Berlin

Berlin

Freitag, 27. März 2015

I am irritated...


..but you can not write an entire book about your irritation. You’d probably be depressed after 10 pages into it (which I am) I have been irritated ever since I started the book and yet, never could let go. I threw away pages and pages and pages, again and again and again, but I still have the idea and about 500 pages of material. Growing.
The first idea I had was: I want to write a book about women.
Good.
No, rather not good.
It irritated me how many women my age or even 10 years younger were stuck in unhappy situations.
So I knew, this novel might become sort of a feminist book. I was irritated right away, and embarrassed, just thinking about the reactions to it by, say: men. I would lose friends I'd never had, that one was for sure.
By the way: its Gloria Steinems 81st birthday today!
Most women (maybe even all women) I knew had children and were in relationships and they did approximately 85% of the housework (rather more), on top of that fulfilling the perfectionist requirements for motherhood in Germanys 21st century, on top of it all looking pretty fabulous, being extremely intelligent and if all this weren’t enough, they mostly made their own money too, some even made enough money for the entire family. So the question somewhat by itself occurred: is there something wrong with that picture? Should I find other women to know? Women who were ugly, made no money and never did the dishes? Or women who, lets just be daring and say it: have self esteem.
The next question was like: what would happen, if women had selfesteem and used their energy for stuff they really loved instead of laundry dishes vacuuming cooking (o.k. some do like that) remembering all the extended family members birthdays and those of their childrens friends and purchasing all the gifts necessary for the occasions?
What could they do, besides obliging to career standards of a male dominated professional and private universe? I am still just asking, out of irritation. And I am not suggesting, they'd change the world, make it a better place or something. I am not THAT naive.
Okay, the idea for the novel was, and I am still organizing my thoughts, after five years of work on the novel (o.k. of mostly procrastinating work on the novel) which by the way shall be named “Swans love differently” because I read somewhere that swans mate for life, which I think, people don’t, they only stay together, for various reasons, not the least of which might be fear, another one might very well be convenience. Or they don’t stay together for various reasons: not the least of which might also be fear. In very very rare cases there might actually be true love, that lasts a life long. I am not sure. I am mostly irritated.
Why do so many women of the 21st century in Germany have so little self esteem? Just a question.
Because they were brought up by women with very little self esteem? After all: Low self esteem runs in the genes and it might just be a very very long process to get rid of it. (Lets not forget that in most countries worldwide, women still count less than a mule).
Irritation does not help, patience might.
So I decided I am not going to answer my question: s.a.in my novel. I can not answer them. The only thing I feel capable of is gathering material. Overwhelming. The process to get order into my head and the material might take forever. Again: irritation is not helpful, is just a starting point. Patience might help. Also stamina, preserverance, digging into the well on a daily basis if possible. Keep returning to those pages and do not forget to throw away all the darlings. They are the worst.
I will tell stories of three women: daughter, mother, grandmother, stories of three different eras in which women could harbour dreams in Germany, but the degree to which any kind of realization was possible differed highly, tended to zero in many cases. (my mother, just saying, born in 1942, was not allowed to learn the humble profession of a dressmaker, because she was supposed to get married anyways).
The grandmother sews a quilt, over years, she sews one square after the other, she sews them together, she builds her little quilt universe and she hides little notes in each square. The granddaughter, who inherits the quilt after the grandmothers death, finds them after being in an abusive relationship for two years. Notes like: Love is an overrated emotion or His feet stink, I am not sure, I can stand it much longer. The notes revealing a marriage, her grandmothers marriage and its unhappiness, which in real life never occured to the granddaughter. The notes even suggesting, the grandmother might have had an affair. Over years, with the neighbor. 
Those notes help her to untangle herself, and maybe by untangling herself, she even, postmortal, could somewhat liberate her grandmother. In the end I want her to be free, and her grandmothers notes are the path on which she, mentally, climbs into freedom. In the end, she will also be reunited with her mom, a poet (whose poems will also be part of my novel, even though, several people from the publishing business already told me, that you can not put poems in novels, but why? I ask, and am irritated once more), who left her, when she was 12, in order to be free and write.
Does anything make sense? Will I ever put all the pieces together and show my quilt, I mean my novel, to the world?

