Rolf is an ardent absurdist. He loves it although he won't let on, he won't prosthelytize about it. When talking with Rolf, especially of more serious matters, tragedy even, he will likely raise his eyebrows ironically. Just so you know that's not him lacking generosity, it's Rolf saying to himself 'aah the absurdity of it all’. It is actually empathic, an expression of Rolf's empathy. Rolf says that his dream life is more real to him than his waking life and maybe that's part of the reason that he is an absurdist. He loves surrealism too. Dali. Magritte. The Dada movement. Bauhaus. I don't know if you have heard the interview with Richard Huelsenbeck on the origins of Dadaism, Rolf put me onto it, it's fantastic. Philosophical, intellectual, impenetrable, avant-garde verbiage, high art, wild musings, the only viable, the only sensible response to our insane world, to our world that is becoming increasingly insane. Rolf listens to Erik Satie and his heart weeps for it all, his heart absurdly weeps. Some would say that Rolf is a bit of a tosser, mainly on account of his dress sense. He wears a Bowler hat, black or grey suits and likes to walk with a cane. His bearing is thin and angular and he has a sharp, chiselled jaw. So now you know Rolf, just a little bit. Hopefully enough for you to make some sense of his story.
Philippe Halsman - Dali Atomicus - from Wikicommons
Story
On his way out into the world each morning Rolf walks through a park at the bottom of his street. It is a lovely park with well tended garden beds, flowers. A wide and generous path runs diagonally across the park and some large Eucalypts stand at one end. Everyday as Rolf walks through the park a small bird, a sparrow like bird except with a longer beak and large black marble eyes swoops down to greet him. I have tried to identify the species but alas, I cannot. I myself have never seen such a bird as he describes. Anyway every morning as Rolf makes his way through the park this little sparrow like bird flies down from the lower branches of the Eucalypts and lands on his Bowler hat, sits there for a moment, tweets endearingly and then deposits a little gift before flying off into the shop lined streetscape beyond. On some days the upper branches of the Eucalypts host a flock of lorikeets, not every day but often enough, and the lorikeets cackle from up there with raucous commotion as all of this proceeds below them. By all accounts it would seem that these lorikeets are highly amused by the sparrow’s ritual. On blue sky days it must all be very cinematic with Rolf strolling through the park, the little sparrow swooping down to land on his hat and the lorikeets cackling in the upper regions of the Eucalypts. I imagine a camera mounted on a drone flying in front of the sparrow and filming it all. Or painting the scene in an impressionistic style. At the end of the path Rolf pauses, extracts a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wipes the poo, the phosphate deposit, from his hat. He does this whilst wearing one of his customary ironic smiles. He loves the sparrow, he loves the lorikeets. Over time his hat has become increasingly stained and odorous, his appearance more and more dishevelled. He reminds one of Estragon or Vladimir in Waiting for Godot.
Waiting For Godot from Wikicommons
On one particular day, a sunny morning, the sparrow fails to swoop. Rolf stops at the end of the path and turns to survey things. The lorikeets are there and their attention is directed downwards. Below the tree Rolf notices a Kookaburra, a Kookaburra with extended wings pecking at a small fluff of feathers on the ground. Oh no. Rolf hurries over to find his little friend cowering in the dirt with a bloodied wing. As Rolf approaches his shadow falls across the bird and the sparrow cowers, pathetically, mistaking Rolf’s shadow for an enemy, a phantom. The sparrow strikes out at Rolf. In its fear the poor creature no longer knows him. Rolf sits on the nearby park bench and waits. He doesn't sit in his usual cross legged posture, rather he sits with elbows on knees, head in hands, and waits, protecting his friend. After a time the Kookaburra flies up and alights on a branch just behind him. The Kookaburra then opens its lungs and laughs, a Kookaburra laugh, an hysterical laugh. Eventually Rolf's sparrow manages to hobble and hop and at last fly up onto the adjacent rooftops to find shelter. The sparrow would never return.
Reflection
To me Rolf's story reads like a dreamtime myth, and Aboriginal dreamtime myth. It is saturated with meaning, personal meaning for Rolf no doubt and maybe even something more archetypal. Kookaburras are associated with the mythological trickster and after all isn’t the trickster the prototypical absurdist, the exemplar of absurdity? I can't quite work the story out myself. If only I could identify the species of bird, somehow I think that might help. How did Rolf respond to this event? I'm sorry to say that he lost a little of his sparkle, a bit of his irony was lost, but he gained in depth, Rolf certainly gained a depth. Jean Cocteau once said that it is up to the audience to make sense of things, to make sense of art. After hearing stories such as Rolf’s I tend to agree.
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