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I Had Nowhere to Go
The twentieth century has produced millions of refugees,exiles, and stateless. Displaced persons. Some of them eventually settle down and grow new roots; others continue travelling, waiting, dreaming or returning home. This book is a first hand account of the life, thoughts and feelings of a displaced person. It's a painful record of one person's experiences in a Nazi forced labor camp;five years in displaced persons camps;and the frist years as a young Lithuanian immigrant in New York City.
469 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1991
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About the author
Jonas Mekas
105books191followersJonas Mekas is a Lithuanian-American filmmaker, poet and artist who has often been called "the godfather of American avant-garde cinema." His work has been exhibited in museums and festivals world-wide.
In 1944, Mekas left Lithuania because of war. En route, his train was stopped in Germany and he and his brother, Adolfas Mekas (1925�2011), were imprisoned in a labor camp in Elmshorn, a suburb of Hamburg, for eight months. The brothers escaped and were detained near the Danish border where they hid on a farm for two months until the end of the war. After the war, Mekas lived in displaced person camps in Wiesbaden and Kassel. From 1946 to 1948, he studied philosophy at the University of Mainz and at the end of 1949, he emigrated with his brother to the U.S., settling in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, New York. Two weeks after his arrival, he borrowed the money to buy his first Bolex 16mm camera and began to record moments of his life. He discovered avant-garde film at venues such as Amos Vogel’s pioneering Cinema 16, and he began curating avant-garde film screenings at Gallery East on Avenue A and Houston Street, and a Film Forum series at Carl Fisher Auditorium on 57th Street.
In 1954, together with his brother Adolfas Mekas, he founded Film Culture, and in 1958, began writing his “Movie Journal� column for The Village Voice. In 1962, he co-founded Film-Makers' Cooperative and the Filmmakers' Cinematheque in 1964, which eventually grew into Anthology Film Archives, one of the world’s largest and most important repositories of avant-garde film. He was part of the New American Cinema, with, in particular, fellow film-maker Lionel Rogosin. He was a close collaborator with artists such as Andy Warhol, Nico, Allen Ginsberg, Yoko Ono, John Lennon, Salvador Dalí, and fellow Lithuanian George Maciunas.
In 1964, Mekas was arrested on obscenity charges for showing Flaming Creatures (1963) and Jean Genet’s Un Chant d’Amour (1950). He launched a campaign against the censorship board, and for the next few years continued to exhibit films at the Film-makers� Cinemathèque, the Jewish Museum, and the Gallery of Modern Art. From 1964 to 1967, he organized the New American Cinema Expositions, which toured Europe and South America and in 1966 joined 80 Wooster Fluxhouse Coop.
In 1970, Anthology Film Archives opened on 425 Lafayette Street as a film museum, screening space, and a library, with Mekas as its director. Mekas, along with Stan Brakhage, Ken Kelman, Peter Kubelka, James Broughton, and P. Adams Sitney, began the ambitious Essential Cinema project at Anthology Film Archives to establish a canon of important cinematic works.
As a film-maker, Mekas' own output ranges from his early narrative film (Guns of the Trees, 1961) to “diary films� such as Walden (1969); Lost, Lost, Lost (1975); Reminiscences of a Journey to Lithuania (1972), Zefiro Torna (1992), and As I Was Moving Ahead Occasionally I Saw Brief Glimpses of Beauty, which have been screened extensively at festivals and museums around the world.
Mekas expanded the scope of his practice with his later works of multi-monitor installations, sound immersion pieces and "frozen-film" prints. Together they offer a new experience of his classic films and a novel presentation of his more recent video work. His work has been exhibited at the 51st Venice Biennial, PS1 Contemporary Art Center, the Ludwig Museum, the Serpentine Gallery, and the Jonas Mekas Visual Arts Center.
In the year 2007, Mekas released one film every day on his website, a project he entitled "The 365 Day Project."[2] Since the 1970s, he has taught film courses at the New School for Social Research, MIT, Cooper Union, and New York University.
Mekas is also a well-known Lithuanian language poet and has published his poems and prose in Lithuanian, French, German, and English. He has published many of his journals and diaries including "I Had Nowhere to Go: Diaries, 1944�1954," and "Letters from Nowhere,
In 1944, Mekas left Lithuania because of war. En route, his train was stopped in Germany and he and his brother, Adolfas Mekas (1925�2011), were imprisoned in a labor camp in Elmshorn, a suburb of Hamburg, for eight months. The brothers escaped and were detained near the Danish border where they hid on a farm for two months until the end of the war. After the war, Mekas lived in displaced person camps in Wiesbaden and Kassel. From 1946 to 1948, he studied philosophy at the University of Mainz and at the end of 1949, he emigrated with his brother to the U.S., settling in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, New York. Two weeks after his arrival, he borrowed the money to buy his first Bolex 16mm camera and began to record moments of his life. He discovered avant-garde film at venues such as Amos Vogel’s pioneering Cinema 16, and he began curating avant-garde film screenings at Gallery East on Avenue A and Houston Street, and a Film Forum series at Carl Fisher Auditorium on 57th Street.
