Alfheim: Movement and Light 4/4 The Nine Realms- Poems and Writing

The Nine Realms

9 months, 19 poets and writers, 22 Artists, 3 composers, 1 Viking boat: a magical reworking of Norse Mythology for contemporary audiences

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Alfheim

(the realm of the Elves)

Featuring:

Karin Heyer and Mina Polen

 

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Hope

by Karin Heyer

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Long ago the same moon and
the same sun lay before us,
just like now and
and the three-strand rainbow bridge
that spanned then
from Asgard to Midgard
was meant for men
to fight and walk across
into a future life!

What life?
A life where the elves of light
should shine over the dark,
where men become real, visible men
with sharp wits and a feeling heart,
responsible for their actions:
accept the cross,
live for love and peace
to all men.

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Shining

by Mina Polen

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Shining
it might be just a dream
a little voice small and fair
a blinding sun inside of you

moving
it might be just a parasite
………………………an idea
a voice that it isn’t there

becoming
something at every step
something that you might deny
something that you might follow

growing
it might be just a cloud
………………………………expanding
something like a blinding mist

shining
it might be just a maggot
a little bit of light ……….moving
something that you might ignore.

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Find out more about Karin and Mina here:

Karin Heyer

Contact ArtiPeeps

Mina Polen

aldebaranylosnarvales.blogspot.com

https://twitter.com/minafiction

 

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As always, thank you for your interest.

 

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Muspelheim: Sparks and Flames 3/4 The Nine Realms- Poems and Writing

The Nine Realms

9 months, 19 poets and writers, 22 Artists, 3 composers, 1 Viking boat: a magical reworking of Norse Mythology for contemporary audiences

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 Muspelheim

(the realm of fire)

Featuring:

Shirley Golden, Ross Beattie

and Karin Heyer

 

 Battling Infernos

by Shirley Golden

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All summer the fires seethe out of control. Lauren’s been reading the books her father loved as a teen. She’s at an age when Judgement Day can seem poetic.

Danny hastened to the call out first thing; he’s in the thick of it with his unit, fighting the inferno. Before he left, he told us, sit tight. It’d never spread this far. Pollution sweeps in wave upon wave of heat, more intense each summer. No more factor fifty. Cover up, is the current advice. Air conditioning pumps into house after house.

I aim the remote at the TV as Lauren bursts in.

“Leave the news on. It’s coming this way, isn’t it?” She sits beside me. “Has Dad called?”

I shake my head. “If something had happened, we’d have heard,” I say. I hope. I stare at the screen. The blaze consumes the pine forest, eating its way through the landscape, leaving a stream of dense, dark smoke, and ash where once wildlife and a scattering of houses nestled. Ranks of dotted fire-fighters are speckled ants across the ground.

“Ragnorok,” Lauren breathes. “The giants in Norse mythology called fire, ‘Hungry Biter’. Did you know that?”

“It’s not the end of the world, love,” I say and attempt a smile. For some it will be.

“S0 why does it feel like it?” she says, not taking her eyes from the screen.

“Your father should never have given you those books, with those stories.”

Lauren didn’t have Danny’s practical nature that kept him from stressing about each fresh blaze. She took after my mother: artistic, complex, prone to worry.

“They don’t frighten me,” she says.

But they do me. I shrug. “It’s just stories, Lauren,” I say.

“Myths,” she says. “The realm of fire where Surt stands guard with his sword that shines brighter than the sun, a place where only those born to it can pass.”

I didn’t want to think about it. “We should pack some things,” I say. “Just in case.”

“I’ll get the carrier and food for Rusty.” She stands up.

Rusty is her orange and white Netherland Dwarf.

“Yes,” I say and I have to stop myself from telling her to hurry.

She lingers at the door. “The realm of fire,” she breathes. “Dad says it’s a part of nature. Without it, no sun, no stars.”

