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Yes?

When are you back in Europe?

Late February, or early March?

Should I join you?

Do you want me to join you?

How awful of you to just keep laughing.

"Women have been murdered.

Many poor women.

I wanted to prevent more murders.

Then I realized that every woman remained silent,

was afraid of something.

Afterwards, I was standing with a group of people.

We saw three dogs racing towards us.

But only two of them were really fast.

They reached us soon. The third was...

a kind of bulldog.

And in that moment, it occurred to me...

Maybe it wasn't a person,

maybe this very dog had committed the murders."

Did the dog have a name?

Max.

INGEBORG BACHMANN JOURNEY INTO THE DESERT

Ingeborg Bachmann?

Thank you for coming.

Max Frisch.

Ever since I listened to "The Good God of Manhattan"

I knew I had to meet you.

I even listened to it twice.

The first time at home and then once again at the Hamburg radio station.

I was instantly intrigued.

A completely new voice.

The voice of a woman.

Don't people say it's not always the murderers

but sometimes the murdered ones who are guilty?

That's an Albanian saying.

And I remember another saying.

Everyone had the tendency to dissolve the natural bounds ,

only to find that they have nothing to hold on to in the world.

Men understand little about women.

That's why it's important for women to represent themselves.

Is it really that important to you?

Excuse me.

My friends recognized you immediately.

They would have loved to join us

to express their admiration for you.

I had trouble stopping them.

Thank you.

You seem to be a real star in Germany.

Yes, I am.

Do you live with a child?

No.

Do you want to have children?

No.

You seem to know very little about me.

That's surprising.

Considering all the talk and rumors about me.

Does that offend you?

On the contrary.

It's wonderful to meet a man who doesn't want anything from me.

I'm sure your actors are waiting for you.

Let them wait.

But you invited me to your premiere.

Sitting here with you is more important to me.

In Berlin you seemed well.

That's because you came to visit.

Then the fear and the attacks started again.

I was meaning to write that I won't be able to join you.

And then you wrote...

"Let's do everything.

To make it wonderful."

- Where are you going tomorrow? - Back to Germany.

Munich.

I'm going to Zurich.

I live in Zurich.

I know.

What else do you know about me?

That you wish to be liberated.

Liberated?

From the natural bounds.

Yes, you're right.

Because I'm afraid of petrification.

Do you know Apollinaire's "Le Pont Mirabeau"?

Under the Pont Mirabeau the Seine flows

With our loves

Must I recall...

- Again? - again

- Joy - Joy. ..

- Always used to follow - Always used to follow

... after pain

Let the night come, strike the hour

The days go past but I stay here

Stay.

I beg you, please stay.

You smoke too much.

We all smoke too much.

The men in my stories see women as the more intact being.

Which must be destroyed?

They destroy themselves. On the contrary.

Men try to protect women.

And you think they succeed?

My Lord!

My Lord!

My Lord!

Let him stay with me

A little bit longer

My Beloved!

One day

Two days

Eight days

Why did I quote Apollinaire of all people on our first evening?

The subsequent poem is called

"La Chanson du mal-aimé".

"The Song of the Poorly Loved".

Because you were in Paris.

Maybe you had just crossed a bridge.

I should have thrown myself off it.

I've noticed a few times that children are drawn to you.

There is a picture of me

with my father and my brother as a baby.

I'm holding my brother in my arms as if I were his mother.

How old were you then?

Fourteen.

How old is your brother now?

A bit younger than you.

You reminded me of him straight away.

So, we owe our trip to him?

We should go for a walk.

When the moon is full the desert begins to glow.

I'd rather stay here.

Yes?

Max Frisch .

Max Frisch. Do you remember me?

Yes.

In Paris you said that sometimes you come to Zurich for your readings.

Oh, I see But I...

I don't even write poetry anymore.

But it would be wonderful if you came.

Even without poems.

I think of you every day.

Yes.

Yes, unfortunately...

Even though I should be working.

The publishers are waiting for the manuscript.

Let them wait. I'm coming.

Yes?

Max Frisch.

How nice of you to call.

I already bought my train ticket.

I arrive tomorrow at 2 p.m.

Will you pick me up?

