I translated this extract of my mother’s memoirs because of its sentimental meaning for me. I hope that, if the translation is decent, it delineates the moral silhouette of a heroic figure. I would like to share it as a tribute to her courage. E.M.S. I called my brother Roberto and told him
Living Berlin – Pause
Serenity is hard to find in a city. Even the parks are often crowded with those seeking solace from the bustling pace or somewhere to pause. Only one place is ever truly calm: The cemeteries of Berlin possess a morbid serenity. Friedhof: a field of peace. The German captures a feeling the English “graveyard” misses,
Mediocre Artists
We were in a supermarket comparing prices of pizza sauce when the idea struck me. I suddenly stopped in the middle of the alley and told Eugenio that we should quit our jobs, our flats and our studies and start travelling to the north. He laughed. But soon his laugh turned nervous when he realized
A Musical Poem – Translating Memories and Moments into Music
How would your life story sound as a melody? Based on a class session about songlines, a term which describes the Aboriginal Australian’s practice of finding one’s way in the land through music, I wrote an autobiographical poem with a special focus on Berlin that I guide with a variation of Yiruma’s “River Flows in
Living Berlin – Berlin Bleeds Green
The concrete, steel and glass goliath that is Berlin has many wounds. Berlin bleeds Green. In some places this verdure oozes from the parks: places explicitly set aside for the leisure of Berlin’s inhabitants; places to go to feel a connection with the Earth; or to barbecue in the warm summer sunlight. These wounds are
Living Berlin – An Ode to the BVG*
Plunge into the bowels of Berlin the spiderweb system of iron rails and screeching brakes that connects the far corners of this city. Like some piecemeal Frankensteinian monster brought to life Berlin has been cobbled and stitched together animated to act like a grotesque whole. Each district is like a living, pulsating organ of the
I AM – a poem
I am my umbilical cord My mother’s sleepless nights My father’s long drives I am the scent in my mother’s wardrobe The high heels I never fit I am the ingrained institutionalized religion Founded on fear. I am the shame and the guilt The vagina I am the black eyeliner I draw around my eyes