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Through Words

by Ross Beattie

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This land of fire holds the secrets I long to know.
To watch the wolf rip the life from my throat, to see this perfect end.
To be touched by the flames as I become what waits beyond the line of belief. 
So tired of the place where the fire meets the ice.
Looking into the coming moments and waiting only for freedom.
The last way out of this. 
Through words into tomorrow. 

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MP3 to come

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Blood-Snake

by Karin Heyer

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To begin with there was fire and ice
and there was a universe,
in this universe there was a realm
and in this realm
there was the land of fire,
where Surt,
the fire god stood guard
at its very gates,
beheld a shining sword
that gathered sparks across
the moon’s hall
that became stars
and shone over pending,
desolate destruction.

He set one foot,
one foot only,
onto the rainbow bridge,
his bold flaming blood-snake
held up high,
defending the powers
of volcanic, furious fires.
Ready for the fight,
the cruel blood-snake was dancing,
inflicted hurt to many a man,
holding tight to its punishing power.
Raging Ragnarök ,
cold killing,
might meeting might,
clashing blade on blade.
After this endgame,
amazing Yggdrasil still stands,
man and woman did remain,
the waters of hope are flowing,
and after that
each man told this tale to the other.

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Translation of the Kennings: moon’s hall = sky
blood-snake = sword

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Find out more about Shirley, Ross and Karin here:

Shirley Golden

shirleygolden.net

twitter.com/shirl1001

Ross Beattie

https://twitter.com/blackpoemblues

blackpoemblues.weebly.com

Karin Heyer

Contact ArtiPeeps

.

As always, thank you for your interest.

 

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Nifelheim: ‘Spaces and Pain 4/4’ The Nine Realms- Poems and Writing

The Nine Realms

9 months, 22 poets and writers, 22 Artists, 3 composers, 1 Viking boat: a magical reworking of Norse Mythology for contemporary audiences

 

Poems and Writing inspired by the Norse realm of Nifelheim (The Realm of the Dead

Featuring:

Karin Heyer and John Mansell

Choices

by Karin Heyer

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In the mists of time,
Hel, goddess of the dead
was the moon that
drew good or evil
across the water.
Her gigantic power
should not fall to abuse,
for that was Hel’s hell.

She ruled over men
on this sea of wagons
with fierce piercing eyes.
She could protect or destroy
the apple-tree of strife
under the miraculous moon’s hall,
so that the brutal blood-snake
would strike
not in thoughtless revenge.

She was master of
the dream-assembly for
the sick and old,
could prevent the slaughter-dew from flowing
over the ruthless river-fire
in the lone battle of life.

 

The translations of the kennings:

Sea of Wagons = earth; Apple-tree of strife = warrior; Moon’s hall = sky; Blood-snake = sword; Dream-assembly = sleep; Slaughter-dew = blood; River-fire = gold

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Nifelheim

by John Mansell

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The night stifles with moon and star-fall.
The skald saunters through the throng.
Arms aloft like antlers he shuffles words
on his rhythmic tongue,
full of soot and cinders, to fall upon
the eager warriors gathered in stately enclave.
The night ignited by the sparks of his recital,
spreading the gloaming like bleeding flame.

“We are such as gather before the camp fires of lore.
We are those who thrust to that glorious death.
Yet betwixt and between there are those
who crave infirmity and age.
Look and you will glance their shifting eyes
behind the slatted windows of hovels,
fearful and stripped of dignity.
No feasting halls for them.
Nothing but sullen Nifelheim awaits.
The mist-home.
The clutch of ice and cold upon ancient flesh.
The dread of the Rime Giants or the Children of the Mist.
We are such as will never see those spectres.

“And lo I tell you, Nifelheim is older than the first star.
It was created before earth, and at its centre Hvergelmir,
the Roaring Kettle, from which nine rivers flow.
That hoary land where Odin sent
defiling Loki’s grotesque child Hel.
That cruel daughter;
half sable as night, half as you in stippled wipe of fire.
And there with those whose usefulness has diminished
go the evil doers, the molesters of dream.
Helgrind, the Gates of Hell, ne’er more apt,
that edifice entrance; that hall called Eljudnir.
She strewed the minds of ambling man.
Her dish was that of Hunger.
Her knife the famine before her table.
Her slave a slender wraith call Lazy
and Slothful her serving wench in harlot stance.
We are such as will not fall to her peril.

