With a cold ventilated head you run through inner courtyard, into home port of Neukölln in Berlin. The 25th edition of Open Mike is on. Undwie The sleep-sick sheep counts, guest of WichtigstenWettbewerbs for literary offspring counts arguments, which are repeatedly put forward against event: here reproduce only a caste, literary operation is Uncritical, dubious and anyway and Immerinzestuös. There is little more to be found here than "My-sorrow-and-I"-texts, nichtsals world-alien fattening of usual sensitivities. And last but not least argument lauertimmer somewhere: here one would only get tame texts according to German institute standards, as y would be taught in writing schools in Hildesheim UndLeipzig.
With such well-trained prejudices, you awaits things imvollbesetzten, a good 450-man-made stage room of home port. Twenty finalists read about two days of ir texts, which were selected by six editors totaling 580 submissions. A jury consisting of DemLyriker Nico Bleutge as well as prose authors Olga Grjasnowa and Ingo Schulze will award three prizes at end. In addition, Taz jury, which is staffed with possible literature, is distributing a public prize. Kannso A literature marathon go well?A dystopian horror design
Right after first readings, so Erleichtertwie disillusioned can be found: everything grows through, everything as always. The MASERUNGSTIMMT. Little good, much mediocrity, little bad. The impression is sichhaltened until Sunday afternoon, when winners are chosen. What is striking at same time: There are, notorious tendencies. Many derNachwuchsautoren speak about battered bodies, from a relationship to self. The "I", that is no longer spiritual Resonanzraumin of all its shades of gray, but also and especially body, bastion UndBeweis of our here-being in digitized world.
At by Othmann, who later was quite rightly awarded Poetry prize, it is said: "What does/you do against cavity, your mouth. /Wohinmit of tongue. " And later, "How are se trees/understand. and making hair/on my body already a meadow. " Lauritz Müller, a weitererLyrikfinalist, writes: "Our skin was last available cargo." Also Sarah Wipauer takes herself in Wiefrüher men of infants died of subject and turns it into EinePhysio-dystopia: men are degenerate into contaminated host bodies, siefliehen to escape internment in clinic camps and die, Nachdemihnen Parasite infant was removed from chest. Background information remains in this brittle allegorical scenario – irritatingly, Wipauers text, which regrettably has not received a prize, is precisely because of cold self-evidentness with which this Schreckensentwurfvorgelegt becomes.The nylon cord at throat
The three-member jury decided to distribute total amount of 7,500 euros to all three prizewinners; The one major winner is Demnachnicht to applaud. With award-winning prose works of RalphTharayil ( sweeart) and Mariusz Hoffmanns (Dorfköter) in about immediately as good and reluctant twin bror. Both of m are dominated by einerMigrationssituation, both speak of childhood in Europe – Wennauch in very different ways.
At Tharayil, girl of an Indian family has a glimpse of his life: Cruel Brors, spanking at home, a long-established husband in India. In between patrons and lurking Swiss mountains. What sounds like a bright, socially realistic ham, in truth a zappenduster-krudes poetry piece: "She picked up Nylonschnurund she sat down at her throat, [...] Until Pouletcurry in IhrerTupperwaredose was covered with a Pilzflaum, until after Wolves dasWintertier came, until remnants of words from Reto's mouth went into ir breath. "
In contrast, Dorfköterdie post-Soviet keyboard in form of a childhood memory in a Polish café is played in admirable practice safety. But Hoffmann's text exhausts itself imkonsumistischen use of what is currently in demand: identity, border crossing, migration experience. That may be sublime undgegenwartsklug as a me choice. Only Dorfköter does not provide linguistically bold added value beyond logic of NarrativemAngebot and reading demand. Here Istalles as had and planned. And little hunger is only breastfed, bleibtnichts left.
At Tharayil, on or hand, we come across Undeutbares, on lumps of uncomfortableness towards se figures, which are more and more than Unserenmodischen's desire to read. Here, someone is guarding against einebillige discourse serving as she pulls through Gegenwartsliteraturallenthalben. And we would like to follow staff in Diesegletschrig-global history, knowing that y cannot fathom it.
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