BERLIN
I want to run away and live in an old apartment
In the Turkish Quarter in Berlin
For 450 a month
A third floor walk-up
With white-washed massive rooms and super-high ceilings
And those lovely German windows with ornate brass-works
That twist to open like Rapunzel’s escape hatch
And where I hang my feather bedding out to air every sunny day.
I would paint its walls and ceilings in oils and acrylics
Hang “found” items artfully as sculptures
Slash slogans in bold letters upside-down in corners (to confuse my guests)
And drink tea and eat organic peaches
While watching the rain from the Baltic Sea
As it whispers upon the old buildings across the way.
At night, I’d call friends and sit in cafes and argue culture and politics
And drink heavenly hot chocolate
And try to like beer, again
And fail to like beer, again
And laugh and talk to strangers
Go to gay bars
And art shows
And performance pieces
And ask to peek into an honest-to-goodness bordello just for once
And return to my place and watch the light show on the ceiling
Because there are no curtains anywhere
Sleep with large square pillows and such a thick comforter
So warm that it feels like a lover’s presence
With the windows wide open.
And then the rain picks up and lasts for days
And my choice becomes clearer:
Get depressed
Or get creative.
Depression is my shadow
It pops out or sneaks in
And suddenly all parts of my present life are suspect
As the familiar gray heaviness whispers insistently that
Nothing will really change no matter what I do or how far I run.
It’s easy to slide into gray.
Oh, the grays! the grays! sighed the artist
Agonizing in their capture
Seeing the beauty of grays in all of nature’s colours
And all of the world’s colours in the grays.
Paint the grays.
Write the grays.
Sleep the grays under warm gray feathers
Admire a silk-screened shawl of such subtle gray shimmer
As to take the breath and leave it gasping for an even bigger gray enveloping.
So, here in Berlin
In my flat in dem Arbeiter Viertal
With old windows and old plumbing
I will have another cup of tea
And begin again to draw on the walls
As the cathedral bells chime noon all over the city
And the distant police siren wails.
How long would I stay?
A summer? A year?
Testing my feet
Testing the waters
Walking alone this time
I could re-invent the personality of my true self
Because no one here really knows me any more
And letting the New York of Europe both care and not care.
I could play with both languages
Stop the world
Start the world
As long as I didn’t get too close to
Anyone.
Be self-contained
Self sufficient
Letting sensitivity run out of my fingers
Instead of from my emotions
Be (German) brusque
Be (Canadian) kind
Break others’ hearts for a change
And leave mine still repaired
Hiding hurts behind language misunderstandings
Tougher skinned.
And then one day
While picking at the stitches and removing the staples from my heart
Someone named Arthur or Horst or Gian Lucca will say to me
I like women who are large in every way
And you are exceptional, precious
And I never ever want to lose you now that I have found you.
And I will consider the man thoughtfully
Watch his life and behaviours for integrity and trust-worthiness
And maybe slowly agree to try again
The risk called partnership.
But in the meantime
I’ll have a flat in Berlin
Where Orion beams in at night
And I can lie in bed as long as I want
And let my emotions duke it out
And my heart learn to speak with more authority
As I re-paint the walls and hang a Czech witch over my bed
And drink fair trade tea
And realize that I am complete as I am.
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