“We are such as will not see before the quivering sun,
as it shudders beneath the end of the earth,
the sail of her ship of death afloat from its mooring
in that place that traps and spits her name as if both are one.
We are such whose eyes will not stoop beneath
the lowest horizon before that Mistress of Death.
That Mistress of the pusillanimous hand.
Not lest you be as brave Hermod
whose ride to her foreboding hall entreats all glory.
To release sad Balder from its mortifying hold.
None must weep she said
to show that he was truly loved.
None at all she said.
How harsh her condition as that sole giantess
with eyes of granite frowned and found no tear.
We are such as Hermod.
We are such as defy the impossible.
No Nifelhein for us.
No falsifier of Death to retch our glories.
For we will find the perfect deaths to attend our only Master.”

The fires had burnt low.
The moon had travelled along the sky.
The gathered warriors gripped in thought the silent blades.
And the skald with no hint of farewell
departs as if he had never been.

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Hvergelmir

Hermod

Balder

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You can read the overview of Nifelheim  here , and see some Nidavellir poems here

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Find out more about Karin and John here:

Karin Heyer

Contact ArtiPeeps

John Mansell

https://twitter.com/JohnMansell1

 

As always, thank you for your interest.

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Jotunheim: ‘ Strength & Might’ 3/3′ The Nine Realms- Poems and Writing

19 poets, 22 Artists, 3 musicians and a Viking Boat

The Nine Realms

9 months, 19 poets and writers, 22 Artists, 3 composers, 1 Viking boat: a magical reworking of Norse Mythology for contemporary audiences

 

Poems and Writing inspired by the Norse realm of Jotunheim

Featuring:

Mina Polen, Lydia Allison and Karin Heyer

 

Frostbitten mind

by Mina Polen 

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Through darkness
…………..and eternal sunshine

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darkness and brightness
…………..like never-ending dreams

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frostbitten mind
awaits in another dream

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thoughts
………………………repeated

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the pebble falls inside your mind

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thoughts
……………………..repeated

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thoughts
…………. being broken

tongues
………….being broken

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day and night
the mind is playing tricks

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the night is long
the day is long

time stopping
the mind is flying in circles

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Read by Nicky Mortlock

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traditional enemies

by Lydia Allison

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the land surrounding us
a curved body
bones worn to stone

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cruel daughters forcing us to find
a cure for magic

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a cure for life
in my case
for dying

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every time my skin splits
I think of her
the serpent who reminded me
what pain could be

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part of me always thought
if I could commit to life or death
I would have one

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could and would and should
my fury blinds me now
as indifference did then

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not immune to dying,
just unable to be dead.
impotent in the opposites of being
and the other

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incapable to live
as in the grip of death, I did

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Read by Karin Heyer

 

Requited Love

by Karin Heyer

(Inspired by the story of Gerd and Freyr)

When the ice is broken,
spring serenely promises
with snowdrops flooding
the ground and
magic serendipity works its way.
Young Freyr seated on Odin’s high seat
saw Gerd, giant Gymir’s daughter,
beautiful, beyond compare.
Like a hidden current draws a boat,
he fell in love.

Lovesickness hits his heart.
Skirmir, from childhood, trusted friend
hears his deep sorrow:
Give me your swiftest horse,
I shall ride through fire and flame
to tell her of your woe.

The elf-rays shine
so that two imperfect souls
might touch perfection,
wooing, kind, ferocious
pearls from Skirmir’s lips.
When magical warmth transposes.

Gerd’s heart, saying:
nine days hence, in the groves of Barri,
a peaceful grove,
I will grant love to Freyr.
The whole earth was flooded with their happiness
the skies grew soft.