You were going to come today, Ingeborg.

I waited for you at the train station.

Oh dear, really?

I must have mixed up the days.

Yes, you did.

Should I not come anymore?

I could change my ticket.

No, you must come.

Otherwise, I can't write anymore.

Well, I'll be with you tomorrow.

Many of our listeners are downright addicted to your poetry.

They want to know why you stopped writing poems.

I have nothing against poems.

But you must understand that

it's possible to be against every aspect of it.

Against every metaphor,

every sound,

every compulsion to put words together.

Against this absolutely fortuitous manifestation of words and images.

It makes you want to smother it.

So that you can reassess what it's all about.

What it is.

What it should be.

So, you may go back to writing poetry again one day?

I still know very little about poetry.

But one thing I do know is suspicion.

Be suspicious of yourself.

Be suspicious of the words.

Be suspicious of the language.

Delve into this suspicion.

So that one day

maybe something new can arise.

It's all so neat.

Don't you ever write by hand?

Only my diary.

I often write by hand.

But then sometimes I can't read my own writing.

Come. Let's not talk about literature today.

Then what should we talk about?

Your smile.

You're beautiful.

- Do you like reading? - Yes.

And what are you reading?

"The Magician from Villa Fiorita".

La principessa ! A miracle!

Maestro, a surprise.

Finally, bambina !

I sent numerous telegrams, but you seemed to have vanished.

I missed you.

- I missed you, too. - It's impossible to live without you.

You have fallen in love...

Not as quickly as you can.

But I can tell.

And?

Who is it?

You don't know him.

- What does he want from you? - To marry me.

I'll challenge him to a duel.

Who is it?

A Swiss writer.

His latest play is being performed in Paris.

This philistine!

No, no, please...

He's no man for you.

He wants me to move to Zurich.

I'll prevent that.

If you get married at all, it will be to me.

Let's forget about it.

But let's get to work first.

I've completed the first act.

I hope he doesn't hinder your work.

I bet he's one of those men who always wants his wife in the kitchen.

You're misjudging him.

Writing the music is long overdue. But I can't do it without you.

And you're bailing on me for this wannabe Don Juan.

Well, I'm here now.

Yes. I'm going to lock you up.

So you won't take off again right away.

Natalie

My girl

My bride

You wanted her to be called Nathalie , but somehow it doesn't sing well.

Let me show you with Nathalie.

Nathalie

- My girl - Yes.

- Natalie is better, right? - Yes, it's better.

In the Homburg theme,

the horn section is in B flat major

while the strings are in B flat minor.

Which gives it that sense of dissonance.

I kept the finale the way you wanted it.

The soldiers and court ladies support Homburg.

But the Elector doesn't budge an inch.

Take him away to Fehrbellin

To the headquarters

And towards the final chord...

Tonight, we celebrate the return of the principessa .

To the principessa !

- And to your new opus. - Our opus.

How do you divide the work between you?

This is not our first collaboration.

I've already set some of her poems to music.

But this time it's a special challenge.

For both of us.

- Did you choose Kleist? - It was a mutual decision.

- And why "Homburg"? - It has to do with our biography.

But it was Lucchino Visconti's idea.

Is he aware of the Nazi misappropriation?

Yes. That's why we chose this piece.

Ingeborg reassembled the text wonderfully.

She reduced the bellicose theme

and emphasized the romantic plot.

I don't know if you have noticed this about the play.

But there is no villain.

Not one character is capable of lowliness.

A dreamer who becomes his own master.

The prince is the first modern protagonist.

Without a fate.

Alone in a fragile world.

That's why he's so relatable to us.

Tonight, you have charmed yet another man.

Leave the other one in Switzerland. Stay here with us.

And promise me never to be unhappy again.

My beloved sleepwalker.

The picture is by Grete Stern.

It's titled "Who am I?".

She studied at the Bauhaus in Dessau.

In 1933 she had to flee Germany.

She first went to London, then to Buenos Aires.

That's where her book of 46 photomontages was published.

It's called "Sueños", dreams.

Sugar?

Can you imagine living with me?

Yes, I can imagine that.

You would move to Zurich?

You'll make me unhappy.

But I'll take that risk.