I am irritated, but I am also patient. I know, even after five years of work (or procrastination) I am still in a state of preparation, but also kind of ready to jump onto the first sentence that makes real sense. Every sentence I wrote so far is mere preparation, circling in. Not many will remain in the end. My story is leading a dialogue with itself, in all directions: me with the characters, the characters with each other, me with myself a lot - I feel, there are streams of consciousness floating around, talking to each other. So another job I have to work on, is again and again, to become so quiet, that the consciousnesses can be heard and ultimately put to paper. to rest, by me.
I am, maybe, a little less irritated. I have to go to work now.
Write my novel.
Patient. With preserverance.
Because even if I know everything and I can stop running around for more material, in my head and in the world, it will still take a while to write everything down, which will then require a lot of preserverance to sit still. The art of sitting still and writing what is already there. Never to be underestimated.
So, you can not write an entire book about your irritation. But you can, maybe, write one about the end of irritation and how you got there and that, at the end of every irritation the next irritation is already waiting to be discovered.


© Susanne Becker

Mittwoch, 25. März 2015

Alles bereit

Die Wildgänse sind noch auf dem Rückflug
in steilen Formationen keilen sie mein Blickfeld
blau der Himmel auf den Wiesen der Uckermark
parken Kranichgrüppchen in Einzelheiten
scheinen sie die Zukunft zu besprechen
kein Baum blüht bereits das Sprießen
ist vielmehr ein heftiges Sehnen pulsiert
unterirdisch in allen Unterschwelligkeiten
auch in mir im Inneren die Seen metallisch
graublau unter strahlenden Himmeln definieren das
Wort Schönheit für mich neuerdings drehen
sich die Windräder scharenweise und der Frühling
erinnert aus mir heraus so unwirklich unwillkürlich
an einen frühen Sommer fühlt sich in meinem Inneren
bereits an mich heran eine Wärme die draußen vom Wind
scharf zerzaust das Weite sucht noch ist das Wollen
ein großes ein ungeduldiges Hervorbrechen unter dicksten Schichten
zerrt es an den letzten auch an den ersten mit einer Heftigkeit
die mich jeden anbrüllen lässt der meinen Weg
mit einem Kreuz betritt der Rechtschaffenheit
der winterlichen Strenge der herbstlichen Selbstbemitleiderei
bin ich noch nicht wirklich wach vom ersten grün
noch fast geblendet ein wenig überfordert
all dem schaue ich ungern ins Gesicht wünsch ich mir
den gesenkten Blick ins metallische Wasser das meine
Wünsche spiegelt meine Befindlichkeit ins Klare entlässt

© Susanne Becker

Sonntag, 15. März 2015

Meine Lieblingsbuchhändlerinnen stellen ihre aktuellen Lieblingsbücher vor (15)

Die Kreuzberger Buchhändlerinnen Katja Weber und Jessica Ebert stellen in loser Folge hier Bücher vor, die Ihnen gerade gut gefallen oder einfach aufgefallen sind. Sie lesen ständig und wenn der seltene Fall eintritt, dass ich überhaupt nicht weiß, was ich als nächstes lesen oder aber einer Freundin schenken soll, habe ich bei den beiden noch immer Hilfe gefunden. 

Alle hier genannten Bücher könnt Ihr natürlich in ihrem wunderbaren Buchladen ebertundweber in Kreuzberg kaufen. 
Hatte ich erwähnt, dass es mein Lieblingsbuchladen ist, und dass sie jetzt auch bei Facebook sind? 



