{"id":22268,"date":"2024-09-13T12:15:00","date_gmt":"2024-09-13T10:15:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/stadtsprachen.de\/en\/?post_type=stsp_text&#038;p=22268"},"modified":"2024-09-10T19:27:53","modified_gmt":"2024-09-10T17:27:53","slug":"poems-gedichte","status":"publish","type":"stsp_text","link":"https:\/\/stadtsprachen.de\/en\/text\/poems-gedichte\/","title":{"rendered":"Poems \/ Gedichte"},"content":{"rendered":"\n<p class=\"has-text-align-center wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>Locals <\/strong>(Berlin, 2005)<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-center wp-block-paragraph\">1<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-center wp-block-paragraph\">the city is too large, the sights too far apart<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-center wp-block-paragraph\">a hearty breakfast means you can save on lunch<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-center wp-block-paragraph\">even the cheapest hotels are too expensive<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-center wp-block-paragraph\">more than 2500 people were executed there<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-center wp-block-paragraph\">the view from above gives you a necessary distance<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-center wp-block-paragraph\">from that hill you can across the river<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-center wp-block-paragraph\">2<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-center wp-block-paragraph\">they remove the stains by hand<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-center wp-block-paragraph\">The revisionism in our party is intolerable<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-center wp-block-paragraph\">Oh fuck, it\u2019s the dubbed version<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-center wp-block-paragraph\">a black leather glove over a prosthetic<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-center wp-block-paragraph\">some artists saw themselves as engineers<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-center wp-block-paragraph\">brought back to life by its own myths<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-center wp-block-paragraph\">3<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-center wp-block-paragraph\">shot in the ruins of Zinnowitzer Stra\u00dfe<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-center wp-block-paragraph\">shot in a dilapidated and eerie East Berlin<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-center wp-block-paragraph\">shot in the burnt-out shell of the Reichstag<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-center wp-block-paragraph\">shot in the ruins of West Berlin<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-center wp-block-paragraph\">shot in the midst of the Soviet blockade<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-center wp-block-paragraph\">shot in black and white<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-left wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>Am Pfingstberg<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Not long ago, my husband and I took over a plot in a Potsdam community garden, near a Prussian king\u2019s hilltop belvedere. The blank tawny earth revealed the vigour with which Frau Wache, wrist in brace, had wrenched every sprout that was neither edible nor beautiful.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; I wanted a haven. We made it our own. The garden had a habitable summerhouse. We bring our coarse Scottish blankets on the train from Berlin. Our daughter sketches a garden plan: <em>strawberries sum av them hav right now not eny flowers or froot<\/em>. When our neighbour offers us raspberry trimmings, we push the blunt canes into the ground.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <em>Plant perennial wildflowers once and you\u2019ll have tough gorgeous colour, year after year<\/em>, a catalogue promises. We sprinkle palmfuls of bee\u2019s pasture seed: cornflower, calendula, borage, and dill. At dusk I walk up and down the central path waving water over the soil. The days go unwritten but they are not lost. Bees raucous in the apple blossom.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Tendrils of pea shoot spiral into the air. We ransack the hill for sticks to stake the pea plants. On my husband\u2019s birthday, we set up a table beneath the apple tree. Early fruit thud to the grass as we raised our glasses. Our friends bring gift-wrapped books and leave with sticky strawberry jam jars.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Sunlight takes the place of words. One May dawn I wake to an uproar of birdsong \u2013 blackbird, starling, finch, and thrush \u2013 and the hushed breathing of my husband and daughter. I make tea quietly and carry my mug and a novel up the hill. My book goes unread as I watch the indigo air pinken, then pale, until a golden light sparks the cross on Potsdam\u2019s cathedral.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; That afternoon, my husband earths the potatoes as I comb blackcurrants from their stalks. A garden is an excuse to watch the sky. I tug a garden chair to the top of our slope, by the compost heaps. When my daughter spots me, she drops her markers to the blanket and nestles on my lap. I hold her, my hands scented with blackcurrant leaf, as we sat trace the contrails and clouds.