4.3

M Train

von Patti Smith

Format:Hardcover

National Best Seller From the National Book Award–winning author of Just Kids: an unforgettable odyssey of a legendary artist, told through the prism of the cafés and haunts she has worked in around the world. It is a book Patti Smith has described as “a roadmap to my life.” M Train begins in the tiny Greenwich Village café where Smith goes every morning for black coffee, ruminates on the world as it is and the world as it was, and writes in her notebook. Through prose that shifts fluidly between dreams and reality, past and present, and across a landscape of creative aspirations and inspirations, we travel to Frida Kahlo’s Casa Azul in Mexico; to a meeting of an Arctic explorer’s society in Berlin; to a ramshackle seaside bungalow in New York’s Far Rockaway that Smith acquires just before Hurricane Sandy hits; and to the graves of Genet, Plath, Rimbaud, and Mishima. Woven throughout are reflections on the writer’s craft and on artistic creation. Here, too, are singular memories of Smith’s life in Michigan and the irremediable loss of her husband, Fred Sonic Smith. Braiding despair with hope and consolation, illustrated with her signature Polaroids, M Train is a meditation on travel, detective shows, literature, and coffee. It is a powerful, deeply moving book by one of the most remarkable multiplatform artists at work today.

Biografien & Memoiren
272 SeitenHardcover
Erschienen an: 2015-10-06

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Aktuelle Rezensionen(3)

4.3(14 ratings)
EmmaRezension von Emma

„It‘s not easy to write about nothing“ war sehr ernst gemeint

JuliaRezension von Julia

Patti Smith ist meine neue Ikone! Ich liebe wie sie ihre Memoiren auf der schmalen Grenze zwischen Traum und Realität schreibt, zwischen Fanatismus für Dichter*innen-Gräber und der Profanität des Alltags (Haare flechten, Kaffee trinken, Katzen füttern), zwischen Trauer um ihren Mann und Neugier auf die Abenteuer des Lebens. Ich bin hin und weg von dieser Frau, die so sehr in Freiheit und Eigensinn lebt! 100% Der Mensch, der ich gern wäre. „Ich ging geradeaus durch das Zwielicht meines Traums. Keine Staubwolken, keine Spur von jemandem, aber das machte nicht. Ich bestimmte selbst über mein Glück. Die unveränderte Wüstenlandschaft: eine lange, sich abwickelnde Papierrolle, die ich eines Tages mit Freude beschriften würde. Ich werde mich an alles erinnern, und dann schreibe ich es auf. Eine Arie auf einen Mantel. Ein Requiem für ein Café. Genau das dachte ich, in meinem Traum, und blickte auf meine Hände.“ (Nach zwei Dritteln zur deutschen Ausgabe gewechselt, weil ich in ihrer poetischen Sprache zwar schwelgen konnte, aber mir so vieles entging und ich die Möglichkeit haben wollte, beide Sprachen zu lesen und ihr so auf unterschiedliche Weisen zu begegnen .) „I place AFTER NATURE back on the shelf, safely among the many portals of the world. They float through these pages often without explanation. Writers and their process. Writers and their books. I cannot assume the reader will be familiar with them all, but in the end is the reader familiar with me? Does the reader wish to be so? I can only hope, as o offer my world on a platter filled with allusions..” “I was disappointed as I was dying for a cup of coffee, yet I could not get up. The scent of oolong seemed to have the dozy effect of the poppy fields of Oz. An old woman poked me in the shoulder and I blurted: Combo. She mumbled something in Chinese, then left. A small dog sat dutifully beneath a table watching the movement of an elderly man with a yo-yo.”

kenRezension von ken

<i>—I love you, I whispered to all, to none.</i> <i>—Love not lightly, I heard him say.</i> A synthesis of <i>Just Kids</i> and <i>Woolgathering</i>, <i>M Train</i> echoes the life and constant journey of the artist-writer paired with Patti Smith's introspection, mythical language, and spiritual imagination. The importance she places on artifacts, the books she read, the malaise of the writer that is all too familiar to me. Like <i>Just Kids</i>, Smith mourns more of her losses, and I sympathize, if only for the imminence of my loss, yet to come. I lost myself in the purview of her language. I believed the existence of everything she wrote about. In some moments, I wanted to dream like Smith does, but instantly regretted it. I love how I dream. I will never relinquish the image of the love of my life, in a print dress spattered with yellow flowers, bursting into my room to tell me, in my delirious, sleeping state, that it is snowing outside. Not even for a prophetic cowpoke.

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