Just words: vote

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Vote is a four-letter word, but I never took Latin. So, no voting for me.

Hey, Friend,
Are you going to vote? I am sure there is an election coming soon. Have you cast your vote before? I have. A long time ago.

I grew up in East Germany before the Wall came down. Every couple of years, they had something one Sunday, which they called an election. You would walk to the polling station, show your ID, be given a ballot, take one step to the right, fold the ballot, and stick it in the ballot box. Done. You had just voted for one list of candidates. All of them. From different parties and associations. All on the one state-sanctioned list, which you approved towards the 99.9%. And if you did not, they would revisit you with the “flying” ballot box. Again. And again.

In the first election after demonstrations, civic movement, and round tables— remember 1989? — I registered my protest vote. I had done the math. After the counting and announcements, I revoked my right to vote for a couple of years, believing that only people who don’t mix up politics and math should vote. Protest voting is nonlinear.

The German word for vote is die Stimme. Most common backtranslation: the voice. When you have a voice, you vote — when you vote, you have a voice! I always thought the words vote and voice are related, and maybe they are. But I never took Latin.

In England, I voted in local elections. But neither John Major nor Tony Blair were my fault. They were not my success either. European immigrants only vote locally. And in Canada? Permanent residents can’t vote for anybody. I watched the news and kept quiet.

And now I am here. Southern California. Best climate I have ever been in. Geographically. I will keep quiet, hanging on to my Green Card.

How about your voice? Your Stimme. Your vote!


I had posted this first on Panta Rhei Enterprise in August. Since there are less than 100 hours until the election and I am transfering the series Just words to this blog, it was high time.

Just texts: Hundrest poem without taers

My English translation

I actually do not read that much poetry. I wish I would. In 2012, I heard Dragica Rajčić read her poetry. She is Croatian and lives in Switzerland. This volume of poetry is in German; she also writes in Croatian, which I cannot read. I did not like the English translation, also presented at the reading, because it had eliminated all the idiosyncracies of the original. I believe it is the little nicks that make this poem.

And if you like the little texts — poems I wrote or translated — they are, in no particular order, under Just texts.