Poetry Slam. This is the creature that is hated by some and loved by others. That is home and hostile land. The punk rock of the feuilleton, the alphabet soup that tastes of vodka. You know: poetry slam has been compared to almost everything, has been a bit insulted and a bit hyped, has gone from a niche format in the corner pub to a major event that now fills large halls. And what does the poetry slam actually think of itself? It laughs out loud. He beams and nods and then just carries on as he always has. Because it knows that in the end it's not about numbers and not about ratings, not about big theater and small gloating, not about glitter and hoopla, but just about it: about words and stories. About poets who scream everything out of themselves, who write everything out, who rave and cry, who laugh at all the clever and stupid things they do during all the nights and days. The jury, which is still randomly and arbitrarily chosen from the audience, then holds up a sign. From 1 to 10, from "What the hell...?" to "I never want to see anything but you again".
Wild and full of fluff, brilliant poets and word bananas, everything there, everything as it has always been, because it only promises what it delivers: simply poetry slam, simply the best in the world.
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Line-upOle Müller
Isa Bögershausen
Elvis Grabbe
Anna Teufel
Featured ArtistJan Salander
ModerationAnna Bartling
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instagram.com/kampfderkuenste/_________________________ This content has been machine translated.