In 1954, together with his brother Adolfas Mekas, he founded Film Culture, and in 1958, began writing his “Movie Journal� column for The Village Voice. In 1962, he co-founded Film-Makers' Cooperative and the Filmmakers' Cinematheque in 1964, which eventually grew into Anthology Film Archives, one of the world’s largest and most important repositories of avant-garde film. He was part of the New American Cinema, with, in particular, fellow film-maker Lionel Rogosin. He was a close collaborator with artists such as Andy Warhol, Nico, Allen Ginsberg, Yoko Ono, John Lennon, Salvador Dalí, and fellow Lithuanian George Maciunas.
In 1964, Mekas was arrested on obscenity charges for showing Flaming Creatures (1963) and Jean Genet’s Un Chant d’Amour (1950). He launched a campaign against the censorship board, and for the next few years continued to exhibit films at the Film-makers� Cinemathèque, the Jewish Museum, and the Gallery of Modern Art. From 1964 to 1967, he organized the New American Cinema Expositions, which toured Europe and South America and in 1966 joined 80 Wooster Fluxhouse Coop.
In 1970, Anthology Film Archives opened on 425 Lafayette Street as a film museum, screening space, and a library, with Mekas as its director. Mekas, along with Stan Brakhage, Ken Kelman, Peter Kubelka, James Broughton, and P. Adams Sitney, began the ambitious Essential Cinema project at Anthology Film Archives to establish a canon of important cinematic works.
As a film-maker, Mekas' own output ranges from his early narrative film (Guns of the Trees, 1961) to “diary films� such as Walden (1969); Lost, Lost, Lost (1975); Reminiscences of a Journey to Lithuania (1972), Zefiro Torna (1992), and As I Was Moving Ahead Occasionally I Saw Brief Glimpses of Beauty, which have been screened extensively at festivals and museums around the world.
Mekas expanded the scope of his practice with his later works of multi-monitor installations, sound immersion pieces and "frozen-film" prints. Together they offer a new experience of his classic films and a novel presentation of his more recent video work. His work has been exhibited at the 51st Venice Biennial, PS1 Contemporary Art Center, the Ludwig Museum, the Serpentine Gallery, and the Jonas Mekas Visual Arts Center.
In the year 2007, Mekas released one film every day on his website, a project he entitled "The 365 Day Project."[2] Since the 1970s, he has taught film courses at the New School for Social Research, MIT, Cooper Union, and New York University.
Mekas is also a well-known Lithuanian language poet and has published his poems and prose in Lithuanian, French, German, and English. He has published many of his journals and diaries including "I Had Nowhere to Go: Diaries, 1944�1954," and "Letters from Nowhere,
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 55 reviews
February 20, 2018
“I read a lot. I listen a lot. I think a lot. But so little remains. The books I read, their plots, their protagonists fade. The university lectures that I had found pretty impressive on first hearing, have faded away. Now I am listening to one on Pirandello. Names of people, books, cities. They are already fading away. Even the titles of films I’ve seen recently � they have already faded. Authors of thousands of books I’ve read... All that remains are the colours of their bindings, their covers. I don’t remember much about Beauty and the Beast, but I remember clearly, vividly the hear of the day as we were crossing the Rhine bridge, to see the film. Everything that I see, or red, or listen to, connects, translates into moods, bits of surroundings, colors. No, I am not a novelist. No precision of observation, detail. With me, everything is mood, mood, or else —simply nothingness.�
April 11, 2019
Every once in a while, there is a book in your hands that touches you deeply.
May 14, 2021
Viena paveikiausių visų laikų mano skaityta knyga. Dienoraštis labai rezonavo su mano mąstysena. Mekas neapsakomai stiprus žmogus, daugelyje situacijų išlikęs ištikimas savo principams, savitas. Mintys labiausiai įstrigo iš Jono gyvenimo Vokietijoje, kai būdamas dipuku gyveno bado pilną, skurdų materialiai gyvenimą, bet turėjo daug laiko skaityti, mąstyti, bet niekada - pasiduoti. Visada išliko tėvynės ilgesys, melancholija, bet nebuvo skundų dėl to, kad nėra ką valgyti, reikia skolintis ir pardavinėti knygas, drabužius. Tuo gyvenimo laikotarpiu atrodė suprantantis save. Persikėlus į Ameriką mintyse jautėsi sumišimas, nepažinimas savęs. Gal tai susiję su tuo, jog Amerika buvo galutinė stotelė ir reikėjo su ja susidraugauti, nes, anot Meko, jam kelio atgal į Europą nebuvo. O gal prasidėjo ta depresija, kuri apima, kai viskas gyvenime susitvarko ir nebedalyvauji kare, gyveni santykinai ramiai. Su pažįstamais tekdavo bartis dėl to, kas geriau, Amerika ar Europa. Vieniems Amerika per daug nerimtų žmonių šalis, o kitiems Europa per daug rimta, kad net juokinga, o be to, dar ir sugebanti sukelti du pasaulinius karus per pusę amžiaus.
