Martin
In London I used to enjoy getting myself lost, but after 10 years there, even after hours and hours of walking, I found it harder to do that. There was no need for maps — everything was just too easy. But I’ve never liked being too comfortable — I get this kind of perverse, anxious desire to mess things up. I like things to be interesting, odd, unsettling. For me, writing a poem is often a process of trying to understand things in this way.
Everything in Berlin is a little different, from London, and part of the fun is figuring it all out. There is so much in Berlin that makes you feel like it was build to knock you down, piss on your face, scare you away. If Berlin was a poem, it wouldn’t be nice, polished, perfect. It would be scrappy, chaotic, epic, annoying at times, weirdly beautiful, missing parts, probably written by a drunk.
Strangely, the chaos of Berlin makes you more determined, I find myself actively deciding to dedicate myself to creation instead of destruction. My tip to newcomers is easy: talk to people. There are so many others who’ve solved — or attempted to — the messy puzzles here before, they all have their own tips and tricks. Perhaps because of all of these people, it feels like Berlin is one of the most welcoming places on the planet right now. Use that.


