part III

 Winter.

Everything grey
in Deutschland
die Vaterland  of
cold logic
reasoning
and its occasional failings
like in the apartment
here
on Karl Marx Strasse
where
I stay
and write
these memoirs

following through
with some ill-conceived plan
meeting an equally
mad friend,
Ben.
What happened?
was ist los mit dir.
mein Fruend,
Bruder
fellow sufferer
Schopenhauer
and the naked trees
hanging over
eerily, over the promenade
my lost love
lost battles
as I walk
all by myself
around this
abandoned kingdom

like a war-torn
city (without sanctum)
on New Year’s morning,
Silvester,
a day to remember
try and forget
as the memorial
fills with tourists
no tears
in their eyes or mine
not worth weeping
for,
or gazing to long
in the abyss
in the absence of grief
we sleep
          … soundly
the earthbound
with so much joy
so many reasons
to hope

 

(There is hope. Just not for us �" F. Kafka)

no purpose
that I can see
to sleep too long
or dream too small
there is light
shining upon us all!
all
(Alles)
Das ist der besten
and for the best.

Winter.

Now second of Jan
and I head west
there to find peace
find rest.

 

On the sixth night
I had a panic attack
outside the Kino
and my friend
Ben
helps me to get back
to the apartment
so kind
and charitable
never had I seen
in his grey
wistful
eyes
the wings of an eagle
protective and strong
as for myself
much more of a lark
no warrior, rather
an agent of dance
and song.

So I beckon thee,
sing along
and take up an instrument
a second language,
while you’re at it,
a machine
blow some holes
rat-a-tat-tat
through the paper-
thin walls
in your room
in mine
in the kitchen
(where I sleep)
Edward Norton
stares at me
insomniac eyes
and handsome grin,
we kill each other
destroy ourselves
and love it all
like that scene
from Fear and Loathing
Terry Guilliam’s
visions
enthralling!
as I, Johnny Depp,
give the performance
of
a lifetime

as I watch myself
dying
on the balcony
as Ed showers
razorblades twisting
inside my veins
    hallucinations
of wounded
small
animals
fix me a drink
help me think
calm
the f**k
down,
I say, on repeat,
on loop
and slowly
I begin to think
this through.

 

“Where was I? Outside
the Kino. A panic attack.
Something about Coen Brothers,
colour scheme, lighting…
I almost fainted.

 

Everything blurred
into milky grey
the shapes out
of proportion
feelings of
nausea
rising and relax.
Relax. Ben’s assuring hand
on my shoulder.
“Have a sip.”

 

CLUB MATÉ

 

No. No. I shouldn’t
I’m fine.
Fine thanks.
Thank you.
Yes.
I’m good.
Yeah good
thanks
for helping me
return to the apartment
my brother --
you’ve done this before
in Paris
with Jack Kielty.
Look at you
now,
gone completely mad
an alcoholic
a depressed melancholic
but,
still here. For me.
Thank you
Ben
Dankeshon.

 

…

Aber,
Wo bist du?
Wo bist du
jetz?
I search for thee
behind the light
where are you?
where are you
now?
I fill anxiety
to the top
all the way
of the cup
and
sitting here
in the bedroom, by
the window
as
light rain
blankets the streets
with
harmless
sprinklings of fresh
dew
on their cold faces
the men and women
walking along
the street

Karl Marx Strasse

I leave the half-lit
cigarette
on the coffee table
in the ashtray
burning, as I
pack for London:

1 backpack

leave for the airport
Schoenefeld
a not by his laptop
what happened?

 

I am worried
and scared.
The wind is gentle
as the train heads
direct for Schoenefeld
the suburbs of Berlin
appearing somewhat
morbid
or sinister

 

2015. 

Author's Note

Within a day or two of arriving in Berlin, I learned that my friend Ben, whose place I was staying in, was suffering depression and drinking all day every day. Trying to get him away from drink, I suggested a movie night. We went to the cinema, thins were going well, then I suddenly suffer a panic attack. Ben heroically escorts me back home. Later that night, he heads out without me and doesn’t return. I left for London that next morning, Ben still absent. (I will come back to Berlin after a couple days. This story continues…)

P.S to clarify -- there was a foldout couch in the kitchen, which was where i slept.