Tai ne vien dienoraščiai, tai ir reminiscencijos iš vaikystės, ir draugų bei nepažįstamųjų dialogai, sąrašai, kas perskaityta, daug gilių minčių, apmąstymų, o kartais ir užrašymas to, kas nuveikta per dieną valandų tikslumu.
Tai ne vien dienoraščiai, tai ir reminiscencijos iš vaikystės, ir draugų bei nepažįstamųjų dialogai, sąrašai, kas perskaityta, daug gilių minčių, apmąstymų, o kartais ir užrašymas to, kas nuveikta per dieną valandų tikslumu.
May 8, 2020
"Sometimes I feel like a dog. I begin to like any place I stay longer than a day. I begin to like every little town, street I am thrown in. I don't have any one place which would replace all my memories. My memories now come from many places, from all the places I have stopped on my way, and I don't know any longer where I really come from. I may have equally betrayed all the places, all my homes. But You know that I never wanted to travel. I always hated travelling. I am much more stably than they are, those who say: This is my country and here I stay. . . They hate all places. But I can't leave any without a wound in my memory."
"Dear Penelope. I am very close to Ithaca now. . . I am thinking very often about my childhood and the places we used to play and walk. First memories. Potato fields. Bee honey. I am coming a long way back through my memories, in search of the home. First I used to remember only what was yesterday. I did not want to remember further back. I was afraid to look back. Only recently have I noticed my memories are coming from further and further back, from the places long gone."
"I am by a beautiful lake, and it's autumn. The sun is falling upon the lake and the woods around me. Nights are cool and full of secrets."
"Penelope. When I was sitting today and looking across the water, and back, across the landscape, I suddenly had a feeling that my past had caught up with my present. I have arrived almost at the point of departure. I felt strongly my childhood coming back to me. I almost cried. I sat there, by this quiet New England lake, looking across the water, and I almost cried. I saw myself, walking with my mother across the field, my small hand in hers, and the field was burning with red and yellow flowers, and I could feel anything like then and there, every smell and color and the blue of the sky. . . I was sitting there and trembling with memory."
pg. 468-469
"Dear Penelope. I am very close to Ithaca now. . . I am thinking very often about my childhood and the places we used to play and walk. First memories. Potato fields. Bee honey. I am coming a long way back through my memories, in search of the home. First I used to remember only what was yesterday. I did not want to remember further back. I was afraid to look back. Only recently have I noticed my memories are coming from further and further back, from the places long gone."
"I am by a beautiful lake, and it's autumn. The sun is falling upon the lake and the woods around me. Nights are cool and full of secrets."
"Penelope. When I was sitting today and looking across the water, and back, across the landscape, I suddenly had a feeling that my past had caught up with my present. I have arrived almost at the point of departure. I felt strongly my childhood coming back to me. I almost cried. I sat there, by this quiet New England lake, looking across the water, and I almost cried. I saw myself, walking with my mother across the field, my small hand in hers, and the field was burning with red and yellow flowers, and I could feel anything like then and there, every smell and color and the blue of the sky. . . I was sitting there and trembling with memory."
pg. 468-469
June 25, 2018
It was eye-opening and heartbreaking to read these young journal entries from the man now known as the “godfather of American avant-garde cinema.� Mekas, a Lithuanian immigrant, details the sorrows of war, work and love with striking vulnerability and openness. It is humanising to know that someone who has made so much meaningful work in his life has suffered the same loneliness, doubt and restlessness as the rest of us. In particular, his reflections on writing and art are some of the most poignant aspects of the book: “And that’s why Idylls is my first real work. It came out naturally, of its own necessity, by its own force. It burned, it pressed heavily, it hurt. I had to let it out.� (193)
December 29, 2022
Mekas es el Ulises sin Ítaca. Un Ítaca al que solo se puede volver en el recuerdo, un imposible que se habita en la más absoluta soledad.
Me gustan los diarios y este debe ser uno de los mejores que he leído nunca.
Me gustan los diarios y este debe ser uno de los mejores que he leído nunca.
May 3, 2020
Ojalá este libro no se terminara nunca. Pura lucidez y un ojo único entre tanto caos.
November 22, 2023
Avantgarde-filmens urfader och överlevare. Litauens motsvarighet av Stefan Zweig fast mer folklig. Golvad!
Read
March 23, 2025Recommended to me by a Lithuanian artist both to understand the roots of her artistic practice and her peculiar little nation of friendly forest folk, and it’s a shame I waited this long to read it � it’s the story of a young man finding himself in the world, first the Old and then the New, gathering little snapshots of reality as he goes, and in this respect it’s shockingly similar to Mekas� film work. Granted, it is at its core a series of diaries, so don’t expect much in terms of overall cohesion, but expect a total trip, as told by an observant and empathetic soul. I met Mekas� son at a party a couple years ago, and I got the precise same vibe, a man likewise deep in thought, but genuinely turned on to the world.
