How to dance gbese

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For You




Gbese Tutorial🔥🇳🇬 #daunknowng #gbese #gbesetutorial #afrodancetutorial #afrodancer #afrobeats #tutorialdance

TikTok video from daUnknownG (@daunknowng): "Gbese Tutorial🔥🇳🇬 #daunknowng #gbese #gbesetutorial #afrodancetutorial #afrodancer #afrobeats #tutorialdance". Afro Dance Moves Tutorial Pt.4 | Gbese🇳🇬 | 1. R 👟 ⬆️ 2. L 👟 ⬆️ 3. L 👟 Kick | .... Jerusalema (feat. Burna Boy & Nomcebo Zikode) [Remix].


Jerusalema (feat. Burna Boy & Nomcebo Zikode) [Remix] - Master KG



Reply to @aristotendunu Gbese💃💃 #fyp #afrodance #afrobeat #gbese #tutorial #timzz

3. 8K Likes, 19 Comments. TikTok video from Timi (@tim.zz): "Reply to @aristotendunu Gbese💃💃 #fyp #afrodance #afrobeat #gbese #tutorial #timzz". Base movements: | Jump with R, land on L | Kick out R | .... What Type Of Dance.


What Type Of Dance - DJ Kaywise


Oluwatosin Komolafe

Gbese‼️🇳🇬 #nigeriantiktok #tkathletics #dance #afrobeatsdancechallenge

341 Likes, 6 Comments. TikTok video from Oluwatosin Komolafe (@tkathletics): "Gbese‼️🇳🇬 #nigeriantiktok #tkathletics #dance #afrobeatsdancechallenge". When Nigerians Link Up 🇳🇬. Peace Be Unto You (PBUY).


Peace Be Unto You (PBUY) - Asake



More is coming .. #burnaboy #gbese #afronation #fyp #dance #afrobeats #goat @Burna Boy

2. 8K Likes, 22 Comments. TikTok video from K.Radush (@kiko_rdsh): "More is coming .. #burnaboy #gbese #afronation #fyp #dance #afrobeats #goat @Burna Boy". POV: you had the best coverage of Burna Boy performance at Afronation . son original.


son original - K.Radush



gcse dance it was a pleasure but i am so glad i never have to do breathe again 😩

6.9K Likes, 485 Comments. TikTok video from morgan (@m0rgsy): "gcse dance it was a pleasure but i am so glad i never have to do breathe again 😩". original sound.


original sound - morgan


Part 2 on YouTube 🫶✅

burna boy gbese dance #burnaboy #kasoablogger #kasoabloggerlive

3.5K Likes, 10 Comments. TikTok video from Part 2 on YouTube 🫶✅ (@kasoablogger): "burna boy gbese dance #burnaboy #kasoablogger #kasoabloggerlive". original sound.


original sound - Part 2 on YouTube 🫶✅



I miss dancing drunk in circles 😭 #toronto #torontolife #drunktiktoks #viral #gbese #killindem #nigeriantiktok #nigeria

2.3K Likes, 24 Comments. TikTok video from zum0n (@zum0n): "I miss dancing drunk in circles 😭 #toronto #torontolife #drunktiktoks #viral #gbese #killindem #nigeriantiktok #nigeria". Killin Dem (feat. Zlatan).


Killin Dem (feat. Zlatan) - Burna Boy



Me and @gabiruduarte8 catching a vibe to #Gbese by #burnaboy HOW DID WE DO or WHO WAS BETTER? 😏 #tiktokdance #chocolate #fyp #vibes #dancechallenge

TikTok video from COKER (@officialcoker): "Me and @gabiruduarte8 catching a vibe to #Gbese by #burnaboy HOW DID WE DO or WHO WAS BETTER? 😏 #tiktokdance #chocolate #fyp #vibes #dancechallenge". original sound.


original sound - COKER

A guide to Africa's most popular dance moves from the 2010s

A look at the popular dance moves that dominated last decade

Written by The Native - 07.Aug.2020

Any Afropop song worth its salt is inherently hinged upon its ability to make you dance, and artists tend to gear the music towards danceable rhythms that will get a party started or rile a crowd of concert-goers up. While we did the Makossa, Swo and Yahooze through our formative years in the noughties, those dance moves didn’t quite hold the kind of reverence the ones we have today do.

Over the past few years, some artists have seen massive success due to their attachment to a particular dance move, which catapulted their songs to new heights. Take Zlatan for example, who coined the current rave, Zanku (an acronym for the phrase “Zlatan Abeg No Kill Us”), which has birthed its own sound of popular music at the moment. Even though there is a slight obsession at home to declare the end of the Zanku era, it’s wise to truly appreciate something for what it is. Starting as a dance from the streets of Lagos, popularised by Zlatan and Chinko Ekun, Zanku became a global phenomenon, which has most recently been tapped into by Beyoncé in her latest film, ‘Black Is King’. For that alone, the movement will go down in history as one of the most dominating runs in Nigerian culture.

Now that outside is closed, and we don’t even know when it will be safe to hit the clubs again, we’re missing all those sweaty times when the person standing next to you just had to spread themselves to bust a shoki – even when there’s literally no space for all of that. So while we’re reminiscing about those times, we’ve decided to look back at all the popular dances we had in the last decade. From Davido’s Skelewu to the Shaku Shaku which made it over the shores, here are the most popular dance moves we had in the past decade:

Granted, this dance arrived way before the 2010s, but we just had to give the Galala an honourable mention, seeing as the move still goes off today.

Dancing has remained a reliable bridge between the street (ghetto) and popular Nigerian culture. When Daddy Showkey emerged from the streets of Ajegunle to dominate the mainstream music scene in the ’90s, he brought along the Galala dance step which required dancers to bend their knees and shuffle their feet in one spot. The dance has remained evergreen and saw a sort of resurgence through the late 2010s, with dancers still referencing it occasionally to show their range and performers like Santi breaking out the move to wow their fans. Though Daddy Showkey, Baba Fryo and others from that region were known for popularising the dance and the sound that goes along with it, the credit for its origin goes to the vibrant dance scene in the Ajegunle ghetto.