Reviews

[Sami Khalil]

I'm sorry you had to go through all these unexpected surprises and have a panic attack in the midst. You must have felt out of place, homesick at times, escaping the inevitable. You are like Ken Simm on this site with his amazing travels, experiences and love affairs. Losing the self can be enjoyable in something; losing control of our senses leave us like Kites to the mercy of the wind.
Awesome my friend!

[Ern M. Yoshimoto]

thank you Sami. i am no Ken Simm, i regard that man as a hero. in this work, my writing was much more naive, although it was quite a misadventure, good material for writing. thank you for your comment. stay blessed!

[Sami Khalil]

You are welcome Ern.

[Eilis]

The heart of the feeling here, for me, is the Kafka idea of hope “but not for us.” In these moments it can feel that everything is crumbling and nothing will ever make sense. Losing control of the self or feeling like there is self and something other residing within us can be such an oppressive and frightening place to be.

I had my first panic attack when I was nineteen on a seven mile bridge over the ocean leading from mainland Florida into the Florida Keys. With nothing around but water I had a strange sense of being trapped while all I wanted to do was run. I didn’t know what a panic attack was at the time. These moments where you find yourself somewhere strange and the mind revolts can be so disorienting. Long term disorienting. It does something so deep and difficult to understand that that desire to get away but also feel grounded again can create a sense of long unease.

This poem shows that well. Even outside the action the sense that things are foreign and outside of one’s capacity is strong. I like the use of the German interspersed with English because it heightens that aspect for me. Often with a bad panic attack the voices of others feel muffled or silent—unreachable. The inner confusion manifesting in how the senses process the outer world. It is well-expressed.

And that heart of Kafka’s there in the center does the same. It is a hinge, or fold, and a point of understanding but also a question. How did we get here and where is the door to leave. The final stanza cements it for me—articulating the way everything is colored by the landscape of the mind. Like eyes inside the eyes changing what is seen and how it makes you feel according to that innerness. And there is no resolution there, just back turned, moving away. Strong entry for me. Evocative.

[Ern M. Yoshimoto]

as always, thanks for you comment. and thank you for sharing your story. the mind is resilient but when overwhelmed it can break. that moment of breaking, that carnal fear, is something i wont forget, try as i may. i really did like Berlin though. and it was strange the contrast between how much fun i should be having against an inner state that wants to disappear. this writing was a way of dealing with that excited state - a desperate struggle against death. im glad that came through in my writing.
by the way, my german never improved much. after that trip, i decided to focus on french.

P.S "Like eyes inside the eyes" is a great turn of phrase.

[Lorry]

It is ironically funny how a city can match your mood ...
(as I walk all by myself
around this abandoned kingdom)
Like most cities I find the too much concrete look dulls and greys the senses with their own pallette of foreboding, which isn't to say all of Germany is like that but even the most beautiful of cities look dreary with it, especially on grey skied rainy days.
I toohave suffered a panic attack while in a foreign land. It happened on the balcony of my hotel in New York at a height that made me feel like I was going to fall and instantly feel homesick too.
The homesick part for me was new, as was my fear of heights, as at that time I was still hiking and climbing. It felt like everything I had known had swalloweditself and left me inside out. (That was my last ever visit to New York!)
Unfortunately (or fortunately for you) you had somewhere other than home to go. I on the other hand was put off travelling for 3 or 4 years by my weird moment on the too high balcony and have rarely travelled since, although I do pretend that it's for health reasons now, which I suppose has some truth, because I never want to take ill somewhere I don't know ever again! Not that doing so at home has any kind of enjoyment to it.
Really enjoying your unique take on writing your thoughts out. Very raw and honest.

[Ern M. Yoshimoto]

thank you for your kind review. i liked reading your story too, although it's not a very happy one. travelling is i think overly romantacised, not to say that it has no value, but people seem to regard it with more glamour than it merits. this trip for me was a weird one - i'll never forget it, but nor was it the time of my life. or, rather, it was an impotant time for me as it was when i truly confronted my own mental illness. it was, as they say, a turning point. i became more aware of the nature of this disease and took measures thereafter to better deal with it. writng this work also was a part of that process.