September 16, 2023
"My life is as confusing as the mountains. You can't get to the top of the mountain by walking straight. You walk through and around the fields up and down, narrow passages, paths - the road that is ten times longer than the actual straight distance...And it always looks as if that peak, that summit is so near, maybe just minutes away - but you walk for three more hours, and you look up and the distance is still the same. The mountains upset the logic of lines, perspectives, time, space, distance. Everything's so different, in the mountains. So then, what about life?..."
January 20, 2024
que bella eres de lejos
April 16, 2019
I do remember taking American independent cinema course back at university. The first text we had to read was by Jonas Mekas. To this day I still remember that patriotic and proud feeling, knowing that Jonas Mekas was Lithuanian. And the unrealistic dream that maybe I could meet him some day.
We shall never meet in person, but I'm beyond grateful for this book. It is a rather simple one, but by saying simple I mean that it's truly wonderful - there's no room for pretentiousness or insincerity. This autobiography just like its author: it is full of light and is constantly observing and searching. He doesn't know where he is going, he doesn't have where to go, but he surely knows that he needs to take a path of a poet and, therefore, every single word in this book is poetry.
It would be difficult to find a book which spoke more directly to me than this one. Leaving patriotic sentiments behind, as they are actually irrelevant in most cases, it is a story of a person without a place, who is both lost and found. If you have nowhere to go, do not fear, I have nowhere to go either, but it's not a curse. Life is always about the journey itself.
We shall never meet in person, but I'm beyond grateful for this book. It is a rather simple one, but by saying simple I mean that it's truly wonderful - there's no room for pretentiousness or insincerity. This autobiography just like its author: it is full of light and is constantly observing and searching. He doesn't know where he is going, he doesn't have where to go, but he surely knows that he needs to take a path of a poet and, therefore, every single word in this book is poetry.
It would be difficult to find a book which spoke more directly to me than this one. Leaving patriotic sentiments behind, as they are actually irrelevant in most cases, it is a story of a person without a place, who is both lost and found. If you have nowhere to go, do not fear, I have nowhere to go either, but it's not a curse. Life is always about the journey itself.
September 10, 2020
“Vienatvė...ne tada ji, kai būni vienas vakare prie stalo ir galvoji, kad esi vienas, bet tada, kai staiga randasi tavy tiek neišsakytų žodžių ir tu nori juos ištarti, ir tu sėdi, ir neturi kam. Kad nereiktų būti vienam nueini pas kaimyną ar kokį pažįstamą, bet kur nueiti, kad nejaustum vienatvės? Ji staiga pabunda tavy, kai aplink didžiausias žmonių judesys, o nuo neišsakytų žodžių kas dieną sunkiau. Jie klojasi viens ant kito, jie slegia, sunkėja...sunkėja, ir tu nežinai kada jų svorio neišlaikysi ir kas bus tada, kai neišlaikysi�.
“Mano žodžiai yra dar nerealesni negu aš pats. Bet tikiuosi, vis viliuosi kada nors surealėsiu ir aš. Juk tokiame realiame amžiuje gyvenu. Argi tai ilgai išlaikysiu, atsilaikysiu savo nerealybėje? Viliuosi nors vieną žingsnį kada nors žengti šioje žemėje nesapnuodamas�.
“Kurį laiką atrodo buvo visiška taika tarp manęs ir pasaulio. Harmonija, ramuma, susitaikymas su daiktais. Galėjau vienodu žvilgsniu žiūrėti į fabriko geležį, į save, į pro šalį einančias įsimylėjelių poras, į jūrą ir dangum užsibaigiančias gatves. Taika�.
“Mano žodžiai yra dar nerealesni negu aš pats. Bet tikiuosi, vis viliuosi kada nors surealėsiu ir aš. Juk tokiame realiame amžiuje gyvenu. Argi tai ilgai išlaikysiu, atsilaikysiu savo nerealybėje? Viliuosi nors vieną žingsnį kada nors žengti šioje žemėje nesapnuodamas�.
“Kurį laiką atrodo buvo visiška taika tarp manęs ir pasaulio. Harmonija, ramuma, susitaikymas su daiktais. Galėjau vienodu žvilgsniu žiūrėti į fabriko geležį, į save, į pro šalį einančias įsimylėjelių poras, į jūrą ir dangum užsibaigiančias gatves. Taika�.
February 17, 2021
“I touch the ground here - and that other soil wakes up in me. I am looking at this sky - but I see that other sky. What is there, one would think, in the objects such wheels, rakes, plows, and dung carts; or in cobwebs glittering in the autumn air, frost on the trees, the rain on the cabbage heads, the flax-drying season? But it all got imprinted very very deep. There is something in that. There is something in the way the rains sounded there, a different sound, not like any other rain I’ve ever heard in my travels.