Nach dem Lesen von Jan Brandts "Tod in Turin“ (Dumont Buchverlag, 19,99€) fühlte
ich mich beschenkt. Seine persönliche Geschichte erzählt er, vom
plötzlichen Ruhm und dem Fall danach, nüchtern und selbstironisch. Der
dreitägige Besuch der Turiner Buchmesse wird für ihn eine
Herausforderung. Mitten in der Buchstadt mit dem morbiden Charme,
mitten im Konsumrausch der italienischen Hochkultur, taucht die große
Sinnfrage auf.

Brandts Stil ist warm, sympathisch, ironisch. Viele weise Einsichten
über das Schreiben kommen unprätentiös daher. Er schafft die
Gratwanderung, alle Karten auf dem Tisch zu legen, ehrlich und uneitel.
Aber er nimmt die Sache ernst, ist leidenschaftlich Schriftsteller und
verdammt, den Weg zu finden für den nächsten Roman, eine Reise vielleicht?


hier für Dich,
lieben Gruß,
Jessica

bis 18.30 uhr bestellt am nächsten morgen da!

mo --fr 9.30 uhr - 19.00 uhr

sa 10.00 uhr - 16.00 uhr

buchladenebertundweber

falckensteinstraße44

10997 berlin

  tel. 030-69 56 51 93

www.ebertundweber.de

Mittwoch, 11. März 2015

pica pica


auf meinen balkon
fliegt eine elster
während ich meditiere
an den rand meines blickfelds
schwarz und weiß
diebisch und das
bedeutet vielleicht
oder auch nicht
dass du den tod
begleitest ist ein mythos
solange ich dem atem folge
hexenvogel meinem
nicht deinem solange du
mich anschaust
mit deinem schwarzen
knopfauge solange deine
weißen federn mich blenden
dass du diebisch bist
gräh gräh gräh
ist ebenfalls ein gerücht
schäcker schäcker schäcker
solange du mich anschackerst
während ich dem atem folge
du glücksbotin auch das ein gerücht
das ich aber glauben möchte
ich dich beachte und nicht beachte
solange können du und ich
uns diesen moment teilen
ohne aus der zeit zu fallen


 © Susanne Becker

Mittwoch, 4. März 2015

What I notice, when I am still

Sometimes, I wake up and immediately start to write in my disco notebook. It is silver and it glitters so much, it could blind you actually. I got it from my friend Greta Brinkman, a bass goddess and one of my oldest friends. We have been roommates too. She is cool. Which you can tell, since she knows to give me disco notebooks!
Sometimes, right after waking up, sipping my coffee, I find my thoughts so deep and profound and interesting, that I feel the total urge to share them here with you all. Maybe I should not do that, but I can not restrain myself. So, take this, people and have a great day!

What I notice, when I am still

The cat purring beside me. He sounds like a tractor or a car engine. Content.
I hear a little sound in my ears, a quiet sound. I call it stillness. Its where I dive into, whenever I sit on my zafu, or wherever I happen to remember, that this little sound is my home, is really everything I need. When I am still, which I hardly ever am, which I try to be nevertheless as often as possible, because it is total bliss, I love myself and everybody, everything else. I know then how much I really am part of everybody else – even the refugees from Syria, the aborted second children from China and the midwifes helping to keep them from being born, the Dalai Lama too, not just bad stuff. Good bad, no difference. That’s the truth in the depth of my stillness. I am part of the elephants in Kenia, threatened to be extinguished by greed, I am the greed too, but I am also love, pure and clear. I am Auschwitz, I was there, the young jewish mother, the young gipsy girl, the gay man, I was killed, I was raped, I starved, I was the SS man, and the capitalist making tons of money from my slave labour, I am the German pretending to have noticed nothing out of the usual – when I am still, when I know all this, you might think, I am unhappy, but no, this is happiness, total bliss. Good, bad, evil, no difference. Not in the sense, don’t get me wrong, of it doesn’t matter. But in the sense of: deep down we are all one, there is no separation. Love. Breathe into this, and try to do your best. That’s all.

