Die Bärliner - The Bard College Berlin Student Blog
Archive
Tag "Islam"
on the Bard College Berlin Student Blog

مالكش تلمسني حتى لو شلحت trans. You don’t get to touch me even if I stripped (Credit: Ganzeer, b. 1982. Urgent Visions, Brooklyn)

Tattoos are forbidden by their god

Their god who is them

Your body will not enter heaven

The body cannot be a canvas

Skin cannot be art

It has to carry its wounds

Visible, scarred, shamed

Violated with no chance

Of empowerment

The bodies are a cradle of shame

The inherent female guilt

Your yellow dress

Your thigh flower tattoo

Hiding a past of unwanted fingers

Nails. Gnawing at your insides

No, also at your exposed skin

The unexposed too

You are shame… they say

Your tattoos and dress are not art

You are guilty of art, of beauty,

Of being born

You.

A woman.

An object of sin

A site for battlefield

Condemned to a lifetime with your oppressor

Who is your oppressor?

Welcome to the rest of your life.

Too bleak?

Maybe you found your voice

Which unlike Ariel, you never gave for a man

You were robbed of it by centuries of silence

By your ancestor’s rape

Your grandma’s pain

Your mother’s tears

Complicity.

She is you. They are all you.

You are her. You are all of them.

Revolt. Speak up. Don’t smile

A Pharaoh is only one because of you

A woman.

Rise. Rage. Rebel

Against a world that feasts upon your body

And condemns it shameful.

Read more
pic 1

Falling Man by Richard Drew

I think I must have been holding some brightly colored toy. I remember the flash of color falling from my hands to the ground as my mother’s bloodcurdling scream reached my ears. I ran into the house to see what had happened. My aunt, uncles, grandmother and mother stood crowding around the TV screen. They had closed faces of general disbelief while my mother stood crying hysterically in the middle. I remember a hand coming to cover a mouth, eyes bulging, a limp cigarette dropping ashes on the living room floor. I knew something big, bigger than us, was happening from they way they could not hear me as I shouted “what’s wrong?” from the fact that they didn’t feel me yanking at their sleeves. So I tried to understand what the television was showing us, but it was a blur of strange sounds and incomprehensible images. Flames and something familiar, something I had seen on countless postcards my whole life. The live stream from CNN was dubbed by an Italian newscaster. The volumes of their voices were equal, like two people shouting over one another. Their words tangled around each other so I couldn’t understand either of them. All I knew was that the place on the TV was New York.  “Una delle le due torri. Colpita. We do not yet know che cosa sia accaduto.” Then the second tower was hit and my family began yelling.

Read more

Cover photo

In your light I learn how to love. In your beauty, how to make poems. You dance inside my chest where no-one sees you, but sometimes I do, and that sight becomes this art. (Rumi)

Peaceful silence fills the largest hall of the Werkstatt der Kulturen. Around three hundred people inhabit its rows waiting for the attention-catching moments they can eternalize with their prepared cameras. Their curious expressions and high expectations come into being without uttering a single sound. Their eyes are fixed on the stage; their gaze awaits the dancing energies of the divine to materialize. Three minutes later, they finally do.

Everyone finds themselves in a paralyzing trance of the whirling dervishes and the accompanying, divinely-inspired psychedelic music. Ever since 13th century Persia, the Islamic branch of the Mevlevi Sufi Order has mesmerized, awed and enchanted the spectators of their dance and music. Seven centuries later, on a chilly & gray Berlin afternoon, the Sufi Ensemble Rabbaniyya gathered Berliners of all ages and boroughs to Neukölln and its cultural hub (Werkstatt der Kulturen) for one of the most memorable performances at the intercultural Sacred Music&Dance Festival.

Read more and visit the photo gallery...