1. - Panthersie für Europa

DIVING
DEEP
03RD – 11TH
OF MAY 2009
INTERNATIONAL
YOUTH EXCHANGE
IN JUDENBURG,
AUSTRIA
Diving Deep – Exploring and developing intercultural awareness through creativity and arts
invited 75 young people from Poland,
Slovenia, Ireland, Turkey, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Macedonia, Kosovo and Austria to
participate in an international youth exchange
that took place from the 3rd until the 11th
of May 2009 in the northern Styrian town of
Judenburg, Austria.
The youth exchange provided a safe environment which allowed for exploration and
challenging of themes related to culture, interculturalism, diversity, Europe and intercultural
awareness and fostered creativity and selfesteem. The local community of Judenburg was
involved in the project in various ways.
Public Performance
Finally, various outcomes of the working groups
were merged and presented in a public performance on Saturday, the 9th of May 2009.
Enjoy this booklet+DVD!
Due to the fact that Diving Deep led to many
different concrete outcomes, the project
team was keen to create a final product that
ensures sustainable use of the workshop
outcomes. The booklet contains the outcomes
of the creative writing and the photography
workshop. In the back of the booklet you will
find a DVD, containing: a video of our performance in Graz and of the final performance in
Judenburg as well as the outcome of the
video workshop (TVDD).
DIVE DEEP!
The Programme
Besides group building activities, country presentations, excursions and more, each young
person participated in a week-long exploration
of the common topic through one of the
following creative arts:
· theatre
· video
· photography
· creative writing
· dance / movement
· graffiti / street art
· voice
These methods are modes of expression which,
in the right environment, are accessible to
young people from any background: they equip
young people with the skills needed to express
a wide range of meaning, without relying on
specific languages or advanced skill-sets.
IMPRESSIONS
YOUTH IN
ACTION
PROGRAMME
Youth in Action is the Programme the European
Union has set up for young people. It aims
to inspire a sense of active European citizenship, solidarity and tolerance among young
Europeans and to involve them in shaping the
Union‘s future. It promotes mobility within and
beyond the EU‘s boarders, non-formal learning
and intercultural dialogue, and encourages
the inclusion of all young people, regardless of
their educational, social and cultural background: Youth in Action is a Programme for all!
Every year, thousands of projects are submitted
by promoters in order to get financial support
from the Programme; a selection process aims
at granting the best projects, DIVING DEEP
was lucky enough to receive Youth in Action
support!
DIVING DEEP – an Action 3.1 project
Action 3.1:
Cooperation with the Neighbouring Partner
Countries of the European Union
The purpose of the sub-action is to develop
mutual understanding between peoples in
a spirit of openness, while also contributing to
the development of quality systems that
support the activities of young people in the
countries concerned. It supports activities
designed to network and enhance the capacity
of NGOs in the youth field, recognising the
important role that they can play in the
development of civil society in the neighbouring
countries.
It covers the training of those active in youth
work and youth organisations, and exchanges
of experience, expertise and good practices
between them. It supports activities which
may lead to the establishment of long-lasting,
high quality projects and partnerships.
What is a Youth Exchange with Neighbouring
Partner Countries?
A Youth Exchange with Neighbouring Partner
Countries is a project which brings together
groups of young people from two or more
countries, providing them with an opportunity
to discuss and confront various themes,
while learning about each other’s countries
and cultures. A Youth Exchange is based on a
trans-national partnership between two or
more promoters from different countries. In
a Youth Exchange under sub-Action 3.1, the
transnational partnership is composed of
promoters from Programme Countries and
Neighbouring Partner Countries.
More Infos on different sub-Actions and
funding possibilities:
Info for Europe:
ec.europa.eu/youth
Info for Austria:
www.jugendinaktion.at
Info for Styria:
www.logo.at
BARTEK GRZYBOWSKI
BARTEK GRZYBOWSKI
BARTEK GRZYBOWSKI
I’m excited to be here at the station. A week of making new friends, a
week of no school, even just a week of speaking my native tongue.
I am outside the right train, but don’t get on. Glancing at the clock every
twenty seconds, then at the platform. Will they get here in time?
We have made it, all four of us on the train, settled into compartment.
The two other girls in one, me and him in another. I am happy to be
with the boy, who is having a polite day (he would say that he is always
polite) and lifts my backpack onto the overhead shelf. We talk a little,
some small talk (it’s been a while since we saw each other), some comments on the landscape we are traveling through, our adopted land of
Austria, and some talk about the camp. Wir freuen uns einfach darauf
eine Woche Schule zu verpassen!
Changing trains at Leoben. We are on the platform for precisely three
seconds, but this place has memories for me. Where this year in Austria
started, eight and a half months ago. A quick smile, a glance at the
platform, then moving into a new compartment. We divide ourselves
the same as before, but this time we are quieter. Now that we have
made our connection, I try to call Stephi. No answer, I tell the boy. No
worries, someone will be there, he says calmly. I hope he’s right.
It’s raining, and I have three bags. After the fifth look at the ÖBB flyer,
we decide that the next station must be Judenburg, and tell the others.
Waiting with our bags as the train slows.
Tina is here, a smile on her face, at the other end of the platform. We
greet each other, and then I am confused. Sie ist die Hauptbetreuerin
von meiner Austauschprogramm, wo es bei allen Camps Alkoholverbot
gibt, und wo wir probieren auf Deutsch zu sprechen. Now she is an
organizer of this Diving Deep program, where it is a lot more relaxed,
and where we all speak English together. Entschuldigung, aber ich muss
immer zwischen Deutsch und Englisch wechseln, kann nichts anders
machen. I’m sorry, but I have to change between German and English,
can’t do anything else.
Bags loaded in the shiny rental car, we drive through Judenburg. Quiet,
on a Sunday afternoon, like all of Austria. Approaching the hostel, a
mixture of old and new. Walking through an archway, our first glimpse
of the courtyard. And that’s it, we’re here, happy, relaxed, a little tired
maybe, but looking forward to the week ahead.
TIME TO DIVE DEEP,
STARTING NOW.
SOPHIE YEOMAN
I slept only three and a half hours but when I
woke up at half past four I saw the sun
outside. I smiled. There was only one problem.
It was impossible to wake up my Dad. He likes
to sleep for a long time. “Dad, Dad...” I whispered to him, trying not to wake up my Mum.
“I want some scrambled eggs” he said. I didn’t
know what he was talking about, but it sounded
like a good idea. We had to leave at 5am, but
of course my Dad had to look at Travian first.
At quarter to six I was quite nervous. ‘I’m late’,
was the only thought on my mind. We had
to hurry up! 190 km/h? Wow, I’ve never driven
so fast! Because of that, we were on time.
FROM
POLAND,
we had a long way to go, 10 hours. Most of
the time I spent doing nothing. I was out of the
world. Bus was filled by the sounds of ‘Mission
Impossible II’. Again. I rather prefer just thinking than watching this movie... I already knew
that in Judenburg it would be just great,
because in places like this you only meet openminded people. So I was just thinking about
the views outside the bus. I was dreaming
about the rise of the sun in Alps. That was the
most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Everything
around us was so fresh and green that I was
MAGDALENA LIS
quite disappointed Poland is so grey... Once
we were in Austria, the landscape reminded
me of my holidays, because I had driven through
Austria on my way to Spain. Suddenly everything around me went dark. I had dejà vu, I was
in Austria again for sure. Last time I had been
driving to sunny Spain, land of coconut palms
and flamenco.
