Walter Hauser, sensitive and quiet sealed Uri pastor, was in our family a "saint", a personality of immense moral and cultural authority. My Grandmother, one of his great admirers, gave me each Christmas, the most recent tape of Walter Hauser. I have a special relationship to the first volume "steps to the light," which is almost exclusively formed in the years 1928/29 in Isenthal. In the excerpt below, I quote from two poems and an excerpt from Hauser's autobiography in which he describes the time as a chaplain in Isenthal. From Bärchi, we can look directly to Sisikon, the Hauptwirkungsort the later "poet priest of Sisikon.
first Mass
O morning!
Are you the sky,
that you are so full of light?
A sea of lilies,
that you're so full of scent?
A death,
that you're so full of tears?
I put on the shawl
the force
the alb blooming purity
the belt victorious breeding, the centurion
helping love
the stole free obedience,
the robe of joy,
of joy!
O morning!
Are you the sky,
that you are so full of light,
're full of joy,
're full of God?
"Four weeks after the first Mass I was invited by Mrs. Egger of moss to her hotel on the Frutt, Obwalden. There, I read on a little bench outside a few women for the first time in my life in my poems before. The ladies were polite and patient.
A seminar year after his ordination, the fourth year of study after high school, completed my degree course. Where next? Courteous manner in my rain Gisler, who had meanwhile received the episcopal dignity, which I preferred said, teaching at a secondary school, further studies, a few years in Zurich vicar, or pastoral care in a quiet, inner Swiss village. I chose without hesitation the last. I would not decide differently today.
few weeks later I was appointed to the Regentie: "Would you like to go as a parish assistant and secondary teachers to Isenthal?" - "Isenthal? Where is the "-" This is a high-altitude, still Mountain village at the Lake of Uri. That would do for your health. "
On 15 August 1928 for the first time I stood in the pulpit of Isenthal, and in October I took on the newly formed secondary school. The people and the pastor had patience with the young, apparently somewhat impractical Kaplan, and I was tormented me honest and hard with the school. I was not foreshadowed in the discipline. The students were determined to be short, but I think the one or the other at least learned to write a correct German sentence. I stayed at the rectory, and both the parish priest as the housekeeper tried their best to offer me a home. Only the little black dog was on my piano, the only one in the valley, not get used right. I sometimes suffered much from the silence of the valley, but I even had the altar, the piano and the desk. Very close to the village flourished entire forests of Spiräen and occasional rhododendron. In Isenthal I wrote most of the poems of the "steps to the light." I'm not in publishing them.
A poem from that time might tell you how hard it occurred to me sometimes, the loneliness of being ready. "
twilight
I sit in the evening.
The loneliness purple falls over my knee, about my growing
foot,
flows over highways of longing.
shy bird sings my soul on my shoulder
songs of sweet sadness
expensive and my temple.
Because after a Kosung hungry man.
But my mother is away
and does not hear me.
And my friend drowned
in the dark sea in the world.
So the shy bird
own soul sits on my shoulder and expensive
my temple.
"It struck me then but sad at heart, when I left after two years of the schoolroom in Isenthal to draw as vicar of the affected pastors and bishops Commissioner to Altdorf. When I pulled the rectory bell in Altdorf, I got by the window notice that the Commissioner had just died, and now you have no use for me. I was then admitted it, and I was a month in the soul. care to help out the Canton main town. -
Meanwhile went to a Törein. The adjacent parish Bürglen was looking for a chaplain. I could imagine myself in the wonderful romantic Bürglen parsonage, and make a recommendation seems optimistic, those of the auxiliary bishop Bürglen Gisler removed the concerns that a non-Uri Kaplan to participate in the village. I was elected, and on 4 October 1930, I was 28 Birthday, I moved. The item was completely cut me to the body. There was an extensive farming community with a stylish, albeit in need of renovation Baroque church, with twelve chapels, a warm, approachable people and to me the very ideal pastor. He was a mentally and physically very moving Seventy full of spirit, warmth and humor, and touching simplicity and with quite amazing art skills. His house was a museum full of art history and folklore Entertaining similarities. Among these works were of great value which had been preserved by Father Julius Loretz from destruction. Every evening sitting ministers and chaplains in the parish house or a small bench at the field gate together, and the priest took for their own, sometimes elaborate rituals a real touch of his snuff-brown, and it was without Jass never boring. Of course, literary inclinations possessed priest Loretz not, though he wrote an unusually entertaining style. Meanwhile
was occasionally one of my verses come into foreign hands, and they urged me to give a ribbon to the public. So I put together what seemed appropriate and was looking for a publisher. No one wanted to risk it. Finally, the German teacher took pity on Stan's College, Dr. P. Leutfrid Signer, wrote a detailed discussion of the poems and persuaded the publisher Raeber, Lnzern to risk the publication. Director job at the Studio in Zurich, welcomed the ligament with high praise, Peter Dörfler wrote a short, excellent discussion, which looks today like a prophecy, and P. 1 Signer reported to the ligament with a detailed article in the "Swiss Rundschau. The door was pushed open. For my immediate environment offered the opportunity to invite me to all kinds of work: chants for national celebrations, poems for weddings, anniversaries and first Mass, sayings for mourning keepsake. Many of them I wrote in a poor Uri dialect, but I knew that they were then recited it correctly. My pastor saw the early-flowering laurel of his chaplain without envy, though probably with all sorts of legitimate concerns. He said hardly a word about it. "
From: Alfons Müller: An introduction to the work of Walter Hauser. With a self-biography of the poet, Uri 5th District Library 1958 annual gift
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