What did I know about the city everyone said they loved?
The brilliant US band Sleater-Kinney from Portland Oregon ( a Marmite town, if ever there was one) have both album and song entitled ' No Cities To Love'.
Maybe they haven't been to Berlin?
I lived in W. Germany for a year in the 1970s and never went then.....Amsterdam, Hanover, Dusseldorf and Dortmund, but not that island in the Eastern sector.
I was keenly aware of its significance with the Wall and Hitler, but the latter wasn't even discussed in a German 'gymnasium' ( Grammar School) let alone allowed on the syllabus!
Strangely, my stepfather and mother had visited there for some time on business in the early 70s.....even more curious given that he worked for an American multi-national.
They brought me back weighty pamphlets. My mother was a Stalinist, yet full of contradictions : her ambition being to own and rent out houses to students.
Explaining to one person at a poetry event that I was going, she announced that she had whole sections of the Wall in her attic!
It has fascinated me since my wife acquired a series of 50s and 60s photos of that city : guards on the Wall, bathing at a lake and the symphony orchestra.
Yet, as a tourist, you can't expect to sense more than the surface.
In Paris, we loved hopping on and off the river taxis, seeing the sights by the Seine. But even then, before any atrocities, there was much tension with police and troops armed and once confronting a Middle Eastern man sitting on the banks of the river.
The best laid plans of mice and men......I felt like a wee, timorous beastie after I'd booked the wrong luggage category ( panic, cramming and ultimately extra payment) and the taxi at Berlin failed to show up ; my phone not adjusting to the Continent and the firm not reaching me.
Eventually, we passed though this city of cranes en route to the East near the River Spree.
I struggled with my limited Deutsch, every time thinking Cymraeg, so 'diolch' instead of ' danke ' and 'na' for 'nein'.
( Luckily, my wife's an ex-German teacher and as long as I could combine the words 'bier' and 'grosse' I was alright).
Our Middle Eastern taxi driver was a rugby fan and admirer of our egg team, however national identity was soon established with references to 'soccer' -
German bloke in lift - Where are you from?
Us - Wales.
Him - Ah yes, you have one great footballer.
Me - We have a great team!
( Thinking Williams, Allen, Ramsey and so on ....who's that other?).
A booked visit to Reichstag dome was cancelled with no explanation. Maybe they were afraid I'd write a poem about the opulence of their kindergarten?
On the way to our hotel we'd seen sections of the Wall covered in graffiti art. I wasn't surprised it was so low, as I'd seen those black and white photos.
Berlin's so full of the weight of the past you wonder how it can move forward, but there is much re-building.
In recent elections I read that both far left and neo-Nazis had polled about 14%, so the city reflects the polarised politics sweeping through Europe, where reformism has failed so many.
The famous Brandenburger Tor was the focal point for demos and , when we were there, a group of Kurds and their German supporters were attacking the brutality of the Turkish state.
So much to pack into a couple of days : sheer volume of history and knowledge settling in my mind as scenes and fragments.
My son had recommended staying in the East ; my older daughter fixed two tours in advance and younger one ensured that we only stayed still to eat and drink!
The rapid ascent and descent of the cathedral dome followed by a rush to catch a boat which I nearly missed as I hadn't spotted the right company, was suitably frenetic.
Weather can't be planned ,though it was perfect : slightly cool and hardly a drip.
Leaf-fall and no sign of the manic leaf-hoovering I recall from living in Germany in the 70s.
The Jewish Museum, with police presence outside, was like being inside a large sculpture. I enjoyed the audio tour and would've favoured it elsewhere if only time allowed.
The history of the Jews in Germany is one of persecution throughout the centuries, yet eventual integration, so that thousands died fighting for what they believed a righteous cause in the 1st World War.
The growth of anti-Semitism in the 20s was terrifying, but as with the harrowing exhibition Topography of Terror, the actual images of the concentration camps were avoided, as were the intimate details.
The architecture of the building continued to captivate : all lines at angles, except the Garden of Exile with olive trees growing at the top of stone columns.
We put paper pomegranates on a wish-tree and both myself and my wife wished for peace in the Middle East ( I qualified it with a desire for a Palestinian homeland).
Our afternoon walking tour, which took four hours, was undoubtedly the highlight.
The guide from Dumfries, now living in Berlin, explained everything with much erudition and passion : ostentations of the Prussian monarchy, vile actions of the Nazis and the constant oppression of the Wall itself to the fore.
