A highlight of the evening was the participation of poets from The Poetry Project, an initiative that supports young people with refugee backgrounds in expressing their experiences through poetry. By transforming personal stories into verse, the project turns the seemingly unspeakable into a shared artistic dialogue - bridging distances and making the unfamiliar feel closer.
Now, the spirit of the Language Café Performance Night extends beyond the event space, reaching the airwaves through Refuge Worldwide. The station is dedicated to amplifying diverse voices, providing a platform for those who may not have had the chance to share their stories before.
To celebrate this new chapter of the Language Café Performance Night, we are super happy to feature a poem from our community member Alicia Morán in Spanish, alongside a piece from Bahadȋn Akhan of The Poetry Project in Kurdish. Their words capture the essence of this special gathering - where language, emotion, and connection take center stage.
Alicia Morán
satisfyer
Ahora es un aparato
de plástico
lo que me remueve
las entrañas
el que me despierta cada día
revolucionándome
bajo las sábanas.
Ahora son unas pilas
las que me regalan
vibración
ahora mi mano
solo mantiene
los espasmos
del succionador
Mi fuente de placer
ahora
llegó a mí
por DHL,
no sabía que una caja
contendría
la alegría
de mis amaneceres.
satisfayer
Now it’s a plastic
device
what stirs
my insides,
the one that wakes me up every day
shaking me
under the sheets.
Now it’s some batteries
that give me
vibration
Now my hand
only holds
the spasms
of the sucker
My source of pleasure
now
came to me
by DHL
I didn´t know that a box
would contain
the joy
of my mornings.
Can you introduce yourself?
I am Alicia Morán, originally from the rural area of Spain (Extremadura) but now already a Berliner, or better, a Neukölnnerin.
I graduated in Law and Economics but after a vocational crisis I wanted to find my artistic side and passions: since then, I am a poet, workshop facilitator and cultural manager.
Why did you decide to this specific piece of work?
I wanted to bring something that can provoke a different effect on people. What people feel by listening to a poem about a clit-sucker?
What inspires you to write and perform?
I need to transform life into words to process it. This is for me a way of being aware. Sometimes I understand things after finding myself writing them.
Can you describe your creative process? How do you develop your ideas into a performance?
I don’t plan it, It just comes when there is a higher energy that tell me: sit! you have to write it!
Do you always write/perform in the same language? Does your process change for each language?
I used to write in my mother tongue: Spanish. But sometimes I write in Italian/English or German. When I do it in Italian, I don´t know why but I am more romantic. In German, I like playing with different word sounds.
What cultural themes or narratives are you most passionate about sharing through your performance?
If I write about something cultural I try to reflect the fact that we are all human beings with the same needs and rights.
Bahadȋn Akhan
Bahadȋn was born in 1996 in the Kurdish city Muş, officially eastern Turkey. He loved learning from a young age, and to read and write, and it soon became clear to him that neither he wished to give up reading and writing, nor did reading and writing want to give up on him. Under the Turkish state, however, he received no education in his first language, instead having to learn Turkish. When he heard that a Kurdish studies department had been established in northern Kurdistan, he gave up everything to be able to study there, and ended up dedicating himself entirely to reading and writing in Kurdish. His poems and texts were published in journals and newspapers, and have received awards. Furthermore, he has worked as a journalist and editor. State pressure and other circumstances forced him to leave the country, and he became a refugee. So Bahadȋn has been living in Berlin for the past year; he wants to learn new languages, and to carry on his previous literary work in the German capital.
alaname
gava diwestim ji dîroka tenêtiyê
rûyê te tê xewna min dixemilîne
rûyê te. dexmeya hebûna min e.
bi hêviya ramûsanê aş dibim,
kenê te hingê xema min direvîne,
gava tu xeber didî bi vî zimanî,
bi hunera min a herî newaze.
û hizra te bizrê ruhê min e, lew
ruhê min tim ruhê te dixwaze
belê Ala,
ez ji zemanekî dûrî te, dinivîsim bo te.
wisa dûrî xwe. l’ber taldeya hezargehê.
min niha pişta xwe daye hezê û lê hêwiriye
hizra çêbûna te. û bedew û xwerû,
mîna awêneyeke dilsoz tim li pêş min
berceste dibe bejna te ya nola qalçîçekê.
zanim hê siyên me dirêjî hev nebûne.
derwazeyên zivingên pêxemberhez
hê jî li ber me venebûne. yên bi pîrepind.
ji bîrên zemanî çîqê me nakin demgerr.
li tu gerdûnî paralelî hev nabe xema me.
te bi serê min sond nexwariye. min bi dilê te.