The trees put on tender green
aconites blossomed on the mountainside
they met in harmonious fire
ripening grain blew in the fields,
and summer lay warm
over the fertile land.
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Gerd and Freyr

Gymir

 

 You can read the overview of Jotunheim here, and read some Vanaheim poems here

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Find out more about Mina, Lydia and Karin:

Mina Polen

http://www.lulu.com/shop/mina-polen/scylla-and-charybdis/paperback/product-21019437.html

https://twitter.com/minapolen

 

Lydia Allison

lydiaallison.wordpress.com

https://twitter.com/LydiaAllison13 

Karin Heyer

Contact ArtiPeeps

 

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As always, thank you for your interest.

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Vanaheim: ‘ Magic & Wonder’ 4/4′ The Nine Realms- Poems and Writing

The Nine Realms

9 months, 22 poets and writers, 22 Artists, 3 composers, 1 Viking boat: a magical reworking of Norse Mythology for contemporary audiences

 

Poems and Writing inspired by the Norse realm of Vanaheim

Featuring:

Ross Beattie, Lydia Allison and Karin Heyer

 

Vanaheim

by Ross Beattie

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I’m just like her, I need the wolves, the life of the mountain crawling through my veins. 
But he’ll never stay beside her this far from his precious sea.
Why can he only love at the waters edge? 
Can he not see the passion flowing through her in the hills ? She could love him like no other if he can only bring himself to touch her skin beneath the fire red moon among the wildness of the forest. 
She knows she’ll sink below the tide if she stays there beside him, so she must return alone to the trees, far from his precious Vanaheim.  
Back to her land of thunder. 

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MP3 TO COME

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Thrymheim

 by Lydia Allison

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In the mornings the rocks glisten
like the sick, the dying
soaked in the night. I rise early
run my hand along the moisture of giant walls –
swelled drops catching yellow light

I raise it to my mouth
taste the nothing taste
pure water
I expect salt,
the minerals of my world

but remind myself
this is not the way things are
here, the hard forms move slowly
over years. Mostly unreachable
almost untouchable.

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Thrymheim was the abode of Þjazi, a jötunn, located in Jötunheimr.

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Poem read by Nicky Mortlock

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Nóatún

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I don’t like the madness,
the movement makes me sick, my sweat,
nothing, salt in the air, my skin stings.
The taste – tears – dries my mouth to sand. He says it becomes me,
this light. I know. I feel it.

 

Nóatún is the home of the Njord

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Poem read by Nicky Mortlock

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Freedom of Speech

by Karin Heyer

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Just beyond the sound is

talk, talk, talk,

babble, humming,

buzzing like a persistent bee.

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The gods in Asgard

debate, they argue.

The gods in Vanaheim respond,

they buzz and hum.

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Let the precious mead of poetry flow,

ponder the sense of cruel fight,

which is nought

in most cases

.

but not all…

continue the winged buzz

shun raging Ragnarök.

only a rainbow

.

can connect

restore

the word

the talk and babble.

 

MP3 TO COME

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You can read the overview of Vanaheim here , and see some Asgard poems here

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Find out more about Ross, Lydia and Karin here

Ross Beattie

blackpoemblues.weebly.com

https://twitter.com/blackpoemblues

Lydia Allison

 lydiaallison.wordpress.com

https://twitter.com/LydiaAllison13

Karin Heyer

Contact ArtiPeeps. 

 

As always, thank you for your interest.

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Asgard: ‘Warriors and Ravens’ 5/5′ The Nine Realms- Poems and Writing

The Nine Realms

9 months, 22 poets and writers, 22 Artists, 3 composers, 1 Viking boat: a magical reworking of Norse Mythology for contemporary audiences

 

Poems and Writing inspired by the Norse realm of Asgard

Featuring:

Karin Heyer, Kate Garrett and Mina Polen

 

Northern Lights

by Karin Heyer

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Green magic light rushed
through the deep blue northern night,
when Odin, Allfather
stood at the roots of Yggdrasill
thirsting
for the secrets of the universe,
he gives his one eye
for knowing all —

He built a throne
high up in the crown of Yggdrasill,
best of trees,
world tree,
its roots to survey all realms,
Odin recalls the creation.