Drops of the rain fell onto our bus. Now I was
driving to Judenburg, so happy and excited.
New place new people. I hoped that I would
see the sun rise in the mountains.
JULITA HRIBAR
SONJA BUDIŠA
As we drove from Vienna airport to the train
station, our eyes glued to the windows, we
oooohed and aaaahed at almost every unusual
landmark we saw. A huge building with Lutz
written along the side in big bold capitals made
us pull out our cameras violently fast. The
station itself was shaped like a giant Pop Up
Pirate game. We all exhaled loudly. We had
made it.
We had a little time before the rock and roll
train so we heaved our suitcases into electronic
lockers and put on our exploring hats. Our
minds were racing but we dragged our bodies
through the breathtaking Belvedere Gardens.
We rambled on beneath suspended traffic lights
clinging to ornate buildings and we found ourselves back at Pop up Pirate.
Aboard the Hogwarts express we slumped into
cosy compartments and shared food from
Lupins suitcase. Bolognese and curried rice
eaten with sporks or smeared onto homemade
bread with creamy Irish butter. By the time we
were satisfied the sky outside had closed in.
One after the other we plugged in headphones
and tuned out. There was a communal sigh
of relief when we stepped onto the platform.
The air was fresh and plentiful and the weight
of our cases felt lifted.
Driving through the town with silhouettes of
mountains against the rich navy sky played
tricks on our eyes. The moon was shining down
on the Hostel. We roamed the grounds for
a while and found a secret cave. Cold, dark and
mysterious – our excitement overwhelmed us.
We renamed ourselves again.
It was good to see Bob again and we conversed
over bad bread and bad milk in the dimmed
dining room. Functional airy rooms, we were
home, already unpacking with bursts of tired
energy. We enjoyed a fantastic induced sleep
although the duvet covers were folded the
wrong way around. Sun rays sidling in through
the slanted windows – we could see colour
again.
SAIEDA KELLY-BETRO
IT WAS
GOING
TO BE A
GOOD
DAY.
MARTINA ZLOBKO
DANIEL NUNES
COMING TO
JUDENBURG
KATHARINA SCHWABL
You might know the moment when you suddenly realize that you have
fallen asleep. You had a short reflection of some picture in your mind
and it takes you some seconds to find your way back to reality.
On my way to Judenburg I fell asleep several times in the car. My eyes
couldn’t focus on any of the fast moving objects outside. So I closed
them, let my thoughts drift away, fell asleep. Every time I woke up with
that same picture: Sitting next to the river that day in the crowded
town with the sun making funny little reflections on the green water
surface. Opening my eyes and coming back to reality was almost like
falling into cold water. The clouds were getting darker every time I woke
up, and so were the mountains around.
When we arrived at Judenburg I was almost sure that this day had only
been a dream. A fast moving picture in my mind, popping up for some
seconds just to disappear again. And I was afraid that at the end I could
forget about it completely.
BARTEK GRZYBOWSKI
RELJA CETKOVIĆ
BARTEK GRZYBOWSKI
B
uenos Dias! says the big African woman in
a yellow, floral-patterned dress. There she
sits with five tiny bags of cocaine and tries to fix
each package, so that they can all weigh 1,5
grams. Another African woman, the police
comes – opens one of the bags and tastes the
white dust. They speak a distorted Portuguese,
the policewoman leaves with a smile on her
face. The wind carries another heat wave; I feel
the sweat running down my back, like
teardrops. I ask myself what I am really doing in
Maputo – the very same moment I wake up –
here I am trotting in a clean train towards
Judenburg. The unbearable moisture and dirt of
Catenbe is long gone, all I can see is the
hills of which tops were carefully sprinkled with
powder-sugar. I sigh, I fall back asleep.
Ü
nderdog World Strike plays in my ears. It
is a song by Gogol Bordello – to me Gogol
Bordello is like Nick Cave, there is more
literature than music to what they produce.
Produce. Produce. Produce. Just like many
other words, if you repeat it often enough, you
get the sense that you are mumbling a group of
letters with no meaning at all. At times, I get
the sense that words indeed are a group of
letters with no meaning, because the moment
they come out of my mouth, they lose their
magic. They do.
nakes. No one really likes them and nor
do I. To some people, it is easy to avoid
snakes, it sure is, unless your job is either
agricultural or somehow related to the perseverance of “wild life”. I’m not a Chinese rice
planter, nor do I work for Nat Geo Wild
but I still have a hard time avoiding the snakes:
Every “S” is a snake to me, an Egyptian one
indeed. Health, hygiene and power. I’m on my
way to South Africa and this is all I can think
when I see the big, cream-colored snake in the
side of the highway, under the brutal sun.
The fact that he is in the shape of an “O” rather
than a “S” does not make anything easier.
I want to go back to the part of the world I’m
used to and I only want to think of snakes when
I see “S”s.
R
oses are red / Violets are blue / No one
loves you / Like I love you. When we were
little girls we had those memoir diaries in which
classmates (mostly other girls) wrote and
signed. Those same diaries had pink pages that
smelled like strawberries. Back in the day, it was
also OK to slow dance with other girls, especially in the wedding parties.
In retrospective, I get to think that it was such
a smart thing to do – a girlfriend will hardly
leave you in the dancefloor standing by yourself
after she says “No one loves you like I love
you.” (And you don’t want to leave her either.)
Men are more like seasons, there is no such
thing as eternal summer. It is 3 o’clock in the
morning and I have to catch my plane to Wien.
My boyfriend wears only some old sweatpants and swears while trying to find the car
keys. Every time I get on a plane, it is a silent
break-up; but he does not know it.
A
nother suitcase to prepare. The dryer in
the laundry does not work properly, so I
have to check every piece of clothing to make
sure that it is not wet. If it is wet, it has to
face my blow-dryer. Shoes, make-up, underwear,
socks, I’m almost a robot. A robot with a
suitcase. Tonight, I will be on my way to Johannesburg, after that, Judenburg, two months
later, Uppsala and then only God knows where.
People think I live this way just because I like
travelling. Not true. All I want is at some point,
in some place,
FINALLY TO
BELONG.
BÜS̊RA ERKARA
CEYLAN SEDEF YILMAER
CEYLAN SEDEF YILMAER
CEYLAN SEDEF YILMAER
IVANA MLADENOVIC
MILAN GLIGORIC
M
I
L
A
N
Money
Printed paper that we made valuable. Symbol
of evil. We will never learn.
Ideals
What you wish for defines you. Nietzsche said:
“God is dead, you’ve killed him!” And it’s true,
we killed all the ideals, all that was on the other
side. Everything that does not fit our rationality patterns has no value. But is it like that?
Love
We, people, have a special ability to make clichés
from all great things. The biggest clichés we
make out of the biggest things. Such as love.