axir zanim têhna te şîrika herherê ye,
fezayê dihewîne çavên te. reş.
dengê te ruhê min dike bedenê.
laş qefes û sandoqa newayê. û mirtivek
fîxana min bi xerçengê ve darda dike.
zanim bîriya te mîna gewhera mirwariyê. ya gerdûnê.
zanim ez ê sibê tetên te bigirim û bigerim.
li warê xwe. yê geş. bi ruhekî asûde. bi dilekî baristan,
bibuhirim ji niha, serefraz wiha, çi xweş.
belê Ala,
min pişta xwe daye surra penabîriyê
lê ez hê jî ew merendera kurdica me.
li kirrên Tukh Manukê aj didim. rehên min li Zagrojan.
li te difikirim hê jî, li Asha û serencama hebûnê
tavilê xema min nola gulşilêra kardoxî. xemrû.
û tu hê jî xemrevîna min î. fenanî newroza kurdî
tu li welatê min î. welatê min tu yî. berz li asîman.
xwîna min we li asoya dûriyê mohr dike dû re.
nizanim ez çima ji xewna dubare dikevim û
li xewna ketinê dubare dibim. nepeniya erjeng.
nizanim min çend kiras guherî seva bibim bavê te?
seva te ev çend sal in lava dikim her ro?
nizanim ez ê kîngê vehesim bi çavên te yên dişibin (e)frînê
nizanim çima tim av didim Asmîna li ber paceyê?
û reşebîya li kewşenê, azadiya li çiyê ya tik û tenê?
çima wiha qayîm kîp bûme li perwazên Kurdistanê?
nizanim çend salî ye çîroka me ya bindestiyê!
a bêşîn. a bêşûn.
aya ev çi çeşn, çi şêwaz e?
kî dê bêje, ev çi hez, ev çi raz e?
çima ruhê min tim ruhê te dixwaze
çima ruhê min dê tim ruhê te dixwaze
To My Unborn Daughter
When I am weary of the story of solitude,
your face jewels my dream.
Your face is the conclusion of my existence.
Hope for a kiss calms me;
When you laugh, you take my troubles away,
when you speak this, our, language,
my most wonderful art.
The thought of you is the seed of my soul,
whence my soul ever longs for yours.
Yes, Ala,
I write to you from a time that is very far from you.
Just as far as I am from myself. From the shadow of millennia.
I have leaned my back on love, lingered in this gesture
the thought of your birth. So beautiful, so natural,
like a true mirror that I always have in front of me.
Your body resembles a snowdrop.
I know that our shadows haven’t yet touched.
The gates of the caverns, which long for the prophets,
have not yet opened themselves to us, are still hung with cobwebs.
No time traveler winks at us out of the wellsprings of time,
parallel worlds have no meaning to us.
You have made no vow on me.
I am the one who has sworn on your heart.
Finally, of this I am aware, your scent forms the heart of the tree of eternity,
your eyes house the universe. Black.
Your voice gives my soul a body.
The body is a cage, instrument of a melody.
A musician threads my lamentations through a pearl oyster.
I know that your yearning makes the pearls sparkle, the universe.
I know that tomorrow I will hold your hands and walk about.
In our own, abundant homeland. With my mind at peace, heart serene,
I pass by now. I, that is, my thoughts of your ‘I’. How beautiful.
The thought of you is the seed of my soul,
whence my soul ever longs for yours.
Yes, Ala,
I have leaned my back on the secret under the shield of longing,
but a Kurdish man of honor I am still.
On the stony mountain of Tukh Manuk1 I wake fresh to life,
my roots in the Zagrojan mountains2.
I am still thinking of you, in the face of Asha3 and the holy book of existence.
Not that my sorrows should end like the crown imperial. Violet. And I still
worry about you. You are like the Kurdish Newroz festival of my homeland.
You are my homeland. High in heaven.
My blood seals you on the far horizon.
I do not know why I have fallen from the recurring dream and
simultaneously fall in dream over and over.
Hidden fears.
I do not know how many changes of clothes I have made to become your father?
For many years I have prayed for you, every day.
I do not know when I will awake with your eyes,
that resemble Efrîn with its olive groves.
Why am I always watering the jasmine on the windowsill?
And the quince standing in a ploughed field?
And why am I watering freedom, alone in the mountains?
Why am I caught beneath the wings of Kurdistan?
How long might it endure, our story of oppression?
Our history, to which no memorial is dedicated.
Ala, what kind of treatment is this?
When will you tell me what great power
is behind it all, what secrets?
Will my soul long for yours without limit?
The Language Café Performance Nights are made possible by the Fernsehlotterie.