And it’s not those broad differentiations by line, angle, corner, bending, color grouping - no: it’s the little differences, the almost unnoticeable details... It’s in them that everything weaves together, it’s there that one nation’s soul seperates from another.�
And it’s not those broad differentiations by line, angle, corner, bending, color grouping - no: it’s the little differences, the almost unnoticeable details... It’s in them that everything weaves together, it’s there that one nation’s soul seperates from another.�
June 13, 2020
„Ne tik laisvė yra atsisakymas. Ir laimė yra atsisakymas. Jei nori būti laimingas, turi sąmoningai atsisakyti daug, oi daug.� (p. 222)
„Gimiau ir augau viename realistiškiausių ir uždariausių Lietuvos kampų, kur niekas neskaitė poezijos ir tevertino, ir suprato, ir jaudinos tik dėl konkrečių daiktų, kvapų, darbų ir pojūčių, ir aš kitaip apie savo praeitį kalbėti negaliu, kaip tik apie tuos pačius daiktus, aplinką ir žmones, kurie mane veikė ir jaudino, kurie yra konkrečiais kraujo ryšiais susirišę su mano gyvenimu.� (p. 503-504)
„Gimiau ir augau viename realistiškiausių ir uždariausių Lietuvos kampų, kur niekas neskaitė poezijos ir tevertino, ir suprato, ir jaudinos tik dėl konkrečių daiktų, kvapų, darbų ir pojūčių, ir aš kitaip apie savo praeitį kalbėti negaliu, kaip tik apie tuos pačius daiktus, aplinką ir žmones, kurie mane veikė ir jaudino, kurie yra konkrečiais kraujo ryšiais susirišę su mano gyvenimu.� (p. 503-504)
February 14, 2016
Niekad pernelyg nesidomėjau J. Meku. Man jis buvo "menininkas senolis, Amerikos lietuvis su filmavimo kamera". Panorau daugiau apie jį sužinoti (ypač kol jis dar "neišėjęs"), o dienoraštis tam pasirodė idealus variantas. Nors ir tikėjausi, kad ši knyga man labiau atskleis Meko charakterį (mažoka savianalizės, daugiau stebėtojo vaidmuo), bet pažintim likau patenkinta. Ypač su malonumu ir ilgai apžiūrinėjau nuotraukas ir "klausiausi" jaunų vyrų kompanijos pokalbių fragmentų :)
April 12, 2020
probablemente uno de los libros más hermosos que leí. La voz poética y la lucidez de Mekas conmueven, es un libro lleno de imágenes y testimonios de la propia vida. Siento que es una de esas lecturas memorables, que nos acompañan para siempre.
July 21, 2023
English literature devotees will find Jonas Mekas' famous memoir, "I Had Nowhere to Go," to be a rich and powerful tapestry of emotions as it intricately explores issues of displacement, identity, and artistic expression. At its essence, Mekas' memoir can be viewed as an exemplary Bildungsroman, wherein the protagonist embarks on a transformative journey of self-discovery. Mekas, a Lithuanian artist who is exiled in the strange land of the United States, struggles with the dissonance of his dual identities and personifies the universal need for belonging. This recurring motif of existential search aligns with literature's enduring fascination with the human condition, transcending temporal and cultural boundaries to resonate with readers across epochs.
In his narrative, Mekas employs a mosaic-like structure, interlacing fragments of memory, emotion, and artistic reflections. This experimental strategy is reminiscent of the modernist tradition, a literary school that defined the first half of the 20th century and aimed to capture the intricacies of consciousness and subjective experience. By embracing this stylistic choice, Mekas conveys the ineffable nuances of his encounters with luminaries of the art world, mirroring the fragmented nature of human interactions. "I Had Nowhere to Go"'s text has a beautiful, lyrical character that evokes yearning for the past and a keen knowledge of impermanence. Readers are drawn into the depths of Mekas' emotional environment by the poetic language of his writing, which creates an air of melancholy. The literary device known as the "Künstlerroman," in which the protagonist's creative journey is intertwined with significant persons who form their aesthetic sensibility, is echoed in his memories of famous people and cultural luminaries.
One of Mekas' story's most appealing elements is his unrelenting fortitude in the face of dire circumstances and cultural upheaval. This steadfast search for meaning in life is consistent with existentialist concepts that are frequently found in literature, especially in the writings of Jean-Paul Sartre and Albert Camus. Through Mekas' lens, readers are encouraged to reflect on the significance of individual agency and the role of art as a means of grappling with the absurdity of existence. This book is a contemplative meditation on existence's ephemeral nature and the indomitable human spirit, seamlessly fusing memoir, philosophical rumination, and artistic manifesto to capture memory's essence and its interplay with artistic expression.
In his narrative, Mekas employs a mosaic-like structure, interlacing fragments of memory, emotion, and artistic reflections. This experimental strategy is reminiscent of the modernist tradition, a literary school that defined the first half of the 20th century and aimed to capture the intricacies of consciousness and subjective experience. By embracing this stylistic choice, Mekas conveys the ineffable nuances of his encounters with luminaries of the art world, mirroring the fragmented nature of human interactions. "I Had Nowhere to Go"'s text has a beautiful, lyrical character that evokes yearning for the past and a keen knowledge of impermanence. Readers are drawn into the depths of Mekas' emotional environment by the poetic language of his writing, which creates an air of melancholy. The literary device known as the "Künstlerroman," in which the protagonist's creative journey is intertwined with significant persons who form their aesthetic sensibility, is echoed in his memories of famous people and cultural luminaries.
