Bitter Farewell

You gave me a grapefruit.

Definitely.

After all the exotic fruits we ate together,

I'm now having a grapefruit on my own.

Its skin is uneven -

unjust is your behaviour.

I tear it open with my fingers, nails

Until the bitter juice spouts

Into my eyes wide open.

It is a prick

That makes my eyes sting.

Do you enjoy seeing me sting?

I'm having this grapefruit, twisted in pain.

Peeled and ripped into pieces,

One by one,

Slices full of freshness

It seems.

Reminding me of sweet delicious fruits we've once had

Together.

But after the first bite

The sour taste shocks.

Tears in my eyes.

Bitterness.

And still I swallow,

Eat every single piece of it

'Till it's gone,

Until it's finally gone.

© Vanessa Wohlrath

Disturbance ( a short story)

Disturbance

                The bench is hard. It’s cracking with every movement. Left to right, you will be shaken, regardless of if that’s what you want or not. It’s packed and smelly. The distinct smell is a mixture of perfume, bubble gum and your bench neighbor who has seemingly never seen the insides of a bathroom. The smell of alcohol joins the others, silently disturbing your nose in intervals.

                And there she is; the next perpetrator. She wears a burqa. Black from head to toe, with only a little bit of space to breathe through, she is covered in this sack that does not offer you any insights into her soul. You feel like you can’t breathe. It’s a feeling as if you wore the burqa, not her. To intensify the feeling, she has brought a backpack. The backpack looks filled up, with no space left for any freedom. Not even the insides of her backpack have liberty.

                You can see her eyes scanning you. You feel naked, because you are not granted the chance to hide behind such an extraordinary piece of fabric. Is she angry? Does she have a plan? You stare back. Somehow though, you feel this is inappropriate and thus, you scan the cabin. There are several people who apparently share the same images in their heads. One man even has some sweat on his forehead.

                If only sweat was the only bothering thing in here, you think. Your eyes meet hers again. You wonder if you should switch into another cabin, or if this would be even more inappropriate. Life can be over, within the blink of an eye. There are more people joining the scene and some leave. The ones that leave actually survived.

                Your heart beats faster, as she is tightening the grip around her backpack. You begin to count. One, two … three… five, there are several people in here that would definitely die. It is even inappropriate to think about this, but what if? And when is she finally going to leave, to give you some peace? How long can a train ride possibly be?

                The normal fifteen minutes you need from one stop to the other stretch out to an eternity. Uncountable masses of people come and go, but you are stuck in this mess with the strangest feelings plaguing your mind. You wouldn’t even have time to reminisce about your life.

                Then, a black lady joins the scene. She smiles at the burqa woman and greets her. Apparently, they know each other. It takes a load of your mind, but it also leaves you behind, feeling more than ashamed. What if you were in her shoes? Still thinking, you hear the announcement of the stop that you have to get off at. Life is too short to waste fifteen minutes.

And then the elevator goes up... ( Joana)

                Hmm. I love this Mango pie. It’s so delicious! Almost reminds me of home. Auntie Anna makes the best Brazilian food outside of Brazil ever! Too bad, I’m leaving. I’m not even sure if I want to go back to Bahia. Fernando will be waiting. I hope he won’t bring roses again.

                I could still go back, back to Anna… stay here, but Brazil means home. And Germany, ohh… I don’t know. Ahh, yet another elevator. There are too many. How I hate them. Too tight, too stinky and I already feel exhausted. Okay. Maybe they should build bigger ones, this is an airport after all! There are three of us and I already feel trapped.

                Okay. Is it only my imagination, or did this elevator just stop?And what was that noise? Ahh, we are not stuck, this can’t be. Hey, guy over there, looking like he would know how to handle this…do something? Why won’t he do something?

                I should relax. No, forget about it! We are trapped! I am pregnant! I need to go to the bathroom! My plane is leaving in thirty minutes! “Let me out, let me OUT!”, I scream, trying to fight back my tears.

                There, there is a button with a bell on. Let’s push it. Nothing. I can’t believe this. Hello? Hello? Oh well. My legs hurt. I can’t stand anymore. I might as well sit down.

                 I don’t even have a tissue. How awful! Oh, the girl from the left corner offers me one. How nice. Now the tall man with the RayBan glasses comes over to me. “It will all be fine”, he says. Oh really? As if he had any idea what is going on. I am not even showing!

