Andreas Nitschmann

THE ANDREID

A song for Andreas Nitschmann, called Opa, Guvna, Andy and N-Mann
- the lion-hearted King of the Ibizan dance -

INVOCATION

Sing, o Muse, of the man with the heart of a lion, who set out from Berlin to wander across the seas, Andreas, the many-named - Opa to one, to another Guvna, and Andy to his friends, N-Mann to the dearest of companions - who filled the stage of the world with a light all his own. Much he endured, and much he gave away, holding nothing back; he travelled with sandals and a coffee can, his running shoes beside him, poor in gold and yet richer than all who only hoarded it. Tell now, o goddess, wherever you are, of the beginning of the road.

FIRST CANTO - THE BIRTH AND THE CHILD

(on the Julian day, the twenty-ninth)

When high summer blazed, in the year when the sun stands longest, he came into the world, and the earth grew a little brighter for a light. Baerbel the mother, and Alfred the father, received the boy not as a possession to hold, but as light to be passed on. Never did they shut him in, never set limits to the dreamer - "Go the way that is yours, we will stay at your side": this, their work of love, set him free for the wide world.

When he was still a boy, of thirteen or fourteen summers, his parents drove south, by car, to Spain, the far country, and on the way, from full and jubilant throats, they sang: "Y Viva Espana!" - and Heiko, the friend from the days of childhood, sang then for the first time happy and loud into the open air. "I shall never forget it," he says even now, and he smiles. Already the heavens knew: this child will win the hearts of all.

SECOND CANTO - THE MAT AND THE RING

(the strength and the peace)

Early he found his way to the mat, into the ring; the Budokan took him in Braunschweig, the Boxtempel of Berlin steeled him, Strikezone in Dortmund - in karate and in boxing he sought not only the strength of the arm, but the stillness that grows within: discipline and respect for the other, the peace that comes from devotion. For hours he would run, and his mighty heart beat calm, for in the zone, as he himself named it, his soul found its harbour. Strong was the man, in body and in mind, so his loved ones bear witness, yet in the breast of the powerful one beat a heart that was made of gold. Dave, the companion from London, recalls with a smile his vanity: how he shaped and admired his own body all his life - "we hope there are mirrors, there where he is now," he said.

THIRD CANTO - THE SETTING OUT FOR THE ISLAND

(in the summer of ninety-three)

Tom, the faithful one, still remembers the departure: from Braunschweig, at full throttle, they rode the train to Berlin, one last, roaring feast, before from there he soared into the skies, to the shining island. For Ibiza called him, the island of the sun, in summer: Punta Arabi, the club, where he shaped pool and game and sport with joy for the guests, an animator at the water. Addicted to running and to training - the night might have been endless; by ten in the morning he already ran ten miles, the guests in his wake. Here, under the burning sun, he discovered what would define him: in the evenings, upon the night-blue stage, his talent bloomed in the play - Frank N. Furter in the Rocky Horror, three summers through, then as Death in Elisabeth, powerful, and at last as the Innkeeper in the great Les Miserables. So the spark was kindled that, only years later, would lead him to the stages of Berlin. Friends for life he won among those colleagues of the island, scattered across the whole planet - never did the bond break.

FOURTH CANTO - THE TRUE IBIZA

(the first winter, and what remained)

He stayed the first of the winters, as ninety-four drew on, lived with Susana, the faithful, in a little house near San Carlos - the one that for many of the years became his true home. Little he owned, yet never needed much to live, the free one. Across the way the tavern, Can Curreu, Ibizan and true, became his local; and Juan, the host, became his friend through the years, countless the cafes con leche, the bocadillos, the fresh ones. Yet the roaring night-feast of the island, that too he loved from the heart, danced the nights through, best of all raised high upon the podium, open and friendly to all - and all, they loved him in return.

FIFTH CANTO - ACROSS THE SEAS

(the voyages to distant shores)

Further still the road carried him, out into the width of the world: Tenerife, the winter after, with Jens and with Achim, the Punta companions. But the greatest of the adventures, in the winter in Costa Rica: chief he became over the day's work, over the evening stage, crowned as head animator the round of the jubilant days, chose the "Miss Costa Rica" and leapt - all Andy, the bold one - from five thousand metres height down by the parachute through the air. Even the famous Bud Spencer, the giant of the screen, he met him. In ninety-six, back on the island, he became day-chief in Punta, in ninety-seven, in the Delfin, the brother-club, chief of all games, open to guests of every age and every land. Monica he found, the Italian woman, there, his beloved of those days, with whom the winter after he spent in the Italian land.

SIXTH CANTO - EARTH BENEATH HIS FEET

(the years of the hands)

Yet even the toilsome labour did not daunt the lion at all: from ninety-nine into the year when the new millennium was already old, he toiled hard on the building site, "the boy for everything," and hauled stone and shovelled sand, in the fresh and salty air. No car bore him: twenty-five of the miles each morning he rode by his own strength on the bicycle to the heavy work, ten of the hours in the dust, and in the evening the same stretch back. So his Spanish grew true at last, and the Ibizans, they loved him. When the hardness began to go too much to his substance, he carried the tray as a waiter in the Quatro Pinos on the promenade, Santa Eulalia, by the sea - there too quickly beloved and esteemed.