There is probably just a small number of
people who really know what love is. It’s one
of the hardest things to give.
A freedom
Greatest gift we have gotten from out there.
But freedom is not endless. We also got
responsibility to control it. We should be free
and responsible for freedom.
Nothing else.
It’s enough.
TRAVE
LLING
BLIND
ERËMIRË KRASNIQI
How we got to Judenburg was a long journey,
for an instant I thought it would never end.
Leaving behind a comfortable environment
called home, heading to the unknown.
Judenburg is a small town, that seems or the
feeling dictates to think it is forgotten by
the concept of time and protected from the
mountains whose shape reminds me of the
naive drawings from childhood years. Which
unavoidably gave me the impression that
only the lonely people reside here. Or perhaps
this impression was formed from the fact
that the towns streets are empty and somehow
supplement my prejudices that I have for small
towns which sometimes helps my puzzled mind.
One of the characteristics is that the town
is populated by different immigrants of our
region, close to our culture or better say, we
share common knowledge. The interesting
part is that I won a free ice-cream yesterday
after sharing a few of words in Serbian with
a woman who longed to hear her beloved
language.
The Castle where we are placed is an adventure
in itself, the way it is organized with its Austrian
architecture speak of different social order.
The fusion of the senses, of the far away past
and the future with all the youngsters
involved in the exchange program makes this
experience very unique, where each of them
I believe have a story to unfold.
JULITA HRIBAR
MARTINA ZLOBKO
JULITA HRIBAR
DANIEL NUNES
RELJA CETKOVIĆ
SPRING
Spring stretching on the grass...
In the shade of an evergreen tree,
Creeps are crawling over me.
IN THE
MOUNTAINS
High up in the mountains,
You can always hear the birds singing,
There is a wolf wandering.
A BOY AND
A GIRL
A boy and a girl
Shining like stars in the summer night
Glowing in the winter light...
IF...
SECRECT
VISIONS
If the night is endless
And if the day has no end
Would you stay with me?
Well kept in a box
When the night will give you up,
Your existence seems to vanish.
A pearl in a shell,
Rain in the driest of the deserts,
Visions you bring to me...
BOJAN KOVACKI
1.
Sleepless and restless
No need of food anymore
Just love is enough
2.
Gelbe Löwenzähne
Lieblingsplatz der Biene
Schau, geh vorsichtig
(Yellow dandelions
Favorite place of bees
Look, and step carefully)
3.
Ask forget-me-not
Touch of blue to remember
Week of memories
4.
SOPHIE YEOMAN
Il pleut très doucement.
On court à chercher un toit
Mais les oiseaux chantent.
(It is raining very softly
We run to find a roof
But the birds are singing)
RELJA CETKOVIĆ
VERENA HACKER
REUBEN CUMMINS
REUBEN CUMMINS
AN
DIE
FLIEGE
AN
DIE
SPINNE
NATUR
EREIG
NIS
AM
BAHN
HOF
Sanft wiegt dich der Wind
an den seidenen Fäden
für immer gefangen
Softly the wind sways you
in silky threads
forever caught
Der Blick gerichtet
auf acht lautlosen Beinen
bewachst du dein Netz
Focused gaze
Eight legged
you guard your net
Verblasste Farben
Der Wind lädt dich zum Tanzen
ein Plastiksackerl
Faded colours
the wind invites you to dance
a plastic bag
Unerbitterlich
verschieben sich die Zeiger
in Richtung Abschied
Mercilessly
The pointers are moving
towards farewell
KATHARINA SCHWABL
THE
FALL
THE
BLACK
BIRD
YOLDAKI
AGAC
THE
BENCH
THE
POLAR
BEAR
The tree stands all red
With its elder leaves dangling
Loved no more this Fall
One curious eye
And shiny jet black feathers
The Blackbird glances
Iki yani kaya
Olsa da büyüyormus
Yoldaki Agac
Green as the trees surround
It invites the passenger
To come sit around
Both wild and vicious
The polar bear floats away
Alone on that ice
BÜS̊RA ERKARA
Leaves on a cherry
Blossom tree. On. Up. Floating
Delicately by.
Silver grey and white
Gracefully skimming water
Heaving his long wings
BUTTER
FLY
HERON
SAIEDA KELLY-BETRO
DANIEL NUNES
JULITA HRIBAR
MAGDALENA LIS
***
Rain. Bird sings its song.
The air smells like a forest.
Mountain touches the sky.
***
Pada. Powietrze
Pachnie lasem. Na ziemi
Zapominajki.
***
Góra. U jej stóp miasto.
Dzwony mówią o wiośnie.
Deszcz przynosi spokój.
***
Austrian landscape. Silence.
Butterfly on the flower.
Snow is still in Alps.
MARTINA ZLOBKO
SONJA BUDIŠA
I have once read that the earliest memory one
can remember changes from person to
person. Some people can remember as early
as their second year in life while others may not
remember until five years old. I was born in
1987 and my first memories start from the age
of 3. Among with many other things, I can
vividly remember watching the news with my
parents, each evening right before the dinner
– one of the petite rituals of our household.
Back in the day the Evening News was much
more serious than it is now; you could not see
America’s Next Top Model or “_________:
How to Lose Weight?” towards the end of it.
Turkish Politics, World Politics, Economy,
Sports, Weather Forecast – once it all ends we
can all sit down and have our dinner in “peace”.
The first war I remember (without being told
about) is the Gulf War. There were also the
armed conflicts between Turkish and Kurdish
– back then I did not know that another war
around the same Gulf would start and I would
still hear about these same “armed conflicts”
by the time I became a young woman. And the
word “armed” – it is explanatory enough.
Leaving your human arms behind and building
up new arms, arms that are guaranteed to kill.
When people do statistics they never count
war as a belief, but it is. Yes, just like the mono-
theistic religions, war is a form of a belief and it
has missionaries. When you reject to believe,
they come knocking on your door to make sure
that you at least hear about it. Quite in line
with the missionaries, they either ask or force
you to convert.
Gulf War I said, of course it did not stop there.
As I grew older I started hearing about Russia
and former Soviet countries. Hijacked ships
in the Black Sea. Attacks on elementary schools.
One day, I started hearing about the Balkans.
Frequently, they told of a bridge. Every once
and then I heard the name “Palestine” although I did not know where these Palestinians
lived. The visual on the screen remained the
same, fires flashing, a crimson shadow all over
the cities and men with painted, belligerent
faces holding weapons promising that they
would never harm the civilians, women crying.
In time, it started to feel like the name of
the country and it’s peoples quickly passed by,
in the manner of a subtitle. As I grew older,
my Mom started to ask my Dad more frequently
if he could just turn off the TV. Many evenings I caught a teardrop or two rolling into the
soup as she filled our bowls. I asked what was
wrong, she said it was the onions.
THE
ONIONS.