                10.30pm. Fifteen minutes left until departure.’Suppose I won’t make it. Oh, well. I don’t want to be stuck! My plane! My PLANE! It’s hopeless. How can they stay so calm? It’s too tight, too stinky..too…Argh! Ouch, that hurt. Banging my fist against the buttons doesn’t help either.

                Dude, could you take your hand off my back? “Excuse me, but I am pregnant. I cry a lot. I am from Brazil” I hear myself sobbing. “I’m meant to go to my boy…friend, well, technically I don’t want to.” The girl looks at me in shock, while the man keeps rubbing my back.

                “I wish I loved Fernando, but I don’t know. I don’t. And what’s going to happen to the child if it has no parents that love each other?” I don’t even know why I am asking this. It’s none of their business. “My father was always gone”, the girl says. Oh, she looks sad. I know, girl, I know. I am meant to love Fernando, but I don’t. It’s just as tragic for me, believe it or not.

                 I wish, I wish , I wish I could love him. Maybe I am unable to love. Maybe the flattering comments and all the gifts don’t touch me anymore, because I heard them too often. What is love anyway? And what about my baby, will it love me? Will I ever come out of this elevator again?

                “Joana”, the man says, and then the elevator goes up. The door seems to be open. I see a group of people coming towards us. Maybe they will also get some time to think. Maybe they also have families? Maybe they know what love is.

Home - Finally

     It’s been six months now, since I moved in. Six months ago all I cared about was decorating my flat; giving it the specific “Becca-Touch” that included various colours, things that people consider to be rummage and most important of all, rubber duckies ( I happen to collect them). My flat does represent all that I like, even in the smallest corner, but one specific aspect was missing; the feeling of being home.

     What I did not seem to be able to create though, was that very feeling. The first time I figured out that it may take a while until I will feel home was when I went to bed for the first time, realizing that I was scared of possible robbers, monsters, or simply the darkness that may come hunting me. Adding up to that, I was always on the go. I left for Denmark almost every month and spent my weekends with my parents for the most part. I felt alone and I would feel alone for quite a while, until yesterday.

    Yesterday, after getting up, I looked at the mirror and I saw myself being in between tired and awake, with a face that would scare the hell out of every topmodel. But this was when I realized that I had actually slept quite well. So well, that it took me at least 45 minutes of constantly pushing the snooze-button, before i considered getting up. So well, that I had forgotten about who may ever could potentially catch a glimpse of me, when I walk into my kitchen to have some breakfast. So well, that I just felt home.

Your fluorescent starry eyes

You're a nightcat, I'm an owl
Saturday Nights they make us howl
Your hand on my glowing cigarette
leaves no space for regret
We breathe the same nostalgic air
when we shoot arrows through our hair
These fabric beats will make you shiver
as you pass the starry nightsky's river

Your fluorescent starry eyes
they cristalize my neon skies
Your mouth a golden firework
my make-up layered lips won't hurt

You're the most aesthetic thing I've ever seen
You're part of a vintage chiffon dream
Triangles they hide our faces
like prides of wolves in shady places
Your hands covered in glitter
make my paper-white lips shimmer

Your fluorescent starry eyes
they crystalize my neon skies
Your mouth a golden firework
my make-up layered lips won't hurt

© Natalie Moser

The Mirror

photograph via Yelda Yilmaz

There she was in this empty room. Their flat it used to be. Now, everything was gone except the mirror in the corner. She was standing in front of it, staring at her bare feet. The tiled floor was cold, and she felt the coldness trickling up her legs.

Taking a deep breath, she started to undress herself. Little by little she dropped her clothes: first her trousers, then her shirt, the stiff bra and her slip. Everything went down to the floor and was pushed aside, so that she could observe the skinny body in the mirror completely. Naked.

So she stood in front of the mirror. Her bare feet standing on the cold tiles. Her thin legs ended in her womb, turning into a flat belly. Her chest was moving slowly up and down with every breath she took. Her arms and hands were kept neatly at her sides. From her neck sprouted a head full of thoughts. It was covered slightly by her brown short hair which lay straight above her ears and eyebrows.

Her lips were dry and pale and she licked over them several times to soften them. But it did not help. With glassy eyes she looked at the person in the looking-glass. Glassy blue eyes she saw, empty. And then these eyes filled with tears. She could see how the room filled itself with a double bed, cushions and clothes everywhere lying on the floor. The chest of drawers and the oddities arranged on it. A photograph showing a happy couple at the Swedish seaside. She closed her eyes and tears dropped on her chest.