If we never get to the bottom of the friendly war between Nigeria and Ghana, we’ll pin it on the fact that Wizkid hijacked their dance move and made it his own. Back in 2012, the azonto was all the rave, thanks to Sarkodie and E. L’s late 2011 offering, “U Go Kill Me”. Initially emerging from Accra’s bubbling Jamestown, the moves and sequencing for the azonto dance can be in part credited to the Ghana’s Ga tribe. Making it all the way to Prince William and David Cameron in the UK, for the diaspora communities in particular, the Azonto became a unifying symbol of West African pride, and was arguably the first dance to popularise social media challenges, which have in turn changed the way we appreciate music.

Afropop singer, Iyanya lucked out in 2012 when he created the viral dance that became known as Kukere following the release of his breakout song of a similar name. The dance is actually a direct adaptation of the traditional Efik dance known as the Etighi dance. Being of Efik origin himself, it comes as no surprise that the artist popularised a dance step which greatly nods to his culture but for a modern audience. The dance went on to become popular in Nigeria and Ghana and even became a mainstay in the United Kingdom, where members of the diaspora still connected to home would adopt the dance and popularise it in dance clubs across the shores.

Alkayida (Ghana, 2013)

Though it didn’t take off quite as far as the azonto dance craze, alkayida was the dance move from Ghana that followed, in a sense evolving out of the azonto cultural reset. Naming his hip-hop hit after the song, “Alkayida (Boys Abr3)” , Ghanaian rapper Guru brought the dance into popularity. Unfortunately, its controversial name meant that the alkayida wasn’t as far reaching as the azonto, but what the dance lost in reach it makes up for in longevity, as this dance move remains on the roster ’till today.

Shoki (Nigeria, 2013)

Shoki had its moment in the mainstream in 2014 as it took over from Davido’s Skelewu dance trend. Emerging from the youth of Agege in 2013 Dre San, Lil Kesh and Orezi released singles titled “Shoki” that year, but it was Lil Kesh’s debut single under YBNL that fully captured the essence of the Shoki rave. While the bend and slowly lift before tossing away dance motion was innocent it itself, the context for Shoki has always been sexual since it was first popularised by Femi Kuti’s ‘Shoki Shoki’ album released in 1998. The sexual undertone of Shoki fit Lil Kesh’s lewd brand of Afropop and he championed the dance through his sexually provocative lyrics and music video which featured Davido also doing the Shoki dance. Everyone was doing the Shoki after that and it certainly helped that it wasn’t a complicated move to learn.

Skelewu (Nigeria, 2013)

The year was 2013 when Davido’s viral dance challenge inadvertently led to the nation catching the Skelewu bug. Hit songs always seem to carry with them innovative dance moves, and Davido definitely piqued our interest when he set off this viral dance, which was further encapsulated by the song’s video. Though short-lived, the song and the dance competition was all anyone could talk about, and thus a new way of partying was born. The song had two videos, one which was an instructional guide on how to do the dance and a second, more theatrical video which imagined a dystopian post-apocalyptic world where the Skelewu fever took off, leaving only those that were able to get down, have fun and hit that Skelewu.

Sekem (Nigeria, 2013)

The video for Iyanya’s “Kukere” not only set the stage for the dance craze of the same name, it was also the catalyst behind Sekem, the viral dance that grew in popularity between late 2013 and mid-2014. The “Kukere” video featured an extensive cameo from MC Galaxy, who provided comic relief with his complicated style of the Kukere dance, and shot to a higher level of fame shortly after. Leveraging on that rise in popularity, MC Galaxy, a comedian by trade at the time, a composite evolution of Kukere and Skelewu. The T-Spize-produced title song came with lyrics instructing listeners on how to perform the dance step—one hand in front and one in back, and gliding to the side by twisting one foot. The dance craze permeated the mainstream through a challenge where prizes were awarded, and the sound MC Galaxy brought along also left its mark, even making imitators out of P-Square, who mimicked the sound on their smash hit, “Shekini”.

Shakiti Bobo (Nigeria, 2015)

Olamide may be the undefeated King of the Streets, but he’s undeniably also built a reputation as being the king of viral dance trends. Back in 2015, he kicked off the viral Shakiti Bobo dance following the release of his hit single “Bobo”, and immediately won the hearts of the nation with the catchy song and even catchier dance step that we’ve seen sported by some of our faves like Missy Elliot. Though tied to the sound of the streets, the dance went on to become one of the unifying dance moves from these parts and you couldn’t hit up an event spot without having to bust into this dance at least once #thatyear.

Shaku Shaku (Nigeria, 2017)

Shaku Shaku was one of the first African dance moves to go viral on the internet. It all started when Olamide initiated a dance challenge to decide which dance crew to feature in the music video for his street smash, “Wo” in 2017. Lagos-based dance crew, Westsyde won the challenge with their feet shuffling and hand bondage dance choreograph which they called Shaku Shaku. While the song went on to dominate the mainstream music scene in Nigeria, the intersection of dance, music, viral video and social media made the Shaku into a movement that all Africans, both at home and in the diaspora, felt proud to be a part of. There was a communal sense of pride associated to dancing Shaku Shaku and after France‘s predominantly black football team won the World Cup in 2018 and did the Shaku Shaku in celebration, it felt like a validating moment for the African music scene.

Gwara Gwara (SA, 2017)

Rihanna’s performance at the 2018 Grammy’s, Childish Gambino’s “This Is America” music video, and the streets of South Africa all have this dance move in common. Created “from scratch” by South Africa’s DJ Bonz who released tutorials of how to do the dance along with his 2017 single “Ofana Nawa” which features Sobz, the Gwara Gwara dance has taken a well documented tour through South African music – such as the infectious dance tune, “Gobisiqolo” by Bhizer and Babes Wodumo’s Mampintsha-assisted “Wololo” – and beyond.