When

fire furious fills the air
crashing ice creates,
when life-licking cow
conjures woman and man,
sun, moon and stars in one,
a dread flame of power
never-ceasing creation,
eternal wind a-blowing —

Yet

Yggdrasill still stands solid
for ever North – South,
green, yellow lights
luminous, amazing,
burning, blazing
in the sky, even now!

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Harvest

by Kate Garrett

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i sneak, i reap

i am a trick of the light

light from a golden crop

of wheat-silk soft
& mine with one swipe
of scythe

break my fingers
break my toes
one by one by one

i provide, i scheme

i push you into motion

motion of worlds beneath

so panic – panic until
back & forth & back
the needle swings

threading this voice
you fear down into
my throat

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* Based on the myth of Thor’s hammer, specifically the part where Loki steals Sif’s hair and is punished for it. The difference between physical power (Thor) and one type of mental power (Loki).

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Alone and afraid

by Mina Polen

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All alone
…………..smashing stones
…………..carving wood
…………..playing with gold

all alone
…………..behind a broken wall
…………..waiting for another spell

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all afraid

…………..that the world might change
…………..that more giants might come

all afraid

……………and the wolf is howling
……………and the serpent is rattling
……………and they can hear the giants’ steps

all alone
all afraid.

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You can read the overview of Asgard here and see more of the Asgard poems here

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Find out more about Karin, Kate and Mina:

Karin Heyer

No website, as yet. Contact ArtiPeeps.

Kate Garrett

http://www.kategarrettwrites.co.uk/

https://twitter.com/kate_garrett

Mina Polen

 http://www.lulu.com/shop/mina-polen/scylla-and-charybdis/paperback/product-21019437.html

https://twitter.com/minapolen

 

Watch out for Vanaheim (the realm of the giants) poetry next week!

As always, thank you for your interest. 

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‘Monsters and Rites’ Scratch 3/4: Transformations Poems (Book 14)

TRANSFORMATIONS

February 2013-March 2014

17 poets, 15 months, creating 1 contemporary reworking of Ovid’s Metamorphoses

See the Transformations Page for more details or the ‘Present Collaborations’ Tab

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Poems Inspired by Book 14

.Featuring:

Karin Heyer and James Knight

 

Persuasion not force

(Pomona and Vertumnus)

by Karin Heyer

 

Weaving, weaving story into story
Pomona in her garden
stood and listened.
He told her that he loved her —
it was in vain.
She tended her garden,
never any want of watering,
that is how her garden grew
into a magical creation
of living growth and beauty.
He still told her that he loved her:
it was in vain!
For her he changed his thought and appearance,
he used all manner of persuasion,
for she was his first and last love
and behold
a fairy-tale ends well,
the dream is there,
unhampered as the angels,
she paid homage
and listened
to her first and last love.

 

Scylla

by James Knight

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She movement
wading moments

was as waist some forced clad of deep mountainous up in waving into mass to some gently of the kind to pool flesh top and only surged amid soft up a white

Before find through mass stuff
of which gates
water narrow blood
clung there around
orifice and close sat

On her as slime to either groin though
and her side erupt forced what form
with yelping shape monsters

The at power
thinking opening
the infinite entrails
her
the part smaller of sinuous waste
of a figure and
her
itself monster

She fair
foul shreds close-fitting in retreats fragments

fur and fears
white enormous skin bulk dazzling
as were white serpent pushes of forced coiled arm’d

With seeking into colour wide
her gigantic larger dazzled Cerberian thighs
lizard space
when mouths her
or disclosed the full legs
serpent sections sun