When I am still, which I hardly ever am, I have this constant list of things to do in my head. Its running on autopilot: clean the bathroom, go outside for a walk, write your novel, write another poem, tend to your garden, do nothing for a change, grocery shopping!!!! breathe more evenly for heavens sake, drink water, brush your teeth, get dressed…..the list is never ending and renews itself every second. List of duties, mostly self created. My discipline is to become a better person, to stop gossiping, to stop producing more negativity, which is not at all about hurting people: you can be the most loving and positive person in the world, you will still hurt others. It is rather about being true. When I am still, I hear that little voice. It comes after I listened a while to that sound, the quiet one, in my ears. I can really count on this voice always knowing exactly what to do next (nothing?) The thing which amazes me most about this voice is, that it knows every answer to every question, to every problem and it doesn’t even have to think about it. The answers come seemingly out of nowhere, but of course, they do come out of the depth of that little sound I call stillness. I know everything will always fall into place if I dare remaining in the company of that sound, wherever.

© Susanne Becker

Dienstag, 3. März 2015

Meine Lieblingsbuchhändlerinnen stellen ihre aktuellen Lieblingsbücher vor (14)


Die Kreuzberger Buchhändlerinnen Katja Weber und Jessica Ebert stellen in loser Folge hier Bücher vor, die Ihnen gerade gut gefallen oder einfach aufgefallen sind. Sie lesen ständig und wenn der seltene Fall eintritt, dass ich überhaupt nicht weiß, was ich als nächstes lesen oder aber einer Freundin schenken soll, habe ich bei den beiden noch immer Hilfe gefunden. 

Alle hier genannten Bücher könnt Ihr natürlich in ihrem wunderbaren Buchladen ebertundweber in Kreuzberg kaufen. 
Hatte ich erwähnt, dass es mein Lieblingsbuchladen ist, und dass sie jetzt auch bei Facebook sind? 




liebe susanne,
hier meine letzten lesevergnügen:

julia wolf, alles ist jetzt, Frankfurter Verlagsanstalt, ca. 19,90 €
ein wuchtiges, spachgewandtes buch. jeder satz sitzt. eine junge frau
stürzt ab, erzählt aus ihrer elenden kindheit, von ihrem alles
verdrängenden bruder, von ihrer ersten liebe, die keine ist und das
alles in einer sprache, die treffender nicht sein kann.

sibylle knauss, das liebesgedächtnis, Klöpfer & Meyer, 20€
mit ende 60 erlebt die autarke, starke beate- autorin und liebende
großmutter- nochmals eine große, verbindende liebe. nach und nach taucht
sie ab in die demenz, liegt zum schluss im altenheim und ist doch fast
bis zum tod mit ihrer letzten liebe zusammen, wird tag für tag von ihm
besucht. all das findet die inzwischen 30 jährige enkelin nach und nach
heraus... ein kleine, feine geschichte. sehr liebenswert.

susanne jung, besser leben mit dem tod, Klett-Cotta, 19,95€
susanne jung erzählt von ihremweg, der sie zur bestatterin hat werden
lassen. der recht frühe tod ihrer mutter, diereisen in die welt, ihre
eigenen erlebnisse haben sie immermehr dazu gebracht, einen "anderen",
offeneren, unverkrampfteren, direkteren umgang mit dem tod zu wünschen.
seit 2007 führ sie ein bestatungsunternehmen. berührend, bewegend und
sehr ermutigend einen direkten umgang mit dem tod zu suchen.

liebe grüße katja

bis 18.30 uhr bestellt am nächsten morgen da!

mo --fr 9.30 uhr - 19.00 uhr

sa 10.00 uhr - 16.00 uhr

buchladenebertundweber

falckensteinstraße44

10997 berlin

  tel. 030-69 56 51 93

www.ebertundweber.de