Zanku (Nigeria, 2018)

New dance crazes are frequent occurrences, but the speed with which the Zanku completely phased out Shaku Shaku was quite remarkable. After fully emerging into the mainstream at the top of 2018, it seemed like we would all be pulling imaginary generator ropes till the end of the year, however, the final quarter of the year came with a drastic flip in the switch. Catalysed by the smash success of Chinko Ekun’s “Able God” and sealed by Zlatan’s “Zanku (Leg Work)”, the Zanku dance – with its feet stomps, bent backs, vigorous shoulder rolls and climactic kick (Gbese!) – became a fixture at year end parties and concerts.

With his involvement on the two aforementioned records and his scene stealing feature on the apex Zanku song, Burna Boy’s “Killin’ Dem”, Zlatan can rightly claim to be the prime populariser of the dance, but its exact origins are quite ambiguous. So far, it has been traced back to Agege, one of the numerous, packed places in Lagos where ghetto coincides with suburbia, and the same place where Shaku Shaku came about. These days, the Zanku has elevated from its murky beginnings into an identifiable dance with international adopters, most recently, Beyoncé in the video for the Shatta Wale-assisted “Already”. That the Zanku is still in vogue and continues to evolve in variation nearly two years later speaks to its durability, and when it fades, it will be remembered as one of the greatest and best dance crazes to take over afropop.

Pilolo (Ghana, 2018)

Pilolo which loosely translates to “go search for”, is a traditional Ghanaian game of hide and seek, whereby one person hides an object and the other children involved in the game search for it. But since 2018, the name Pilolo has been given a whole new meaning as Zigi, the Ghanaian singer who is also known for starting the Kupe craze, named his brand new dance after the game. Coming up with the dance move whilst practicing for a video, Zigi explains:

“I rushed to my brother, showed him the steps and he asked me to add more energy to it.

I did more research, watched more dance videos, so I wouldn’t come up with an already existing dance, then went ahead to shoot the dance video, ending it with my new step.”

Performed by Janet Jackson in her set of “Made of Now” on Jimmy Fallon’s The Tonight Show, Zigi’s well researched new move is now another global dance sensation stemming from the continent.

Kpakujemu (Nigeria, 2018)

Olamide has popularised many dance moves in his time. From Shakiti Bobo to the Shaku Shaku right down to 2018’s Kpakujemu, Olamide knows just the right moves to hit the scene with, and just the right grooves to get us dancing. Launched by the winners of Olamide’s “Wo” challenge (which brought about the Shaku Shaku), with a collaborative single, featuring Lyta, Terri and Barry Jhay, and Olamide himself, “Kpakujemu” is the Westside Lifestyle dance crew’s debut single and the first formal introduction we got to the move. Earliest sightings of the Kpakujemu, however trace back to one of Olamide’s visit to Cool FM where he shows OAPs Kemi Smallz and Do2dtun how the newest move in town is done to the tune of his fresh single “Motigbana”. Though, surprisingly, the song “Kpakujemu” song didn’t air with a music video, he dance has caught on and is still a fave amongst dancers and music influencers alike.

Dances by Iffy Atuche

Written by Debola Abimbolu, Adewojumi Aderemi, Dennis Ade-Peter and Tami Makinde

Read online “Steppe wolf. Siddhartha. Journey to the land of the East”, Hermann Hesse – LitRes, page 5

With these words, I got up, said goodbye to Goethe and the professor, tore off my things from the hanger and ran away. The malevolent wolf howled loudly in my soul, a great scandal was played out between the two Harrys. After all, this unpleasant evening hour had for me, it immediately became clear to me, much more important than for the indignant professor; for him it was a disappointment, an unfortunate episode, but for me it was the last failure and flight, farewell to the petty-bourgeois, moral, scientific world, the complete victory of the steppe wolf. And I said goodbye to them like a fugitive, like a vanquished, admitting myself bankrupt, saying goodbye without any consolation, without a sense of superiority, without humor. With my former world and with my former homeland, with bourgeoisness, morality, learning, I said goodbye in exactly the same way as a person with a stomach ulcer says goodbye to fried pork. In a rage I ran under the lanterns, in a rage and mortal anguish. What a joyless, shameful, evil day it was, from morning to evening, from the cemetery to the stage in the professor's house! What for? Why? Does it make sense to burden yourself with other such days, to clear up the same mess again? Not! And tonight I will end this comedy. Go home, Harry, and cut your throat! Stop procrastinating.

I rushed through the streets, driven by misfortune. Of course, it was stupidity on my part to spit on fine people the decoration of their salon, stupidity and impoliteness, but I could not do otherwise, I could no longer put up with this tamed, deceitful, decent life. And since I, too, seemed to be unable to put up with loneliness any longer, since my own society was completely fed up with me, since I struggled and suffocated in the airless space of my hell, what else was there for me? There was none. O mother and father, O distant sacred fire of my youth, O thousands of joys, labors and goals of my life! I had nothing left of all this, not even remorse, only disgust and pain remained. Never before, it seemed to me, did the very need to live cause such pain as at this hour.

I rested in some dreary tavern behind the outpost, drank water with cognac there, and again ran further, driven by the devil, up and down the steep and crooked streets of the old city, along the alleys, through the station square. "Leave!" I thought, entered the station, stared at the schedules hanging on the walls, drank some wine, tried to collect my thoughts. Closer and clearer I now saw the ghost that frightened me. It was a return home to my room, it was a need to come to terms with despair! You can't get away from her, no matter how many hours you run, you can't get away from returning to my door, to the table with books, to the sofa with a portrait of my beloved above it, you can't get away from the moment when you have to open a razor and cut your throat. More and more clearly this picture arose before me, and more and more clearly, with a wildly pounding heart, I felt the greatest fear in the world - the fear of death! Yes, I had an incredible fear of death. Although I saw no other way out, although disgust, suffering and despair squeezed me from all sides, although nothing could lure me, bring me hope and joy, I experienced unspeakable horror before the execution, before the last moment, before the obligation to coldly slash at own flesh!

