

Perhaps the day of the poem represents a vaster historical period, one stretching from an almost-absurd respectability (“gongs struck in gentlemen’s clubs” to start the day and “dawn trains given the/ go-ahead at suburban junctions”) to the present social chaos. The poem’s author is a Scot, but an end-of-empire regret seems hinted. The accumulation of details evokes the thrill of change and movement, together with a despairing sense of being swept away into anonymity. Yet there’s no question that the speaker loves the city. The sun rises and sets almost romantically in images of the “gold tide,” the “slant shadows” of the high-rises, and the “misted moon.” Noted for its stillness in the first stanza, the river remains obstinately static, but, at the end of the poem, it seems to have found a voice, and utters a punning command to “own torn myths”. And this is exactly what the poem so exuberantly does.

Square One

Going steadily, rowed out from east to west, concrete
gondolas brink the Thames, which is still – it’s the land which is
googled by gravity, thrown around – an optical illusion
good enough to fool the city’s multiplicity of fools:
goons and gomerils who labour under Mammon’s lash,
gowks and golems who queue to flash their lips and lids in
god-forsaken church halls, reeking basements and seeping
Golgothas, clamped blithe to ardour: the emos, indie kids,
Goths and ravers melting down the day we launched with
gongs struck in gentlemen’s clubs, skirted girls at Nonsuch and
Godolphin thronging in corridors, dawn trains given the
go-ahead at suburban junctions, the first trace of the sun’s
gold tide as it washes back to our side of the sphere, but now,

 going for lunch, you swing between delight and throwaway,
gourmet and grease, dither between syrah in a silver
goblet or Tizer from a sprung can; you might stare over roasted
goose at the Gay Hussar, at your companion’s bowl of
goulash, as retired politicians two tables over whisper scandals,
gossip through dumplings and meggyleves, hissing the latest
Gordon or Boris anecdote, Obama’s honeymoon months,
government soap; you might stare at bangers and bubble, tea
gone cold; evening settles in at Kilburn, down Battersea Park;
Golders Green wanes; high-rises throw slant shadows over
Gospel Oak; students breathe the soot of a bendy revving on
Gower Street; in the doorways of basement strip joints,
gorillas strike stances; toms swap fat packs of Fetherlite and

 Gossamer, hitch into their tangas and fishnets waiting for the
gonk to finger a phone box card, the way a kid fingers what he
got from the kitchen drawer; evening touches Camden where
gonzos sup Stella; dancers shift in the wings of the opera;
goluptious girls slip into slingbacks, swim into creamy
gowns, or swash out of them, as that misted moon plays
go-between in a city of secrets, crimson or bilious – what
good will come of us, falling in the dark, our names
gouged into plane-trees? – we are becoming history,
godmothers to our own torn myths: twisted and crazed,
gorgeous giants, we hang spinning over the still river:
Go on! it murmurs – own torn myths – and midnight mentions
Gog and Magog – sweet, towering boys, long gone.

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Full article and photo: http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2011/oct/17/poem-of-the-week-roddy-lumsdent

Readmill Networks Lonely Bookworms

Traditionally, reading has been a solitary activity. But two Berlin-based Swedes hope to change this. They’re close to launching new software called Readmill, which promises to create a social network for bookworms to share their reading habits, margin notes and recommendations.

The pool table in the living room is covered by a wooden slab, a second room is full of boxes, and David Kjelkerud still has no idea how the coffee machine in the kitchen works. There’s simply no time for such trivialities. He is, after all, feverishly building a start-up. Two months ago he moved from Stockholm to Berlin with his co-partner Henrik Berggren to catapult book reading into the Internet age.

The duo is finalizing the last pieces of Readmill, an intelligent bookmarker for digital books. In their shared office space in Berlin’s central Mitte district, also occupied by start-up Amen, a flurry of development is going on, interrupted by tech conferences, presentations for investors and the search for cooperation from E-book industry players.

The goal is to transform book reading into a social activity, bringing together readers via their e-readers, and to grab a share of the booming E-book market. Other companies have their eye on social reading as well, such as the platform LovelyBooks. But Readmill, set to go live soon, wants to take the idea even further.

Both avid readers, Berggren and Kjelkerud have an ambivalent relationship with books. Kjelkerud calls them “somehow cold and unsocial.” Reading is solitary, and anyone who wants to discuss a passage must first shut their book, he explains. Berggren says that even digital books and the internet-connected reading devices haven’t changed things much. “There are many E-book services, but none of them are really social,” he explains. What was missing were good ideas to network books and readers with each other.

Last.fm for Books

Readmill, an intelligent bookmark for e-books, is their answer. The program looks over the reader’s shoulder, keeping a protocol of their progress and showing sections that have been highlighted and commented upon by other readers. This way Readmill members create a semi-public reference list for their books, giving them the possibility of alerting friends to interesting passages for discussion.