One of Mekas' story's most appealing elements is his unrelenting fortitude in the face of dire circumstances and cultural upheaval. This steadfast search for meaning in life is consistent with existentialist concepts that are frequently found in literature, especially in the writings of Jean-Paul Sartre and Albert Camus. Through Mekas' lens, readers are encouraged to reflect on the significance of individual agency and the role of art as a means of grappling with the absurdity of existence. This book is a contemplative meditation on existence's ephemeral nature and the indomitable human spirit, seamlessly fusing memoir, philosophical rumination, and artistic manifesto to capture memory's essence and its interplay with artistic expression.
October 1, 2021
Koks gražus Jono pasaulėvaizdis, net ilgesy ir vienatvėj. Man atrodo nesuvokiamai sunku, bet net ir ieškodamas kur įleisti šaknis jis vis tiek turėjo tokį stiprų pagrindą po kojomis.
Ir skaitant daug kartų vis galvojau 'Jonai, dar teks kepti su mama bulvinius blynus špižinėj keptuvėj, mes matėm filme'. ❤️
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"With Rimeikis and Jurkus, we walked into the fields for the close of summer. Ah, what a day, what a day. We gathered flowers, each of us with a bunch, grown men running like nutty puppies into the riverbed, dry by now, to pick just one flower more."
Ir skaitant daug kartų vis galvojau 'Jonai, dar teks kepti su mama bulvinius blynus špižinėj keptuvėj, mes matėm filme'. ❤️
-
"With Rimeikis and Jurkus, we walked into the fields for the close of summer. Ah, what a day, what a day. We gathered flowers, each of us with a bunch, grown men running like nutty puppies into the riverbed, dry by now, to pick just one flower more."
December 20, 2020
This book has resonated with me so deeply, it's fascinating how much relevance it still holds to current day. Beautiful, almost meditative, multilayered book - want more of it!
August 2, 2024
CHILLS
April 30, 2022
“I guess, when you haven’t eaten for a day or two, you can see all kinds of things you can’t see with your belly full. And if your belly is full, why would you want to see anything anyway.�
Amazing, inspiring and so relevant these days�
Amazing, inspiring and so relevant these days�
June 8, 2015
repleto de contingencias y cosas que no valen la pena. tiene 450 pàginas, si tuviera 120 quizà serìa un buen libro. me supo poner de mal humor
May 2, 2021
This book was well written; I enjoyed most of it, honestly. But somehow, I came away feeling sad...
April 4, 2024
I first came across Jonas Mekas through his film "As I was moving ahead, occasionally I saw brief glimpses of beauty". It was just a montage of videos involving friends and family which he had taken in the later part of his life. It was a more than 4.5 hrs long, strangely calming and meditative watch. I spent several nights watching small parts of this film, and falling asleep with a pensive, aching heart. Mekas has this particular restlessness of a spirit which keeps trying to imbibe art and knowledege from various sources while dealing with a feeling of dispassion which leaves it anchorless in all the knowledge. And that's again something which one could find throughout this book. Mekas' life is revealed through his writings and diaries which contain an assorted jumble of musings, conversations and events as he was thrust from place to place as war refugee - from Lithuania to the USA. A couple of paragraphs sum up pretty much what you would get in the book :
"I read a lot. I listen a lot. I think a lot. But so little remains. The books I read, their plots, their protagonists fade. The university lectures that I had found pretty impressive on first hearing, have faded away. Now I am listening to one on Pirandello. Names of people, books, cities. They are already fading away. Even the titles of films I’ve seen recently � they have already faded. Authors of thousands of books I’ve read... All that remains are the colors of their bindings, their covers. I don’t remember much about Beauty and the Beast, but I remember clearly, vividly the hear of the day as we were crossing the Rhine bridge, to see the film. Everything that I see, or red, or listen to, connects, translates into moods, bits of surroundings, colors. No, I am not a novelist. No precision of observation, detail. With me, everything is mood, mood, or else —simply nothingness.� (Entry dated Sept 3, 1947)
"You are welcome to read all this as fragments from someone's life. Or as a letter from a homesick stranger. Or as a novel, pure fiction. Yes, you are welcome to read this as fiction. The subject, the plot that ties up these bits is my life, my growing up. The villain? The villain is the twentieth century."(Entry dated Jan 10, 1948)
The writing is so visceral and contemplative. His thoughts across the years are a jumbled mess, but of the kind that I feel would resonate very strongly in all parts, if it does in one. One can feel him trying to anchor himself through his writing as he struggles through the enormous tempest of both his outer and inner life. He says towards the end:
"Sometimes I feel like a dog. I begin to like any place I stay longer than a day. I begin to like every little town, street I am thrown in. I don't have any one place which would replace all my memories. My memories now come from many places, from all the places I have stopped on my way and I dont know any longer where I really come from. I may have equally betrayed all the places, all my homes. But you know that I never wanted to travel. I always hated travelling. I am much more stable than they are, those who say: This is my country and here I stay....They hate all places. But I can't leave any without a wound in my memory" (No date, 1955)
Jonas Mekas had nowhere to go. So he went everywhere. And he takes you along on the ride.