Worm
her hideous voice
peal lull Adam
when jaws pause

Sir Cerberus’s seething had and would

She contents seen sweet creep stands of looking
If the raging hole
the soft disturb’d dogs
rose trees dominant
note her by eyes
womb beasts

And below bubbling emerald-green sibilation kennel
the spring flickering her surface and like hands yet from Adam great too
there which saw lamps were still her part
long bark’d truncated
of a flexible and thighs the gale white howl’d

Within and thin with unseen belly form a

Scylla emerge of strange comes

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You can find more about Karin and James here:

Karin, as yet,  does not have a website

James Knight

http://thebirdking.com/

https://twitter.com/badbadpoet

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Tomorrow  you will find the second of our ‘Supporting Mental Health’ Anxiety and Release Collaborations featuring poet Rod Kok and artist Heather Burns. Definitely worth a look! Thank you, as ever, for your interest.

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‘Fates and Forces’ Wave 4/4: Transformations Poems (Book 13)

TRANSFORMATIONS

February 2013-March 2014

17 poets, 15 months, creating 1 contemporary reworking of Ovid’s Metamorphoses

See the Transformations Page for more details or the ‘Present Collaborations’ Tab

__________________

Poems Inspired by Book 13

.Featuring:

Karin Heyer and Eleanor Perry

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Hecuba’s Pain

by Karin Heyer

The last king of Troy weeps
aged, war-worn,
mourning many sons and daughters,
King Priam weary, weary
of protracted war,
killing hope and potential.
Captured are Troy’s lofty dreams,
the fate of Troy sealed,
guaranteed its fall…

On both sides in a war
mothers mourn.
No way to heal her hurt,
unhinged Hecuba, raging lioness
prowls the road:
howling, haunted in her loss
of all
her children!
Unable to comprehend
the tragedy of ceaseless murder
and sacrifice,
her mind gives way,
forever.

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the colour of a river

by Eleanor Perry

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You can find more about Eleanor here:

 http://themusicofbreakages.wordpress.com/

http://www.zonepoetrymagazine.com/

https://twitter.com/nellperry

 

Karin, as yet, does not have a website. However you can contact her via ArtiPeeps.

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Tomorrow we’ll be posting out the second instalment of our ‘Hot Potato’ Initiative. 6 writers creating 1 short story over 12 weeks. If you missed out on the first instalment by Steve Harris you can see it here.

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As ever, thank you for your interest.

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‘Greed and Sorrow’ Swipe 2/5: Transformations Poems (Book 11)

TRANSFORMATIONS

February 2013-March 2014

17 poets, 15 months, creating 1 contemporary reworking of Ovid’s Metamorphoses

See the Transformations Page for more details or the ‘Present Collaborations’ Tab

__________________

Poems Inspired by Book 11

.Featuring:

 Kate Garrett and Karin Heyer

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This guy, Midas

by Kate Garrett

pays two hundred quid
for each of his haircuts –
regular, often,
I could draw out
a calendar by them –
but the real value lies
in the secrets he wants me
to keep.

He sets up businesses.
For example: one sells football
shirts for handbag-sized dogs,
one offers extendable
squeegees. No one knows
how he does it.
It’s like everything he touches
turns to gold.

But I know all about it, and his little
“problem”. He talks
too much, when he says
he likes the feeling
of my fingers
massaging his scalp,
my smooth palms
brushing his ears,
and relaxes back into a loose tongue.

Maybe I’ve never told
a living soul outright,
but some folks
don’t know I’m a hairdresser.
Some people
only know me from that grimy
hole in the wall, the one
with the dim-lit bar downstairs,
where I sometimes sing Midas’s song,

tell truths disguised as cautionary ballads
about the corruption of men,
my saxophonist blowing
a tune across his reed,
while the slit
in my skirt and the curve
of my lashes
keeps them drinking.

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The Love of Gold

by Karin Heyer

The king of Phrygia, Midas,
strolled in his wonderful rose-garden,
just as the flock of stars on high
had faded away.