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; One June afternoon, I push corn kernels into the sandy soil while my husband and daughter go swimming in Heiliger See. I\u2019m nearly finished when the skies open and stun me to the skin. In the summerhouse, the daybed exerts an irresistible appeal. When I wake, thickly, I take Christa Wolf\u2019s <em>Ein Tag im Jahr <\/em>from the birthday stack.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; What to do with time, which feels infinite, though it is not? In her book, Wolf describes the 27th of September 1960 to 2000 in meticulous detail, forming a row of 40 days. I know the signs of spring. The apple blossoms open a week earlier or later, but they open all the same. The cycle of seasons comforts, confines. The line of life darts and unnerves. The present moment \u2013 my daughter at seven, her eyes wide, her handwriting unsteady, her drawings bold \u2013 is fleeting as summer hail. Reading Wolf, I linger on the rift between 1989 and 1990, during which her country, East Germany, ceases to exist. It\u2019s a reminder of how an eternal present crumbles to an irrecoverable past.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; By the autumn, the corn kernels have grown stalks taller than my daughter and me together. Our neighbour\u2019s cuttings have flourished. Raspberries hang low like ruby lanterns. My daughter gathers the fruit at nightfall, marking her cotton dress. Between us, above us, time goes on coursing, wild and unseen.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>4.40 \/ an einem Mai-Tag<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><mark style=\"background-color:rgba(0, 0, 0, 0)\" class=\"has-inline-color has-white-color\">xxxxx<\/mark>auf dem Radweg halten dich <br>dein Vater und ich zwischen uns.<br>Zarte Bl\u00e4tter sinken zum tieferen<br>Ton. Unsere Taschen fallen<br>zur ge\u00e4derten Erde. Die Stadt <br>tauscht Spiegel gegen Seen. Die <br>knarrende Schaukel<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><mark style=\"background-color:rgba(0, 0, 0, 0)\" class=\"has-inline-color has-white-color\">xxxxx<\/mark>neue Farne. Aus einem Eimer<br>verkauft eine Dame Maigl\u00f6ckchen.<br>Der Vater deiner Freundin<br>schaukelt euch im Korb. Er erkl\u00e4rt,<br>er komme aus dieser Stadt. <em>Und du?<\/em><br>Ich biete die Geschichte an. Er<br>schaut dir zu. <em>Und du?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><em><mark style=\"background-color:rgba(0, 0, 0, 0)\" class=\"has-inline-color has-white-color\">xxxxxxxxxx<\/mark>Hier.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><em>Von hier.<\/em> Du kletterst die<br>Seilpyramide hoch und machst dir<br>eine Kastanienkerze zu eigen.<br>Wie ein blockspaltender Mei\u00dfel.<br><em>Keine Fotos<\/em>, mahnst du, ich senke<br>das Objektiv und pr\u00e4ge mir dein<br>Gesicht ein<br> <\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>4.47 \/ an einem Mai-Tag<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><mark style=\"background-color:rgba(0, 0, 0, 0)\" class=\"has-inline-color has-white-color\">xxxxx<\/mark>Schere in der D\u00e4mmerung.<br>Gewilderter Bl\u00fctenstaub,<br>geschnittener Holunder. Diese<br>Sammelsucht: Extrahieren,<br>Destillieren. Erfindung des<br>Zwielichts, Bl\u00fctenblattarchiv.<br>Geisterwei\u00dfe Dolden f\u00fcllen die<br>metallene<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><mark style=\"background-color:rgba(0, 0, 0, 0)\" class=\"has-inline-color has-white-color\">xxxxx<\/mark>tr\u00e4nkt zum tieferen Blau.<br>Zitronenasche. Ich zupfe jede zarte<br>R\u00fcsche. Staubf\u00e4den schimmern zu<br>Sirup. Ich sammle diese<br>Aufzeichnung, um unsere<br>Geschichte abzusetzen. Ein<br>Flaschenstrau\u00df. Du noch im ersten<br>Traum<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><mark style=\"background-color:rgba(0, 0, 0, 0)\" class=\"has-inline-color has-white-color\">xxxxx<\/mark>Revier des vollendeten Gr\u00fcns.<br>Ich erwache zur Stadt, \u00fcberquere<br>zum Flieder. Ritus als Land. Raue<br>S\u00fc\u00dfe gesiebt. <em>Frag: Wo f\u00fchrt der<\/em><br><em>Fr\u00fchling hin? <\/em>Reifende Mnemosyne-<br>Essenz<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Locals (Berlin, 2005) 1 the city is too large, the sights too far apart a hearty breakfast means you can save on lunch even the cheapest hotels are too expensive more than 2500 people were executed there the view from above gives you a necessary distance from that hill you can across the river 2 [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"featured_media":22123,"template":"","categories":[60,11],"class_list":["post-22268","stsp_text","type-stsp_text","status-publish","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-issue-29","category-lyrik"],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO plugin v28.7 - https:\/\/yoast.com\/product\/yoast-seo-wordpress\/ -->\n<title>Poems \/ Gedichte - stadtsprachen<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/stadtsprachen.de\/de\/text\/poems-gedichte\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale:alternate\" content=\"de_DE\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Poems \/ Gedichte - 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