I didn't see a way to get away from what I was afraid of. Even if cowardice wins today in the struggle between despair and cowardice, still tomorrow and every day despair will again stand before me, and even aggravated by my contempt for myself. So I will again grab the razor and throw it away again, until at last it is done. It's better today! I persuaded myself, like a child, with reasonable arguments, but the child did not listen, he ran away, he wanted to live. Again I was jerkily carried around the city, I went around my apartment in sweeping circles, constantly thinking about returning and constantly postponing it. From time to time I lingered in the taverns, now for one drink, then for two glasses, and then I was again carried around the city, sweeping around my target, around the razor, around death. Sometimes, deadly tired, I sat down on a bench, on the edge of a fountain, on a pedestal, heard my heart beating, wiped the sweat off my forehead, ran again, in mortal fear, in a lingering longing for life.

So, late at night, I was brought to a remote, unfamiliar suburb, to a restaurant, outside of which dance music was raging. Passing through the gateway, I read the old sign above it: "The Black Eagle." Night life was going on in the restaurant - noise, crowd, smoke, wine vapors and screams, dancing in the back hall, and the music was raging there. I stayed in the front hall, where there were entirely simple, partly poorly dressed people, while in the back, the ballroom, very elegant guests appeared. The hustle pushed me back into the hall, to a table near the sideboard, where a beautiful pale girl in a thin, low-cut ball gown was sitting on a bench against the wall, with a withered flower in her hair. Seeing that I was approaching, the girl looked attentively and friendly at me and, smiling, moved to make room for me.

- May I? I asked and sat down next to her.

“Of course you can,” she said, “who are you?

"Thank you," I said, "I can't go home, I can't, I can't, I want to stay here by your side, if you'll let me." No, I can't go home.

She nodded her head as if in understanding, and when she nodded, I looked at the curl that fell from her forehead to her ear, and I saw that the withered flower was a camellia. Music blared from another room, and waitresses hurriedly shouted their orders at the buffet.

"Stay here," she said in a voice that worked well for me. Why can't you go home?

- I can't. Waiting for me at home ... no, I can’t, it’s too scary.

- Then take your time and stay here. Just wipe your glasses first, you can't see anything. So, give me your handkerchief. What will we drink? Burgundy?

She wiped my glasses; now only I could clearly see her pale, sharply defined face with a made-up, scarlet mouth, with light, gray eyes, with a smooth, cold forehead, with a short, tight curl near her ear. She kindly and slightly mockingly began to patronize me, ordered wine, clinked glasses with me and at the same time looked down at my shoes.

- God, where did you come from? You look like you came from Paris on foot. In this form, they do not come to the ball.

I answered evasively, laughed a little, let her do the talking. I liked her very much, and this surprised me, because I had avoided such young girls until now and looked at them with some distrust. And she behaved with me exactly as I needed at that moment - oh, she always understood later how to behave with me. She treated me as carefully as I needed it, and as mockingly as I needed it. She ordered a sandwich and told me to eat it. She poured me some wine and ordered me to drink, but not too fast. Then she praised me for my obedience.

“You're doing great,” she said encouragingly, “it's easy with you. Bet you haven't had to listen to anyone in a long time?

- Yes, you won the bet. But how do you know this?

- No wonder. Obedience is like eating and drinking: whoever has not eaten or drunk for a long time, food and drink are dearer to him than anything in the world. You like listening to me, don't you?

- I like it very much. You all know.

- It's easy with you. Perhaps, my friend, I could tell you what awaits you at home and what you are so afraid of. But you yourself know this, we don’t need to talk about it, right? Nonsense! Either you hang yourself - well, hang yourself, then you have reasons for it - or you live on, and then you only need to worry about life. Easy peasy.

“Oh,” I exclaimed, “if it were that easy! I swear I cared enough about life, and it's all to no avail. Hanging yourself might be hard, I don't know. But to live where, much more difficult! God knows how difficult it is!

- Well, you will see that it is very easy. We have already made the beginning, you wiped your glasses, ate, drank. Now we'll go and clean your trousers and shoes a little, they need it. And then you shimmy with me.

“You see,” I exclaimed excitedly, “I was right after all! More than anything, I regret not following any of your orders. And I can't do this one. I can't shimmy or waltz or polka or whatever they call it, I've never learned to dance in my life. Now you see that not everything is as simple as it seems to you?

The beautiful girl smiled with her scarlet lips and shook her well-defined, boy-combed head. Looking at the stranger, I found that she looked like Rosa Kreisler, the first girl I once fell in love with as a boy, but she was swarthy and dark-haired. No, I did not know who the stranger reminded me of, I only knew that this memory belonged to a very early youth, to adolescence.

“Wait,” she exclaimed, “wait! So you can't dance? Can't you at all? Even onestep? And at the same time you claim that God knows how you cared about life? Yes, you lied. Ay-ay-ay, at your age it's time not to lie. How dare you say you cared about life when you don't even want to dance?

- What if I can't! I never learned this.

She laughed:

– But you learned to read and write, didn’t you, and to count, and probably also learned Latin and French and all that? I bet that you spent ten or twelve years at school, and then, perhaps, studied at the university and even, perhaps, are called a doctor and know Chinese or Spanish. Or not? Here you go. But you didn’t have the smallest amount of time and money for a few dance lessons! Oh you!

- It's because of my parents, - I justified myself, - they made me learn Latin and Greek and the like. But they didn’t tell me to learn to dance, it wasn’t customary for us, my parents themselves never danced.

She looked at me very coldly, with complete contempt, and something in her face again reminded me of my early youth.

- That's it, your parents are to blame! Did you ask them if you could go to the Black Eagle tonight? Asked? They've been dead for a long time, you say? Ah, that's it! If out of pure obedience you didn't learn to dance in your youth, well then! Although I don't think you were such a good boy then. But then - what did you do then, all these years?

