{"id":3774,"date":"2025-12-28T11:39:01","date_gmt":"2025-12-28T08:39:01","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/nottoday.media\/en\/?p=3774"},"modified":"2025-12-28T11:39:02","modified_gmt":"2025-12-28T08:39:02","slug":"poem-charlottenstan-part-i","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/nottoday.media\/en\/emigration\/poem-charlottenstan-part-i","title":{"rendered":"Poem “Charlottenstan”. Part I"},"content":{"rendered":"

The poem “Charlottenstan” by Ivan Treptow<\/a> is an uncompromising portrait of Berlin, seen through the eyes of a Russian-speaking immigrant disillusioned with the “European paradise.”<\/strong><\/p>\n

Charlottenstan<\/strong><\/p>\n

Part I<\/strong><\/p>\n

Berlin-Berlin! Berlin-Berlin! <\/p>\n

A pandemonium of swine! <\/p>\n

The morning hour. The U-Bahn thunders. <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/figure>\n

The skull thunders with the night’s hangover.<\/p>\n

Kit-Kat thunders from behind the gates, <\/p>\n

The executioner is tired: he’s got his hands full<\/p>\n

With a pile of chores, a crush of bodies, <\/p>\n

The executioner is sweating from the work,<\/p>\n

He put on his harness once <\/p>\n

And just grew dumber, dumber, dumber.    <\/p>\n

Kit-Kat froze under the whips<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/figure>\n

While the old man\u2019s trail has long gone cold. <\/p>\n

The old man rode around in a wheelchair, <\/p>\n

Holding Kit-Kat in a state of horror, <\/p>\n

The old-timer kept himself in check,<\/p>\n

He fingered himself, staring <\/p>\n

Bureaucratically forward. <\/p>\n

Ah, old man! Nothing will get through to you,<\/p>\n

You took Berlin, you took Kit-Kat, <\/p>\n

But the gaze has dimmed, no longer glad <\/p>\n

At pale bodies dressed in leather <\/p>\n

You\u2019re alive! But praise to the heavens <\/p>\n

You\u2019ll no longer give. <\/p>\n

Life is dust, life is a louse, <\/p>\n

Life is something you can\u2019t make sense of at all. <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/figure>\n

