Gianluca Falanga (Berlin): Misteri italiani. Der lange Schatten der Bleiernen Jahre Italiens

"Unaufgeklärte Anschläge, Entführungen und politische Morde, Bomben in Bahnhöfen und Zügen mit zahlreichen Opfern: die jüngste Vergangenheit Italiens ist reich an brutalen und rätselhaften Gewalttaten, welche die Italiener bis heute beschäftigen. Die „anni di piombo“ (bleierne Jahre) von 1969-1983, die die Grundfesten der italienischen Demokratie erschütterten, sind noch immer nicht vollständig aufgearbeitet. Das wirft einen langen Schatten auf die Gegenwart eines Landes, das große Mühe hat, sich von den Geistern der Vergangenheit zu befreien." (Gianluca Falanga)

Gianluca Falanga reflektiert diese Jahre

am 19. April 2023, 19 Uhr, im Historischen Saal der VHS, Ravensberger Spinnerei.

Gianluca Falanga (*1977) lebt und arbeitet seit 2002 als freischaffender Historiker und Publizist in Berlin. Er ist als wissenschaftlicher Mitarbeiter des Stasi-Museums Berlin zuständig für politische Bildung und Autor zahlreicher Sachbücher und Artikel zur Geschichte Deutschlands und Italiens im 20. Jahrhundert.

 

 

The new issue of Ink Drop is here! 

Read it here: Ink Drop #2

 

Join us for a live reading of new poems and stories!

Thursday, April 13th 2023, 6 pm (18 Uhr)

FSZ Lounge (C01-244) & Zoom

 ID 675 5482 3834

Code: 308 295

 

With Georgina Willms

Ein Filmmeisterwerk aus der Regiehand von Felix van Groeningen und Charlotte Vandermeersch (Belgien) nach dem preisgekrönten Bestseller von Paolo Cognetti: Le otto montagne.

Die biographische Erzählung über das Heranwachsen von zwei Jungen - einer aus dem bürgerlichen Milieu der Stadt, der andere das letzte Kind eines fast ausgestorbenen Bergdorfes - bis in ihre späteren 30er Jahre konfrontiert mit der Bedingtheit des individuellen Lebens und dem Ausschöpfen von Gestaltungsmöglichkeiten - und mit dem Thema der Dignitas, der Würde menschlichen Lebens, der Würde des Individuums. Ein Film, den die Nebel des Vergessens kaum auslöschen können.

Läuft bis zum 21.02.2023 in der Kamera, Feilenstraße, am 21.02. um 17:35 im Original mit Untertiteln. Geeignet für Italienisch-Lernende.

Die Programminfo  befindet sich hier.

Ragazzi, andateci! Vale la pena!

 

Auf Grund der hohen Nachfrage an der Spracheinstufung für unsere Sprachkurse bieten wir weitere Termine an.

Folgende Termine stehen zur Verfügung:

26.01. 12 Uhr - Präsenz 

02.02. 11 Uhr und 12 Uhr - Online

10.02. 10 Uhr und 11 Uhr - Präsenz

13.02. 14 Uhr und 15 Uhr - Präsenz 

15.02. 10 Uhr und 11 Uhr - Online

Romanistik-Studierende können ausschließlich an den Präsenzterminen teilnehmen.

Genaue Informationen zur Spracheinstufung sowie das Anmeldeformular finden Sie unter:

https://www.uni-bielefeld.de/einrichtungen/fsz/tests-and-certs/placement/

Our Creative Writing 1 students were tasked at writing some unusual Christmas stories, and this one was chosen as the best.  Justine, Liliana, Lena, and Amanda were tasked with writing a "post-apocalyptic Christmas story" - and here it is!

The Light

The second she opened her eyes, she knew that she was screwed. A soaring pain was overtaking her body while she tried to navigate in the dark. It felt like thousands of stones kept falling on her. Ultimately, the pain became unbearable and she burst into tears. "Help! Can anyone hear me? I cannot take the pain anymore," she wailed. She noticed her stomach hurting particularly and immediately reached down to touch her belly. "Everything is fine, my angel, everything will be alright," she whispered. How did she end up here in the first place? The last thing she remembered was going to bed early.  