"I read a lot. I listen a lot. I think a lot. But so little remains. The books I read, their plots, their protagonists fade. The university lectures that I had found pretty impressive on first hearing, have faded away. Now I am listening to one on Pirandello. Names of people, books, cities. They are already fading away. Even the titles of films I’ve seen recently � they have already faded. Authors of thousands of books I’ve read... All that remains are the colors of their bindings, their covers. I don’t remember much about Beauty and the Beast, but I remember clearly, vividly the hear of the day as we were crossing the Rhine bridge, to see the film. Everything that I see, or red, or listen to, connects, translates into moods, bits of surroundings, colors. No, I am not a novelist. No precision of observation, detail. With me, everything is mood, mood, or else —simply nothingness.� (Entry dated Sept 3, 1947)
"You are welcome to read all this as fragments from someone's life. Or as a letter from a homesick stranger. Or as a novel, pure fiction. Yes, you are welcome to read this as fiction. The subject, the plot that ties up these bits is my life, my growing up. The villain? The villain is the twentieth century."(Entry dated Jan 10, 1948)
The writing is so visceral and contemplative. His thoughts across the years are a jumbled mess, but of the kind that I feel would resonate very strongly in all parts, if it does in one. One can feel him trying to anchor himself through his writing as he struggles through the enormous tempest of both his outer and inner life. He says towards the end:
"Sometimes I feel like a dog. I begin to like any place I stay longer than a day. I begin to like every little town, street I am thrown in. I don't have any one place which would replace all my memories. My memories now come from many places, from all the places I have stopped on my way and I dont know any longer where I really come from. I may have equally betrayed all the places, all my homes. But you know that I never wanted to travel. I always hated travelling. I am much more stable than they are, those who say: This is my country and here I stay....They hate all places. But I can't leave any without a wound in my memory" (No date, 1955)
Jonas Mekas had nowhere to go. So he went everywhere. And he takes you along on the ride.
Read
August 7, 2023"I love animals, but only real animals.
I love animals who do not pretend to be humans.
You should look, sometimes, into the eyes of real cows. They are serene, quiet, round. They are good, so good. Like medicine." (45)
"I prefer to go into the future blindly. I do not want to take any of your junk on this blind journey. This blind journey is not of my choice. The generation before me, your generation, the generation that put me on this journey, didn't produce any reliable maps or compasses I can trust.
No, I don't want any life preservers.
I plunge into the deepest unknown.
Those who are afraid—let them cling to the carcass of Western Civilization." (101)
"I read a lot. I listen a lot. I think a lot. But so little remains. The books I read, their plots, their protagonists fade. The university lectures that I had found pretty impressive on first hearing, have faded away . . . Names of people, books, cities. They are already fading away.
Even the titles of films I've just seen recently—they have already faded. Authors of thousands of books I've read... All that remains are the colors of their bindings, their covers . . . Everything that I see, or read, or listen to, connects, translates into moods, bits of surroundings, colors. No, I am not a novelist. No precision of observation, detail. With me, everything is mood, mood, or else—simply nothingness." (118)
"And it seems to me as I stand here that I am totally disconnected from the rest of the world around me. Nothing, absolutely nothing connects me with it . . .
I don't want to connect myself to this world.
I am searching for another world to which it would be worth connecting myself." (135)
"Ran out of money completely. We can't even buy a newspaper. I went to borrow some from Kuliesius. He says, take it, and don't bother to return it—and gave me 200 DM. He even gave me a large loaf of bread, and some herrings. 'Eat, eat,' he said, 'and don't write about kings, only about people, about life, the real people." (154)
"No, I didn't take anything with me, when I left.
Ideas? Books? Ah, those I found here too. But what really hurts, deep inside, it's the earth I left, that sky, those hills. It's those nights that got stuck in me, deep. They hurt, they remain painful wounds inside, those evenings, those nights.
I touch the ground here—and that other soil wakes up in me. I am looking at this sky—but I see that other sky . . . There is something in it, in the way the rivers bend there; there is something in that. There is something in the way the rains sounded there, a different sound, not like any other rain I've ever heard in my travels." (162)
I love animals who do not pretend to be humans.
You should look, sometimes, into the eyes of real cows. They are serene, quiet, round. They are good, so good. Like medicine." (45)
"I prefer to go into the future blindly. I do not want to take any of your junk on this blind journey. This blind journey is not of my choice. The generation before me, your generation, the generation that put me on this journey, didn't produce any reliable maps or compasses I can trust.
No, I don't want any life preservers.
I plunge into the deepest unknown.
Those who are afraid—let them cling to the carcass of Western Civilization." (101)
"I read a lot. I listen a lot. I think a lot. But so little remains. The books I read, their plots, their protagonists fade. The university lectures that I had found pretty impressive on first hearing, have faded away . . . Names of people, books, cities. They are already fading away.