And what about the risk that you'll make me unhappy?

You'll never be unhappy with me.

Never.

"And the daylight grew thinner and thinner,

a transparent veil in front of the empty cosmos.

But the sun was still shining,

and the over-large moon, the same color as the sandhills,

touched by the last rays of the sun,

appeared out of a violet dusk with no haze.

We drove as fast as our jeep would go

and at the same time not without the solemn knowledge

that our eyes were absolutely the only ones to be seeing all this.

Without them,

without our mortal human eyes

traveling through the desert,

there was no sun.

Only a vast sum of blind energy,

without them no moon,

without them no earth,

no world at all,

no consciousness of creation.

We were filled, I remember,

with a solemn exuberance.

Soon afterwards our back tire burst.

I will never forget the desert."

I've never been to the desert.

I'll take you there.

I want you to bury me.

I want you

to bury me like a mummy.

I want to feel what it feels like to be a mummy.

Hello.

I'd like to see Ms. Bachmann.

Apartment number 12, first floor.

Yes.

Adolf Opel. You invited me.

Have a seat.

Have some tea? Or don't you like tea?

Tea is perfect. Thank you, ma'am.

Ma'am? Goodness...

That sounds awful.

Thank you, I don't smoke, ma'am.

In Vienna I was told that you're a guest of the Ford Foundation

and the only serious woman poet in Germany.

Yes, I am.

But I can't be the only reason why you traveled here from Vienna.

No, I'm doing some research for a film here.

- And do you write, too? - Yes.

I'm a playwright.

How do you like Berlin?

Every day is so gray in Berlin.

You can't sleep here, and you can't get up.

No, I can't like Berlin.

- And Vienna? - Neither.

Is there a city where you could feel at home?

Rome.

Rome before the catastrophe that ruined me.

I have been driven out of that city.

Yes, driven out.

I'm still here.

Oh...

Would you come back tomorrow at the same time?

Gladly.

- How long will you stay in Berlin? - Just a few days.

Next week I'm going to Prague.

Really?

My texts were just translated into Czech there.

Yes, I know.

There will also be a reading.

Oh, really?

I didn't know that.

I'm going to attend it.

Thank you.

Afterwards I'm going to Egypt

and to the desert.

The desert...

Do you know the movie "Lawrence of Arabia"?

- Starring Omar Sharif? - Yes.

Why don't you come to the desert with me?

Forgive me for this absurd question.

I'll come with you.

Would you really come to the desert with me?

Why does that surprise you?

Come and sit with me again.

It's very difficult to explain Mexico's complicated history in just 150 pages.

But the publisher won't give me more space.

I suggest that you write the way you intended.

He may like it so much that he will accept your entire text.

You think so?

That's how a Viennese author would do it.

- Do you have a light? - No, I don't.

Forgive me.

I'm sorry.

I thought I was going to die.

There you are.

Is there still no espresso?

Well, nobody here asks for it, ma'am.

If this were a cappuccino at least...

No, let it be.

I'll have to get used to it.

I'll have to get used to many things.

Well, yes...

I guess so, ma'am.

Has my good girl done the dishes?

You could have done it, too.

Why me?

You got up before me.

- I need to work in the morning. - And I don't?

It doesn't really seem like it since you've been here.

Because your Kalashnikov is driving me insane.

They haven't invented silent typewriters yet.

I'll go see a friend this afternoon.

Then my girl can work in peace and quiet.

I can't do it on command.

Is the principessa a bit upset?

What can I do to cheer her up?

Vanish into thin air?

Wonderful. I'm glad.

Thank you.

Did you get some work done?

I had trouble finding the right words.

I don't quite believe it.

Because you're not too particular about them.

What do you mean by that?

You're more carefree.

And you're less carefree?

Yes.

On the phone, you didn't sound like it.

Would you like to read me your text?

Aren't you hot?

The heat is killing me.

I think it's wonderful.

This danger...

I think I'm going to get well here.

And I'm getting a sunburn.

Is that why you wanted to come with me?

To forget?

After the separation I was very sick.

So I was told.

That's why I was surprised when you asked me to see you.

Maybe I felt that you could be my savior.

Right now, you're the one saving me.