BÜS̊RA ERKARA
CEYLAN SEDEF YILMAER
IVANA MLADENOVIC
BÜS̊RA ERKARA
IN MEMORIAM
HRANT DINK
Nora Elif woke up at 7.30 in the morning as usual. Drowsily, she glanced
at the other side of the king-sized bed. Empty of course, her husband
had already left for the work. She would always wake up to his sound
– especially the sound of the wardrobe “Trak!” – which meant that her
husband chose his tie for the day. He was never good at being silent,
actually at times, he sang, then at least one of the kids would wake up
and crawl next to their Mom for another hour of sleep. Although they
were all half-awake, her husband never said goodbye before leaving.
Nora thought of her dreams as a teenager, a husband that always kisses
and tucks the sleeping wife and kids. True – even as a teenager she did
not dream of a lover, she dreamt of a husband. In Elif ’s culture, dear reader,
people cannot live together unless there is a marital bond. If a woman
lives with a man, she is labeled inappropriate and has no chance of getting married. If a man lives with a woman, his house is called a “garconniere”
and most probably, he is advised to find an appropriate girl (very
important note: not a woman but a girl no matter how old she is) and
marry her. Thus, in her culture little girls learn to dream of their wedding
ceremony while little boys learn not only to avoid marriage, but also
to avoid any long-term relationship as this will directly lead them to Holy
Matrimony. As Nora and her husband were married for the last 12
years, reader, we can say that she succeeded and her husband failed.
12 years indeed. 12 years that brought two kids (fruits of their love), this
bourgeise-ideal apartment floor they are living in now (and still paying
the credits for), a decent hybrid car that Nora never gets to drive though
she paid for half of it – what else – some Ikea furniture and a small
savings account for their kids future; along with __________ veins in
her small hands, crow’s feet around her eyes, five extra kilos and
cellulite she can never lose as she never has time to exercise. Her husband, on the other hand, changed as little as possible in he same 12 years.
Of course he put on some weight too (but it is only the sign of his
wife’s cooking abilities – what a lucky man!), naturally, his stressful work
environment in the last two years sprinkled some snow on his temples
(but that makes him look even more charismatic!) and his eyes look
much younger thanks to Elif ’s eye-care serums lined in front of the
bathroom mirror. (Since their first child she hardly found time to use
cosmetics – she has to use them before sleeping at night and after
waking up in the mornings; at nights she faints out of exhaustion rather
than falling into a peaceful sleep and in the mornings sleeping for another
half an hour is way more important for her than taking a shower,
putting on anti-aging creams (with God knows what ingredient caviars,
gold dust or snail ______? It only gets more ridiculous each day) and a
proper make-up.
No, her routine is more like this: Wake-up, prepare breakfast for kids,
wake the children up, help them get dressed (Nora believed that they
were old enough to dress themselves but once her mother-in-law
criticized her harshly and asked her what kind of a mother she was;
since then she is more in control), prepare their lunch boxes while
they are having their breakfast (spilling every piece of component all
around), gulp some tea in between if you are lucky that day, make sure
that kids get on the school bus, finally go to work, only to come back
8 hours later to clean-up the remnants of breakfast, make the beds, pick
up three pairs of dirty socks from the living room floor (everyone
except for her seems to be enthusiastic about leaving their socks around),
start doing the laundry, run and get grocery shopping done, put
the wet clothes in the dryer, prepare something to eat for kids (they are
always hungry when they are back from school and she does not want
them to eat junk food), start cooking the dinner while the kids eat
their snack and tell about their days. Between the preparation of dinner,
ironing the clean laundry and re-cleaning the kitchen up, she may have
a minute or two to check the newspaper out. Her husband comes
mumbling how tired he is, they have their dinner, while serving the dessert
she puts the kettle on for tea. Her husband takes his cup and goes to the
living room to watch a football game. There always is a football game,
in some country or another.
But today it is different. It is their anniversary – she has a waxing appointment after work (In Nora Elif ’s culture, reader, women are expected
to wax every single dark hair apart from their eyelashes, eyebrows and
hair.) following which she will stop by home to take a quick shower
and go to the hairdressers. Lately, she has discovered that her husband
tends to eye around too much. She has decided to fight tooth and nail for
her territory – at least when she has time.
Today Nora Elif is lucky because everything worked out as planned, even
better actually. She could leave work 15 minutes earlier and go to
her appointment in time, on the way back home there was almost no
traffic (miraculous if you are an Istanbulite) so she could reach home
half an hour earlier.
Elif tried to avoid her cellulites in the mirror before walking into shower
and sang while making herself clean. After putting on a good amount
of body lotion and getting dressed, she realized that she was still ahead
of time and decided to take a look at the TV while putting on nail
polish. She zapped to find something entertaining but every channel
seemed to show the same news, an Armenian journalist shot in Taksim.
She turned the TV off. She did not have time to get upset.
After putting on a good amount of body lotion and getting dressed, Nora
realized that she was still ahead of time and decided to take a look
at the TV while putting on some nail polish. As she found the remote
control under a size 44 man’s sock, the doorbell rang. She opened
the door; it was Rakel, her best friend. She dropped the crimson nail
polish in her left hand as Rakel exclaimed
“HRANT
IS DEAD”
SONJA BUDIŠA
VERENA HACKER
BARTEK GRZYBOWSKI
And so she woke up,
Woke up from where she was, lying still...
Said I... Gotta do something...
And now, message alarm won’t let you
back to sleep,
You’re kept awake dreaming someone else’s
dreamz
And in the night when the stars go blue,
I close my eyes,
And think of you.
I want to tell you something true,
I want to say that I love you,
But baby when you walk past me,
I know your steps are going towards him!
Please do a thing for me,
Come and make me company,
We’ll go up the sun,
You won’t get burned and it’ll be fun!
Thinking never helps to me,
I’m just trying hard to be,
The one that you will always see
standing next to your ID.
Look at the sky over your head
you may touch it from your bed,
Believe in your dreams and be strong
there are no wishes that are wrong.
Angels lying,
Statues crying,
buildings running,
Trash cans stunning...
These verses maybe sound like parodies
but it’s what you left in my memories,
I shall never know again,
What made me write this poem...
MES
SAG
GES
BOJAN KOVACKI
For the future: When I will feel down I will just dance
The project let me see how superficial the
differences between cultures really are. At
heart, we’re all the same great people.
YOU ARE
SUPER
FANTASTIC!
Now I know 75 more people, good
cool funny and clever ones.
For facilitators: You MUST forbid
political badges on meetings like this!
BEING WITH DIFFERENT CULTURES
AND CREATE SOMETHING TOGETHER
WAS AMAZING.
The project helped me to centre myself, to
understand better how I work in and can
contribute to a group.
In such a short time, we produced a lot. Very productive,
very creative, inspiring!
STATEMENTS
The world of performing isn’t fair.
I must not be afraid of challenges
and for my personal development
it is important to step out of the
box from time to time.
KEEP ON INVITING US, HELP US LEARN
MORE OF THE YOUTH WORLD!
THE MOST IMPORTANT FOR ME WAS THAT I DON’T JUDGE TOO FAST!
es gibt so kuhle menschen!
I learned that art brings people
together no matter where they
come from.
The most important thing was to get deeper about
knowing the other person because these workshops
showed us how to focus on the underground of the
iceberg not the top of it like we do all the time.
We are still divided in some points.