“Oh, I don't know,” I admitted. - I was a student, played music, read books, wrote books, traveled ...

- You have strange ideas about life! You, then, have always been engaged in difficult and complex things, but you never learned the simple ones? Didn't have time? Was there no hunting? Well, thank God I'm not your mother. But then to pretend that you have tasted life and found nothing in it - no, this is no good!

- Do not swear! I asked. - I know I'm crazy.

- Come on, don't fool me! You are not crazy at all, Mr. Professor, for me, you are even too crazy! You, it seems to me, are somehow stupidly reasonable, quite like a professor. Eat another sandwich! Then tell more.

She got me a sandwich again, salted it, anointed it with mustard, cut off a piece for herself and told me to eat. I began to eat. I agreed to do whatever she ordered, but not to dance. It was incredibly pleasant to obey someone, to sit next to someone who questioned you, ordered you, scolded you. If a professor or his wife had done just that a few hours ago, I would have been spared a lot. But no, it's good that it happened, otherwise I would have lost a lot!

– What is your name, exactly? she asked suddenly.

- Harry.

– Harry? Boyish name! And you really are a boy, Harry, despite the gray hair. You are a boy and someone needs to look after you. I'll shut up about dancing. But how you are combed! Don't you have a wife, don't you have a sweetheart?

- I no longer have a wife, we parted ways. There is a beloved, but she does not live here, I rarely see her, we do not get along very well.

She whistled softly through her teeth.

- You seem to be a rather difficult gentleman if everyone leaves you. But tell me now, what's special happened tonight, why did you rush around on your own? Quarreled with someone? Lost money?

It was difficult to explain.

“You see,” I began, “everything happened, in general, because of a trifle. I was invited to one professor, I myself, by the way, am not a professor - but I, in fact, should not have gone there, I have lost the habit of sitting at a party and chatting, I have forgotten how to do it. Yes, and I already entered the house with the feeling that nothing good would come of it. As soon as I hung up my hat, I immediately thought that I would probably need it soon. Well, this professor, then, had such a picture on his desk, a stupid picture, and it pissed me off ...

– What is the picture? Why pissed off? she interrupted me.

- Well, a picture depicting Goethe - you know, the writer Goethe. But on it he was not the same as in reality - however, it is generally unknown for sure, he died a hundred years ago. It's just that some modern artist fitted Goethe to his idea of ​​him, and this picture angered me, seemed disgusting to me - I don't know if you understand this?

- Very understandable, don't worry. Farther!

- Even before that I did not agree with the professor; he, like almost all professors, is a great patriot and during the war he helped with might and main to lie to the people - from the bottom of his heart, of course. And I am against war. Anyway. So, further. I didn’t even need to look at this picture ...

- Indeed, it was not necessary.

- But, firstly, I felt sorry for Goethe, because I love him very, very much, and besides, I suddenly thought ... well, I thought or felt something like that, they say, I'm sitting at people whom I consider my own and whom I thought that they love Goethe as I do, and see him approximately the same as I see, and they have this vulgar, false, sugary picture, and they find it magnificent without even noticing that her spirit is the exact opposite of that of Goethe. They find it wonderful, and for me - let it be their business, but I no longer have any trust in these people, no friendship with them, no sense of kinship and community. However, friendship and so it was not God knows what. And then I got angry, sad, saw that I was all alone and no one understood me. Is that clear to you?

- What's wrong with that, Harry! And then? Did you hit them in the head with a picture?

– No, I said nasty things and ran away, I wanted to go home, but…

– But there wouldn’t be a mother there to console or scold the stupid boy. Well, Harry, I almost feel sorry for you, you're still just a child.

That's right, I agreed with that, I thought. She gave me a glass of wine to drink. She really treated me like a mother. But sometimes I saw how beautiful and young she was.

“So,” she began again, “this Goethe died a hundred years ago, and our Harry loves him very much and has a wonderful idea of ​​what he could look like, and Harry has a right to that, doesn’t he? And the artist, who is also in awe of Goethe and has some idea of ​​his own, has no such right, and neither does the professor, nor does anyone else, because Harry doesn’t like it, he can’t stand it, he can say nasty things and run away. If he were smarter, he would simply laugh at the artist and the professor. If he were crazy, he would have thrown their Goethe in their faces. And since he's just a little boy, he runs away home and wants to hang himself... I understand your story well, Harry. This is a funny story. She makes me laugh. Wait, don't drink so fast! Burgundy is drunk slowly, otherwise it throws you into a fever. But you have to say everything, little boy.

She looked at me sternly and instructively, like some sixty-year-old governess.

“Oh yes,” I asked, overjoyed, “tell me everything.

- What should I tell you?

- Anything you want.

- Okay, I'll tell you something. For an hour now you have been hearing me say "you" to you, and you yourself are still saying "you" to me. All Latin and Greek, everything would only be more complicated! If a girl says “you” to you and she doesn’t disgust you, you should also say “you” to her. Well, here's something you found out. And second, it's been half an hour since I know your name is Harry. I know this because I asked you. And you don't want to know my name.

– Oh no, I really want to.

- Late baby! When we meet again sometime, you can ask again. I won't tell you today. Well, now I want to dance.

She was getting ready to get up, and my mood suddenly deteriorated, I was afraid that she would go away and leave me alone, and then everything would immediately become the same. As the toothache that had subsided suddenly returns, burning with fire, my horror instantly returned to me. Lord, have I forgotten what awaits me? Has anything changed?

"Wait," I pleaded, "don't go... don't go!" Of course, you can dance all you want, but don't go away for long, come back, come back!

She stood up laughing. I imagined her taller, she was slim, but not tall. She reminded me of someone again—who? It remained a mystery.

- Will you come back?

- I'll be back, but maybe not so soon, in half an hour or even an hour. I'll tell you what: close your eyes and sleep; Do you need it.