Naked girls into the pool <\/p>\n

Plunged <\/p>\n

While young Arabs stared at them <\/p>\n

Predatorily <\/p>\n

At the bar, a woman of the GDR mold <\/p>\n

Threw wrenches into the general fun. <\/p>\n

\u201cHere!\u201d \u2014 she barked, <\/p>\n

With a beer <\/p>\n

Pounding the bar counter, <\/p>\n

Like a sledgehammer. <\/p>\n

I was knocked out, smitten <\/p>\n

By the Kit-Kat vibe  <\/p>\n

And by the cool street <\/p>\n

Chilled by a cursed <\/p>\n

Cold.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/figure>\n

The falafel on the corner was bitter, vile, <\/p>\n

But I am dog-hungry and a sucker<\/p>\n

For any carrion, for any trash!<\/p>\n

Ah mama, what has Berlin done to us! <\/p>\n

I\u2019ve been in exile here for four years now,<\/p>\n

Not having yet come to my senses. <\/p>\n

And during a police interrogation <\/p>\n

They\u2019ll beat a confession out of me by force: <\/p>\n

I loved Scholz, B\u00fcrgergeld, the humanitarian visa, <\/p>\n

I wasn’t averse to riding on a Deutschlandticket, <\/p>\n

Further away, out of Berlin\u2014just to be gone! <\/p>\n

Heels flashing and the backside showing white <\/p>\n

Like a lonely sail on the Ostsee, <\/p>\n

There is no joy anywhere, nowhere <\/p>\n

In this greatest <\/p>\n

country in the whole world, <\/p>\n

whose name is spoken with bated breath, <\/p>\n

Ger-ma-ny.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/figure>\n

Search for it! Whistle for it! In the city thicket <\/p>\n

I would gladly “clean the cabbage” (smash the face) <\/p>\n

Of some swindler <\/p>\n

Just like that, for free<\/p>\n

Out of good old hatred. <\/p>\n

Just for the sake of improving <\/p>\n

the city\u2019s appearance,<\/p>\n

Which is being fought for by <\/p>\n

Our wise father of the nation<\/p>\n

Friedrich Merz.<\/p>\n

Or out of brotherly tenderness<\/p>\n

Bash the mug with a fist,<\/p>\n

Smooth out the face\u2019s chronic gloom<\/p>\n

With a benefactor-fist.<\/p>\n

Because if you look into it <\/p>\n

Faith in Christ is fading here, <\/p>\n

in Allah, even in Buddha. <\/p>\n

Neither in Marx nor in any miracle  <\/p>\n

Do the people of Berlin believe anymore <\/p>\n

I found out! I asked around. <\/p>\n

In bars, and in kneipen, and in parks, and crash-pads and at the parade<\/p>\n

In Marzahn<\/p>\n

My personal sociology <\/p>\n

Was working<\/p>\n

Until, completely wasted, I didn’t <\/p>\n

High-tail it out of there. <\/p>\n

But I digress, <\/p>\n

I got carried away,<\/p>\n

I got fired up,<\/p>\n

Like the Spree, I overflowed<\/p>\n

With a thought, empty as a Pfand-bottle<\/p>\n

I handed it to you for a handful of cents<\/p>\n

Or even for nothing <\/p>\n

And I\u2019m glad.<\/p>\n

Hatred \u2013 <\/p>\n

That is the new faith of the peoples. <\/p>\n

Listen to us <\/p>\n

We, the children of Berlin,<\/p>\n

Shelterless, prodigal, <\/p>\n

We are fools, stupid foreigners. <\/p>\n

We thought we were flying\/driving to paradise, <\/p>\n

They were cackling and mocking us<\/p>\n

Right from the plane\u2019s gangway,  <\/p>\n

We thought fragrant flowers <\/p>\n

Ripened here, bloomed here.<\/p>\n

We found out: that fragrance was feces,<\/p>\n

Substances not noble at all,<\/p>\n

By shiny green flies <\/p>\n

Besat and gnawed upon,<\/p>\n

Oh, we knew absolutely nothing! <\/p>\n

Into the whirlpool with an empty head<\/p>\n

To get stuck in the silt of Berlin. <\/p>\n

And to choke on its blackness,<\/p>\n

On the stinking silty grease<\/p>\n

To eat one\u2019s fill, <\/p>\n

To fall into hibernation for the winter \u2013 <\/p>\n

Burrowing in, <\/p>\n

Like a fish \u2014<\/p>\n

To the bottom <\/p>\n

That<\/p>\n

Is what we\u2019ve been given almost for free.<\/p>\n

Come and get it! Grab it!<\/p>\n

At Teufelssee, at the devil\u2019s doorstep <\/p>\n

Bodies are laid out on the grass    <\/p>\n

Standing knee-deep in water, a round dance spins <\/p>\n

The Berlin steering wheel <\/p>\n

A firm grip!   <\/p>\n

Masculine! Nautical! Tied with a Dutch knot.<\/p>\n

English and Spanish chatter flows, <\/p>\n

Berlin brotherly love is boiling! <\/p>\n

International, inter-gender and such! <\/p>\n

Deep and visceral! <\/p>\n

Godlike <\/p>\n

Are your eyes!<\/p>\n

When we ran together, hid <\/p>\n

From Sodom, boiling like a cauldron, <\/p>\n

Into the bushes of Grunewald!<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/figure>\n

Looking up at me from below <\/p>\n

Bluish-gray <\/p>\n

Here is the translation for the second part of the poem and the concluding credits.<\/p>\n