CEYLAN SEDEF YILMAER
CEYLAN SEDEF YILMAER
There she stands barefoot
Open scars on her once swollen belly
A timeless birth, decided and performed right away
On the floor, next to her, a baby lies
Distorted and red, but still eyes wide shut
MEN LAUGH.
BÜS̊RA ERKARA
RELJA CETKOVIĆ
IVANA MLADENOVIC
JULITA HRIBAR
MAGDALENA LIS
MESSAGE
Stop talking about the love in our hearts.
I just want to know that you are next to me.
Do you feel smell of the rain? It’s getting dark.
On the flower is sitting the last bee.
I’m so upset when you are far away.
I want to share with you any my dream.
Do you feel soft touch of the Sun? I say
Before I will notice that you are not here.
You gave me forget-me-nots to remember
That days we were so happy together.
That guitar, candles and that September…
But for memories his gift doesn’t matter.
Love is not just words or kisses, my dear –
love is growing up when you are right here.
At times...
Saturday sun didn’t promise diamonds
The children from the small city
decided to do a picnic on a rainy day
They were all sitting oblivious in the forest
trying to capture as much greenery as they could
even though no memory was involved in these small acts of celebration
the children didn’t hesitate showing all their admiration
at times, they even believed they could all be capsulated in time
they were struggling for a place untouched from the conventional concept of time,
Unconsciously aspiring for something they could call
JUST
MINE
ERËMIRË KRASNIQI
IVANA MLADENOVIC
DANIEL NUNES
JULITA HRIBAR
IVANA MLADENOVIC
BLACK
AND
WHITE
It is the year of 1961... or it will be for six hours
said the boy to himself while he was trying
to pick some of the few clothes that he had
on his drawer.
‘Girls are like cigarettes, no matter how many
you smoke, you still want more’ said the old
man to him. All of a sudden he recalls what an
Irish man used to say to him repeatedly.
He showed him the significance of the first and
the last cigarette ‘the moment you open the
box of cigarettes you take out the first cigarette
and put it back where it was, but up side
down thus that will be your last cigarette that
you will smoke, because that is your lucky one.’
He looks back again into the open wooden
drawer, in his rented bedset and stares at it for
a while, at the row of flat and neatly folded
clothes. He picks out three of his favorite
scarves, one plain olive, one multicolored stripes
and one checkered black and white. Each
one he holds up to his pale chest in front of
the small hand mirror hanging up at the back
of the door.
He places the rejected scarves carefully back
into the drawer and winds his chosen one
around his neck. Strawberry punch was upwards
from it as he wonders where it came from.
That aroma makes him sit down and light another cigarette. Instinctively he licks the
cigarette all the way down, he recalls another
proverb connected to the cigarette licking
once told by an Albanian. You lick the cigarette
with the intention to last longer he said – so
you always have it by your side.
Was this another moment for him to go back
to things he thought would always last?!
Was the scarf another sign of that longing?!
It was his Farewell Party when he got this scarf,
this was one of the few meaningful presents
that he ever received from his brother.
The checkered black and white scarf was to
remind him of many chess games that he had
with him, while fighting for the Queen who
ruthlessly broke their hearts. His big brother
shared some words of wisdom with him while
he handed him the scarf: ‘Win your Queen!’
After recollecting all the memories brought up
by the scarf, he was certain that that was
the scarf that he wants to put on. It was one
of the rearest moments he thought of home,
even though he danced with her only once,
back at the time he thought that that dance
would last forever, of course it would move in
different platforms, but always swinging without
wondering about finding the perfect spot,
because with her you didn’t need to follow steps
and rules of dancing, since he believed that they
were flying.
But the flying didn’t last long since they realised,
they weren’t on their own. There were too
many people wanting to fly and flying with her.
So he had to fly on his own to the big apple.
ERËMIRË KRASNIQI & SAIEDA KELLY-BETRO
IVANA MLADENOVIC
PATH
“How can you say you love me? Don’t even mention those words! It took
me three years to find out how much you are ready to sacrifice.
It makes me wonder if anything lasts forever. When it comes to words
you are so strong and convincing, but while your words were flying
around, your actions ran away from the noise. Last night your words were
flying higher than ever, and you know what’s funny, while you were
speaking I loved you more than ever, if you were just stronger, you would
have my eternal love.
I can imagine your proud and poltroon face when the boss asked you:
‘Is it done?’, you said with a bitter smile: ‘Of course!’. Oh, and
you knew that you were run over, like wild horses run over the stream,
raising water. You can still hear the sound of water drops falling on
the leaves. The worst of all is that you were aware you were run over
by your own boots. You’ll say they made you, but you know it’s not true.
They just wrote the script, it was your call if you are about to play.
You felt the weight of responsibility and you kneeled. How could you
do that?
Can you imagine if our faith depended on one man, how would you feel?
Oh, you would pray all the time, even though, you don’t believe in
God, you would pray and wish that a great man is deciding about your
faith. Then you would understand what a great man is, and you would
be ready to become one.”
She had stopped for a while. She looked into my eyes, with that familiar
look, look that was able to light up every part of my soul. She knew
that I understand her. She also knew that there is no need for any words.
My punishment started the moment I signed those papers.
I felt so low. Yes, I was always talking about justice, love and freedom,
but the view is much different from this side, side of sacrifice. And
that’s what hurts the most. Not her words, not that I betrayed her,
it’s that I betrayed myself, I betrayed all that we were living for. If I could
give advice to man kind, it would be, care about your ideals, if you lose
them what will remain?
And what has remained? I won’t be able to look anyone straight in the
eyes anymore. Indeed no one knows, but I do. Consciousness is a curse.
Here it is again, that same fever I felt after I signed those papers, that
I felt every time I thought of that young people, with their two children,
I left without home. Yes I could say I don’t want to sign, but someone
else would do it, and I would left without a job. But that’s no excuse, oh,
MILAN GLIGORIC & BOJAN KOVACKI
it’s one more thing to feel guilty for. Will I ever be able to forget? But
no, I don’t want to forget, I would feel much more worse if i found myself living like nothing happened.
Oh, we made a cruel system. And the funny part is that it speaks about
freedom, about liberating a man. But it slaved us, it slaved us in such
subtle way, it slaved with our own permission and with smiles on our
faces. Yes, we do have planes. Yes, we do have machines. But we
forgot the hearts, the touches. Instead we have Babylon towers. They
have placed us in high floors, but man can’t be up there, he needs
a ground. If he is up there too much he will lose his bases, if he had any.
It’s true; they tricked me, the one who was fighting against them.
They placed me up high. They told me to sign. The only thing that was
important was that screen with numbers, as bigger number as it’s
possible, that was the only goal, never mind if I couldn’t even say what
number is that. You can’t take someone’s home from a cosy chair
up high. You can’t take it anyway, especially not from up there. I haven’t
even seen those people. If i needed to face them it would be so
much different. That’s what’s cruel. You can kill a man without having to
look into his eyes.
I was too tired. Too tired of judging myself, of judging the world, of her
eyes on my face. Although I knew she is the only person who was
not judging me, who loved me even more, regardless to a words she
said. I knew she loved me more than ever. She needed to speak, we
both knew that.