I missed her and she left; her skirt touched my knees, as she walked she glanced into a tiny round pocket mirror, raised her eyebrows, powdered her chin with a tiny powder puff, and disappeared into the ballroom. I looked around: unfamiliar faces, smoking men, spilled beer on a marble table, shouting and screeching everywhere, dance music nearby. “I need to sleep,” she said. Oh, baby, if you knew that my sleep is more shy than a squirrel! Sleep in this bedlam, sitting at a table, among the clatter of beer mugs?! I took a sip of wine, took a cigar out of my pocket, looked for matches, but I didn’t really want to smoke, I put the cigar on the table in front of me. “Close your eyes,” she told me. God alone knows where this girl has such a voice, such a low, kind voice, a motherly voice. It was good to listen to her voice, I was convinced of this. I obediently closed my eyes, leaned my head against the wall, heard hundreds of loud sounds wash over me, chuckled at the thought of falling asleep here, decided to go to the door of the hall and look into it - after all, I needed to see how my beautiful girl,” he moved his feet under the chair, only now I felt how infinitely tired I was, having wandered through the streets for so many hours, and remained in place. And now I was already sleeping, obedient to my mother's command, I slept greedily and gratefully and had a dream, such a clear and such a beautiful dream, which I had not seen for a long time. I dreamed:

I sat and waited in an old-fashioned waiting room. At first I only knew that “His Excellency” had been informed about me, then it dawned on me that Herr von Goethe would receive me. Unfortunately, I came here not quite as a private person, but as a correspondent for a certain magazine, this really bothered me, and I could not understand why the hell I ended up in this position. Also, I was disturbed by a scorpion that had just been seen and was trying to climb up my leg. True, I resisted this black spider by shaking it off, but I did not know where it was hiding now, and did not dare to feel myself.

And I wasn't quite sure that I was mistakenly not reported to Goethe Mattisson, to whom, however, confusing him in a dream with Burger, I attributed the verses to Molly. However, I would very much like to meet Molly, I imagined her a wonderful woman, soft, musical, evening. If only I hadn't been sitting here on assignment from this damned newsroom! My dissatisfaction grew and gradually transferred to Goethe, who suddenly aroused in me all sorts of reproaches and objections. It would be a wonderful audience! And the scorpion, though dangerous, though it may have hid near me, was perhaps not so bad; he could, it seemed to me, also mean something pleasant, quite possibly, so it seemed to me, he had something to do with Molly, he was, as it were, her messenger or her heraldic beast, the marvelous, dangerous heraldic beast of femininity and sin. Perhaps the name of this beast was Vulpius? But then the servant opened the door, I got up and entered the room.

In front of me stood old Goethe, small and very prim, and on his classic chest there really was a thick order star. He seemed to still be in charge, still giving audiences, still ruling the world from his Weimar museum. For, as soon as he saw me, he jerkily shook his head like an old raven, and said solemnly:

“Well, young people, it seems you don’t really agree with us and our efforts?

“Quite right,” I said, and I was pierced by cold from his ministerial gaze. “We young people really do not agree with you, old man. You, for our taste, are too solemn, Your Excellency, too vain and arrogant, too insincere. This is perhaps the most important: too insincere.

The old man stuck out his stern head a little, his firm, officially pursed mouth, opening in a smile, became wonderfully alive, and my heart suddenly began to beat violently, I suddenly remembered the poem “Twilight descended from the sky ...” and that the words of this poem came out of this man, from these lips. In fact, at that very moment I was completely disarmed and defeated and ready to fall on my knees before him. But I kept my posture and heard from his grinning lips:

- So, then, you accuse me of insincerity? What a speech! Can you explain in more detail?

I wanted to explain myself, I really wanted to.

- You, Herr von Goethe, like all great minds, clearly understood and felt the dubiousness, hopelessness of human life - the magnificence of the moment and its pitiful withering, the impossibility of paying for the wonderful height of feeling otherwise than with the prison of everyday life, the burning longing for the kingdom of the spirit, which is eternal and fights to the death with an equally burning and equally sacred love for the lost innocence of nature, all this terrible tossing in emptiness and uncertainty, this doom to frailty, to eternal inferiority, to forever making only some amateurish attempts, in short speaking, all hopelessness, strangeness, all burning despair of human existence. You knew all this, sometimes even admitted it, and yet all your life you preached the exact opposite, expressed faith and optimism, pretended to yourself and to others that there was something solid, some meaning in our spiritual efforts. You rejected and repressed the proponents of depth, the voices of desperate truth - in yourself as well as in Beethoven and Kleist. For decades you pretended that the accumulation of knowledge, collections, writing and collecting letters, as if your whole Weimar old life was really a way to perpetuate the moment - and you only mummified it - really a way to spiritualize nature - and you only stylized it , only make-up. This is the insincerity of which we reproach you.

The old Privy Councilor looked into my eyes thoughtfully, a smile still playing on his lips.

Then he asked, to my surprise:

- In that case, Mozart's "Magic Flute" must be very disgusting to you?

And before I had a chance to retort decisively, he continued:

- The Magic Flute represents life as a sweet song, it praises our feelings - and yet they are transient - as something eternal and divine, it does not agree with the master von Kleist, nor with Mr. Beethoven, but preaches optimism and faith.

- I know, I know! I exclaimed angrily. “God, how did you come up with the Magic Flute, which I love more than anything in the world!” But Mozart did not live to be eighty-two years old, and in his personal life he did not lay claim to longevity, to an order of magnitude, to stiff dignity, like you! He didn't care so much! He sang his divine melodies, and was poor, and died early, unrecognized, in poverty...

I didn't have enough breath. Thousands of things needed to be said in ten words now, sweat broke out on my forehead.

But Goethe said very friendly:

- That I lived to be eighty-two years old, perhaps, is inexcusable. But it gave me less pleasure than you think. You are right: I have always longed for longevity, I have always feared death and struggled with it. I think that the struggle against death, the unconditional and stubborn will to live, is the root cause that prompted all outstanding people to act and live. But that in the end one has to die, this, my young friend, I proved in my eighty-two years as convincingly as if I had died as a schoolboy. In my defense, if it can serve them, I will say this: there was a lot of childishness in my nature, a lot of curiosity, a lot of willingness to play and waste time. That's why it took me quite a long time to understand that it was enough to play.

