I was born next to a hole
I was thrown
from a body
into this landscape
next to the hole
and it wasn’t the time
to question if you wanted children
to be thrown into this world
But the hole hollowed out
layers devoid is sealed
pressed burnt
(on the right toe still a scar)
sold, burnt
forgotten.
Hole, then perhaps loses itself
in continuous loops
like wind in wheels
or loses
When hole recognized me
ripped open
breaking edges rising curves
till the horizon
left
soil
left
earth
I couldn’t burry the hope
inside me.
Realising,
I could have fallen
Realising,
into the hole, next to which I was born
Realising,
Danger to life: Lignite mining area
Realising
black and white laundry
Realising
demanding freedom, protests
Realising
job losses and Treuhand
Realising
all those years in between
before the years that are ahead
begin.
I take what I found,
memories, I take
hands
I climb into the hole
but do not land
neither needs nor electricity prices
I don't think of them
conveyor belts ratter in early spring
Hole welcomes me
in folded times
it wants to show me
the machines and the depth
It’s no longer how it’s been
I was born next to a hole
no one had told me
About Lignite
Nothing
remains without consequences,
when a hole is dug,
we shovel earth,
and tremble towards a future
that is already behind us. Imagine
the machines that bite into the ground,
they transport the Earth.
Don’t be afraid
we walked through
this we’ve been through
for a while
Sit, kneel, fold
us, between
where giant dragonflies could live,
but wait you
already smell
and listen
before you see
the hum.
Wring out millions of years
but only when the wind blows like this
you know exactly
that you stranded
here, in involuntary neighbourhood.
Lignite is brown and fibrous.
Where you are now,
plants and mammoths breathed,
that's what I’ve been trying to say.
Talking about a landscape and referring to places.
Everything transforms or breaks
none of it might be enough,
soil has been pushed away
deeper than yesterday,
we would move
but only ever mean home.
Other holes were filled
their work meant coping with the future, meant hope, and the modes of production.
I would like to write you a poem about lignite.
Nothing remains
without consequence
for those who enter or close
the memories permeate
in between only
the birches, tell the stories, while
doing the dishes, no one is listening
in the archive for lost places, you are reminded
of that bus stop, where you did not sleep
after you missed the last bus
cause the party lasted so long
you might have enjoyed growing here
you would have liked showing your children this place
or moving away
immediately,
murmur about it in company.
I look, but I remember,
I sink into stratifications, linger in swamps,
if you want to see the ruins, if your
eyes would understand until the edge
you walked the unmarked path
here
that hasn’t been
here
for long
On the navigation device we float,
and the ground can’t catch us
What are you searching?
What are you searching here?
Roots,
never offered maps,
you can not feel them under your shoes,
you don’t care,
they are not deep
Others have long expanded
their futures, hopes, and the modes of production and you
leave
move to the West,
how they still call it.
In the fields, next to the newly paved highways,
access shafts lower meadows.
If this is just a picture for your story, then
it wouldn't be important, but
we just drive past
the ghosts.
The air tastes better soon.
We could
open the window
if you would be interested
still, this would be a good hideaway.
We drew the landscape in its becoming.
We would fit in.
We will grow grain,
soon the soil will come back
then we will swim.
I would like to write you a poem about lignite.
But not now,
we need to negotiate consequences.
No one
is left here
You only temporarily had made yourself available.
The absence of mankind shows their total control.
We transport earth
and the invisibility of the circumstances,
complicates matters coping with the future, hopes, and the modes of production
We wanted to prevent progress and apathy
we never have been here before.
Looking at these landscapes
that never belonged to us
without memories.
Structural Rupture
What remains
what can become
they wrote their own chronicles and pulled them out of the shredder
what remains
what can be
a village searches for its population
the water for the lake
rises from the ground
with the acid
what remains
what can
when the forgotten hole disappears
when not in ten years, but today
when the robinia raised their voice
when change was promised
it took a few days to remove the earth under the village,
the village;
Hartmannsdorf, Katternaunsdorf, Bergisdorf, Naundorf, Benndorf, Wernsdorf, Zützschdorf, Körbisdorf, Lützkendorf, Petzkendorf, Berndorf, Zöllsdorf, Rusendorf, Ruppersdorf, Kleinhermsdorf, Droßdorf, Breunsdorf, Heuersdorf, Großhermsdorf, Meuschendor,
Treppendorf and Bösdorf
unless
fossils were found
what remains
what