On the 18 June, 2025, the German and Swiss poet, Nora Gomringer, read at the Wasserkirche—the Water-Church—in Zurich along with her duo partner, Philipp Scholz. Perhaps as a cooling refreshment, just like my last blog post here, it’s also about rain. The performance is titled “Here Comes the Rain Again”, with the subtitle ‘Texts on Water and Becoming, Whales and Squids’.
The title is borrowed from the British pop duo, Eurythmics, 1983 studio album—Touch.
A ship—called the “Ark 2.0″—is currently moored in the Wasserkirche. It is intended to be a symbol, an anchor of hope in these times of unrest and hopelessness.
This evening, the ship’s belly will not only accommodate “immer zwei, immer zwei” (always two, always two) of one species as in the Bible story, but a rather more diverse audience. The event is part of a series celebrating the publication of “Es werde liecht” (Let there be light), a transcription of the Old Testament from the Zurich Bible.
On the summer evening it holds, the church is warm, and it smells of wood. Wearing goggles, the artists enter the stage, which is the interior of the ship. Philipp Scholz conjures a world of sensual softness to accompany text read by Nora Gomringer.
Right at the beginning, there is God’s weariness with what humanity has become. All his creation is destined to perish in the rain, while “immer zwei” (always two) find refuge on Noah’s Ark.
The poem “Teredo Navalis” is also about a ship:
In Stockholm, wo man in den 60er Jahren ein Schiff, der 1600er barg»
(In Stockholm, where in the 1660s a ship from the 1600s was salvaged).
In the 16th century, a ship sank on its maiden voyage. During the salvage in the 1660s, the culprit was found: a shipworm (sp. Teredo Navalis).
“Teredo Navalis Schiffsbohrwurm von bis zu 60 Zentimetern Länge»
(Teredo Navalis – shipworm up to 60 centimeters long).
In Nora Gomringer’s poem, the feeling of jealousy, rooted in human existence, also lingers:
«Hatte nicht einer Steine mir in den Bauch genäht, als ich offen klaffte vor Eifersucht?»
(Hadn't someone sewn stones into my stomach, when I gaped open with jealousy?)
Towards the end, Gomringer reads a letter from the mayor of Lampedusa, “Die Schande Europas” (The Shame of Europe) (2021), a tribute to the drowned, a voice against indifference:
«Wenn Europa aber so tut, als seien dies nur unsere Toten, dann möchte ich für jeden Ertrunken, der mir übergeben wird, ein offizielles Beileidstelegramm erhalten »
(But if Europe acts as if these are only our dead, then I would like to receive an official telegram of condolence for every drowned person handed over to me).
The evening concluded with William Wordsworth’s «das All – eine Muschel» (The Universe – a Shell), read from a crumpled piece of paper, with a large shell in the other hand, the sound of the sea in the poet’s ear.
As I listen, I wonder whether the ship, in which I sit in the audience, is seaworthy. I see a few small holes in the hull. And I wonder if a shipworm is in there, or if God, fed up with his creation, once again wants to preserve “immer zwei, immer zwei” (always two, always two) animals to survive the oncoming flood.
Perhaps, given the new shame in so many places around the world, it is especially urgent for humanity not only to read “Es werde liecht” (Let there be light) but also to live it.
What is certain is that Nora Gomringer and Philipp Scholz carried a gentle and at the same time powerful light from the ship’s belly out into the world that evening.