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Books out of the Fire
May 10: Bookfans are on the streets today, commemorating the 80th anniversary of the book burnings that took place in Berlin and other German cities on May 10, 1933. On Odeonsplatz and Königsplatz here in Munich there is a day-long "Reading Against Forgetting" of many of the banned authors whose books were burned: Franz Kafka, Heinrich Heine, Erich Kästner, Bertolt Brecht, Robert Musil...the list is long. Go here to find it.
Bücherlesung has been holding readings on this day since 2005 to remind us: "Burned, forbidden, banned - the list of writers is long. Uncounted intellectuals and artists were robbed of their homeland and work, many were murdered or led to their deaths. Never forget!"
Poetry Pills

photo courtesy Mortensøndergaard.net
If you're jonesing for poetry this month, we've got a remedy. Come to the Lyrik Kabinett on 29 April to meet Danish poet, translator, and sound artist, Morten Søndergaard. His Wordpharmacy (Wortapotheke) is a playful attempt to make poetry concrete, to put words into packages readers can open and use when needed. Søndergaard explains: "Words are not only something we consume, they are refractory entities that in turn define and consume us. Wordpharmacy can be seen as a poetical gesture endeavouring to let words work their magic from within the body itself."
Labels:
Danish,
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Wortapotheke
Interview: Berlin Poet Ron Winkler

cover by Adeline Goldminc-Tronzo, courtesy The Café Review
Sometimes, it pays to leave your comfort zone. Last year, one of us was asked to interview a young German poet for a US poetry magazine. This week, a Q&A with Berlin poet Ron Winkler appeared in The Café Review. Find out more about Winkler here, and hear him read his work here. Listen auf Deutsch, and read it in Spanish, English, Turkish, Norwegian, Arabic or Farsi. Thank your lucky stars for translators, then try it in a language not your own.
Love-Fest for Alice

Alice Munro began writing early: her first story was published in 1950, when she was only 19. She once said that books seemed, "to me to be magic, and I wanted to be part of the magic." All book-fans and aspiring writers know exactly what she means.
Borrowing the title of Munro's latest book, (Liebes Leben/Dear Life) German authors Judith Hermann and Manuela Reichert will present an homage to Munro on 28 Feb at Literature House Munich. They will discuss the life and work of the acclaimed Canadian, a master of the short story, with readings auf Deutsch from Munro's early book, Something I've Been Meaning to Tell You/ Was ich dir schon immer sagen wollte.
One-woman Story Factory
Dorothee Carls bringing Einer to life - 10 Feb at Munich's City Museum
A young woman with a chair on her shoulder stands next to a tree (or if you have no imagination, a lamp with artificial leaves). She points out all she has on: overcoat, hat, shoes, suspenders, shirt and pants; lists all her possessions: old hanky, radio, chair, lamp, pear. These will become, in the course of an hour, the whole world and everything in it. The chair a mountain range; the lamp a woman, a tree, a growing child; the radio an iron; the hanky a loveless man.
Using her voice, her body and these paltry props, Carls tells the story of Einer, a man who had nothing, not even a name. Adapted from Christine Nöstlinger's book of the same name, Carls makes Einer's rough journey over the mountains -- the bone-chilling cold, the moaning wind, the fleeing birds -- so real, that you find yourself leaving your seat to stand with him on the slanting cliffs of snow, wondering what he's got you both into.
A young woman with a chair on her shoulder stands next to a tree (or if you have no imagination, a lamp with artificial leaves). She points out all she has on: overcoat, hat, shoes, suspenders, shirt and pants; lists all her possessions: old hanky, radio, chair, lamp, pear. These will become, in the course of an hour, the whole world and everything in it. The chair a mountain range; the lamp a woman, a tree, a growing child; the radio an iron; the hanky a loveless man.
Using her voice, her body and these paltry props, Carls tells the story of Einer, a man who had nothing, not even a name. Adapted from Christine Nöstlinger's book of the same name, Carls makes Einer's rough journey over the mountains -- the bone-chilling cold, the moaning wind, the fleeing birds -- so real, that you find yourself leaving your seat to stand with him on the slanting cliffs of snow, wondering what he's got you both into.
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