When she opened them again, there was nothing anymore. In the mirror, a person staring at her. She touched it, touched the other one's fingers, hands. The ring on her finger loosened and fell down. And when she wanted to lift it up, she broke down onto the floor. There she lay on the cold tiles. With her eyes closed she tried to listen to what was going on inside of her. But there was nothing. All she felt was an empty stomach, longing for something lively to be filled up with. And there was her heart beating softly. And it would not stop. It would carry on with all the emptiness inside of her. And this meant that she would carry on despite all this emptiness.

The ring lay close to her hand. It was golden, with a name engraved on it: Tom. She stared at the ring, the curved gravure. Now this had left her, too. It was all gone. She pressed her face on the floor and forced herself to look in the mirror once again. The other person was also lying on the tiling. She made a sad impression. Listening thoroughly to her breathing, she stared and waited for something to happen. But there was nothing. No one would enter the room and make her laugh. Nobody would touch her shoulder and help her to get up again.

She sat up and turned away from the mirror. The other person disappeared. Then she stood up, got dressed and went to the door. The mirror in the corner reflected the ring lying on the floor. Without turning around, she locked the door.

© Vanessa Wohlrath

And then the elevator goes up (Hanna Franzen)

10 pm - There is still enough time to go to the gates. My plane will leave in one hour. But I will take the elevator to be there in time, maybe to buy a coffee.

Dad, I will see him tomorrow when he picks me up from the airport in Nice, France. My Daddy the seafarer, we have not seen each other for a long time. You left us alone, my mother crying all night. But she has her acting career, and I am just someone she occasionally drinks a cup of tea with, during her stay in Frankfurt.

While moving into the elevator I have seen a man who looks just like you, Daddy. I mean, his appearance reminds me of you. And now I am standing next to him and another blond woman in this elevator. Isn't it strange? But - wait, what is happening? The elevator has stopped. This man has already pushed the security button but there is no answer.

"Oh my God! Let me out... let me out...," the blond woman cries. When I hand her a handkerchief I can see that she is shaking all over her body. I pat her on her shoulder and smile. She seems to be from the South, and I wonder which flight she is going to take.

"It will all be fine, young Miss. Everything will be alright," the man says, kneeling down next the woman. "No, no - my flight, I'm going to miss it! I'm going to miss my flight to Brazil!" The man tries to console her, but in such an inappropriate flirting manner. "Oh, leave me alone," the Brazilian woman says. "I'm pregnant! And I'm not even sure if I want to stay with the father of my child, Fernando... What am I going to do if I miss this flight? And my baby, my boyfriend - is this how life should be? I'm still young..."

I cannot stand this anymore and so I turn around, sitting down in one corner of this small elevator. She is pregnant and does not even love her partner. That is not right. I cannot believe it! That baby, what is she going to do with it? All innocent and sweet, growing up in an unbearable setting, with parents who are not in love anymore.

I know what it feels like being alone. I know what it feels like when Mommy and Daddy do not get along very well, when the one is always paying more attention to her career and the other takes the next ship to leave his family for another adventure. Being a good parent is not easy, I know. And I did not have a bad childhood. Money has never been a problem. But there should be more than that.

"A child needs to be loved," I say to myself. It is so very important to make choices in life, and to become aware of what you really feel. I know, my parents love me and that they do not mean to be the way they are. What I really need is talk to them about my wishes and feelings. They shall listen to me like loving parents. That is all I ask of them. And then the elevator goes up.

© Vanessa Wohlrath

And then the elevator goes up (Finnegan Walker)

"It will all be fine, you'll be alright." I hear the words as I speak them out loud and I hope they sound convincing. But am I convinced?

"What kind of future is there for a child whose parents are not sure if they love each other?"was her question that lead to my answer. And I mean everything went fine for me, it really did. Chelsea and I have two wonderful children and live in a beautiful house in California, but lately things look a bit clouded in the Sun State. But where did that transition just come from?

Of course we do love each other and have done so since high school. I do realize that our story sounds a bit like a cliche, but I mean, it really happened that way. The Senior Prom Queen and King are still united, "Barbie and Ken", as my older brother always likes to say when he teases me. Take a photo of Chelsea, me and the kids in front of our house, print it on a postcard and there you have it: "American Dream", there you go.

Except that from now on, if you want to make it complete, you would have to insert Stuart as well. My unknown son. In his letter he said that he was 'dying to get to know me after all these years'. But I don't know if I want to meet him, if I want to meet a child whose parents are sure that they do not love each other and never did. That is to say his parents ended up in bed together, because his father, Finnigan Walker, had lived up to his family name and had had many too many at his buck's party.
Hanna, the German student, who is on her way to France, now hands a tissue to the crying pregnant Joana from Brazil. Joana reminds me of Chels back then, with her blonde hair and her slightly hysterical touch.