Sometimes I love my misery.

It's like a distinction,

as if I were a martyr

who comes closer to God in this way.

And I don't even believe in a god.

What about "The Good God of Manhattan?".

Leave him out of it.

"When, in my radio play, 'The Good God of Manhattan'

all questions come down to the love between man and woman

and what it is, what course it takes,

and how little or how much it can be,

one might say:

But that is a borderline case.

A borderline case is embedded in each and every situation,

however, even in the most commonplace one of love,

one that we can detect upon closer scrutiny

and one that we should perhaps always endeavor to detect.

For in everything that we do, think, and feel

we would sometimes prefer to go to extremes.

Within us, a wish stirs to transcend the boundaries that have been set.

In the interplay of the impossible and the possible, we expand our possibilities.

Who, if not those among you who have met with a grave misfortune,

could better testify that our power reaches farther than our affliction,

that a person deprived of many things is capable of pulling himself up again,

that it is possible to exist in disillusionment,

that is to say without illusion.

I believe that human beings are permitted one sort of pride,

the pride of one who does not give up in the dark imprisonment of the world

and never ceases."

Mr. Frisch.

We're very honored by your presence at this award.

Had we known, we would have introduced you to the audience.

And how?

I would have said your name.

- The audience knows you. - Even though I don't write radio plays?

Gladly.

I have to catch the train. Pleasure meeting you.

- Bye. Safe travels. - Safe travels.

- Who was that? - An editor from Bavarian Broadcasting.

Why didn't you introduce me?

He just wanted to fix a date for Munich.

Is he one of your lovers?

He wants me to present my radio play in Munich

and to do a long interview.

- It won't stop at that. - Max, enough!

- There she is. - Thank you, Ms. Bachmann.

- Wonderful. Just wonderful. - My compliments.

- Congratulations. - What a great radio play!

Your voice Ms. Bachmann, your beautiful voice.

Your speech really was very good.

Were you even listening?

Of course.

You were taking notes the whole time.

I had an idea for a new novel.

Featuring blind people?

No, just one blind man who isn't really blind.

He only pretends to be blind.

And why?

So he can discover the truth.

About himself or others?

In your speech you said: "Truth is within human reach".

So you were listening after all.

"I will write a book that contains

what defines my life ."

- Thank you. - You have beautiful hair.

How are you?

- You have beautiful hair. - I don't speak Arabic.

- I'm Ahmed. - My name is Essam.

- And yours? - And yours?

My name is Essam.

- His name is... - Ahmed. And yours?

- My name is Ingeborg. - Ingeborg.

What are you writing?

- I'm writing. - Are you writing a book?

- Alright, take care. - Good evening.

- Good-bye. - Good-bye.

Do you like them?

I like young men.

Me too.

I've always wanted to sleep with several men.

I've never told anyone.

And what about women?

No.

Only men.

And only as young and beautiful as them.

Inge, I'm back!

Hi.

Who sent you the flowers?

They arrived yesterday without a name.

Who sent them?

I thought maybe they were from you for me.

No, they're not.

So, who sent them?

I don't know.

You're lying.

Tell me who.

Tell me right now.

No man sends red roses without wanting something in return.

I got them for you.

I wanted to make you happy.

And one more thing.

Do you notice anything?

I bought it, thinking you would like it.

Don't change the subject.

Tell me the truth.

Instead of buying flowers you should have cooked a decent meal.

I would really like to ride a camel.

It isn't hard to ride one.

But it's easy to fall off when it stands up.

I'd still like to try.

What about your dizziness?

That's gone.

- How does it feel? - Wonderful.

I wish I could join the caravan.

Like Lady Jane Ellenborough.

Yes.

All that's missing is the right sheikh.

How about Omar Sharif as sheikh?

Divine.

I never knew that one finger could make so much noise.

- We need to talk. - Not now.

Yes, now.

I had a sleepless night thinking about it.

I'm sorry to hear that, but please let me work now.

Can't you stop typing for once?

I'd like us to move to Rome together.

I can't bear it here any longer.

You mean you can't bear me anymore.

No, Zurich.

My typewriter will be just as noisy in Rome.

Yes, but that's my city. People there are much friendlier too.