Music fans will recognize this principle from Last.fm, a music website that analyzes listening patterns to develop new artist and concert suggestions, in addition to bringing users with similar tastes together. Like Last.fm, Readmill’s software operates on three levels: as a background process for reading applications, as a web service that processes reading habits, and as a reading app for the iPad, where members can upload e-books that aren’t copyright protected.

Also similar to Last.fm, Readmill gets interesting when as many other e-book reading programs and devices as possible feed the Readmill central server with data. By year’s end, Berggren told SPIEGEL ONLINE, the company hopes to be supporting enough reading programs so that it could, theoretically at least, be combined with 80 percent of all e-books.

Publisher Partnerships in Progress

It isn’t an impossible goal. Currently there aren’t that many different reading devices and programs. Publishers and reading device manufacturers will also benefit from Readmill, its creators say. “Ultimately, Readmill is about discovering books,” Kjelkerud says. With partnership negotiations with publishers underway, the possibility of Readmill adding a book purchasing function isn’t far off.

But the company isn’t just focused on e-books. To help connect old-fashioned book lovers through Readmill, they’ve also created an android app called ReadTracker, with which users can also follow their reading progress on paper.

Berggren and Kjelkerud say that it was only their move to Berlin from Stockholm in March 2011 which made the realization of their social book dream possible. It was both a challenge and an opportunity to free themselves from social obligations to enable a sole focus on their project.

“It was so hard to always have to reject my friends’ bar invitations,” Kjelkerud says. Berggren adds: “With such a move you’re also making it clear to yourself that now things are serious, that now we have to push through.”

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Full article and photo: http://www.spiegel.de/international/business/0,1518,795764,00.html

Salt of the Earth

Elaborate salt formations are seen in the Dead Sea near Ein Bogek, Israel, on Nov. 9. The lowest point on Earth, the Dead Sea is one of 28 finalists in the online campaign to determine the new seven wonders of the natural world. The list includes other geographical splendors such as Switzerland’s Matterhorn mountain, the Great Barrier Reef in Australia and Venezuela’s Angel Falls.

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Full article and photo: http://www.spiegel.de/international/0,1518,797079,00.html

‘Berlusconi Is a Joke, Behind Him Is a Void’

Italian Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi may soon be history.

Italian Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi’s promise to resign has failed to calm financial markets, with Italy’s borrowing costs hitting a record 7 percent on Wednesday. Still, German commentators are glad to see the back of Il Cavaliere.

Silvio Berlusconi’s demise had been forecast many times, but each time the wily Italian prime minister, nicknamed Il Cavaliere, managed to wiggle his way out of trouble. But now the end of the 17-year Berlusconi era appears to finally be in sight, after his pledge on Tuesda that he would step down once the Italian parliament pushes through a package of measures demanded by European Union leaders aimed at reducing Italy’s vast debt and restoring investor confidence in the country. The move came just hours after a humiliating budget vote in parliament during which it became clear that the prime minister no longer had a majority.

On Wednesday, Berlusconi, 75, announced that he would not run if early elections are held and said that he expected elections to be held in February. He told La Stampa newspaper that former Justice Minister Angelino Alfano, 41, would be the candidate of his party, People of Freedom. The opposition, however, prefers a national unity government to early elections.

Hopes that Berlusconi’s resignation promise would ease the pressure on the country proved unfounded on Wednesday, however, with the yield on 10-year Italian bonds hitting a record high of 7.36 percent despite the prime minister’s statement. Most analysts consider 7 percent to be the level at which borrowing becomes unsustainable. Greece, Ireland and Portugal have all been forced to seek emergency EU funding when their borrowing costs hit the 7 percent mark. Interest rates on Italian sovereign bonds had climbed to well over 6 percent earlier this week, reaching 6.74 percent on Tuesday, the previous record level.

Relief on European stock markets also proved short lived. On Wednesday morning the FTSEurofirst 300 index of top European shares fell by 1.4 percent, reversing a 0.9 percent gain on Tuesday. Italy’s benchmark FTSE MIB index was also down by 3 percent, while Italian banks Mediobanca and Unicredit saw their shares fall by 4.6 percent and 5.4 percent respectively. “There is no guarantee (Berlusconi’s) successor will be able to do a better job,” fund manager Christian Jimenez told the news agency Reuters.

Increasing Pressure

Berlusconi had come under increasing pressure in recent weeks and months as a result of the euro zone’s worsening debt crisis. There are concerns that Italy could become the next candidate for a European Union bailout, but there are worries that the country is too big to rescue on the model of Ireland or Portugal. Italian debt stands at 120 percent of the country’s annual economic output.