He said this with a very mischievous, even insolent smile. He became taller, stiffness in posture and pomposity in his face disappeared. And the air around us was now completely full of melodies, full of Goethe's songs, I clearly distinguished Mozart's Violet and Schubert's Again to the Valleys and Forests. And Goethe's face was now rosy and young and laughing, and he looked now like Mozart, now like Schubert, like a brother, and the star on his chest consisted entirely of meadow flowers, and in the middle of it a yellow primrose bloomed merrily and luxuriantly.

I didn't quite like the old man's joking dismissal of my questions and accusations, and I looked at him reproachfully. Then he leaned forward, brought his now childlike mouth close to my ear and whispered softly:

“My boy, you take old Goethe too seriously. Old people who have already died should not be taken seriously, otherwise you will treat them unfairly. We Immortals don't like things to be taken seriously, we like a joke. Seriousness, my boy, is an attribute of the times; it arises, I will reveal to you, from the overestimation of time. I, too, once valued time too highly, so I wanted to live to be a hundred years old. And in eternity, you see, there is no time; eternity is just a moment, which is just enough for a joke.

It was no longer possible to talk to him seriously and really, he danced merrily and deftly, and the primrose in his star either flew out of it like a rocket, then decreased and disappeared. When he shone with his steps and figures, I involuntarily thought that this man at least did not miss the opportunity to learn to dance. He did it wonderfully. Then I again remembered the scorpion, or rather Molly, and called out to Goethe:

- Tell me, is Molly not here?

Goethe burst out laughing. He went up to his desk, unlocked one of the drawers, took out some expensive leather or velvet box, opened it and held it up to my eyes. There, shimmering on the dark velvet, lay a tiny woman's leg, a flawless, delightful leg, slightly bent at the knee, with a foot stretched downwards, pointed by the most elegant line of fingers.

I stretched out my hand to take this leg, which I already fell in love with, but when I wanted to grab it with two fingers, the toy seemed to recoil a little, and I suddenly had a suspicion that it was that scorpion. Goethe seemed to understand this, it even seemed that he wanted exactly this, this deep confusion, this convulsive struggle between desire and fear. He brought the charming scorpion to my very face, saw my attraction, saw me recoil in horror, and this seemed to give him great pleasure. Teasing me with his charming, dangerous little thing, he again became quite old, ancient, thousand years old, gray as a harrier, and his withered old face laughed softly, soundlessly, laughed sharply and mysteriously, with some kind of thoughtful senile humor.

When I woke up, I immediately forgot my dream, only later did it come back to me. I slept, apparently, for about an hour, among the music and crowds, at a restaurant table - I never thought that I was capable of this. My sweet girlfriend was standing in front of me with her hand on my shoulder.

“Give me two or three marks,” she said, “I ate something there.

I gave her my wallet, she left with it and returned soon after.

- Well, now I'll sit with you for a while, and then I'll have to leave, I have a date.

I was scared.

- With whom? I asked quickly.

- With one gentleman, little Harry. He invited me to the Odeon bar.

- Oh, I thought you wouldn't leave me alone.

- So he would invite me. But you got ahead of yourself. Well, you save money. Do you know the Odeon? After midnight only champagne. Easy chairs, Negro chapel, very elegant.

All this I did not take into account.

“Ah,” I said pleadingly, “then let me invite you! I thought that it goes without saying, because we became friends. Let me invite you anywhere. Please.

- That's very kind of you. But you know, a word is a word, I agreed, and I will go. Don't bother anymore!

- Better take another sip, we still have some wine left in the bottle. You will drink it and you will go rank by rank home and go to bed. Promise me.

- No, listen, I can't go home.

- Oh, those stories of yours! You still have not finished with this Goethe (here I remembered my dream). But if you really can't go home, stay here, they have rooms. Order for you?

I was delighted and asked where I could see her again. Where she lives? She didn't tell me that. All I need to do is look around a bit and I'll find it.

- Can't I invite you?

- Where to?

- Wherever you want and when you want.

- Good. On Tuesday we'll have dinner at the Old Franciscan, on the second floor. Goodbye!

She gave me her hand, and only now did I pay attention to this hand, which so suited her voice - beautiful and plump, smart and kind. She smiled derisively when I kissed her hand.

At the last moment, she turned to me again and said:

– I want to tell you something else – about Goethe. You see, the same thing that happened to you with Goethe, when you were blown up because of his portrait, happens to me sometimes with saints.

- With saints? Are you so devout?

- No, I'm not devout, unfortunately, but I used to be devout and someday I'll be again. After all, there is no time for piety.

– No time? Does this take time?

- Of course. Piety needs time, more than that, even independence from time is needed! You can't be seriously pious and live in reality at the same time, and even take it seriously too - time, money, the Odeon bar and all that.

- I understand. But what do you have with the saints?

- Yes, there are saints whom I especially love - Stephen, St. Francis and others. And sometimes I come across their images, as well as the Savior and the Mother of God, such false, false, stupid images that it makes me sick to look at them just like you look at that portrait of Goethe. When I see such a sugary, stupid Savior and see how others find such pictures beautiful and uplifting, I take it as an insult to the real Savior and I think: oh, why did He live and suffer so terribly, if such a stupid image of Him is enough for people ! But nevertheless, I know that my image of the Savior or Francis is just the image of some person and does not reach the prototype, that to the Savior himself my inner image of His would seem just as stupid and miserable as these sugary swatches. I am not telling you this to justify your annoyance and anger at that portrait, no, you are wrong here, I am saying this only to show you that I am able to understand you. After all, you, scientists and artists, are full of all sorts of unusual things in your heads, but you are people like the others, and we, the others, also have our own dreams and our games in our heads. I noticed, learned gentleman, that you were a little embarrassed, thinking about how to tell me your story with Goethe - you should have tried to make your lofty matters understandable to a simple girl. Well, I want to show you that there was no need to try especially hard. I do understand you. And now enough! You need to go to sleep.

