-- Bans, gunfights, blood... When I entered the room it was filled with close attention. In solemn silence the audience was listening to a woman putting blatant injustice into words. Piling them up like towers of Babel, just to take them down with another pack of powerfull protesting terms. And when the proud Expat from Chile and poetess Silvia Cuevas Morales let down the paper the audience started clapping. Quietly I sneaked in as I was too late. My navigation couldn't find the Schillerhaus, location of the first Poetry-Festival in Rödermark. About two dozens of poets sitting around me clapping, while I orientated myself and tried to arrive where I belonged to.
But what the heck was going on here? Sure, I was late, but could they already have finished the first round of introductions? Could they already have worked out a manifesto? Peter Völker, head and initiator of the festival invited the next one to the fore: Julio Pavanetti. Who smiled and began to read his poem "The naked city". Awesome title, by the way - then Annabel Villar followed with "Fate and orange blossoms" then the next, and suddenly I got it - one of the next turns would be mine. And I wasn't prepared. My English versions at home in a pack of paper... I really hate instruction rounds but this time I definitely longed to participate, definitely wanted to let them hear my voice. So what? Mobile? Internet? Internet. Mobile. Power was low but it should work. So lucky that I just put my three English poems online on behance. So at last I arrived just by reading.
This reading carried me to every single one of the international poetesses and poets. Carried me to Mesut Şenol, editing an international literature magazine, to Maria Juliana Villafaňe with whom I already had a wonderful breakast time the day before, to Françoise Roy with her Mexican style earrings and the kahloesque eye brows, to the gentle Canadian Valérie Fourges in her golden sandals - and not least - to Mindy, Mindy Zhang, who had the heaviest luggage und who styled herself diligently whenever she read, underlining the effect by little details. To everyone of them I preserve a special memory, a particular moment or story. Among them the hand kiss from an olive colored dervish.