Sonntag, 24. Januar 2021

The Hill We Climb von Amanda Gormans

 When day comes, we ask ourselves,

where can we find light in this never-ending shade?

The loss we carry,

a sea we must wade.

We’ve braved the belly of the beast.

We’ve learned that quiet isn’t always peace.

And the norms and notions

of what just is, isn’t always just-ice.

And yet the dawn is ours

before we knew it.

Somehow we do it.

Somehow we’ve weathered and witnessed

a nation that isn’t broken,

but simply unfinished.

We, the successors of a country and a time

where a skinny Black girl

descended from slaves and raised by a single mother

can dream of becoming president

only to find herself reciting for one.

And yes, we are far from polished,

far from pristine,

but that doesn’t mean

we are striving to form a union that is perfect.

We are striving to forge our union with purpose.

To compose a country, committed to all cultures, colors, characters, and conditions of man.

And so we lift our gaze, not to what stands between us

but what stands before us.

We close the divide because we know to put our future first,

we must first put our differences aside.

We lay down our arms

so we can reach out our arms

to one another.

We seek harm to none and harmony for all.

Let the globe, if nothing else, say, this is true:

That even as we grieved, we grew.

That even as we hurt, we hoped.

That even as we tired, we tried.

That we’ll forever be tied together, victorious.

Not because we will never again know defeat,

but because we will never again sow division.

Scripture tells us to envision

that everyone shall sit under their own vine and fig tree

and no one shall make them afraid.

If we're to live up to our own time,

then victory won’t lie in the blade, but in all the bridges we’ve made.

That is the promise to glade

The hill we climb.

If only we dare

It’s because being American is more than a pride we inherit.

It’s the past we step into

and how we repair it.

We’ve seen a force that would shatter or nation, rather than share it.

Would destroy our country if it meant delaying democracy.

And this effort very nearly succeeded.

But while democracy can be periodically delayed,

it can never be permanently defeated.

In this truth,

in this faith we trust

For while we have our eyes on the future,

history has its eyes on us.

This is the era of just redemption.

We feared at its inception

We did not feel prepared to be the heirs

of of such a terrifying hour,

but within it, we found the power

to author a new chapter.

To offer hope and laughter to ourselves.

So while once we asked,

how could we possibly prevail over catastrophe?

Now we assert

how could catastrophe possibly prevail over us?

We will not march back to what was,

but move to what shall be

a country that is bruised but whole

benevolent, but bold,

fierce, and free.

We will not be turned around

or interrupted by intimidation

because we know our inaction and inertia

will be the inheritance of the next generation.

Our blunders become their burdens,

but one thing is certain.

If we merged mercy with might,

and might with right,

then love becomes our legacy, and change our children's birthright.

So let us leave behind a country

better than the one we were left with

Every breath, my bronze-pounded chest.

We will raise this wounded world into a wondrous one.

We will rise from the gold-limbed hills of the West.

We will rise from the windswept Northeast

where our forefathers first realized revolution.

We will rise from the lake-rimmed cities of the midwestern states.

We will rise from the sunbaked South.

We will rebuild, reconcile and recover

and every known nook of our nation.

And every corner called our country.

Our people diverse and beautiful will emerge,

battered and beautiful.

When day comes, we step out of the shade

aflame and unafraid

The new dawn blooms as we free it.

For there was always light.

If only we’re brave enough to see it.

If only we’re brave enough to be it.

Donnerstag, 9. Juli 2020

Büchertisch


  1. Handbuch für Zeitreisende von Kathrin Passig/Aleks Scholz, Rowohlt
  2. Die Schande Europas .Von Flüchtlingen und Menschenrechten von Jean Ziegler, Bertelsmann
  3. Zieht euch warm an, es wird heiss von Sven Plöger, Westend
  4. Das Auge des Krieges. Ukraine 1941/1942 von Dieter Keller, Buchkunst
  5. 1918 - Die Welt im Fieber. Wie die Spanische Grippe die Gesellschaft veränderte von Laura Spinney, Carl Hanser
  6. al-Andalus. Geschichte des islamischen Spaniens von Brian A. Catlos, CH Beck
  7. Die Stunde der Ökonomen von Binyamin Appelbaum, S. Fischer
  8. Eine Katze im Ghetto und andere Erzählungen von Rachmil Bryks, Cernin
  9. Bilder einer Diktatur. Zur Visual History des Dritten Reiches von Gerhard Paul, Wallstein
  10. Gute Ökonomie für harte Zeiten von A. Banerjee/E.Duflo, Penguin
  11. Fatum von Kyle Harper, CH Beck
  12. Karl Kraus von Jens Malte Fischer, Zsolnay
  13. Acht Tage im Mai. Die letzte Woche des Dritten Reiches von Volker Ulrich, CH Beck
  14. Nulluhrzug von Juri Buida, Aufbau
  15. Eine kurze Geschichte des menschlichen Körpers von Bill Bryson, Hörverlag
  16. Die große Bill-Bryson-Box von Bill Bryson, Hörverlag
  17. Teufel Real Blue von teufel.de
  18. Good days Quiet von Robert Frank, Steidl
  19. Medizin ohne Ärzte von Christian Maté, Residenz
  20. False Alarm von Björn Lomberg, Basic Books
  21. Harro und Libertas von Norman Ohler, Kiepenheuer & Witsch
  22. Der eiserne Gustav von Hans Fallada, Aufbau 
  23. Corpora. Die anarchische Kraft des Monotheismus von Eckard Nordhofen, Herder


Freitag, 26. Juni 2020

Zurück ins Leben durch den Tod

Inka Pabst, Mehrdad Zaeri: „Joshua – Der kleine Zugvogel“. Tulipan Verlag, München 2020. 40 S., geb., 15,– €. Ab 4 J.

Montag, 27. Januar 2020

Fernes Land

Ich liebe jene abendliche Weile,
da Silbermondlicht mir durchs Fenster
Zwerge, Elfen, Nix, Gespenster
In die Stube zaubert.
   Von Kreisel, Reif und Pfänderspiel,
   Kleinkinderschule, von dem ersten Gänsekiel
   Träumt mir lang –
   Ich wandre weit zurück
   Den frühverlassenen Weg entlang
   Und suche, suche Kinderglück
   Und Knabenlust...
Ein scharfer Windstoß reißt mich aus dem Jugendland
Der Spuk entweicht.
Noch seh ich wie dort an der Wand
Fahles Mondlicht über den Totenkopf schleicht.

Martin Heidegger

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