Berlusconi has been a dominant fixture in Italian politics for 17 years and provided a degree of stability that the country had not enjoyed in the several decades between the end of World War II and Berlusconi’s first election to the premiership in 1994. Recent years have been overshadowed by numerous scandals, including accusations that he had paid for sex with an underage prostitute. Many have accused the media mogul of seeking to change laws to avoid prosecution.

Berlusconi fought hard to remain in power, saying that he wanted to look at the “traitors” in parliament “in the face.” His position became untenable on Tuesday when his closest parliamentary ally, Northern League head Umberto Bossi, urged the prime minister to step aside.

On Wednesday, German newspapers take a look at the implications of Berlusconi’s announcement.

In a Wednesday morning editorial published on its website, the Financial Times Deutschland writes:

“The skepticism of the markets is appropriate: Following Berlusconi’s announcement, it isn’t at all clear what the future looks like for Rome. All options are on the table … even Berlusconi’s return isn’t out of the question.”

“It has become apparent what everyone actually always knew: There is a lack of alternatives to Berlusconi in Italy. The left has spent years criticizing the prime minister, making fun of his dyed hair and of his philandering — but they forgot to present a political program of their own. The Berlusconi phenomenon, which has caused mystification outside of Italy, is the result of this weakness. Berlusconi is a joke. But behind him is a void.”

The center-left Süddeutsche Zeitung writes:

“Berlusconi promised Italian President Giorgio Napolitano on Tuesday that he will step down when the promised austerity package is pushed through parliament. But because we are in Italy, some observers believe that even this is not Berlusconi’s last act. He might, they believe, try to use some trick to hang onto power in the end.”

“As such, it isn’t quite time yet to analyze what the long-term effects of the 17 Berlusconi years might be for this grandiose, crazy country — such as the shocking lack of gravitas, the egoism and the superficiality he introduced into Italian politics. At the moment, the fact that he allowed the country’s economy to erode stands in the foreground. Interest rates for Italian sovereign bonds climbed to a record high of 6.74 percent on Tuesday. If the European Central Bank doesn’t buy massive quantities of Italian bonds, then Rome will approach the territory which triggered bailout packages for Portugal and Ireland.”

“That, though, won’t be successful for long, given that in the next year, Italy must pay back a €300 billion tranche of its €1.9 trillion in debt. At the same time, Rome is losing €400 billion annually through tax evasion, corruption and the underground economy. A turn toward the utmost seriousness would be appropriate. It is clear what must be done and where reforms need to be made. Among the priorities should be injecting flexibility into the moribund labor market.”

“It is by no means certain that investors will cease betting against the country without Berlusconi at the helm. What is sure, however, is that they would have continued had Berlusconi remained. Il Cavaliere is not to be blamed for everything, but he was a heavy liability for Italy. He had to go. For once at least, at the very end, it seems that he thought about what is best for his country.”

The business daily Handelsblatt writes:

“European partners are shaking their heads, and in Italy, too, no one can understand the pigheadedness of the prime minister, who remains glued to his chair. … Berlusconi’s predecessors, like Giulio Andreotti, immediately stepped down after such defeats in parliament. But Berlusconi remains stubborn, because he does not have to step down as long as he does not lose a confidence vote.”

“In addition to the political motivations, there are other reasons why Berlusconi has done nothing more than merely announce that he will step down in the future. Italian newspapers are widely reporting that Berlusconi wants to remain in office at all costs, even without a majority, so that he does not lose his immunity. His trials may have been eclipsed because of the current political turbulence, but four cases are still pending. Among them is the Milan court case in which he has been charged with abuse of power and prostitution involving a minor.”

“A date has not yet been set for presenting the stability proposal to parliament, but the timeframe of mid-November is being discussed. That is good for Berlusconi, but bad for Italy and the markets.”

The left-leaning Berliner Zeitungwrites:

“Silvio Berlusconi had presented himself as a savior for an Italy that was sinking into chaos. He said he had succeeded in making his company into one of the largest in Italy, and that he would likewise turn beautiful Italy into a thriving company.”

“None of it was true, and none of his promises have come true. Italy is now worse off than it was before Berlusconi. For years, he attacked that country’s democratic institutions using his parliamentary majority. For years, he was supported by the Vatican, which only distanced itself from him when the Holy See became aware of Berlusconi’s sex parties — or rather, when the sex parties became public knowledge. In the meantime, Berlusconi’s business model for Italy has fallen into such disrepute on the stock markets that his departure is greeted with shrieks of delight. … His business model for Italy has failed miserably, as could easily be predicted. The state is not a company.”

— SPIEGEL Staff

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Full article and photo: http://www.spiegel.de/international/europe/0,1518,796757,00.html

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