Innocently-guilty <\/p>\n

Are your eyes. <\/p>\n

I will absolve your sins <\/p>\n

For I myself belong to the chosen <\/p>\n

\u2013 Berlin \u2013 people <\/p>\n

And I regularly speak,<\/p>\n

After getting a little high,<\/p>\n

Through silly little verses<\/p>\n

With the Lord <\/p>\n

God himself. <\/p>\n

But listen here, my novice,<\/p>\n

We shall complete the full cycle <\/p>\n

Churching-repentance-communion, <\/p>\n

In the end, you shall know bliss, <\/p>\n

And taste the body of Christ. <\/p>\n

As for the blood, already <\/p>\n

Two bottles of zero-point-seven-five <\/p>\n

By the lake, among prostrate bodies,<\/p>\n

Have been gulped down\u2014 <\/p>\n

Red blood, <\/p>\n

French, Chilean, Spanish <\/p>\n

From the \u201cEdeka\u201d store <\/p>\n

Given by God<\/p>\n

For the euros on the card.<\/p>\n

You deserve punishment. <\/p>\n

Have you been good? <\/p>\n

\u201cGood\u201d is a lie  <\/p>\n

Itching to get into hell? <\/p>\n

Lift up your sundress <\/p>\n

Execution is due for deception. <\/p>\n

Or if <\/p>\n

You are already hardened in sin <\/p>\n

\u201cBad\u201d \u2014 you whisper with proud defiance <\/p>\n

With lips purple from wine<\/p>\n

With rasping, audacious words <\/p>\n

If that\u2019s the case \u2014 all the more reason <\/p>\n

It is time<\/p>\n

It is time, sister!  <\/p>\n

Before it\u2019s too late<\/p>\n

Before the last S-Bahn flees<\/p>\n

Like a soldier from the battlefield<\/p>\n

From Grunewald station<\/p>\n

Or Messe S\u00fcd.<\/p>\n

God\u2019s hand will not weaken, <\/p>\n

God\u2019s palm.<\/p>\n

Your round bottom is pale,<\/p>\n

Your face \u2014 from sun and wine \u2014 is red. <\/p>\n

But soon enough<\/p>\n

Your backside, divided<\/p>\n

By a black fabric strip, <\/p>\n

Like the Berlin Wall  <\/p>\n

Will light up fiery, <\/p>\n

Pink, red, bruised,<\/p>\n

Cracking like a voice<\/p>\n

Like the sunset<\/p>\n

Over the devilish Teufelsberg.<\/p>\n

First, two fingers in the mouth <\/p>\n

Not because it\u2019s bad <\/p>\n

But on the contrary <\/p>\n

Because it\u2019s far too good.<\/p>\n

Then down below<\/p>\n

With fingers greasy with saliva<\/p>\n

Stir the embers,<\/p>\n

So they burn <\/p>\n

Overfeed the little beast,<\/p>\n

Stir it up<\/p>\n

So it grows hungry, my dear.<\/p>\n

Terrifying, terrifying is its grin <\/p>\n

Bivalve-like <\/p>\n

Scarlet.<\/p>\n

On an analogion made of a stump <\/p>\n

Of the forest <\/p>\n

Wide open<\/p>\n

Ready for repentance<\/p>\n

Lies<\/p>\n

The very most sinful of sinners <\/p>\n

Life.    <\/p>\n

Take it! <\/p>\n

Take it quickly, <\/p>\n

As if from an old rug,<\/p>\n

With diligent movements <\/p>\n

Beat all the sin out of it, <\/p>\n

All the folly, all the vigor. <\/p>\n

Only active repentance<\/p>\n

Only diligent prayer<\/p>\n

Thickly sown with tears<\/p>\n

Will lead, perhaps, in time<\/p>\n

With proper long-suffering <\/p>\n

To the salvation <\/p>\n

Of this sinful <\/p>\n

Berlin <\/p>\n

Soul. <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/figure>\n

Bow down to the stump<\/p>\n

Roughly chopped <\/p>\n

To the foot in a thin sandal <\/p>\n

In a white sock, already gray from Berlin’s grayness <\/p>\n

The sock <\/p>\n

To the black mole on the nipple <\/p>\n

To the immigrant longing,<\/p>\n

Viscous <\/p>\n

God’s joy on the tongue.<\/p>\n

To the shock of rye hair, <\/p>\n

Like a haystack <\/p>\n

Wound into a fist. <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/figure>\n

Then <\/p>\n

Like a beggar on the Ringbahn<\/p>\n

I will beg for your love <\/p>\n

I will<\/p>\n

Rattle a box for change,<\/p>\n

Expose my wounds,<\/p>\n

Scratch my sores under a dirty yellow bandage<\/p>\n

Like a monkey,  <\/p>\n

Point a finger<\/p>\n

At a mouth parched from hunger. <\/p>\n

Save me! <\/p>\n

I haven’t had <\/p>\n

Even a poppy seed\u2019s worth <\/p>\n

Of love for three days! <\/p>\n

But you will turn away, go about your business<\/p>\n

Your adulteries <\/p>\n

You will look out the window at naked November Berlin,<\/p>\n

With a neck rough and pale <\/p>\n

That was recently by fingers<\/p>\n

twisted, strangled by me in love<\/p>\n

You\u2019ll wave to the side:<\/p>\n

\u201cBerlin \u2014 will save you!\u201d<\/p>\n

For all sins have already been forgiven. <\/p>\n

Text: Ivan Treptow<\/strong><\/p>\n

Photo: Alisa Istomina<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

The poem “Charlottenstan” by Ivan Treptow is an uncompromising portrait of Berlin, seen through the eyes of a Russian-speaking immigrant disillusioned with the “European paradise.” Charlottenstan Part I Berlin-Berlin! Berlin-Berlin!  A pandemonium of swine!  The morning hour. The U-Bahn thunders.  The skull thunders with the night’s hangover. Kit-Kat thunders from behind the gates,  The executioner […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":3775,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[4],"tags":[14],"class_list":["post-3774","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-emigration","tag-chytac-u-jemigracyi"],"acf":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/nottoday.media\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3774","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/nottoday.media\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/nottoday.media\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nottoday.media\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nottoday.media\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=3774"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/nottoday.media\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3774\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3776,"href":"https:\/\/nottoday.media\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3774\/revisions\/3776"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nottoday.media\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/3775"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/nottoday.media\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3774"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nottoday.media\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=3774"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nottoday.media\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=3774"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}