Fundstücke #4 (On Refugee)

In Fundstücke by Rick Reuther1 Comment

Fundstücke ist eine Reihe, für die sich die Autor_innen Christiane Heidrich und Rick Reuther abwechselnd auf den Weg machen, das Netz nach lyrischen Spuren zu durchforsten. Was diese Probebohrungen zutage fördern, ist gleichzeitig vom Zufall bestimmt und vom subjektiven Interesse der Suchenden. Aber vielleicht sind es gerade diese beiden Filter, die ja auch Seiten wie Facebook oder Twitter bestimmen, die es uns erst ermöglichen, sich dem Wust an Lyrik im Netz überhaupt zu nähern.

Die Refugees – Situation in Berlin-Kreuzberg
hat mich dazu veranlasst, die Suchmaschinen anzuwerfen, um herauszufinden, was der Poesie als emphatische Instanz* für Möglichkeiten gegeben sind – kann sie vermitteln, berichten, annähern oder gar Stimme verleihen?

*Emphase geht auf das altgriechische Verb ἐμφαίνω (emphaínō) zurück, das „zeigen“, „an den Tag legen“ oder „anschaulich/deutlich/offensichtlich machen“ bedeuten kann. Daher bedeutet Emphase eigentlich „öffentlich anschaubare Darstellung“ oder „Verdeutlichung“, in späterer Verwendung „Kraft des Ausdrucks“ oder „Nachdruck in der Rede“. Konträr dazu besteht allerdings bereits im Griechischen die Nebenbedeutung „Umschreibung“.

Oder stimmt es doch, wenn W. H. Auden schreibt

For poetry makes nothing happen: it survives
     In the valley of its making where executives
     Would never want to tamper, flows on south
     From ranches of isolation and the busy griefs,
     Raw towns that we believe and die in; it survives,
     A way of happening, a mouth.

Habt ihr weitere Gedanken, Hinweise, Ideen zu dieser Problematik? Her damit!


Ben Hession – Sonnet for the Refugees

We who watch the television and not a war
so much, do not understand how, there, outside
our lounge rooms, people unwillingly must leave
their homes, unsure –
chancing their families to criminals to provide

safe passage in unsound boats towards
an uncertain welcome
in a vague destination, rumour says is free.
Hope that this is the case becomes a sort of income,
to buy a buoyant mettle against the worst of open sea.

No passengers knew they’d be queue jumpers, though.
Nor did it occur that they’d be the subject of debate –
human beings detained by mandatory politics,
the human cargo
of words of indefinite expansion: while we’ll casually
poll their human fate.

And yet what is illicit in wanting this
democratic somewhere?
And what dignity of ours isn’t worthy enough to share?




Jackie Kay on women asylum seekers and the support of poetry

YOU flee an arranged marriage, you escape from a country where you’ve been tortured for your beliefs or sexuality, your family has been ripped apart by war or you’ve fled with your child to protect them from genital mutilation. Seeking asylum, you arrive in a country that trumpets its health service, education and respect for the rights of the individual. But they don’t believe your story and you’re refused asylum, denied benefits, accommodation and the right to work. You can’t go home – you’ve spent your life savings getting here and it’s a sea of red tape getting the documents. You can’t speak the language. You’re forced to beg or rely on the charity of others for shelter, clothing, food and water. You’re destitute.


Mohsen Soltani Zand – If one person dies 

If one person dies, there is always one who will bury them.
If a bird falls from the sky, there is one who will mend its broken wing.
If a building collapses, someone will dig to rescue survivors.
After the deluge, the ones who are left will search for loved ones.

There are still just consciences.

We are the dying, just barely breathing.
We are the birds, hearts pierced by the arrow of faith.
We cry out from beneath the rubble of humanity Washed up by the flood to this shore.

We are innocents who have kissed the noose of Australian democracy.
We were the fan to the political fire, who now find ourselves in the flames.
We who believed in the dream of freedom, are stuck fast in a quagmire of prejudice.

You are the only hope after God.
And you are the light in the darkness of Australian politics.
You are the ones who are left.
We hear the voice of conscience through your mouths.



Mohsen Soltani Zand is a Iranian asylum seeker who was in detention for four years, first at Port Hedland and at Villawood in Sydney’s western suburbs. He was released recently.


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