I have to tell Chelsea about Stuart. I have to tell her about him as much as we had to get married after we had been together since high school, it was simply the next logical step.
I have my answer for the distraught girl formulated in my head: "Joanna, a marriage without love can work, but it won't satisfy you." I take a deep breath and hesitate. "Joanna..", I say, and then the elevator goes up.

[I'm sorry but indentation didn't work, so I just inserted lines, where I wanted to use indentation ]

The Go! Team in Hamburg - 18 March 2011

The nightclub Uebel & Gefährlich in Hamburg is a good location for parties and especially concerts, for when it happens to be crowded, one can still observe the performing band from all angles. Furthermore, the set-up with its playful projections appeals to an indie-pop-oriented and youthful audience.

There was a certain tension in the hall when finally The Go! Team showed up on stage. The sextette from Brighton took their instruments to play some of the songs from their new album "Rolling Blackouts", starting with "T.O.R.N.A.D.O." - a powerful opener. And powerful was MC Ninja, all dressed up like a casual aerobic coach. She jumped and danced and rapped her lines in an aggressive but joshing way. After every song, some of the band members rotated from one instrument to another, from e-guitar to percussions, from xylophone to melodica. Elements of 60s girl-group pop ("Buy Nothing Day", "Ready To Go Steady") and funk, as well as cheerleader chants ("Secretary Song") and breakdance beats ("Ladyflash", "Apollo Throwdown") constructed a rousing wall of sound. The diversified performance of their songs was even more accentuated by the multicultural mix of band members - a pick-and-mix of artistic and musical diversity.

The Go! Team, formed around mastermind Ian Parton, radiated energy and fun which infatuated the audience completely. The crowd became a moving and sweating dancing group, singing and laughing most of the time. All in all, the concert was worth every single minute, from beginning to end. It is highly recommended to go(!) and see The Go! Team live in concert. They had their last show on Friday in Germany, but the band is still on tour in Europe. For more information, check out their website.

The Go! Team - Wrath Of Marcie from memphis industries on Vimeo.

© Vanessa Wohlrath

Diamante Poems

paper
clean blank
inviting expecting highlighting
paper captures your words
hurting encouraging lasting
liquid blue
ink



liar
sneaky smart
extending swindling cheating
a liar can choose
tangling refusing defending
angry hard
loss

What I like about these diamante poems is that they provide a form, which is both aesthetic to look at and at the same time those poems still manage to bring across a message. When I wrote the "paper poem", it somehow started to take up it's own life, as I wasn't originally planning to come from "paper" to "ink", I just had the thought in mind that words can be "liquid" as well. For me, a word is of liquid-like quality, once people start to "extend" its original meaning and this way, the concept of the word transforms over the years.
In my second poem, I tried to show a transformation of another kind. I was thinking about the process of lying, how it starts of with someone "extending the truth", then actual swindling as the next step and cheating at the top of it. Then, as soon as the lie was told, the liar tangles, refuses and defends himself, but what was said can't be taken back and a hard brick wall builds up between the liar and the person lied to.

Diamante Poems

Slavery

gruesome, horrible

oppressing, punishing, destroying

Hopelessness transfers to hope

enchanting, releaving, liberating

just, rightful

Freedom

Hatred

painful, unfair

hurting, blaming, killing

Enemies that become friends

loving, caring, cherishing

unconditional, everlasting 

Love

At first, I thought these poems were strange, which was why I was not very fond of the idea to write some myself. However, as soon as I started writing, it seemed to be incredibly easy to finish them in a relatively fast time.

I like the fact that even though one has not used a lot of time and too much thought on them, they would still appear to be rather powerful in their expressions and therefore able to come across with a message. 

My technique was rather easy,too. I happened to pick such powerful words as hatred, love , slavery and freedom. I suppose the less strong your words are in their meaning, the harder it will get to be able to find interesting adjectives and participles fitting to it. 

Also, when running out of words, I suppose a dictionary would be very helpful.

Diamante Poems

tea

hot, healthy

drinking, slurping, swallowing

A strong sugared Assam.

delightful

lies

sweet, charming

inventing, talking, growing

Lies become ill constructions.

discovering, revealing, hurting

harmful, sad

truth

Cinquains are poems which are appealing in their form as well as content. What I like about diamante poems is that they are precise and poetic at the same time. Moreover, the predetermined structure helps to write the poem and specify the message.