I could go ahead and start to look for a flat.

Maybe in my old quarter in Via Giulia.

What have I done wrong?

Not you...

I did something wrong.

I didn't think that...

Yes, what?

- I can't write. - And that's my fault?

Yes, maybe.

Why don't you look for a study in Zurich?

Where you can work undisturbed.

And I don't need to feel guilty.

A friend of mine has rooms to rent.

I'll take care of it tomorrow.

You'll get your driving license, and I'll gift you a car.

Would that please my lady?

See how beautiful Switzerland can be.

I could never move away from here.

It's like the beginning of the world.

Starting all over again...

That would be nice.

There is nothing more beautiful under the sun than to be under the sun

You know my poems?

I know all of your poems.

More beautiful than the remarkable moon and her noble light

More beautiful than the stars, the famous medals of the night

More beautiful than the fiery entrance of a comet

And having a more beautiful mission than all the other celestial bodies

For every day your life and mine depend on it

That is the sun

Welcome, Ms. Bachmann.

Are you here to meet Maestro Ungaretti?

- Yes. - This way, please.

He's right there in the back.

Thank you.

It's always a great pleasure to meet you.

Welcome back to our city.

Thank you for coming, Maestro.

I still have a few questions regarding the translation.

- I'm at your disposal. - Thank you.

My German friends tell me

that your translation of my poetry is exceptional.

You're bestowing a great gift upon me.

I don't know how to thank you.

I have to thank you for your trust.

I have complete trust in you.

It's a shame that I don't understand any German.

I would love to make your poems known in Italy.

Thank you.

Only those who have the gift of poetry

can translate a poet.

Yes.

Roma non risponde.

You have returned

after being away for four years.

What is it about Rome?

What does Rome mean to you?

Maybe I can explain it with an image.

It is said that Bernini

gave the colonnades of St. Peter's

the outline of two arms

that embrace mankind.

In other big cities in Europe or America

it's easy to grow lonely.

What's fascinating about this city is that,

at least for me,

Rome is a city

that can make you feel at home, spiritually.

It's one of the last few places

where you can feel embraced.

Excuse me.

I'm just giving an interview.

I'll quickly finish it.

Rome is an open city,

just like its colonnades.

It exerts a certain power

by way of the intertwined images of times gone by.

Maybe that's where the message lies,

the message of a city that's also utopian.

The effect of Rome arises not only from what exists,

but also from the possibilities

contained in its multi-layered existence.

Well...

- Goodbye. - Thank you again, Ms. Bachmann.

Why didn't you call?

I did.

For days.

The answer was always: "Roma non risponde ".

"Roma non risponde ."

I was worried about you.

Why should you be worried?

I'm finally back in my city.

That must be Ungaretti.

Good morning, Maestro.

How nice to hear from you.

For dinner? Yes, I'd love to.

See you tomorrow.

Can I help you?

Certainly not.

I want to surprise you.

Welcome.

You're going to like Rome.

Darn it!

That's a mean ruse.

I learnt it from my father.

Marry me.

Your father would be pleased.

Look at me.

Marry me.

But you turned down his proposal.

Why?

Marriage is an impossible institution for a working woman,

a thinking woman, a self-determined woman.

Did he understand?

He should have been happy to hear it.

He had been married once before.

And he broke free from fear of petrification, as he put it.

You share that fear?

I've always known that I'm against marriage.

Even as a child.

Against any legal relationship.

That doesn't mean that non-legalized relationships

can't end just as tragically and terribly.

I've thought a lot about fascism.

And how it begins.

It starts in the relationships between people.

Fascism is the first element

in the relationship between a man and a woman.

In this society there is always war.

How handsome.

I feel like in a costume.

- How about an elegant tie? - Certainly, take your pick.

These could match. What do you think?

- Yes. - Let's try it on.

What elegance.

What an extraordinary man, right?

Yes.

- Do you want to try? - Yes.

- You're turning me into a dandy. - It looks just wonderful.

- I'll get changed again. - Leave it on.

We'll go to our café.

And you'll blend right in.

Allow me, please.

There you go.

What a handsome man.

- Good evening, Ms. Bachmann. - Good evening.