His thoughts weaving, weaving, weaving

the story of aged Silenus’ return,
their feasting for ten days
and nights on end.

Dionysus, in praise of Midas’ revelry,
did ask what Midas might desire
for a reward…
Without hesitance or reflection
Midas carelessly replied:
‘Grant whatever my person touches
be turned to yellow gold.’
Of all the wishes he could have,
he foolishly chose that! Now,
all manner of things he touched
turned into hard, painful gold!
The water and wine he drank,
the food he ate,
bread and meat,
grew hard as stone!
He learned to fear the stricture of gold
and begged the god for release.
He was told to go down to the river
to heal his soul
and wash away the power of gold,
of gold.
At once he was freed
of the touch of gold,
yet the sands of the river Pactolus
gleam brightly still to this day.

 

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You can find more about Kate here:

Kate Garrett

http://www.kategarrettwrites.co.uk/

https://twitter.com/kate_garrett

Karin, as yet, does not have a website, neither is she on Twitter, but you can contact her via @ArtiPeeps or through the contact form on the What’s On page.

 

 

‘Fragments of Inheritance’ by Karin Heyer (Fragment 3, FreeSpace #3)

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‘Whatever else it is autobiography is not non-fiction’

(Timothy Dow Adams, Modern Fiction Studies, 40)

Welcome to Karin’s last FreeSpace on ArtiPeeps  in which she has been exploring the relationship between autobiography and fiction through her own autobiographical story ‘Fragments of Inheritance’. Within her three slots on ArtiPeeps she has offered up, in sequence, a part of her story along with an audio reflection of her response to the particular fragment that we have featured. This week it’s Fragment 3 and the concluding part of her story. Karin lived through a very particular part of European history (WWII) and her work engages with very significant subject matter that is universally meaningful and individually personal. We hope you enjoy Karin’s last exploration.

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Fragments of Inheritance

Fragment 3

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She needed distraction from her thoughts. She chose to go to the City of Ely and visit Ely Cathedral. Along the winding road to this ancient place, suddenly, this magical building rises out of the flat landscape on the right-hand side and after a while the road bends and then strangely the cathedral appears to be on the other side of the road!!! There she is, Ely Cathedral, story of survival, beautiful and wise. She enters with a serious heart, it is Remembrance Day. She walks to the Octagon, turns left into the heart of the place reaching the ‘Showcases of Remembrance’, where on this day the letter ‘M’ mourns the lives of soldiers who lost their lives in WW2.

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She lights a candle and remembers them.

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living for the evidence of remembrance 1995
mourning: the dead
madness of persecution
lunacy of war
the irreparable destruction of children in war
disrespect for the preciousness of human
life of all kind
forgive or not forgive
but tell your story of that dark time
for the sake of time to come.

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 You can find Fragment 1 here and Fragment 2 here. 

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Biography

I was born on the 4^th of November 1937, just one day before Gun-powder Day! So, I celebrated my entrance with a BANG, yet far away from England then, in fact, in Leipzig, Germany. After the end of the Second World War, Leipzig in Saxony became part of East-Germany, which I left, illegally, in 1953. My family and I settled in West-Berlin, where I went to High-School, when finished there I left Berlin for Cambridge, England. I was a student of English for a while, took a BA Honours Degree in European Thought and Literature and English History at Anglia Polytechnic University, where I also took a MA in Women’s Studies with a Dissertation on German History. I became a teacher of the German Language,Literature and History during my working life. I have now retired from teaching and find myself writing, reading and enjoying life to the full.

As yet Karin does not have a website, but you can make contact with Karin via ArtiPeeps through the comment box on this post or contact form on the ‘What’s On’ Page.

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* FreeSpace offers any creative or group from any discipline  3 post slots on ArtiPeeps which can be taken in sequence or in a cluster for showcasing, self-expression or projects (encouraged). If you are interested in taking up a FreeSpace slot in our next run of work please do get in contact via the comment box or contact form on the ‘What’s On Page‘  You’d be welcomed.