Inspector Schimanski is no more...

Götz George (23 July 1938 - 19 June 2016) son of the actor couple Berta Drews and Heinrich George. He was the german actor chosen to perform the role of the Duisburg detective Horst Schimanski for the TV crime series Tatort. He has performed many other characters as well... This detective was very fysical, smart, sometimes kind to the perpetrators, knowing how hard their life is. He starred in plays plays and his debut was in 1950 in a play by . He perfected is acting between 1958 and 1963. He personified Martin Luther, was the lead in Büchner's Danton's Death, which he considered to be his best role. William Saroyan's My Heart's in the Highlands. He also co-staged-managed .Gogol's The Government Inspector


He received the crucial part of his acting education between 1958 and 1963. Following his mother's advice he occasionally played at the Deutsches Theater in Göttingen under the direction of Heinz Hilpert. After Hilpert's death, George would never join a fixed theater company again. Hansgünther Heyme signed him in 1972 to the Kölner Schauspielhaus, where George played Martin Luther in Dieter Forte's Martin Luther und Thomas Münzer. His most important stage achievement, in his own opinion, was the lead role in  during the Salzburg Festival in 1981. In 1986 and 1987 George, together with Eberhard Feik and Helmut Stauss, stage-managed. Performing in Anton Chekhov's Platonov, George went on his hitherto last theater tour. He also was in some films among other one with Romy Schneider. 

He has given me many great Sunday evening delights, seeing his rough and tumble character, with a soft side doing what he did. In Ruhrort there is a Schimanski Gasse. Next time I am there I will lay down a flower for him.

Chokta Lobsang: in memoriam

                                  Chokta Lobsang, a kind and warmhearted young Tibetan monk who was a writer and advocate for freedom of expression has been brutally murdered. He told me that when he was 16 going on 17, he left Tibet in winter and with a group of 56 people crossed the Himalayas through the deep snow into India. He knew his life wasn't safe in Tibet. Two of his nephews had immolated themselves, to keep out of the hands of the Chinese secret service: The ultimate form of resistance, out of free will and choice. People working for the latter dis-service raped and killed his young niece. During two PEN-Conferences I met this amazing young man and we had several warm, personal and serious conversations. He told me then that a couple of times a years - not having seen his mother for 17 years - he would call his mother. Yet then they could not speak freely, seen the aforementioned 'service' was always listening in. With a kind of code, they managed to at least a bit of personal  exchange. Probably the biggest joy for this young man was hearing his mothers voice.

He was an unwavering Vice-president of PEN Tibetan Writers Abroad always defended colleagues in trouble, literature and freedom of expression. Many of us having met Lobsang at PEN meetings over the last number of years, including the PEN International Congresses in Reykjavik (2013), the WiPC Conference in Krakow (2013) have been touched by this thoughtful and kind person. In India he was a teacher to the young monks. His murder was gruesome. And we might never know the full story of who did pull the strings. Heavy hearted, saddened yet also grateful to have been touched by this extraordinary person I want to remember our last meeting when he offered David, the then president of PEN-Flanders and myself a white scarf which we both hold dear and cherish.

Thinking of you in gratitude for having known you.

Funerals

With three funerals in a short time, I didn't quite get to my blog. First was my mother, after 10 years of dementia it was a good thing that she slipped quietly away during the night. My parents being catholic, an intimate service was held in the small church of Overbrook. The pastor's openness for other believers or non-believers was refreshing. Then the father of a close friend passed away. A civil service in a huge crematorium. The woman who lead the memorial did a great job. The fun loving side of him was brought out, his jokes and yes, I too remember the twinkle in his eyes, his kindness. Yet I felt dwarfed by the size of the hall, the coldness of of the marble... It was good later to return Daisy's father's ashes to the earth in the old cemetery of Stekene... Closeness and togetherness. The third funeral was a friend of mine Lydia. She never found the road back to life after her husband Hugo died. They had done everything together, were a great couple, dancing tango, traveling, sharing their humanistic beliefs. This service too was in a Crematorium. It is situated in the beautiful setting of the graveyard of Schoonselhof, Antwerp. Here, her friends spoke about her life, her ideals, her philanthropic work, her son Wim spoke movingly about his mam. They had recently been to London together and had had a good, happy time. This kind of memories will sustain him during a difficult period. Sometimes death comes too soon, sometimes death would have been welcomed earlier, sometimes death is a choice. All kinds hurt even when one knows it was welcomed. Each funeral adding to the load and grief of the others...

So, don't forget to live and cherish your loved ones. Celebrate life.

Sagesmoke over the water

I know I haven't been blogging for a while. Not that there wasn't anything to say. On the contrary there was too much to say. Too many e-mails clamoring for attention: yes most of them worthy causes. Too many activities. There was Hoboken goes West: friends of mine had organized and Dave from Scarborough came over for the occasion. He and I went 'junk shopping', checking out secondhand stores. I found Ben Okri's sequel to 'The famished road', I book I devoured. The book 'Songs of Enchantment' just 50 cents. And yes, the first paragraphs did again captivate me. 'The West' in Hoboken consisted of civil war reenactments, even a small field hospital and some Indians with leather robes and beaded patches and tipi's in the park and a Leonard Peltier stand..

 Family visits, and a solemn goodbye to a lady found dead in the water. Her daughters and family, her friends from NAIS, all were there. In a sober way Black Eagle smudged us all. Memories were shared. Questions remained unanswered.

 did she think
did she ponder
or just
did it
by accident
into the cold
water
purse on the quay
or did she let it happen
welcoming the push
was she alone
overcome by the pull of death and bliss
and was someone
watching her
was she standing
before the jump
or did she glide gently
off the quay
who after all this
took her phone
the little money
from her purse on the quay

and then
sage smoke and flowers
and silence for her voyage

Tony Mafia, Chicago August 4 1931 - Antwerp, Hoboken, May 9 1999

Fourteen years ago Tony Mafia died after a life lived fully. With many friends he is not forgotten and his paintings still make a house a home.

This large and wonderful painting is hanging in the public entrance of the European Parliament in Brussels. Once in a while someone tells me they have seen it.

The tearful eye of god, where not only god is crying but also the guitar player, lovers, doves and a dog and a stallion all this  one can see on the painting.

Tony loved his guitars, loved Spain had been for half a year in Casares, Andalousia. A strange place where he painted the locals as he saw them. These paintings were shown at Gallery Françoise Besnard and the show sold out. Jack Nickolson, being in Canes for the film festival, came to Paris, visited the show and signed the guest book.

Hopefully soon, I hope to organize a larger exhibition of Tony's work with the help of some friends.

*



All is changed

nothing stays the same

but the street

on which the changing

walk until words

of past

hurt

for lack of a tomorrow

The fading star

of laughter lost

hears but the

murmur of memory

on rue St André des Arts

meeting Madame Françoise Besnard