Even the titles of films I've just seen recently—they have already faded. Authors of thousands of books I've read... All that remains are the colors of their bindings, their covers . . . Everything that I see, or read, or listen to, connects, translates into moods, bits of surroundings, colors. No, I am not a novelist. No precision of observation, detail. With me, everything is mood, mood, or else—simply nothingness." (118)
"And it seems to me as I stand here that I am totally disconnected from the rest of the world around me. Nothing, absolutely nothing connects me with it . . .
I don't want to connect myself to this world.
I am searching for another world to which it would be worth connecting myself." (135)
"Ran out of money completely. We can't even buy a newspaper. I went to borrow some from Kuliesius. He says, take it, and don't bother to return it—and gave me 200 DM. He even gave me a large loaf of bread, and some herrings. 'Eat, eat,' he said, 'and don't write about kings, only about people, about life, the real people." (154)
"No, I didn't take anything with me, when I left.
Ideas? Books? Ah, those I found here too. But what really hurts, deep inside, it's the earth I left, that sky, those hills. It's those nights that got stuck in me, deep. They hurt, they remain painful wounds inside, those evenings, those nights.
I touch the ground here—and that other soil wakes up in me. I am looking at this sky—but I see that other sky . . . There is something in it, in the way the rivers bend there; there is something in that. There is something in the way the rains sounded there, a different sound, not like any other rain I've ever heard in my travels." (162)
March 29, 2025
Quintessential war literature, from the perspective of a refugee. A 20 year old is forced to flee quiet Lithuanian countryside, navigate the maze of 1940s Europe, and eventually finds himself a free man, an artist, in Manhattan. The diary entries shed light on the difficulties and the oddities of a Displaced Person's life. At the same time, we witness a young adult looking for his identity, as one would at any point in history.
You are welcome to read all this as fragments, from someone's life. Or as a letter from a homesick stranger. Or as a novel, pure fiction. Yes, you are welcome to read this as fiction. The subject, the plot that ties up these bits is my life, my growing up. The villain? The villain is the twentieth century.
You are welcome to read all this as fragments, from someone's life. Or as a letter from a homesick stranger. Or as a novel, pure fiction. Yes, you are welcome to read this as fiction. The subject, the plot that ties up these bits is my life, my growing up. The villain? The villain is the twentieth century.
![Profile Image for [ashes].](/_next/image?url=https%3A%2F%2Fi.gr-assets.com%2Fimages%2FS%2Fcompressed.photo.goodreads.com%2Fusers%2F1545842040i%2F22080900._UX200_CR0%2C50%2C200%2C200_.jpg&w=128&q=75)
February 23, 2025
This is a worthwhile read to get somewhat of an idea what it’s like to live the life of an exile. First trying to escape conscription, but getting caught and vicariously experiencing the small world of a displaced person (during as well as after the war). Nostalgia plays a big role, Mekas shares memories and feelings.
While reading Mekas's diary, I thought of Jack Kerouac and wondered what these two creatives would think of one another. It wouldn't surprise me if they got along very well, they were both captivated and able to write about life as it came at them. Just take this quote for example ‘’You don’t know how many glimpses make up one’s life’�.
While reading Mekas's diary, I thought of Jack Kerouac and wondered what these two creatives would think of one another. It wouldn't surprise me if they got along very well, they were both captivated and able to write about life as it came at them. Just take this quote for example ‘’You don’t know how many glimpses make up one’s life’�.
April 25, 2025
(4.5/5)
this may very well be one of the most revelatory, important I have read so far in my entire life. not since East Of Eden to I remember a book feeling so easy to read, feeling so invested that I'm on the edge of my seat awaiting eagerly what will happen next... it's an exceedingly rare thing in books for me, but guess I got lucky once again! may not be a displaced person myself, but this book was genuinely so self-affirming... mekas was such a special person and a beautiful soul, and it was an absolute pleasure to read his diaries as an aimless 20-something, being one of those myself... seriously can recommend enough :')
this may very well be one of the most revelatory, important I have read so far in my entire life. not since East Of Eden to I remember a book feeling so easy to read, feeling so invested that I'm on the edge of my seat awaiting eagerly what will happen next... it's an exceedingly rare thing in books for me, but guess I got lucky once again! may not be a displaced person myself, but this book was genuinely so self-affirming... mekas was such a special person and a beautiful soul, and it was an absolute pleasure to read his diaries as an aimless 20-something, being one of those myself... seriously can recommend enough :')
January 21, 2022
Este libro ha sido mi acompañante más cercano estando triste en el exterior durante las fiestas navideñas. Mekas me aconsejó sobre la soledad, sobre el trabajo, sobre la añoranza de las cosas que ya no se repiten más y que solo viven en la memoria. Recorrer tantos años de la vida de una persona en tan poco tiempo me creó una amistad muy íntima con el autor. Pensé con él, discutí con él y con sus amigos, también me dió nostalgia lo que no vuelve ni se repite, pero mientras haya nostalgia, como dice él, hay vida porque hay algo que se espera.
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