Nice to see you again.

Hello.

- Good evening. - I didn't know you were in Rome.

I had a reading at the Goethe Institute.

What a pity. I'd have liked to come.

I had no idea you were back. I'd have invited you.

How long are you staying?

I have to return to Berlin tomorrow.

I don't want to keep you.

- See you soon. - Yes.

He's a member of Group 47.

You never join me for their events.

As your appendage? No, thank you.

- The usual? Two whiskeys? - Yes.

Certainly.

You look like a real Italian in this suit.

I'll end up having to dance as well.

Yes, that's a good idea.

Let's dance.

So everyone can admire you?

Isn't it true

that you're acting like a star?

Two glasses of whiskey.

There you go. Cheers!

Goddammit!

Oh, crap!

I believe that all people in all relationships talk past one another.

All of us are essentially alone with our untranslatable thoughts and feelings.

I was his object of study.

I always told you he's a monster.

Do you think he had that in mind right from the start?

All those declarations of love just to keep me happy and quiet?

He had never met a woman like you.

You threw him off course.

He needs reality.

He needs a prey.

You're his prey.

- You must save yourself. - I can't do it.

And then follow a disciplined work schedule.

- I want him to accept his wrongdoing. - He won't.

Why not?

You're a mystery to him.

Maybe he believes he can comprehend you through writing.

Ingeborg, I can't find my diary.

I burnt it.

You did what?

I burnt your diary.

You have no right to write about me.

But you're part of my life.

A writer lives on language.

And not on the lives of others.

And especially not that of the woman he's with.

And I don't appear in any of your stories?

I write about men.

But they are metaphors, reflections of myself.

Because you live a lie.

But I rely on the truth.

- We had a pact. - What pact?

A pact that has nothing to do with being faithful in the usual sense.

A pact that is about trust. And you betrayed it.

It's a betrayal of trust, of confidence, of secrets.

Betrayal...

A big word coming from you. With all of your secrets.

There is only the one secret between two people who get together.

That is the pact.

I would never use you

for my work.

You knew from the start that we're different people.

I didn't know that you're a vampire.

What are you trying to say?

- That I'm sucking you dry? - Yes, you're sucking me dry.

And you're exhibiting me like a prostitute in a shop window.

Like a whore that is put in a shop window.

"The day will come, but no one will strike a gong to announce it.

No, the day will not come, it was already there,

contained in all the days of this year,

which he has survived with difficulty and out of necessity.

He is actively concerned with what lies ahead,

thinks about work and hopes

soon to be able to go out through the gate down below,

away from the victims of accidents, the infirm and moribund.

I say unto thee:

Rise up and walk!

None of your bones is broken."

Why don't you write poetry anymore?

I stopped writing poetry

when I started to suspect

that I was capable of writing poetry.

So, a Nobel Prize winner

should stop writing prose?

Because the prize is proof of the writer's capability.

Or Max Frisch should stop writing plays.

Yes, you're right.

It would be a shame if he stopped doing that.

Yes, London.

No, I'm flying.

I don't know yet when I'll be back.

Yes, sure.

Yes, you too.

Thank you, yes.

Bye-bye.

Why can't you say that we're flying together?

Because it's nobody's business.

I'm proud that you're joining me for the premiere.

And I'm proud when we're seen together.

And I'm proud to accompany you when you're celebrated.

Why do you have to make a secret out of everything?

To keep you curious about me.

Ingeborg.

I brought company.

I took my revenge.

On all the petty bourgeois men I sacrificed myself for.

- Hi. - Hi.

How lovely of you to come.

Thank you.

- For you. - Thank you for the kind invitation.

- There you go. - Thank you.

All that's missing is the host.

Max?

Are you coming? Our guests are here.

- What are we drinking to? - This uniquely beautiful city?

- Yes. - To Rome!

- Chin-chin! - Chin-chin!

So, the stage is the absolute place?

Ah, you're referring to my article.

The "FAZ" had asked me

to write about my artistic intentions.

I guess the title was a bit overblown.

After all, I've only written three small plays and staged two of them.

So far, German post-war authors have not accomplished much.

I disagree. What about "The Man Outside"?

