Es war einer der ersten wunderbar warmen Tage in diesem Jahr, ein Donnerstag. Ich hatte einen Tag voller vermeintlich kleiner Verpflichtungen hinter mir, von denen aber jede Einzelne meine volle Konzentration brauchte. Schon morgens um sieben stand der Schornsteinfeger vor der Tür und wollte die Rauchmelder kontrollieren. Dann ein Arzttermin mit Tochter Eins, Telefonate, Gespräche und schließlich ein Vortrag bei einem Betriebsrat über Arbeitsrecht und Datenschutz. Weiterlesen
Mutterseelesonnig von https://mutterseelesonnig.wordpress.com/2017/04/09/48-stunden-alleinerziehend/ hat eine wie ich finde großartige Aktion gestartet. Sie ruft alleinerziehende Frauen auf, zwei Tage, 48 Stunden, ihres Alltags zu beschreiben. Auf dass alle diejenigen, die sich jetzt vor der Bundestagswahl mit familienpolitischen Ideen übertreffen, merken mögen wie das Leben Alleinerziehender wirklich aussieht. Und nicht nur die. Dafür verlasse ich sehr gerne mal die Poesie und hier ist mein Protokoll.
Der Wecker klingelt, aber vor 06:40 Uhr komme ich meistens nicht aus dem Bett. Sollte ich in diesem Leben noch mal Zeit haben, werde ich ein Volksbegehren einleiten, dass Schule nie vor 9 Uhr beginnen darf. Für jeden Blödsinn gibt es ein Volksbegehren; das wäre mal was Sinnvolles. Im Halbschlaf überfliege ich noch im Bett Meldungen auf Facebook und Twitter, Bilder bei Instagram, das hilft beim Wachwerden. Weiterlesen
Ben höchstselbst hatte mir die Idee in den Kopf gesetzt: An einem Tag unserer Berlinsommerferien wollte ich mit meinen Töchtern das Strandbad Wannsee besuchen, eines der größten Freibäder an einem Binnengewässer Europas, wie es bei Wikipedia heißt.
Ein Anruf bei den Berliner Bäder-Betrieben ergab im Vorfeld, ja, das Bad sei barrierefrei, also konnten wir alle zusammen hin. Weiterlesen
I’m afraid, this isn’t a very good picture, but I’d like to draw your attention to the bicycle in front. It’s a bike full of poetry. The owner (who isn’t in the picture) is a poet who calls himself „Alltagsdichter“. „Alltag“ is the German word for „everyday life“ and „Dichter“ means poet. He puts his books on the bike and stops at marketplaces, malls and parks – anywhere, where the audience may take a closer look and buy a book. He started out with 1000 copies of his book, a newspaper article said about a year ago (http://www.abendblatt.de/kultur-live/article117388524/Der-Alltagsdichter-aus-Altona-trifft-den-heiteren-Ton.html). I see him quite often at the marketplace that you see on the picture, since I live near by. Usually, he stands next to his bike on which he also carries postcards around which he creates himself, with quotes from his poems, and talks to people. In a former life, he worked as a carpenter and studied art.
I think this is just a great idea. This way, poetry becomes a part of … well, yes! … everyday life and that is where it belongs. The words leave the inner circles of the few who write and read poetry and are spread among those who otherwise probably wouldn’t take notice.
I’m not sure if this would work for me, since I used to be a very shy person, unable to communicate about the normal this and that even with people whom I knew. There’s nothing much left of this person but nevertheless I don’t think I’d be able to promote my poetry this way … unfortunately, because I Iove bicycles and the various possibilities to carry whatsoever with them. But maybe some of you, and especially my American readers, would want to try this? In America I imagine, a bike full of poetry would attract even more attention than in Europe. Good luck, if you do so … and please let me know what happens.
So very often People ask me: „How do you do this? Write a Poem? How does it work?“ All I do in these cases is shrug my shoulders and say: Well, I don’t know. It just happens. There are certain circumstances that make me want to write, but basically I can’t tell. Now I found an answer on brainsnorts inc. which is so perfect and which I could’ve never written myself. Enjoy!
po·et·ry (poh-i-tree) noun
writing that formulates a concentrated imaginative awareness of experience in language chosen and arranged to create a specific emotional response through meaning, sound, and rhythm.
po·et·ry (poh-i-tree) noun
saying as much as possible in as few words as possible, in a unique way
“You can’t write a good poem about sadness. But you can write a great poem about a homeless man sleeping on a park bench as it begins to snow on Christmas Eve.”