In the middle of the night, she had shot up in bed, awakened by a deafening crack. Then, a blinding light lit up her bedroom. It took her a few moments before she came to her senses and realized what had happened. She heard another deafening crack of thunder that sounded even more powerful. Her whole house trembled under the force of it. Frightened by the violent storm, which was getting stronger by the minute, she crawled under her bed. Eventually, when her eyelids became so heavy that the struggle to keep them open outweighed her fear of the storm, she fell asleep again.  

The second time she was awoken, she found herself laying in the rain, her clothes soaking wet. In the distance, she could hear people screaming and crying. Despite the severe storm, she decided that she had to get up. After taking a step, however, everything went black.

Again, she woke up, having no clue where she was. No longer being able to endure her hunger, she stood up on shaky legs. She decided that following those distant noises would be the fastest way out. Seeing the outside world again, however, only led to further devastation. The world lay in ruins – houses were destroyed, the streets were cracked open and littered with rubble. "What happened?", she asked frantically. "Everything is destroyed," she screamed, falling to her knees. "All that is left is rubble and ashes. I have nowhere to go, nothing to eat."  Touching her stomach made her suddenly realize that she had to be strong for herself and her unborn baby. With newly found determination, she stood up and wiped her tears away. She had to stay strong if she wanted to survive, after all. Hoping that she would meet someone on her way, she began walking around in search for food. She had to find something soon, as she got weaker by the second, her stomach rumbling relentlessly.  

The ravenous growling was no way inferior to the gaping emptiness in her stomach. The pain of the void, unparalleled by anything she had experienced in her life before, banished any attempt at escaping into daydreaming, let alone entertaining a plan. Goaded by the pain, she combed through any pile that could possibly harbor something to eat. This area must have been raided and emptied while she had been trapped underground. Anytime she attempted to move heavier bricks or rocks, she urgently prayed not to come across crushed body parts or a corpse.   

She had been rummaging through what seemed to be the remains of a kitchen or pantry. Concerned about falling or twisting her ankle, she had remained at the foot of the pile. All of a sudden, debris collapsed like an avalanche at the side of the pile. She just managed to jump aside and immediately looked up to make out the cause of this incident. She couldn't identify anything suspicious. As she was about to turn away, a light reflection on a shiny metallic surface in the middle of the pile caught her attention. On hands and knees, she carefully crawled towards the shiny object. The sunbeams restlessly danced around it, rendering its identification impossible. She groveled forward, squinting her eyes protectively. Within arm's reach, she finally identified the glittering trophy of her exertion: it was a candy wrapper. She could not believe her eyes – it was untouched, it was sealed. Her eyes opened wide in incredulous anticipation, she extended her hand and grabbed for the candy. Without a moment's hesitation, she placed her hands on each side to rip open the packaging. At the very same instant, the wrapped candy disappeared before her eyes and with it, her last hope dissolved into silver dust, and she into tears.

The sinking sun extracted the little warmth that was left in her body. She grasped at the bits of fabric that were left of her coat and wrapped them tightly around her belly. Violent shivers streamed through her body as her head heated up and her limps started to grow numb from the cold. She followed the cast of her shadow that had been gradually outgrowing her. She had to find shelter before nightfall, she had to keep moving, to be on her guard, else – a movement to her right let her freeze in midmotion. Narrowing her eyes, she tried to penetrate the half-light. The silhouette of a man in a stooping posture slowly emerged from the shadows of a crushed bus. She held her breath. The dragging of his foot on the ground echoed between the ruins. As he approached, a scarcely audible humming freed itself sinuously from the scratching sound of his dragging foot. The melody that emerged was ever so familiar. Had not her father sung it to her whenever she had been unwell as a little girl? You need to focus. Unsettled by the familiar tune, her eyes censored in on the frame and structure of his face. As he drew a little closer, the melody enclosed her further. A last remaining arm of the setting sun reached for the man's face, and for a moment, her father's eyes met hers. A wave of unspeakable relief freed her from her immovability, and as she leaped towards her father, an excruciating pain wrenched the inside of her abdomen and forced her to her knees. Rivers of cold sweat poured down her face. While convulsively holding the lower part of her belly with one hand, she raised her head. Blurred by the dripping veil of sweat before her eyes, she raised her other hand and grasped helplessly into the darkness. The old man was gone.  

