Poems for a Scenario

It was in 2012 my mother first lay eyes on the landscape she belonged to, lush and mystic filled with chains of beautiful carved mountains and streams cutting through the lush green fields, snakes hidden in the grass, bears roaming about deep in the forests and wind sighing softly through pale air, whilst the smell of wood burning would penetrate the air, unable to breach this heavy presence, of a densely inhabited silence: utter silence, filled with a many personal histories untold.
Whereas we had since travelled sixty-four years into the future, it was my grandmother sending her daughters along with an exodes of elders and refugee-children, in order to save the future lives of the three sisters, causing trauma and a deep sense of loss and rupture. A wound that is felt deeply, because of that rupture with an innate sense of dialogue with the landscape, the residue of one’s imprint, where one was born, embodying a long-lived embedded history of genealogy, and family. of Not knowing however, the three sisters would be separated once having passed the border with Macedonia Greece, walking into – at the time, the Republic of Macedonia), against a vow made, with the intention to keep the siblings together as their mother would have wished. Before the moment the children would be separated from their mother, and from the fatherland is like a moment frozen still in terms of time, for none of them were ever to return to their fatherland, once physically passing the border.
My mother and I drove by car through Macedonia (Former Republic of Macedonia, now North Macedonia), towards the border of Greek Macedonia, pursuing our personal journey for Agios Germanos in Greece, that happens to be her natal village, originally bearing the name German at the time, as well visiting her mother’s natal village, Nivice, opposing German within the valley, situated on a cape, ending just at lake Prespa’s borders.
The most confronting moment of the journey was our visit to her family home in German (Agios Germanos). At that time before the Greek Civil War even started, the family home was built, brick by brick, by my mother’s father and his two brothers, who had their initials carved into a stone as proof of their ownership. Standing eye to eye with the farm, and the silent witness of their lives right then and there, as we looked at their initials placed just above the entrance, left us speechless. Since the families had to flee to save their lives during that war, the house became home to a Greek family since. No other impression could have made clearer what it means to be uprooted and to spend one’s lifetime in exile.
No one could have known, my grandmother at the least, that it would be her granddaughter to accompany her daughter back to home until the twenty-first century, 64 years later. My mother’s sense of belonging, in relation to the family’s history, came full circle again.

Assembled fragments of the poetry written, are the basis for the film’s script of Sweet Terror of Memory, as voice-over. Herewith a selection, out of 27 texts of prose and poetry, is selected. Written by Ilse Frech between 2011 and 2013, part of the research project Exile: Belonging (2011-14).
THREADED COVER
Threaded cover. Skin well hid behind a web, of thoughts of fibers, mended together. So subtle, the air that breathes through. Sunlit hair, shines. Midday rumble, She said, that nothing is left of her – just her contours, on the erected tables of tale, of murmur. Your life in a nutshell, can’t wait, to uncover this shield. Threaded cover of pain, suspended. Movement. Your body captured. Engraved your tomb awaits.
SOLDIER OF GOD
I see your face
Soldier of God
lying on your stomach,
leg twisted
One eye open
Your mouth still warm
Black blood stiffens
your tongue
No more speaking
for God’s promise
isn’t to be found on earth
EYES OPEN WIDE
Eyes open wide . you . watch out . feel . close . step away from them . So rough they treat you . they laugh don’t look . they’ll find you seek for your words . reminiscence . your heart smells . the smoke of led . shot by their rifles . Duck down . hide . look at me . look at me . I am here . you’re with me .
HELLFIRE
My words
Your conscience
My tongue
Your honour
My body cut open
Naked
I lie here
Mountain chain of harsh desire
Celestial ascend the top
Everlasting
Silence
Carnal separated from the spirit,
for the journey to occur
Words unchained a treasure in my throat
Joint I feel with your vitality
My eyes see your flight up high
The earth torn
Joint forces clenched
My fatherland
My sweet fatherland
My flesh perished
Bones sodden of cold
No memories
Abandoned
My blood streams through your veins
Melancholy groans resoundingly in your valleys
I shall seek for you until
once more I’ll be
With you
SOLDIER SOLDIER
Soldier soldier /Curls swinging /Your braid weaving grids on your back /Left /Right /Left /Right /Come and follow /Do not look back /Come and sing /With full breast /Warm it is /The sun sets /Where is your mother? /Will she keep your gown? /Await for you /Your beloved /Yet he’s like you somewhere in line along this thread of soldiers / Soldiers soldiers sing your song /For I can’t speak /I don’t belong /I only bring you from one place to the other /Once arrived / My duty is no longer
WHERE ARE’T THOU
Where are’t thou my brother?
Where are’t thou my sister?
My eyes bear thorns in them so I can’t cry
I weep but you won’t hear me weeping
My shoulders will shrug
That will be all
My bare hands unfolded
I think of you
As the palms of my hands,
behold a secret of paths to be taken
Into the unknown
I haven’t forgotten thee, my daughter
So beautiful
You have blood all over you
Smeared out on your face
As if you tried to wipe your tears
Just before God took you
In his arms to rest
Forever
My daughter, what to think of me?
I, your mother, who wasn’t there,
to take care of thee,
I, who couldn’t hold you
Against my breasts
While your temples would lay resting
And lower the pace of your pounding heart
Your veins drained of their substance, slowly
Motherhood is all I could have given you
While your body was warm still
Now as peace has come over you
Restless I remain
My heart of grievance,
for having you left alone
Alone
In this cruel beautiful world
Naked I stand before thee
I ask of your forgiveness
For a mother
I have failed
To be
I CALL UPON YOU
My heart aches
With my heart pondering
I call upon you
Your smile
fading
I call upon you
your touch
Touch my cheekbones
my hands
unfolded
Kiss me
Close your eyes
lay your hands upon mine
STAPLED BODIES
Stapled bodies
I see
Stapled souls
Yearning for unity
Mourning
for their Gold they lost
that had left them
with a hole in their hearts
Blindfolded
they were led towards
The edge
of which its grounds
opened
steep
into a mouth
All hope beguiled
no surrender
But to death
before that moment
Stood still time
their hearts ripped out
Gold scattered around
in spiralling flux
With a last torch
pale air inhaled
a last breath
then silence –
Chunks of dismay
the Gods bewailed
Remember your hearts
shining heavy
A golden ray of light
entails its flight
into heaven
BLANK | Hiroshima mon Amour
The salt of the stones
She is in a universe of walls
A man’s memory is in these walls,
one with the stone, the air, the earth
My body was aflame with his memory
Not guilty
She treats her child with rough tenderness
Infinite
Tenderness
Terrifying childhood
Women behind shutters
watch the enemy walking across the square
In the ruins, in winter, the wind blows
In my memory
Where I was born is inseparable from myself
I meet you, I remember you
Who are you
You destroy me
I was hungry
I always have been
I waited for you calmly
With infinite patience
The sun will never rise again on anyone
Never, never again
You destroy me
You’re so good
We’ll have nothing else to do,
but to mourn the departed day
A time will come
By slow degrees the world will fade
From our memory
Stay with me
I have to leave
by night
Fourteen years have passed
I don’t remember
The pain, I still remember the pain a little
But one day I won’t remember it any more
Not at all
Nothing
I think that was when I got over my hate
I’m becoming reasonable
They say: She’s becoming reasonable
I’ll forget you
Look how I’m forgetting you!
Look at me!
Inspired by Hiroshima mon amour (Alain Renais, 1959), filmscript Marlene Dumas. BLANK | Hiroshima mon Amour, was firstly published as Hiroshima mon Amour in Rusted Radishes, Beirut Literary and Art Journal, “The Political City” – Issue 5, 2016.