“...maybe I would’ve done the same...”. That was all I heard. At that
moment the strongest feeling was floating trough my body. At the same
time I was feeling happiness because I had a saint by my side, I had everything I was ever longing for, but also I knew I need to go.
She was speaking slowly, and quietly, she was thinking out loud. Then she
got up to the stereo, and played some love song. I’ve just picked my
jacket and stopped on the doorstep. She was in the other part of the
room, on my left. She was looking for a CD. She was turning a few in
a hand, the ones from the top she was putting on the bottom. Her face
was in tears, no sound. We were looking at each other for a while.
I thought we were connected with a heavenly bond in that moment.
Just about to leave she stopped with turning CDs in her hand, and
the last thing I remember is kind face of Barry White on the envelope
of the top CD. I love him ever since.
REUBEN CUMMINS
REUBEN CUMMINS
SAIEDA KELLY-BETRO
PUB
I glanced over the crowded room and there she
was. Sitting with glass in hand, legs crossed
and eyeing the grain of the wooden table suspiciously. Around her people sat around on
stools, stood leaning on the bar or passing from
the smoking area, to their tables or the toilets
and usually stopping to have loud merry
chats about what they’ve been up to recently.
Under the dim lights, their chats end and
they pat each others backs and return to their
drinking buddies.
She held her back very straight maybe a clue of
her background or maybe simply nerves
and she clasped her tall wine glass with long
elegant fingers as girls with bitten or fake nails
clench their foamy beer.
I couldn’t help but notice her clothes, a simple
cotton shirt buttoned all the way up,
naturally faded jeans and snug black jacket with
silver zips adorned her long frame. Her hair
was smooth and silky black which was pulled
from her darkened face, sharp cheekbones
and full raw lips with eyebrows meeting like a
V in the middle. She was a far cry from every
other woman in the room, plucked and
pulled into perfection complete with sparkly
make-up, tight fitted man made vests and
jeans. Their hair was bleached or and dyed into
wacky colours and kept poker straight by
their faces, orange with bottled tan. As I observed this, I meandered through the room.
Relief and surprise flashed through her brown
eyes. A set of pearly white teeth gleamed
up at me. ‘How are ya? Would you like a drink?’
DANIEL NUNES
UNTITLED
SOPHIE YEOMAN
“Where do you come from?”
“I come from New Zealand.”
“But why do you look like that? Aren’t people from New Zealand dark
coloured?”
She smiles awkwardly, and says that actually her ancestors come from
Europe. She wonders why she doesn’t know more about these
ancestors, how they lived in their countries, how and why they came to
the new one.
“What is the language of your country?”
“It’s Maori, but... I don’t speak that.”
“What do you speak then, if you don’t speak your own language?”
She gestures with her hands as she explains how in her country the
original language is spoken fluently by only a small percent, and everyone
else speaks English as their first language. As she speaks she tries to
understand how this can be. She knows the history, but she can’t
imagine the sacrifice made by parents who stopped speaking their own
language and changed to another, so that their children would have a
better chance in life. She tries to understand why she herself has never
valued learning Maori. Why she took French, and then German, instead
of the first language of her own country.
“What are the teenagers in your country like?”
“Different, I suppose. Not like here.”
“But better looking? Worse? How do they behave?”
She frowns slightly, remembering. She just knows they are different to
here. The boys don’t have play fights with each other in the breaks.
They are ‘mates’, a male form of friendship which lets them be close to
each other without feeling embarrassed. Girls are sporty, try to be
natural and healthy looking. Boys and girls are less physical with each
other, a kiss on the cheek means something. They are mostly very
honest, and respect others who are too. But the details are blurred. She
never thought of these teenagers as having some kind of shared culture,
shared code of behaviour before.
“What kind of house do you live in?”
“Normal I guess. Sort of small, made of wood. I live across the road from a
park.”
“But I didn’t think you had houses in New Zealand... Do you have electricity?”
She is slightly offended by this ignorance. And then remembers her
own ignorance of how people in other parts of the world lived. She
didn’t know if people in Brazil or Argentina or Colombia had electricity.
Or if they lived mostly in houses, apartments, or mud huts. Now she
realises that most of our guesses are false, and that you have to travel
and meet people from other countries to learn what everyday life is
really like in far away places.
“Why did you come here?”
“I wanted to see something different. To experience how other people live. To
make friends from other parts of the world.”
“Oh... that’s cool, I guess.”
She smiles now. The tolerance she has learned, from being asked
hundreds of questions. The understanding she has learned, from the
hundreds she herself has asked.
SMILES,
DIVING
DEEP.
SONJA BUDIŠA
RELJA CETKOVIĆ
RELJA CETKOVIĆ
ERËMIRË KRASNIQI
NO DIRECTION
HOME
It was just last spring when me and my friends created a photo album
called “We dont live here anymore”. All of us were heading somewhere; if not physically we were exploring each others minds. In these
internal researches that we did among us, it always felt home.
There is a title of the book which is permanently present in my mind or
it comes up whenever I experience uneasyness communicating with
roads I have to take and choices I have to make. The title of the book
as I was trying to tell you about is called “Life is Elsewhere” (M. Kundera).
Never read the book though, I just like the feeling of it, and places
where it takes me.
It wasn‘t a long time ago when I realised I dont belong anywhere, there
are times when I feel and felt strongly bounded to the title of the
documentary film on Bob Dylan’s life it is called “No direction home”.
That is what this highway behind me reminds me of; roads lead no
one home.
Roads don‘t exist on their own, we ‘the humans’ legitimize their being,
perhaps by building them first, then taking a trip, driving to our
workplace, back again to our shelters, were we keep all our personal
things, our music, books, films, ouvres des art, and all other tools
that you use to face the world every single day. Someone might believe
that’s home!
To me home is an ongoing journey of rediscovering and rethinking who
you are and who you want to be. A quest to get in a place you feel
you really belong. Home is not a solitude comunication with only few
static images that you long time ago build the imunity to experience.
When two of my friends left, they forgot that they took with them parts
of our home their left hemisphere of the brain were we resided for
a while now.
At the time we found that gesture pretty selfish, but actually that was
just another reminder of zillion reminders hitting us (almost) everyday,
in a subtle way saying that the notion of home is yet to be found. Even
today, I still wonder where all these angry cars go?!
MARTINA ZLOBKO
MAGDALENA LIS
Юркине, 26.06.2008
Юркине, 02.07.2008
Dear Klaudia!
My dear…
Where am I?
Ukraine especially Krym is just awful! So poor
and undeveloped… there are a lot of empty
blocks of flats but they are destroyed and
don’t look good. Everywhere are cats. A huge
amount of cats. You know that I love them but
so many?! It’s incredible.
There’s no catholic church! Where should I go
to pray? Here’s only CERKwie. By the way they
are colorful and gorgeous.
There’re no mountains here. Wherever you
look, there are fields and somenthing like that.
But Azowskie Sea is so blue and beautiful that
I can’t describe you.
When I was going here I was listening to the
Ukrainian radio. Music is pretty good. Very
melodic and fast. However, I still don’t know
anybody, I hope that people here are as nice
as their music.