Hopelessness was the only fitting word to describe those next few minutes. She would have given up if it were not for the light she glimpsed in the distance. It was an absurd thought really, but it reminded her of candlelight. Maybe she could reach it. She had nothing to lose, after all. There was nothing else she could do to escape her miserable situation. While stumbling towards the light, memories of candlelight, carols and festive meals suddenly flashed before her eyes. And she was reminded of what she missed the most - her husband, her friends and her family.

She was so close to reaching the light. It all seemed like a wonderous dream, a last invitation she had to follow, and so she forged ahead. This light was her last hope. Although she was on the verge of losing consciousness, she summoned what was left of her strength and focused on reaching the light. She had lost all sense of time - it could have been minutes, hours, days. When she finally reached the spot, she discovered that a tree-like pillar seemed to be the source of the light she had been following. It was surrounded by dancing shadows that spread across the back wall. Slowly, her eyes became accustomed to the flickering lights. Seeing the image that was unfurling before her eyes, made her stop dead in her tracks. There were people. Standing together. Talking, laughing, holding hands. The growing pounding of her heart urged her to take one more step forward, to join this wonderous image. As she staggered forward, her vision started to blur. It was sheer impossible to refrain from crying while witnessing this illusive painting she was about to reach.

A cry of horror kept her somewhat present, and shortly after, strong arms carried her into a warmer place. Mumbling surrounded her. The next few hours passed in a hazy daze. Due to the unbearable pain, she woke up several times. Sometimes, it even felt as if she was not able to breathe. It was only when a screaming baby awoke her that she realized what was happening. Seconds later, she could feel a little human being on her chest. Another person covered both of them with a blanket. Blissfully, she closed her eyes with distant voices lulling her in: “Silent night, holy night, all is calm, all is bright”. 

Tomorrow, on December 6^th, the FSZ English Choir will give its first public performance. At 12pm you can see and hear the choir singing in front of University’s Christmas tree in the main hall. As the choir is still new, they will perform a short set of three songs, but will sing their set three times: at 12, 12:20, and 12:40. The choir is looking for new members, especially people with lower voices like bass, baritone, and tenor. If you have any questions about the choir, you are welcome to use the time in between the sets for a little chat.

Le jeudi 1^er décembre 2022, à 18H15 dans le Lounge du centre de langues de l’université de Bielefeld (salle C01-244), venez écouter Sylvie Hoffman, alias Sylvie Mescam, nous faire découvrir son roman « Jardins d’espoir ».

« Jardins d’espoir » est un roman régional et historique.
« L'action de « Jardins d’espoir » se déroule à Brest pendant la seconde guerre mondiale, où Gwen, le personnage principal, rejoint très tôt la résistance, ayant à peine entendu parler de la défaite de la France en juin 1940. Ce qui peut être compris comme la décision imprudente d'une très jeune femme inexpérimentée s'avère être au fur et à mesure que l'histoire progresse un processus de maturation du protagoniste. D'une mission secrète à l'autre, Gwen risque sa vie pendant cinq ans pour libérer la France du joug nazi et rien ne l’arrête. Le livre raconte la naissance et le développement de la résistance brestoise. Il souligne aussi l'importance stratégique et historique de la ville du Ponant grâce à son port et sa proximité avec l'Angleterre. De cette façon, Sylvie a voulu relier le destin personnel de sa protagoniste à l'histoire du monde. Elle dresse le portrait d'une femme à la fois sensible et combative qui fait preuve d’un courage inconditionnel et d’un esprit libre. Pour conclure, « Jardins d’espoir » est un roman qui, certes traduit la brutalité et l'horreur de cette époque, mais nous fait aussi espérer à travers l’amour humain et de la nature. Le livre est paru aux Editions du Menhir en juillet dernier. » D’après Françoise Charoud-Got, Hauspostille du 21/10/2022, Laborschule Bielefeld.