Ugh, the sentimental attitude of suffering is simply unbearable.

Look who's talking.

Please don't argue.

Please tell us how Rome makes you feel?

How is it at Villa Massimo? Not too strict?

It's terribly strict.

Like a monastery.

Lady visitors are allowed only until 10 p.m.

And where are you staying?

In a small guesthouse on an alley off Via di Ripetta.

At least you can work there undisturbed.

That's nice.

And that's why I usually go for a walk alone.

Max is an excellent cicerone .

He could give you a tour.

As an architect he sees the city with completely different eyes.

While my Ingeborg can show you all the secret and hidden spots.

She's an expert on secrecy.

You could show her Ostia Antica.

Ingeborg likes it when I leave the house.

- Then she can work in peace. - I completely understand.

That's why I like Villa Massimo.

No noise, and yet you're right in the city.

And if you want to be around people, there's the Piazza del Popolo.

- Yes. - Yes, with the Bolognese restaurant.

It used to be my favorite.

Much too chic and expensive for me.

I'll take you there.

Thank you.

Excuse me please.

- Thank you. - It was wonderful.

What a lovely surprise.

How is your Italian coming along?

- Any progress? - Oh, yes. But...

I still can't read Ungaretti.

My translations will be published soon. I'll gift you a copy.

Have you also translated Montale?

No, Ungaretti was an exception. A special request from the publisher.

A moment, please.

Max Frisch asked me to visit him in Rome.

I think he feels lonely without you.

That's because he still hasn't learnt any Italian.

There are very few German-speaking Italians.

- And the sun's not always out. - I agree, Rome can be very cold.

- Would you, please? - Yes.

- A wonderful reading. - Go.

Go to Rome, Marlene. I'll feel less guilty then.

An autograph, please, Ms. Bachmann.

- Please sign my copy. - Thank you.

You have literally pushed that young woman into his arms.

I was sure that his love for me is stronger.

It was

absolute madness to think that two writers could stand being together.

It was a gamble.

It could also have worked out.

Are you enjoying this as much as I am?

How do you mean?

Well, this is your countryside, which you never wanted to leave.

I never wanted to leave you either.

And now you do?

Yes.

I haven't been able to write since you burnt my diary.

But I can hear you writing.

Sure...

All I do is switch one word for another.

That's normal.

Maybe for you.

But not for me.

- And you think that without me... - Yes, without your rigor.

Your obsession with perfection.

Before I knew you I said whatever came to mind.

Now I first have to think what I can say

and what I can't.

Whether it will offend you.

Whether it will make you sad. Whether...

Whether you'll despise me.

I can no longer obey you.

This separation was the biggest defeat of my life.

It was the longest agony.

Week after week.

And I really don't know why.

Maybe for once in my life

I wanted to start something steady, something normal.

Against my own possible ways of living.

And I kept insisting on it.

Even though I could clearly sense

that it's against my own principle.

Or my destiny.

I don't know

how to express it.

The fact that I can

think of a future at all, a new life,

I owe that entirely to you.

You came back.

I'm on my way to the airport.

Where are you going?

To New York.

By yourself?

Who sent the flowers?

A friend from Vienna.

That's a relief. Then you're not alone.

You're my murderer.

Don't people say it's not always the murderers

but sometimes the murdered ones who are guilty?

"My dearest Hans.

I never would have thought everything would end so badly for me.

I knew that there would be pain.

But not a total, almost fatal breakdown.

I can't imagine anything more terrible than what I've gone through.

I must get out of here.

Even if it's just for a few days.

And I want to spend a happy time with you."

Nothing on earth can humiliate us

as long as we always remember what we were born to do.

We are here to be creative.

Everything else is unimportant.

He never would have been able to humiliate you,

had you ignored him for the sake of your own artistic existence.

But to have loved a swine is no disgrace either.

The soul has a dwelling

that nobody should be allowed to enter.

And that is work.

It makes daylight less dreadful and the dark of night less terrifying.

I know that you're finally awakening now.

And that you will leave the old sentimentalities behind.

Shall we go for a last stroll through the night?

Yes.

My desert, my only one, my gentle limbo, my salvation.

Subtitles by Guelcin Koerpe