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Rahel Kaléko

I feel like a cat among tigers. (Katherine Mansfield)

 

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Rahel Kaléko, this mercurial burlesque with diva legs and delicate ankles! Where is she? Everyone’s looking for Miss Kaléko, Rahel, a Berlin brat from the hood and a poetical genius. Yes, she writes poetry as well! But first of all, she is a dancer, a player, a performer, a Gesamtkunstwerk in continuous movement, even if it’s only her eyes turning towards heaven or hell. These pretty dark cherry eyes underneath those narrow brows! Other distinctive features: the lyrical face of a silent movie star, an enchantingly sweet mouth that produces the shocking boisterous laughter of a gangster boss. Everyone’s looking for mademoiselle Kaléko, the glamorous elf with the thunderstorm laughter. Other names: Das Rachele. Short description: half a handful of impudence. Composed according to some sources (partly outdated), quite well-mannered, yet without always observing good manners. She’s not exactly known for her ladylike restraint, that would just be boring to Rachele, unless she’s concocting something either outrageous or grand. A rogue and a rascal, a mischievous fairylike creature, fickle and flippant like a sparrow on Hermannplatz. Wanted! Wanted: Rahel Kaléko! She was here just a minute ago… Is she hiding under the clothes rack? Under the table? In the bottle of Berliner Luft? Or is she curled up like a kitten underneath the blanket? A kitten with a pitch-black fur. Yes, that’s what she is!

 

 

Rahel Kaléko about herself.

Not quite from this world, I am. Still, I love it with all my heart, this world, for it gives me peacock feathers! I dress up several times a day and I never wear a bra. Sometimes I take a shower wearing high heels or I drink champagne while cleaning. Think of my appearance as the accidental arabesque of a kaleidoscope, the shadow cast by a laterna magica, playfully brushing the surface of your life. The ephemeral enchantment of a dance movement at a dizzying pace, three-four time… Silence. – the crackles of the record player, you have to turn Zarah Leander. Or do we remain lurking in the dim light of the room, the green moon shining through the roof? Tentatively I lay my head against your neck and I look up to you from below. I kiss you with my eyes wide open, provocatively. I scuffle with you and I trip you up; In the blink of an eye I am on the other side of the room, I hiss and I purr when we grab each other. I curl up under the touch of your hand, when you’re caressing me through my supple negligee. It’s Bliss, when you finally touch me and I float away in your arms like liquid lilies. Hold me tight; let me go; hold me tight! After our combat has made me high, colours, scents and movements together write a poem on the palimpsest of the sheets, right before our traces vanish.

  

 

 

 

 

Profession: Performance artist, author, cultural pedagogue

Languages: German, English, French

Height: 1,72 m

Shoes: 40

Figure: Original flapper girl

Eye colour: Opium brown

Hair colour:  Pitch-black curls

Skin tone: Musk mallow

Perfume: Rausch, J.F. Schwarzlose, Berlin

Favourite drink: Absinthe, Ayran

Favourite food: Chuzpele

Favourite restaurant: Eins44 

 

Bookable in Berlin and worldwide.