 
Dans une ambiance conviviale, Sylvie Mescam nous lira des extraits de son roman. Des pauses musicales entremêleront la lecture de ces extraits. Elle nous dévoilera également comment l’idée de son roman a germé et nous livrera quelques secrets sur les procédés d’écriture utilisés. Sylvie Mescam répondra à toutes nos questions ! Venez nombreux !

Où? Centre de Langues université Bielefeld, Bâtiment principal, C01-244 (à l'entrée principale à droite)

Are you looking for a chance to practice your English, meet new people and channel your creativity during the semester break? The English Drama Group got you covered! Starting now, you can sign up for „Stories of Now“, a week-long theatre project combining elements of improvisation, story telling and classic theatre. The project takes place at university and ends with a presentation at the art festival „RadKulTour“. For more information visit their website:

https://edgbielefeld.weebly.com/services.html

No stage experience required.
All levels of English welcome.
Sign up via edgbielefeld@gmail.com

Ein Hintergrundsound war in ihrem Leben immer präsent: das Stimmengewirr der Comedie Humaine.
Die Menschen interessierten sie. Ihre Tragik. Ihre Lächerlichkeit.

Zugewandt, neugierig und selbstironisch begab sie sich in Kommunikation. In Beziehungen. In die kuriosesten Situationen. Immer mit einem sezierenden analytischen Blick.
Die Erlebnisse mit sich selbst und anderen wusste sie mit wenigen Federstrichen so prägnant zu skizzieren, dass man sich unterm Wackeln der Lachmuskeln gewünscht hätte, sie würde Komödien schreiben. „Ich erlebe sie lieber.“, war die trockene Antwort.

Literatur, Linguistik, Didaktik, geerdet im Personal- und Verwaltungsrecht – das stand im Zentrum ihres Wirkens an der Universität. Und ja, die staubigen Paragraphen unterlegten als zuverlässiger Basso continuo die kapriziösen Melodien ihres Lebens.

In den frühen 70ern startete Juliette Bockslaff ihre Laufbahn an der Universität Bielefeld. Zuerst als Lektorin für Französisch am Fremdsprachenzentrum, später als Personalrätin und Vorsitzende des Personalrats für künstlerisch und wissenschaftlich Beschäftigte. Engagiert, penibel, kenntnisreich, warmherzig und hilfsbereit füllte sie dieses Amt aus. Bis zur Pensionierung, die das Tor zu vielen neuen Komödien aufmachte.

Am 11. Oktober hat sie die letzte Tür auf der Bühne ihrer Comedie Humaine geöffnet.

Ihr prustendes Lachen, das mädchenhafte Kichern, die Suche nach neuen Begegnungen auf unbekanntem Terrain, ihre Tatkraft und praktische Nächstenliebe, die Freiheit von Selbstmitleid, die unbeirrte Orientierung an der Wirklichkeit und ihren Möglichkeiten, der Esprit, der Charme, der Humor, der Elan vital – ah, das wäre ein guter Hintergrundmix für den Weg einer unabhängigen, emanzipierten Frau, so wie Juliette es war.

Möge der Soundtrack ihres Lebens einen ansteckenden Nachhall finden in einer Zeit, die zu oft vergisst, dass das Lachen ein Kind der Freiheit ist!

Merci, Juliette.

El Dr. Guillermo Toscano y García  (Universidad de Buenos Aires)  ofrecerá un Workshop en español titulado La lengua argentina el día 1 de diciembre (miércoles) de 12:00 a 14:00 h.

