"I remember"
Text of the performance 'Another Dream'
Raimund Hoghe
First published on Sarma, written December 2000


I remember that I absolutely wanted to be twelve to see films for which you had to be twelve.

I remember that my Grandfather saw every film at the Roxy and Astoria.

I remember Audrey Hepburn in “Breakfast at Tiffany's” running through the rain.

I remember empty afternoon performances at the Lichtburg and that they sent you home if not eight people wanted to see the film.


I remember that there was snow outside and that I had wet feet, when I was sitting with my sister in the cinema, watching the “West Side Story”.

I remember that Romy Schneider and my sister were born on the same day.

I remember that I was carrying a Christmas tree across the stage in Else Lasker-Schiller's play “Arthur Aronymus and his fathers”.

I remember that the Beatles manager turned Priscilla White into the singer Cilla Black.


I remember that Judy Garland said on the stage of the Palace Theatre in New York “I'll stay as long as you want me”.

I remember Soeur Sourire, the singing nun, who had a world success with the song "Dominique". Later she killed herself together with her girl friend.

I remember the scandal when Edith Piaf married the twenty year younger Greek Théo Sarapo and stood proudly before the cameras with him. On stage they sang together “A quoi ça sert l’amour”.

I remember that I was Seventeen when I received a star postcard from the pop singer Rex Gildo with the wish “All the best and love”.

I remember that Minouche Barelli represented Monaco at the Eurovision Song Contest 1967 with a song against the war “Bourn Badabourn”.

I remember the Beach Boys, Donovan and the Beatles, visiting Maharishi in India.

I remember that Cass Elliot from the Mama’s and Papa’s died in London after a round of parties, including Mick Jagger’s 31st Birthday celebration. She was 33 years old when she died. “The good times are coming” was the title of one of her last records.


I remember the neighbour whose two sons were killed by a bomb while playing in the backyard.

I remember the given tip, to lay down in the shadow of a wall and to protect the head with a bag if an atomic bomb is failing.

I remember the photos from Vietnam, the faces burned by Napalm and the children running away from the bomb dust.

I remember the colourful glossy images of Hitlerboys and Nazigirls in an autograph book of an ant.

I remember a friend who was very impressed as a child when he discovered on the arm of a Jewish uncle several numbers. “What are the numbers for?”, he asked his uncle. “That's my telephone number” was the answer of the uncle. “And I thought, said the friend, that's clever to have the phone number always on the arm”.

I remember that in the school they never talked about the War and the Holocaust.


I remember paper dragons in the sky, flying far away.

I remember the fear to have to go to the Ballroom dancing school.

I remember the starched petticoats of my sister. They were placed on the floor to dry and should become as hard as stone.

I remember the women's beehives and the trousers of the men, skin-tight around the hips.

I remember the plaster bed in which I was sleeping. Every evening it was closed with two skin coloured straps over chest and stomach.

I remember that I heard in the fast train to Wuppertal that the first man set the foot on the moon.

I remember the March of the Civil rights Movement to Washington and the speech from Martin Luther King – “I have a dream”.

I remember the popular café in the centre of the German town Bielefeld, in which Black people didn't get coffee.

I remember the mother of the 800-meters -runner, who said after the Olympic Gold medal for her son : “It's so important that a German is the winner. And above all a runner with white legs.”

I remember the smile of the white men, who took part in the killing of the Black politician Patrice Lumumba in the Congo.

I remember the warm summer day, when Roger from Rwanda told me that he cannot find a work here because he is black. “And I cannot change my skin” he said and the sun was shining and there was no cloud in the sky.


I remember the day when Marilyn Monroe died. Her photo was hanging on the film star calendar, next to the cupboard. Later they reported, that the weight of her heart was 300 gramme.

I remember that my sister cleaned the cellar steps when the news announced the death of Kennedy in Dallas.

I remember the blood on the light pink costume of Jackie Kennedy.

I remember the fake fur coat of my mother and her light between-the-seasons coat, which the shop took back after her death.

I remember that Martin Luther King said one day before he was killed “like anybody I would like to live a long life”.


I remember the day when the last issue of the magazine Film-Revue came out. It was as if someone had died.

I remember the cleaning woman and her dream to travel to the moon. “Once to walk up there that's my dream”, she said.

I remember the looks of desire in Visconti's “Death in Venice”.

I remember Maria Callas in a Master class, encouraging the students to “keep on going in a proper way not with fireworks, not with an easy applause. But with your real feeling whatever it is.”

I remember the loud protest against Ingmar Bergman's film “The Silence”.

I remember the red of the Mao bible and the green lawn in Antonioni's “Blow up”.

I remember Black power and the Pink of the Gay Liberation Front.

I remember Pasolini's “Ragazzi di vita” and Mike, a young male prostitute from Hannover, who loved his snake which he called Future.

I remember the poet Rose Auslander, the bed, which she could not leave anymore and in which she wrote poems until her death. “Throw your fear into the air”, she wrote in one of these late poems.

©Raimund Hoghe
Contextual Note: This is the text of the solo-performance ‘Another Dream’ (English version), created by the German theatre maker Raimund Hoghe in 2000. The performance reflects upon the 1960’s and concludes the trilogy, which started with ‘Meinwärts’ (1994) and ‘Chambre séparée’ (1997).