#Hesse Instagram posts (photos and videos)

  • Hermann Hesse "Demian" You know, at the moment this is the only philosophical work I have read that I want to advise all people to read, starting from 16-18 years old The book is wonderful. Hesse was very good at explaining the constant synthesis of human maturation. It's short, but it's worth reading slowly. The story of growing up, the spiritual quest of a young man Sinclair, which reveals complex philosophical and psychological problems. A very interesting description of how he tries to understand himself; how goodness, innocence and diabolical debauchery fight in it. Unwittingly, I drew a parallel with myself, as I know all this. But it's hard to explain Here the formation of a personality takes place in a very rapidly changing world, and how the hero perceives all this, how he goes through this path, how he searches for his vocation. Of course, you will see how difficult it is to find yourself, how difficult it would seem to understand who you are, why you are in this world, what is your purpose and are you worthy of life in general?! "The true vocation of everyone consists in only one thing - to come to oneself." "People go, people run to each other, because they are afraid of each other .. And why are they afraid? Only those who do not have consent with themselves are afraid. They are afraid because they never recognized themselves." Do not be afraid to look into yourself, and such works will help you with this. #Hesse #Demian

  • The era of "feuilletons" and an ode to boredom. ⠀ ⠀ I rarely read, especially fiction, because of the foolish attitude that reading is a luxury that only those who have free time can afford. Therefore, those books that I nevertheless read cannot be called accidental, it was always a CHOICE in their favor. And I also don’t tend to re-read the same books: after all, there are still so many unread books in the world, you can’t waste time on what has already been in my experience. ⠀ ⠀ However, there are a few exceptional books. And one of them is The Glass Bead Game by Hermann Hesse. Once I took this novel in the library, I fell in love with it with every cell, feeling an incredible kinship of souls with its author and craving for this mysterious game all my life, since childhood. ⠀ ⠀ And now I was drawn again to re-read this book for the third time! And I can't resist. ⠀ ⠀ G. Hesse is a German writer who survived two world wars. During the first, Hesse became known as a "coward and a traitor" for speeches and anti-war articles. He ended up moving to Switzerland and renounced his German citizenship. Spring 19On the 15th he wrote in a letter to his friend: “Nationalism cannot be an ideal—this is especially clear now, when the moral foundations, the inner discipline, and the reason of the spiritual leaders, on both sides, have shown complete failure. I consider myself a patriot, but first of all I am a man, and when one thing does not coincide with the other, I always take the side of the man. During the First World War, Hesse had a nervous breakdown, as a result of which he turned to the clinic of K. Jung, where he became interested in psychoanalysis, which was reflected in his work. In Nazi Germany, Hesse's books were banned. ⠀ ⠀ During the Second World War, Hesse retired to Montagnola, becoming practically a hermit and devoting all his time to writing the book "The Glass Bead Game". The novel became for him both a way of escaping reality and a search for a solution to the spiritual conflict that has developed in the world. Hesse worked on the book for 11 years, and the novel was first published at the height of the war, at 1943. In 1946 the writer receives the Nobel Prize in Literature, and in 1955 the Peace Prize. ⠀ ⠀ Continued 👉👉👉 ⠀ ⠀ #dopamine #boredom #information #brain #hesse

  • How can I understand myself? I may be wrong, but for me the main thread in the work of Hermann Hesse is the idea of ​​bringing to harmony, to the ideal, some human activity, for example, the creation of a work of art. But the red thread of the works of Franz Kafka is the observance of the previously established order of things, which a person cannot change. But the idea of ​​my work, I see it, is a certain idea that I myself don’t understand exactly - this is my red thread. Although, it seems, I position my work as absurd, but I cannot explain in exact words what is absurd. The words with which the absurdity has already been described are not clear to me - they simply fall into the emptiness of my skull. I wonder how many people understand what they write about? It seems to me that more often they think they understand than they actually understand. Nat Vesenin P.S. And also, it seems to me, a woman who talks a lot - ten of her own for one word of mine - usually, she can’t say anything of value - water. #thoughts #books #kafka #hesse #water

  • 📖 More and more often it seemed to him that behind what he had hitherto called memories, there were other memories, as under the ancient painting on the wall, sometimes other, even older paintings, once written down, were hidden dormant. He wanted to remember something: the name of the city where he had spent a few days while traveling, or a friend's birthday, or something else, but while he was digging up and sorting out a small piece of the past like debris, he suddenly came to head is something completely different. He was suddenly blown by something, like the wind on a September morning or mist on an April day, he smelled a certain smell, felt a certain taste, experienced vague and fragile sensations - skin, eyes, heart - and gradually it became clear to him: a long time ago he was a day, blue and warm, or cold and gray, or some other - but it certainly was - and the essence of this day is contained in it, a dark memory remained in it forever. That spring or winter day, which he smelled and touched so clearly, Anselm could not find in his actual past, besides, there were no names and numbers, maybe it was in his student days, or maybe even in the cradle, but the smell was with him, and he felt that something was alive in him, which he did not know about and which he could not name and define. Sometimes it seemed to him that these memories stretched back beyond this life, into pre-existence, although he laughed at such things. Hermann Hesse. "Anselm". #from books #hesse #moments #moment #photo #photonature #nature #path #nature #naturephotography #naturelovers #phonephotography #fallcolors #fallseason #autumncolors

  • HESSE Recently with @bukvoezhka_knizhny_club we discussed Hesse's story "The Steppe Wolf". Nastya, @nastixc , thank you, thanks to you, I rediscovered this writer. At the institute, I read his novel "Siddhartha", the impression was good, but not very strong, from the category of "read and forgot." I tried the Glass Bead Game, but it didn’t work, it seemed too boring, maybe I’ll come back to this book. But the reading of Steppenwolf went very well and almost immediately after it I read Demian.

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