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--- resonanzraeume:resonanzraum_25-012_en [2025/06/08 15:27] – admin
+++ resonanzraeume:resonanzraum_25-012_en [2025/06/19 17:58] (aktuell) – alte Version wiederhergestellt (2025/06/08 16:09) admin
@@ Zeile 4: / Zeile 4: @@
 [[resonanzraeume:resonanzraum_25-012|{{:logbuch:flag:deutschland.png?nolink&30|deutsch}}]] [[resonanzraeume:resonanzraum_25-012_en|{{:logbuch:flag:flag_of_the_united_kingdom.svg.png?nolink&60| english}}]]
 [[resonanzraeume:resonanzraum_25-012_pl|{{:logbuch:flag:polen.png?nolink&30| polski}}]]
-[[resonanzraeume:resonanzraum_25-012_az|{{:logbuch:flag:slowakei.png?nolink&30|azerbaycan
+[[resonanzraeume:resonanzraum_25-012_az|{{:logbuch:flag:aserbaidschan.png?nolink&30|azerbaycan
 }}]]
-==== Room 11 – The Silence Between the Windows ====
+**__Azerbaijan__**
+==== Room 12a – Without dark nights (Aysel) ====
 <color #7092be>//
-They live in the same city, but not in the same world.
+**In the Silence After the Anthem**\\
-Martin lives on the hillside above the Danube. His parents run a guesthouse with a view of the hills of Devín. Jana lives below, in a housing block at the edge of Petržalka. They haven’t seen each other in a long time. And yet sometimes, they still hear the same things: the same voice on the radio, the same bang of a football hitting a garage door, the same wind whistling through the streets when winter comes.
+South of Şəki, on a low hill, stands a house that smells of almonds. The shutters are crooked, but not broken. Aysel, 64, lives here alone. She was once a music teacher. Now she tunes her voice only rarely. Sometimes, when no one is listening, she hums the old anthem from 1919—not out of patriotism, but because she can’t forget its rhythm.
-Martin believes his country needs protection. That borders must be strong. That “those up there” no longer speak for people like him.
+“It was like a dress we were allowed to wear only briefly,” she says of the republic that lasted less than three years. “Then, suddenly, winter came again.”
-Jana believes her country should be more open. That no one moves forward alone. That “those up there” don’t hear what’s said below.
+Her husband died in 1990 while fetching food in the capital. Their daughter now works in Istanbul. She writes seldom, but regularly. Her short, formulaic messages contain no questions—only states of being.
-They used to know each other. A long time ago. In school, they didn’t like each other. At first. Jana found Martin arrogant. Martin thought Jana was loud. Their hands smelled of chalk, one spoke fast, the other wrote quiet sentences into the margins of his notebooks. Then their paths parted: university, friends, what people call a “worldview.” What remained were sparse messages, more and more cautious – until they fell silent altogether.
+On the wall hangs a framed verse by Hüseyn Cavid:\\
-One spoke of homeland, the other of dignity. Each believed the other wasn’t talking to them.
+\\
-And yet, they sometimes dream the same dreams: of a friend who disappeared; of a street in winter, where no one says hello first.
+“Qaranlıq gecələr olmasaydı,
-Now, almost grown, they still live in the same city, not far from each other. Both know it. Both pretend not to.
+Sözləri oxşayan ulduzlar bunca sevilməzdı.”\\
-Today, one of them thinks: Maybe it could have been possible. If we hadn’t answered so quickly. If the silence had lasted longer – but not so bitter.
+(“Without dark nights, the words that caress like stars would be less beloved.”)\\
-The other thinks of a weight they carry – not out of pride, but out of habit. And that it would be lighter if the other would say, “I remember.”
+\\
-They both feel this. But neither takes the first step.
+Aysel believes Cavid didn’t mean stars themselves, but what remains between the words: the silent dignity.
-And outside, somewhere between the houses, something loosens for a moment in the air – not a judgment, not a gesture, just a small movement in which something could become possible.
+Sometimes she walks to the edge of the village, where the view fades into the mountains. There, she believes she recognizes the day when everything ceased to feel like a future. And there she begins to sense the day when something new was born—without a song, without a flag, without a slogan—only the need to no longer feel foreign in her own land.
+She says:
+“I have stopped waiting for a sign.
+Now I listen to the spaces in between.
+They say: You were here. And you are still here.”
+\\
+//</color>
+{{:artwork:resonanz:resonanz_25-012.jpeg?nolink&600 |resonanz_25-012}}
+----
+\\
+==== Room 12b – Without dark nights (Zəhra) ====
+<color #7092be>//
+**the House by the Railway**\\
+In a small house near Gəncə, close to the railway tracks, lives a woman named Zəhra. Her name means “blossom,” but her voice has become quiet over the years. She was a teenager when the Soviet Union fell apart. The morning after independence, she remembers, it was too quiet outside. As if the world was holding its breath.
+Her father had fought in Karabakh. Her uncle was sent to Siberia. The family stopped talking about politics. Too dangerous, too hopeless, too late. They kept their hands busy and their mouths shut. The electricity worked sometimes. The radio played foreign music. She learned to hear between the lines.
+Now Zəhra is 47. She teaches literature at a school nearby. She still remembers the poem by Hüseyn Cavid:\\
+\\
+“Qaranlıq gecələr olmasaydı,
+Sözləri oxşayan ulduzlar bunca sevilməzdı.”\\
+(“If there were no dark night,
+the stars that gladden the eyes
+would be less beloved.”)\\
+\\
+She sometimes reads this to her students. And they ask: “Who was he?” And she says: “One who believed that a country must be dreamed into being – not only declared.”
+Sometimes she walks to the edge of the tracks. Trains rarely pass. She listens to the silence after the wind. And once, she said, she felt she could name the day when everything stopped feeling like a future. She didn’t say what day it was.
 \\
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 //</color>
-{{:artwork:resonanz:resonanz_25-011.jpeg?nolink&600 |resonanz_25-011}}
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