She was understandably cynical about the engineered attractions of Checkpoint Charlie, with its photo opportunities.
I was amazed to see the Trabant ( car of the DDR) elevated into museum status and a symbol sold as many models to tourists.
To be there is to be aware of the sheer length of the Wall and bravery of people who managed to escape using tunnels, balloons and , in one case, a Heath Robinson zip-wire.
Of all the museums, the most effective was the DDR one, by the River Spree.
It is very popular and occupies a small space, but is full of pictorial stimuli and hands-on exhibits.
My younger daughter even had a go at driving a Trabant ( simulated) and managed to crash into a lamp-post straight away......but how can I, a non-driver, pass judgement?
The balance was excellent.
There was no blatant propaganda and the positives of the Stalinist regime were shown, with all the basics provided in terms of jobs, housing and food ; these contrasted by the over-riding totalitarianism and complete intolerance of any criticism.
The reconstruction of a typical East German apartment only showed how well off the majority were materially compared with Valleys' contemporaries, many of whom lived in terraces without outside toilets and definitely no central heating.
Berlin's history has been crucial to the 20th century : with the rise and fall of the Nazis and the Wall symbolizing the Cold War.
The many parties of young people listening ( or fidgeting) in its museums testify to the way the country has altered since I was living there.
If Britain still tends to glorify its militarism, that is not the case with Deutschland.
Of all the cities I've been to, it's the most inspirational.
( This poem is part of a six poem sequence about the city ).
OTHER WALLS
'Back in the USSR'
I sing to myself
openly and loudly
and change the words -
once a Winston Smith
smuggling them in.
At least I have a job
and pension coming,
a holiday a year,
boat on the horizon ;
have friends who struggle
just for food and rent.
Things weren't so different
as they make out :
there are other walls
built between the bosses
and the shop-floor,
surrounding wealthy tourists
who buy models
of our quaint cars.
No empty shelves
accusing us like beggars
washed up today in gutters ;
so many choices
so slim a pocket.
The walls aren't as perilous,
no-one is shot,
yet some of my companions
point loaded eyes
at darker strangers;
and I want to wander back.
The brilliant US band Sleater-Kinney from Portland Oregon ( a Marmite town, if ever there was one) have both album and song entitled ' No Cities To Love'.
Maybe they haven't been to Berlin?
I lived in W. Germany for a year in the 1970s and never went then.....Amsterdam, Hanover, Dusseldorf and Dortmund, but not that island in the Eastern sector.
I was keenly aware of its significance with the Wall and Hitler, but the latter wasn't even discussed in a German 'gymnasium' ( Grammar School) let alone allowed on the syllabus!
Strangely, my stepfather and mother had visited there for some time on business in the early 70s.....even more curious given that he worked for an American multi-national.
They brought me back weighty pamphlets. My mother was a Stalinist, yet full of contradictions : her ambition being to own and rent out houses to students.
Explaining to one person at a poetry event that I was going, she announced that she had whole sections of the Wall in her attic!
It has fascinated me since my wife acquired a series of 50s and 60s photos of that city : guards on the Wall, bathing at a lake and the symphony orchestra.
Yet, as a tourist, you can't expect to sense more than the surface.
In Paris, we loved hopping on and off the river taxis, seeing the sights by the Seine. But even then, before any atrocities, there was much tension with police and troops armed and once confronting a Middle Eastern man sitting on the banks of the river.
The best laid plans of mice and men......I felt like a wee, timorous beastie after I'd booked the wrong luggage category ( panic, cramming and ultimately extra payment) and the taxi at Berlin failed to show up ; my phone not adjusting to the Continent and the firm not reaching me.
Eventually, we passed though this city of cranes en route to the East near the River Spree.
I struggled with my limited Deutsch, every time thinking Cymraeg, so 'diolch' instead of ' danke ' and 'na' for 'nein'.
( Luckily, my wife's an ex-German teacher and as long as I could combine the words 'bier' and 'grosse' I was alright).
Our Middle Eastern taxi driver was a rugby fan and admirer of our egg team, however national identity was soon established with references to 'soccer' -
German bloke in lift - Where are you from?
Us - Wales.
Him - Ah yes, you have one great footballer.
Me - We have a great team!
( Thinking Williams, Allen, Ramsey and so on ....who's that other?).
