A selection of fragments taken from two texts by Karl Kraus: "In dieser grossen Zeit" (1914), and "Man frage nicht..." (1933), performed by the ventriloquist Alpar Fendo. These texts address Kraus's decision to respond to the advent of both world wars by means of silence, a silence which he nevertheless felt the need to “preserve from misinterpretation” by writing these two texts. The ventriloquist makes the paradox of this gesture visible, by speaking the texts, but without moving his lips. A live performance of this work was also produced for a 2011 solo exhibition at the GAK Kunstverein in Bremen.

This is an English translation of the German text:

In these great times...

In these great times, which I knew when they were this small, which will become small again...

In these great times, which we had better call fat times, and, truly, hard times as well...

In these serious times...

In these serious times, which, surprised by their own tragedy, are reaching for diversion and, catching themselves redhanded, are groping for words...

In these loud times...

In these times, you should not expect any words of my own from me.

None but these words, which barely manage to prevent silence from being misinterpreted.

In the realm of the poverty of imagination, that which is not thought must be done, but that which is only thought is unutterable.

Expect no words of my own from me.

Nor would I be able to say anything new, for in the room in which one writes there is such noise, and at this time one should not determine whether it comes from animals, children, or merely from mortars.

Those who now have nothing to say because actions are speaking continue to talk. Let him who has something to say come forward and be silent!

I cannot.

Man does not ask, what I do all day.
I remain mute;
And do not say why.
And silence makes the world tremble.
No word is adequate;
One speaks only in dreams
And we dream of a laughing sun.
The word passes,
Then shows itself to have been in vain.
The word has passed away while this world has awoken.

I cannot.

I see only the bogs in a landscape; and of its depths, only the surface; of a situation, I see only the appearance, and of it, I seize only a glimmer, of which I grasp only the outline.

And at times, a tone or simply its semblance suffices.

The surface sits and adheres to its roots.

The tooth of time is hollow.

The sun turns on itself.

I remain mute.

I remain mute.

I remain mute.