Drop me a line soon!
Family which I live with is really nice. Somehow
she is quite nosy but her husband is excellent.
They take care of me and make my every wish
come true.
Yesterday we were in Fjeodosja. This city is so,
so beautiful that you can’t believe it. There
is museum of Ajwazowski – the famous painter.
These paintings are showing mainly the
sea but for example his portraits are not good
enough. However scenes with water are
amazing. There are so many details… I didn’t
like form of exhibition. We had to follow
the lady from museum and we couldn’t stay and
watch any painting longer than she did. It’s
unbelievable.
Moreover I didn’t like that lady. But people
here are amazing. Very talkative. And strange
information – they are still missing CCCR.
They don’t mind that was really bad time also
for them, they want it because of for example
travels without any order. Like in European
Union. The Lenin statues are everywhere. It’s
unbelievable!
I’ll send you some photos soon. I’m waiting for
the answer.
Big hugs,
XYZ
XYZ
Юркине, 14.07.2008
Юркине, 17.07.2008
Klaudia!
Привет!
Sorry there wasn’t any news from me so long.
All the time I’m spending travelling.
Last time we were in Zlotaja Dolina – the land
of wines. They even have got their own sparkling wine – szampanskoje. It was created by
Prince Glicyn. It’s really good!
Actually all their traditional dishes are delicious.
Especially ‘bliny’, something like pancakes
with cheese, meat or fruit inside. But what is
awful? ‘Pielmieni’. They add it into soup without
any taste. It’s disgusting and… they love it!
I don’t know why.
Anyway. I almost forgot.
Their language is just amazing. I’d love to get
known it. Cyrylic is so fascinating. I even already
can write something in Russian (cause in this
part of Ukraine they use Russian). But in
Russian will be the next short letter, you’ll see!
Спасиба за письмо.
У меня всё хорошо. Сегодня я была в
ресторане. Я едла традыцонное украинское
блюдо. Солянка очень вкусный суп! Вчера
я познакомилась с новом друзям – Юром.
Это харошый малчик и я очень люблю его.
Напиши мне што у тебя!
XYZ
Целую!
XYZ
Юркине, 25.07.2008
Klaudia!
How are you? Where is the letter from you? I’m worrying about you!
I hope you understand my previous letter but there I could make
some mistakes. I’m still not best writer in Russian. This language is very
melodic and that’s the reason I like it so much. But it’s also funny
for me because there is a big amount of the same words with different
meaning. Dywan in Russian means tie, in Polish – carpet. Krawat in Russia
is a sofa or bed, and in Poland that’s... tie! So there could be a lot of
misunderstandings.
Moreover Russian books are very good. I’m in love with ‘Мастер и
Маргарита’ of Михаил Булхаков. That’s story about visit of devil Woland
in Moscow. There’s also big part about the huge love, love which is
stronger than death. The best character for me is Behemoth the cat. He’s
crazy, very funny and lazy a litte bit. What is more the poetry is really
good too! My favourite poet is Puszkin, I think.
Do you remember when I wrote you that people from Krym miss the
CCCR? That’s not everything! They still feel like a part of Russia in my
opinion. That’s the reason I’m writing about Russian literature. Oh God!
There is something really strange but I like it. Krym is still ‘wild’
compared to the countries I know. Do you know what I mean? This part
of Ukraine is not so crowded as Spain or Italy. If you are in some
beautiful place, you can enjoy it by only yourself, without people with
maps and cameras. I had seen one amazing place in Pascal – Sudak’s
Tower – the pearl of Krym. When I was there I was in shock because I
saw people who were climbing on the walls of that building! In
Poland it’s unbelievable. It’s enough for now. If you want I can write you
something more in Russian.
Kisses,
XYZ
Юркине, 02.08.2008
Hi my dear Friend!
It’s my last week here. I’m so sad… On the one hand we will see each
other soon but on the other hand… I don’t know if I want to go
home, to Poland. Everything here is destroyed and looks so poor. Moreover there’s a huge quantiety of wild dogs but especially cats. A lot
of them are sick, dirty and ugly. It’s hard to find catholic church. I pray in
the other religion’s churches. Thanks to that i saw samething what made
me excited.
I was in Ormian monastery. It was deep in the forest, on the mountain.
It was made only with stone (and maybe wood but I don’t think so…).
Our guide was a monk. At the beginning he told us that he knows
50 (and here was a moment of silence) words in Polish. But he explain
us everything very well. He sang also Ormian prayers and his voice
was so deep, soft and strong… I was like in hypnose and then I felt God
in the air. After the visit we invited him to Poland and then surprise
came. He was looking as a 50-year-old man but truthfully he was 81!
Can you belive it?
So – people from Ukraine are very sociable and nice. They are smiling
all the time and they like to catch you on the street and start the
conversation. Evertything is so calm and natural… But I forgot about
most important thing! I didn’t describe you my village!
Юркине маленкая дешевля. Она розположена над морем в горах.
Сюда немногно людей, но они очень хорошой. Околе Юркина
нет города и когда мне нада на пример книги или тетрадьи мне
нужно ехать очень долга. Сюда только один магазин с хлебом,
картошками,чайом и другими. Я думаю, што ты полюбилабы Юркине
как и я.
I’ll tell you everything one more time when I’m back by a week.
Wait for me!
Love,
XYZ
REUBEN CUMMINS
REUBEN CUMMINS
MARTINA ZLOBKO
ERINNER
UNGEN AN
DAS NICHT
GESAGTE
KATHARINA SCHWABL
Man kann einen ganzen Tag redend miteinander
verbringen ohne etwas zu sagen. Das bemerke
ich jetzt, wo wir hier sitzen und uns etwas
zu sagen hätten, aber keine es wagt, weil wir
fürchten uns nicht zu verstehen.
Dabei hatten wir den ganzen Tag das Gefühl uns
zu verstehen. Das routinierte Hin- und Herschieben von inhaltsleeren Sprachhülsen lässt
diesen Irrtum entstehen. „Siehst du das?“
„Gehen wir dorthin.“ „Pass auf, ein Auto!“ Das
sind keine Sätze, die irgendetwas sagen. Sie
entspringen einem Moment und verschwinden
mit dem nächsten. Jetzt, wo wir etwas zu
sagen hätten, bleiben wir still. Und die vorbeifahrenden Züge helfen uns auch nicht weiter.
Distanz hat nichts mit Entfernung zu tun. Das
wir mir gerade bewusst, als du nach meiner
Hand greifst. Die vielen Kilometer, die bald zwischen uns liegen, sind nicht schuld daran,
dass wir jetzt nicht reden können. Wir sprechen
verschiedene Sprachen. Ein Wörterbuch ist nur
Ausdruck des hilflosen Wunsches, dass
jedes Wort in einer anderen Sprache seine Ent-
sprechung findet. Das gilt vielleicht für wissenschaftliche Konzepte, aber für die Wörter,
die man benötigt um die Welt zu beschreiben,
die sich zwischen zwei Menschen auftut, gilt
es nicht. In Wirklichkeit spielen wir stille Post.