A booked visit to Reichstag dome was cancelled with no explanation. Maybe they were afraid I'd write a poem about the opulence of their kindergarten?
On the way to our hotel we'd seen sections of the Wall covered in graffiti art. I wasn't surprised it was so low, as I'd seen those black and white photos.
Berlin's so full of the weight of the past you wonder how it can move forward, but there is much re-building.
In recent elections I read that both far left and neo-Nazis had polled about 14%, so the city reflects the polarised politics sweeping through Europe, where reformism has failed so many.
The famous Brandenburger Tor was the focal point for demos and , when we were there, a group of Kurds and their German supporters were attacking the brutality of the Turkish state.
So much to pack into a couple of days : sheer volume of history and knowledge settling in my mind as scenes and fragments.
My son had recommended staying in the East ; my older daughter fixed two tours in advance and younger one ensured that we only stayed still to eat and drink!
The rapid ascent and descent of the cathedral dome followed by a rush to catch a boat which I nearly missed as I hadn't spotted the right company, was suitably frenetic.
Weather can't be planned ,though it was perfect : slightly cool and hardly a drip.
Leaf-fall and no sign of the manic leaf-hoovering I recall from living in Germany in the 70s.
The Jewish Museum, with police presence outside, was like being inside a large sculpture. I enjoyed the audio tour and would've favoured it elsewhere if only time allowed.
The history of the Jews in Germany is one of persecution throughout the centuries, yet eventual integration, so that thousands died fighting for what they believed a righteous cause in the 1st World War.
The growth of anti-Semitism in the 20s was terrifying, but as with the harrowing exhibition Topography of Terror, the actual images of the concentration camps were avoided, as were the intimate details.
The architecture of the building continued to captivate : all lines at angles, except the Garden of Exile with olive trees growing at the top of stone columns.
We put paper pomegranates on a wish-tree and both myself and my wife wished for peace in the Middle East ( I qualified it with a desire for a Palestinian homeland).
Our afternoon walking tour, which took four hours, was undoubtedly the highlight.
The guide from Dumfries, now living in Berlin, explained everything with much erudition and passion : ostentations of the Prussian monarchy, vile actions of the Nazis and the constant oppression of the Wall itself to the fore.
She was understandably cynical about the engineered attractions of Checkpoint Charlie, with its photo opportunities.
I was amazed to see the Trabant ( car of the DDR) elevated into museum status and a symbol sold as many models to tourists.
To be there is to be aware of the sheer length of the Wall and bravery of people who managed to escape using tunnels, balloons and , in one case, a Heath Robinson zip-wire.
Of all the museums, the most effective was the DDR one, by the River Spree.
It is very popular and occupies a small space, but is full of pictorial stimuli and hands-on exhibits.
My younger daughter even had a go at driving a Trabant ( simulated) and managed to crash into a lamp-post straight away......but how can I, a non-driver, pass judgement?
The balance was excellent.
There was no blatant propaganda and the positives of the Stalinist regime were shown, with all the basics provided in terms of jobs, housing and food ; these contrasted by the over-riding totalitarianism and complete intolerance of any criticism.
The reconstruction of a typical East German apartment only showed how well off the majority were materially compared with Valleys' contemporaries, many of whom lived in terraces without outside toilets and definitely no central heating.
Berlin's history has been crucial to the 20th century : with the rise and fall of the Nazis and the Wall symbolizing the Cold War.
The many parties of young people listening ( or fidgeting) in its museums testify to the way the country has altered since I was living there.
If Britain still tends to glorify its militarism, that is not the case with Deutschland.
Of all the cities I've been to, it's the most inspirational.
( This poem is part of a six poem sequence about the city ).
OTHER WALLS
'Back in the USSR'
I sing to myself
openly and loudly
and change the words -
once a Winston Smith
smuggling them in.
At least I have a job
and pension coming,
a holiday a year,
boat on the horizon ;
have friends who struggle
just for food and rent.
Things weren't so different
as they make out :
there are other walls
built between the bosses
and the shop-floor,
surrounding wealthy tourists
who buy models
of our quaint cars.
No empty shelves
accusing us like beggars
washed up today in gutters ;
so many choices
so slim a pocket.
The walls aren't as perilous,
no-one is shot,
yet some of my companions
point loaded eyes
at darker strangers;
and I want to wander back.
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