So, when I thought about writing a diamante poem about tea, I first started with brainstorming about what this beverage means to me, and what sort of attributes is has. The same I did with lies which happen to be charming at first glance but eventually become harmful constructions. The core of the lies-poem was therefore meant to mark the turning point within the poem. Lies are sooner or later revealed, so that the truth is the outcome of these exposed constructions. The lies-poem had to evince a development of thought. Writing down some adjectives and adjectival present participles made it easier for me to finally compose diamante poems such as tea and lies.

© Vanessa Wohlrath

Exclusive Poetry

I've just read the part of chapter six, which contrasts a poem by e e cummings with a poem by Linton Kwesi Johnson in terms of musicality.
Even though I (think) that I do get the message, that the author wants to bring across, in saying that the poem by e e cummings cannot be read out aloud or be performed, whereas the other one can be performed, I think that this poem by e e cummings has the right to stay excluded from a performance because of its subject. Here is the poem:

I
I(a
le
af
fa
ll
s)
one
l
iness


If you want to write it down for yourself, it says "I l(a leaf falls)oneliness"

"I loneliness" conveys a message, which leaves not much space for interpretation. The author is alone. Inserting "a leaf falls" in brackets and thereby dividing the word "loneliness" I find simply brilliant, this already is the poem's performance.
I immediately imagine someone being alone, watching this one particular leaf fall and experiencing both things at the same time. The simple observation that a leaf falls blends over the perception of loneliness like in a photograph, when you have forgotten to rotate the film.

Japan Madness

I have been sitting here, closely following the news for quite some days now and even though you seemingly suffer from an overload of information these days, this time all you hear is the same things over and over, with no information that truly offers you an overview as to what has happened in Fukushima. Instead of that, you get pictures of the Tsunami that you have seen a dozen times before, be it on the newspapers, on the internet or on TV.
It is not that I do not find these pictures horrible, but the more you see them, the more they lose their impact on you. Besides of that, I am really desperate to know about if we will have fall out or not, as it still remains unclear if there was radioactive material coming from inside the nuclear power plant and if this material may already be on its way in form of a radio active cloud.
I can understand that the japanese officials from TEPCO do not want to scare people too much, as , with Tokyo being under possible trouble, you would face 45 million people panicking at once, but they should actually find a way to come across with the real information.
In the rest of the World and in Japan itself you can barely protect yourself from what could possibly happen, if you have no idea of what is going to happen. Of course, the idea that radioactive material is on its way is mere speculation on my behalf, however, in the last press session of the TEPCO officials their faces said more than a thousand words. So, although it would be bad news that something happened, I wish that they would tell us now, instead of holding it back.

Who decides it's number one?

We are constantly proving something to somebody, always on the run for the pole position, but who decides what the pole position is?
No-one wants to be the second runner-up, that's why we keep fighting, following a steady pace. The anger keeps us in motion, moves us forward. Anger gets you like a shockwave.

We are constantly standing up for ourselves, for some cause. Once we reach the pole position, who decides it's number one?

Depeche Mode's Song

It is a dusty summer's day. Somewhere in California, a car stops by a petrol station, and a skinny man dressed in a black leather jacket and tight jeans steps out of it. His hair is dishevelled and he wears sunglasses. From the inside of his car, one can hear clanging sounds of The Jesus And Mary Chain.

While he is getting the petrol, the young man lights a cigarette and leans on the car. The air is whirring in the heat of the afternoon. Taking a last puff, he tosses his head and exhales a grey plume of smoke.

© Vanessa Wohlrath

Happy Commuting!

New York City - Somewhere between Park and 5th Avenue- An ordinary man is walking down the street, with a newspaper under his arm.His name probably is John Doe. He looks down on the street and sees the typical New York-steam coming from a Metro-Train outlet. Then he looks up and finds himself in a daze of steam mixed with sunlight breaking through. The sunlight is reflected by the windows of the skyscrapers around him. Suddenly, everything clears up, just like his own mind. Now, he is in a very cheerful mood. The next street he wants to cross is full with cars and cabs- quite an every day situation. In the blink of an eye, he hops on the first car. Then,he reaches another and yet another, before he comes to a little stop on a cab. The cabdriver is a bit annoyed and so he opens the door and attempts to cuss at our happy commuter, but he does not get a chance to do so. All passers by join the scene and form a choir which repeatedly sings "Feelin' alright, uh oh".