Dr. Philip Cioffari
“Anyone can write a poem, but not anyone can write a good poem.”
We can debate all day about what makes a good or bad poem, whether or not a poem should have rhyme or rhythm, if punctuation is needed after each line or at all, and if “pine” and “thin” are…
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Stroebele is right – just do it!
(Zero to Hero Challenge, Day 6: Publish a post that includes a new element http://dailypost.wordpress.com/zero-to-hero/)
I do my best thinking when not thinking at all. Not thinking about the subject that I have to think about at a certain time – that’s when my best thoughts arrive, coming home from a crowded realm. Silence is important for welcoming them. Noise will scare them away. (Rarely it’s the other way around). Often the best thoughts are attracted by the prospect of a ample conversation, the exchange of interesting thoughts and opinions with another person. Those of them that need a little more maturing do so in paper notebooks or in my iphone where I visit them once in a while. Those of them that must stand in line right away for professional reasons will be accompanied to my computer.
My beloved friend,
I was very happy to see you last week-end for your birthday – but I was so sad to see that you’re struggling with depression and anxiety again. I was sad, and I was reminded of myself many years ago. I know this feeling so well; the feeling that we are aware of our problems, that we struggle hard to keep them down and struggle even harder to have a life that comes close to what is considered normal.
Let me tell you a little about myself. I would like to encourage you not to accept this state of mind, not to arrange with life that is not the life that you deserve, that is less than a half lived life.
At some point, when I had felt for the longest time like I was only functioning but not living, I decided to seek professional help. Finally I accepted the defeat that I would not be able to get rid of the pieces of rocks in my body and brain without someone helping me; those pieces of rocks that were slowing me down until I couldn’t move any more and that hole in my brain that just swallowed sentences, words and ideas. It is a terrible defeat, especially for us who are capable of so much. But I just didn’t want to go on like that. Somewhere buried deep down there was a vague feeling that there could be a better life and that I wanted it. Now. The other feeling was: fear. I was scared to to lose control even more than I already had.
I was lucky insofar that I found a therapist fairly quickly, a middle-aged woman, calm and wise, compassionate but distant at the same time. This is the most crucial part besides the confession that depression and anxiety has taken complete control of you, finding a therapist whom you trust. Trust in the therapist is absolutely essential for working with her or him. (In case you stumbled across the word “work” in this context – that’s the word I heard my therapist use once in a while and I think it’s right. It is hard work to get rid of mental problems even though on first sight the whole thing seems to be only about talking). Pretty soon you get to the point where – among other things – you have to accept some unpleasant facts about your life, your history and the people around you and you’re dependent on a therapist who can guide you through it.
And there is the sadness – the sadness that I saw in you when we met the last time. You know, I think one of the reasons for depression is tears that we do not cry. Tears that we do not cry because we buried the corresponding feelings so deeply that we do not even know that they’re there.
For me, it took three years and looking back I tell you it’s worth all the trouble, it’s worth all the tears and pain. Once you’re through all the sadness, you have a new life. A new life that feels warm and weightless and you’re the strongest person that you can think of. Sounds pathetic and trashy, doesn’t it? But that’s indeed how I felt once I had stopped seeing my therapist. What is more, you’ll be able to handle whatever challenge your new life may keep ready for you, even if it’s a relapse. More than once I was frightening close to or even right in a severe crisis. But it has never been as bad as it used to be before I had undergone therapy.
My beloved friend, I so very much wish for you that you will find your way out of your problems. I so very much wish for you that soon your life will no longer be loaded with this terrible trouble of the mind. If there’s anything I can do for you in the meantime, I’ll be there, I hope you know.
All my love,
your Aunt P.
(Written as a contribute to the Zero-to-Hero Challenge, Day 3 – http://dailypost.wordpress.com/zero-to-hero/).