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Regina Lindemann as city clerk in Hungary

Regina Lindemann stayed as a Writer in Residence in Nyiregyhaza, Iserlohn sister city in Hungary. In a reading of the literature Franzosenhohl they reported on their experiences and read from there, created literary works.
the border in exchange because in Iserlohn Hungarian writer Laszlo Mogyorósi argued his resulting work here.

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to end for the Ernst Meister Prize for Poetry in the Hagen

the Ernst Meister Prize for poetry, has been awarded by the city of Hagen, it will no longer exist. He was awarded this year for the last time.

held with that price, the city of Hagen alive the memory of the Büchner Prize winner Ernst Meister, one of the great poet of Germany, whose hometown was Hagen.

end, writes the first chairman, Brigitta Willer, the following opinion:

Ernst Meister Prize

Let the award of the Ernst Meister Prize take in times of scarce resources does not depend on doping break away. - It is a veritable honor in itself. His reputation is primarily based on associated with the name of the poet's name Hagen, finding out about his hand recognition.

Let him not tear off the thread of continuity!
he is once broken, would not only be the last public memory of a great son of our city crumble - it would also lack a model for emerging talent and incentive to plow the field of poetry. There would be a less significant way by the public perceived.
latter applies to a large extent also for the city of Hagen.

Brigitta Willer

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Press article

IKZ 15/02/2010

foregoing press: Westfalenpost

cast Wochenkurier 11/08/2008

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Bridge

See, the sister bridge,
gray, concrete,
it blocks the view
each other.

Let them call us
in our languages, so we understand each other
:
bridge
Bridge,
Köprü
Ponte
Pont,
Puerte,
Most

Let it be easy
wearing our colors: ocher
Your
Savannah in the evening,
Your Yellow
the southern sun, white

your endless winter of the north, we join

under heaven
which is often pale
between the bridge piers.

So the bridge to the rainbow, full of dreams is

and is full of happiness.

Let us enter the bridge,
from the beginning since the end of
leads
from the end, the
leads to the beginning,
that we treat each other with trust
:
with all of our lives, our joy with all
,
with all our love, the need
no words
to recognize that we are looking into the eyes

and smile.

© Annette Gonserowski, Kierspe
see the theater project of our member Ali Arslan

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from foci: Ernst Dossmann

only pawns

Whether big or small - we are really only

figures, such as the chess game known her.

We see all the appropriate up to the edge of the board at

course of the game.

We do not circle like a clock hand.

following the rules that once found Caissa,

on white or black box dispelled

remains our one on pre-covered track.

A master is he out of the s scorch our steps, because

he just feels the right move.

mute, we remain unable güt'gen in his hands,

to apply to our own destiny.

But we must build in childlike trust

on our nations greatest master grace.

(c) Ernst Dossmann

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from foci: Rosemarie

by sea

Chuks rose with many other young men at night in the boat. Somewhere on the coast of Africa. His parents had sold a lot of belongings for the trip. The flight from Cameroon. For the smugglers. Chuks could take only a bundle of belongings. He only knew that they wanted to go to Europe. He and the parents had reluctantly decided on the run, because it gave him no future in Cameroon. No work, no livelihood. He was now twenty years old. What should he do if the parents died. The two smaller siblings also were still there. As far as the parents do not deserve to feed everyone.

The boat was filled densely. The engine started. Soon they saw the coast behind. Chuks was full of fear and curiosity at the same time. He wanted to find work in Europe and then send money home. It was quiet on the boat. All were full of Thoughts. It was distributed water. Chuks drank a cup. He asked his neighbor how long the trip probably would. It did not. Equally, the motor chugged. Chuks asleep. So passed the night and the next day. From time to Chuks changed a few words with the others. A scanty meal was spread. They knew nothing of the luxury liners, which turned the tables on the hot and cold buffet.

came the next evening. Chuks fell asleep again. He was awakened by violent shocks. It was dark. The boat swayed heavily from side to side. The two boatmen spoke loud and excited. It was brought up a heavy storm. A storm. Chuks clung anxiously. All brackets to each other or to the edge of the boat. One boatman jumped up. The boat bowed, struck out.

The Italian patrol boat ship in the morning along the route traveled, found only a capsized boat in the sea floating corpses before.

(c) Rosemarie light

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light from hot spots: Wilfried Diener

Buchenwald

Buchwald,
you
shining example for spring and autumn.
sparkle after a chilly winter night
your crowns majestically
in flat sunlight. Under the glaring
Summer heat
refreshes a pleasant coolness
light in your high halls.

Buchwald,
you recks
up on the heights, you expand

up in the foothills, mountains and valleys
you meet
at all times of the year
to life .-

Why is your name
death and tears
connected forever?

(c) Wilfried Diener

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from foci: van der Gaag Velina

home


Warm autumn night
The moon is full
full of charm.
along the way
directory trees undress

sheets cover the pallor of the asphalt
blushes my car.


(c) van der Gaag Velina

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review: 09.08.2008 Reading in the literature Franzosenhohl

The 1st Chairman opened the reading

visitors and authors in conversation

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from foci: Irina from focal Jost

Waiting

The setting sun to shade
zealous rush,
compliant press into the night in

tired houses.

shrunk, pitch-black
is my sleepless world.

was lost somewhere between the clock hands
hour
what colors and size
my life
returns.

(c) Irina Jost

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: Gernot Burgeleit

Nice day

to trust again
the colors of the earth, the nymph

songs from stone mouth
in the tomb the inscription,
promises of life. Although the evening talking

disenchanted
years of deception and deceit.
sing But the darkness still
tagwarme votes:
We are the world.

(c) Gernot Burgeleit