Participación virtual por Zoom:
https://uni-bielefeld.zoom.us/
Meeting-ID: 912 8957 2559
Passwort: 462347

Guillermo Toscano y García es Doctor de la Universidad de Buenos Aires (orientación Lingüística) e investigador en las áreas de historiografía lingüística e historia de la lingüística, especialmente de la Argentina.

Der argentinische Autor Martín Kohan ist zur Zeit Gast an der Universität Bielefeld. Er hat mehr als 10 Romane veröffentlicht, darunter Dos veces junio y Ciencias Morales, mit dem er 2007 den Preis Herralde de Novela gewann.

Das Thema des Gesprächs lautet:

En trance de desaparecer. Un réquiem para el teléfono.

Das Gespräch findet am 04.11.21 um 19 Uhr in X-E0-214 als hybride Veranstaltung statt.

Für weitere Informationen schreiben Sie bitte an se.martinexf@gmail.com

Teilnahme via Zoom:
https://uni-bielefeld.zoom.us/j/96782016341?pwd=SHZOUUxuYmV3Vi9ra3NXb09GZm5hUT09

Happy Halloween! In our FSZ English Creative Writing courses this week we experimented with the “Flash Fiction” form, which involves telling a story is less than 500 words. To be festive, our theme was “Halloween stories”. Our very creative students turned out some very creepy stories! Here is one from Kay Dockhorn and Dafni Tzouna. Even more impressive? They wrote this in an hour!

From beneath a rumpled bed a ghostly hand emerged and slapped an alarm onto the floor, replacing its incessant buzzing with a satisfying crack followed by blissful silence. I could only enjoy the blissful silence for a very short moment though. My thoughts become louder and louder. But I can’t actually hear anything. I don’t know what is heavier right know, the frizz of my hair or my confusion.

As I am running through my hair suddenly there is something. I see something. It is me. Or is it someone else? I don’t know, everything is blurry, dark, breaking off and confusing.
I see it again. Something. Someone. Somewhere.

I see myself walking around the hallway and then suddenly a hand is running through my hair. It is so sticky, and I can smell that this hand is full of beer.

Beer. Wait. As I think of it there is something rushing to my mind. I went to the supermarket to buy a couple of six-packs a few days. But for what?

Silence again.

Rolling my neck with an exhausted sigh, I give myself a little shake and move to my bedroom door, pulling on a baggy, oversized shirt as I go. Something twinges in my shoulder, but I pay it no mind. Swinging the door open on oiled hinges, I start at the deep grooves that have been scratched onto the lower half of the formerly smooth surface. A hand, MY hand, presses to my temple as a painful thudding drags my consciousness to another time. I’m smaller, perhaps younger, what does it matter? The claws that gauge the wood from my door belong to a pack of young werewolves. I hiss, drawing their attention, as well as their ire. They’re young though. Untrained. Unthreatening. Dodging their poor attacks, I give them a few nicks and a couple of headbutts until they retreat down the hall and out the door. The hall. I gasp. I’m back. Leaning against the doorway with both hands holding my head. I bite back an annoyed yowl. Another episode. Clenching my teeth, I march down the hall with only one destination in mind. The bathroom. The only place in my house with a mirror. To get there I have to navigate a minefield of broken bottles, crumpled cans, and chip crumbs. My shoulder glances the door frame leading to the guest room. A surprised yelp escapes me at the PAIN such a simple collision causes. Reaching a hand behind me, I hiss when my probing fingers meet mottled flesh and open wounds. Pressing my hand to the injury I’ve now become painfully aware of; I sprint the last few meters to the bathroom. My other hand, currently unoccupied, flips the light switch and my expression turns grim in the face of my reflection. Hair like a dirty orange peel is slowly losing its ginger stripes, returning to its usual frizzy brown. Eyes of poisonous green glare at me, even as the edges become tainted brown. Whiskers fall where freckles lay, and I sigh at another night survived. Gingerly I disrobe, hissing again when I see the bite on my shoulder, blood and fur mixing on my tiles. Already, the wound is starting to close, the process of healing no less painful in its expedited state.
Once the wound is completely closed and my fair skin devoid of all fur, I make my way to the kitchen for a MUCH needed coffee… preferably with a couple of shots. With a groan I wait for the coffee maker to grind her magic. This curse was starting to get out of hand.