Was am Ende von meiner Nachricht bei dir
ankommt, ist etwas völlig Anderes.
Wahrscheinlich ist es besser nichts zu sagen.
Wir würden uns nur missverstehen. Ich
kann mir im Geiste schon zusammenbasteln,
wie unser Gespräch aussehen würde. Du
würdest mir wieder vorwerfen, dass wir
Österreicher nichts als Schwarzmalen können,
uns nur beschweren und Probleme suchen,
wo keine sind. Und ich würde dir wieder an den
Kopf werfen, dass du eine Gesprächskultur
à la Berlusconi an den Tag legst, die unangenehmen Themen mit dem selbstsicheren
Lächeln eines Versicherungsvertreters einfach
wegwischt und mir stattdessen etwas ganz Anderes auftischt, egal was, Hauptsache es schmeckt.
16.50 Uhr. Der Zug fährt ein. Als wir zum Bahnsteig gehen, drehe ich mich zu dir um und
sage: „Man ist doch nicht gleich ein Schwarzmaler, nur weil man die Dinge anspricht.“
Du bleibst verwirrt stehen und ziehst in einer
hilflosen Geste die Schultern nach oben.
Offenbar hast du kein Wort verstanden, wie
befürchtet. Das erleichtert mir wenigstens die
Entscheidung. Gehen oder Bleiben. Wagen
oder Gewinnen. Ich hebe meinen Rucksack in
den Zug und steige ein. Der Zug fährt ab.
Ich fahre mit und habe Vieles nicht gesagt.
SONJA BUDIŠA
VERENA HACKER
VERENA HACKER
VERENA HACKER
She came somewhere from the east,
Words he caught still unknown;
In one look, yes, they knew both,
Divine harmony was played by their soul,
That’s when he found out distant is so close.
Hungry, down the south, he was walking alone,
“Cursed is world” he thought, thought we bear too much of load,
Just about to leave, enemy soldier his eye did saw,
Took him on one shoulder, and all of his load,
That’s when he found out, shoulder should be strong,
And not the elbow.
In the home of setting sun,
She fought for justice for too long,
Almost forty years has gone,
Regretting for the sacrifice she made, trying to make a blind man see,
She didn’t notice when the ball stopped her walk,
Big curious child’s eyes were waiting for a throw,
That’s when she remembered why she did it all.
Up there high where rain hides your tears,
And snow don’t let you hide,
Poor men she met, in the age of twenty five,
He spoke to her of love, and why he is hungry now,
That’s when she found out there is more in life than nickel and a dime.
Eastern snow can freeze our bones,
Southern sun can fry our toes,
Western winds can blow our homes,
Northern rain can drown us all,
Eastern snow can give us joy,
Southern sun makes us grow,
Western wind can’t hit our souls,
Northern rain can’t wash our faults,
And no matter on what side we place our goals,
It’s the same play that connects our rolls,
Gift from God, was freedom of choice,
BUT WITHOUT
RESPONSIBILITY
IT JUST DESTROYS.
MILAN GLIGORIC
MARTINA ZLOBKO
REUBEN CUMMINS
THE
GROUP
Agnieszka Tatera � Poland
Aida Mujkanovic � Austria
Aleksander Michalik � Poland
Alicja Szwarczyńska � Poland
Anna-Maria Troicher � Austria
Anne-Laure JAÏN � France
Arbenita Mjekiqi � Republic of Kosovo
Armend Hoxha � Republic of Kosovo
Astrit Duriqi � Republic of Kosovo
Bartek Grzybowski � Poland
Bernhard Zandl � Austria
Bob Kelly � Ireland
Bojan Kovacki � Macedonia
BrianDevaney � Ireland
Burim Rexha � Republic of Kosovo
Büs̊r a Erkara � Turkey
Caner Akın � Turkey
Ceylan Sedef Yılmaer � Turkey
Corinna Donnerer � Austria
Daniel Nunes � Austria
Darko Petrovski � Macedonia
Dogus̊can Kaftan � Turkey
Dragan Atanasov � Macedonia
Dragan Markoski � Macedonia
Dragan Petrov � Macedonia
Elbenita Kajtazi � Republic of Kosovo
Emer McHugh � Ireland
Erëmirë Krasniqi � Republic of Kosovo
Honorata Wojtkowska � Poland
Idil Ilhanli � Turkey
Ivana Mladenovic � Macedonia
Jean-Marie Perinetti � Ireland
Julita Hribar � Slovenia
Karin Schagerl � Austria
Katarina Jazbec � Slovenia
Katharina Schwabl � Austria
Katjuša Mlekuž � Slovenia
Kevin Sheridan � Ireland
Kiefer Short � Ireland
Konrad Iwanowski � Poland
Krešo Sekulić � Bosnia and Herzegovina
Kristina Popova � Macedonia
Larisa Mustar � Slovenia
Lulzim Hoti � Republic of Kosovo
Magdalena Lis � Poland
Manuel Diepold � Austria
Martina Erhart � Austria
Martina Zlobko � Slovenia
Matejka Zeman � Slovenia
Mia Brunej � Slovenia
Mihaela Bogojovska � Macedonia
Mila Golcheva � Macedonia
Milan Gligoric � Bosnia and Herzegovina
Natasa Kalin � Slovenia
Neslihan Çavus̊oglu � Turkey
Patrycja Chołuj � Poland
Paweł Melski � Poland
Rebecca Williams � Ireland
Relja Cetković � Bosnia and Herzegovina
Reuben Cummins � Ireland
Sabina Mahr � Austria
Saieda Kelly-Betro � Ireland
Sara Pynar Oender � Turkey
Sarp Serter � Turkey
Shega Shkodra � Republic of Kosovo
Sonja Budiša � Bosnia and Herzegovina
Sophie Yeoman � Austria
Stefanie Zobernig � Austria
Tina Unterberger � Austria
Tomasz Grzych � Poland
Tomaž Drugovic � Slovenia
Toni Stoshevski � Macedonia
Verena Hacker � Austria
Zoran Ristevski � Macedonia
Zülal Sunaçoglu � Turkey
IMPRESSIONS
PARTNER
PROMO
TERS
SLOVENIA: MC BREZICE
www.mc-brezice.si
IRELAND: SLIGO YOUTH THEATRE
sligoarts.ie/arts-community/key-organisations/county-sligo-youth-theatre
MACEDONIA: CREACTIVE
www.cre-act-ive.org
POLAND: UNESCO WROCLAW
www.unescocentre.pl
TURKEY: AFS TURKEY
www.afsgd.org
BOSNIA AND HERZEGOVINA: CEREBRA
www.cerebra-ngo.org
KOSOVO: 7 ARTE
www.7-arte.org/web
AUSTRIA: MÄNNERBERATUNG GRAZ
www.maennerberatung.at
IMPRESSIONS
Design / Gestaltung: Kerstin Rosenzopf
CREDITS
www.jugendinaktion.at
www.jugendreferat.at
www.judenburg.at
www.jufa.at
www.maennerberatung.at
This project has been funded with support
from the European Commission. This publication reflects the views only of the author, and
the Commission cannot be held responsible
for any use which may be made of the information contained therein.