Refugees in Berlin

Joshua Weiner: Berlin Alexanderplatz, April 2016

  The following essay is an excerpt from Joshua Weiner's Berlin Notebook (available on Amazon) out now from the Los Angeles Review of...
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Mark Terrill

Mark Terrill

I catch myself thinking about / how glad I am that I don’t have a soul and / that even if I did it would have no choice / but to be at peace with itself and since the / Knausgaard book I’m trying to read is so / dreadfully boring and tedious

Photo by Einarspetz

Michael Kumpfmuller

He has written about animals quite often before, about the humblest of creatures, a cockroach, an ape, a giant mole, a vulture. He has written about dogs and jackals, he has written marginally about leopards and the cat that eats the mouse.

A_Eloesser_vor_1905_2

Arthur Eloesser

Berlin is urban all over, swept uniformly clean, festively spick and span, more so than any city that grew slowly, that skipped not a single stage of development and still shows romantic traces of an unwashed, uncombed, unhygienic childhood.

yang

Yang Lian

when did living / become war’s smouldering ashes forever hung on a wall?

Photo by Karl Hurst

Alistair Noon

We tracked down the Gods / to their offices by the sea, / behind their unclimbable walls. / So far they’ve refused all our calls.

NKVD_Mandelstam

Osip Mandelstam

Peace – that word we deleted / at the start of an injured age, / that lamp in the depths of a cave, / the air in the Alps – is now ether; / an ether we were neither willing / nor even able to breathe.

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