END

Die Feiertagspause liegt hinter uns und das aktuelle Semester neigt sich dem Ende entgegen. Es beginnt langsam die Zeit, in der man sich schon einmal Gedanken über das kommende Sommersemester machen könnte. Wie wäre es zum Beispiel mit einem Sprachkurs am Fachsprachenzentrum?

Unsere Lehrveranstaltungen sind ab dem 13. Januar anlässlich der Online-Bedarfserhebung im ekvv einsehbar. Für die Sprachen Englisch, Französisch und Spanisch ist es auch für das kommende Semester in vielen Fällen wieder notwendig einen C-Test zur Einstufung des Kursniveaus zu absolvieren. Dieser findet zu folgenden Terminen in C01-289 statt:

Mittwoch, 15.01.2020: 16:00 und 17:00 Uhr

Freitag, 17.01.2020: 12:00 und 13:00 Uhr

Montag, 20.01.2020: 12:00 und 13:00 Uhr

Donnerstag, 23.01.2020: 14:00 und 15:00 Uhr

 

Aus zeitökonomischen Gründen findet der Test im 60-Minuten-Takt statt. Die Maximalteilnehmerzahl ist zu jeder Startzeit auf 20 Personen begrenzt. Eine vorherige Anmeldung ist nicht erforderlich und nicht möglich. Es wird empfohlen, den C-Test so früh wie möglich zu absolvieren.

Weitere Informationen zum C-Test finden Sie auf https://uni-bielefeld.de/einrichtungen/fsz/tests_and_certs/placement/

Bei Fragen wenden Sie sich bitte an: fsz.team-support@uni-bielefeld.de

Der Team-Support des Fachsprachenzentrums wünscht allen ein erfolgreiches Restsemester.

West-östlicher Divan - von Goethe
interkulturelle Verständigung lernen

Sabine Göttel (Text) und Jörg Fleer (Musik)

Der Divan - ein Weltbuch

Orient und Okzident

Goethe und der persische Dichter Hafis im Dialog

Die musikalische Lesung von Sabine Göttel und Jörg Fleer:

vermittelnd, groovy und inspirierend

Wann? - heute, 04.12.2019, 18:00 -19:30 Uhr

Wo? - In der Language Lounge des FSZ, Universitätshauptgebäude, Universitätsstraße 25, Raum C01-244

Eintritt frei für alle, die interessiert sind

 

 

Eine Veranstaltung des Fachsprachenzentrums und des Zentrums für Ästhetik

Cari amici della cultura italiana,

auch dieses Jahres präsentiert die Deutsch-Italienische Gesellschaft Bielefeld – in Kooperation mit dem Filmkunsttheater KAMERA – die Festivaltournee CINEMA! ITALIA!

Gezeigt werden in der Originalfassung mit deutschen Untertiteln sechs herausragende, künstlerisch anspruchsvolle italienische Filme: spritzige Komödien und tiefgründige Dramen aus den Jahren 2017 bis 2019, die spannende Einblicke in viele Facetten des heutigen Italiens ermöglichen.

Die Reihe startet am 17.11.2019 um 19 Uhr mit der Komödie: Ma cosa ci dice il cervello

Nähere Informationen zu den einzelnen Filmen und zu den Terminen auf dem Flyer oder auf dieser Website.

(Dort ist auch zu lesen, dass bei der Festivaleröffnung am 15. November um 19:00 Uhr ein Glas Prosecco auf die Zuschauer wartet…)

Vielleicht sehen wir uns in der KAMERA? Ich würde mich freuen.


Un cordiale saluto

Maddalena Agliati