SEVENTH CANTO - BERLIN, THE GREAT DREAM

(the boldest of the resolves)

When November of the year two thousand and two drew over Ibiza, he made, bold as never before, the boldest of all resolves: to Berlin! To make real what he most deeply longed for - an actor he wanted to become. And hard, o how hard, he earned it: hours of acting and of voice, of singing, and of acting before the camera, all paid for with the hands that never desired to rest. Tourists, the German, the English, the Spanish, he showed on foot or by bicycle the famous city - and mixed the drinks in the bar of his friends, Mario and Olli, who once in ninety-six had worked with him in Punta - so the circle closed. High was his skill with the guest: the master chef Franz Radeberger called him to the most festive of occasions, and so, one scarcely believes it, he once served Angela Merkel, and Giscard d'Estaing too, the once-ruling French president, the wine at the reception, and served in the Austrian and the Swiss embassies. Yet most of all in the Avril, the scene-cafe in Kreuzberg, among colleagues from all the world - this passing between worlds, it drew him. Modest his life: Prenzlauer Berg, a dwelling, only small, a view of the old planetarium, no car, sparing on everything, that only the costly lessons might remain possible, the dream. Daily the training of the body; and for years already he stood in the ranks of a kickboxing school, and lately watched over the youth and stood - so near! - before the licence that would crown him the trainer. Pierre it was, the teacher and friend, who gave him this so richly.

EIGHTH CANTO - THE SCREEN AND THE STAGE

(when the effort rewarded itself)

And richly the effort rewarded itself: from two thousand and three to seven he stood before the running camera, role upon role - a soldier in K7B, then the gangster in Killerbus, a father in Abriss, a commissioner in the case of Farid. Two thousand and eight, the breakthrough: in Criminal Hearts, the comedy black and full of wit, by Jane Martin, he gave the Robbie, Berlin and imperial Vienna saw it, by the Society Players, that company of actors which he himself had helped to found. So he had made it, the persevering one: he was, in earnest, an actor now. And in the summer of the ninth of the years, it still bore fruit: Post Scriptum, the short film, with the Film School of Berlin, premiered in the great cinema, the CineMaX. Still he returned home to the island, to holidays and to friends - never did the bond break to Ibiza, the second of his homes.

NINTH CANTO - THE VOICES OF THOSE WHO LOVED HIM

Hear now, wanderer, the voices of the many who loved him, for whoever speaks of Andreas speaks of nothing but of love. Svetlana called him her lion-heart, her "beloved," and said he lives on in her now "like the everlasting golden sound." Kirstin, the friend of the island, recalls his fiery drive: scarcely had he raved of something new, and one wished to leave all behind and go with him. "You always just got going," she calls after him, and: "Even the tiniest dream you should touch with a spark of your madness and let it fly into the realm of the real" - so. Steffi, the friend from Ibiza, wrote him love in verses: "Always so good was your spirit, ever positive, your gaze turned forward. Every hurdle you took, and your dreams, you lived them." And: "Your laughing face stands before my eyes, as often as I think of you." Susana, who once shared the house with him, she remembers a friend, as true as the earth has seldom borne, single-minded, and simple with it; and the small, the loving gestures: how he even cleaned the whole house, that the new puppies - Coffee and Frida by name - might receive a clean home. "A lion-heart you were," she writes. "Thank you, that you walked a stretch of the way at my side." - And Arno found words that wholly embrace him: "Your freedom, the strength, and the love, and the mercy too, your selflessness, your humour, the humanity, the gift of enthusiasm, the courage for life, the clear sight": "I will tell my children of you, that of your nature they may inherit." James, the companion of the island, says it most simply of all: "Never did I meet one so emotionally free, so open, without the smallest prejudice - all he loved, and all loved him." Ursel, who seldom met him, yet every meeting stayed with her: "Seldom such an open person, who carried laughter into every room." And when she heard that he had stepped into the light, at once she saw his laughter before her and the long, the flowing locks, found soon after, in a yellowed envelope marked "Ibiza and Barcelona, two thousand," a photograph long thought lost. Claus, whose bond never broke: "My remembering is the wire to me, invisible, but inseparable - from the nineties into eternity." Petra, borne to this day by his radiance, the bright one; Denis, who gave thanks: "You were there for me." - and Tanya, the gentle one, who felt him as a brother, loved him as her "big brother": "Fun, o how much! Into the wide world you went, with open ways and incredible strength you drew people to you. Sleep well, big brother - with all my love." - So she took her leave. Dave, quite simply: "Usually you come to my mind once or twice a day. Today you were there the whole day long." - And from Ibiza, from the cosmos, came perhaps the loveliest of the names: "His joy in life, his passion for the dance, the great heart filled with love, make him a legend. Long live the King of the Ibizan dance!" Heiko, the friend from childhood; and Tom, who remembered the departure; Mario, Olli, Jens and Achim, the brothers of the years; Juan behind the counter, and all those who will never forget him - people, scattered across lands and seas, they call him their friend even now, and speak of him as though he had never gone.

TENTH CANTO - THE BRIGHTER LIGHT

(when the gods resolved)

Yet it came, as it must come upon all the mortal ones, that the immortals above resolved to turn the thread. October, the tenth, in the ninth of the years: then the light turned to another form, and stepped into a brighter light. Not alone did the lion-hearted one go the last of the ways: homeward from Dortmund he drove, after a seminar of high arts - Remy Bonjasky, the three-fold master of the K-1, was there, "Flying Gentleman" he was named, and fighters from the German, the French, the Netherlandish lands, they came to the work of the highest class. Pierre at his side, Konz, the teacher and friend, himself a fighter in body and in soul, to whom Andy owed so much - together they returned from one of the places of strength and of passion, from that which both so much, so endlessly loved in life. Two of the companions, bound in life as now in the light. Christoph, the friend, spoke the wish that lies over it all: "A good journey to you both, to you, Andy, and Pierre, into the world which you now discover together." - So they went on. Semra sang in the church for him, from Berlin her voice, bore to all the pain and the love of the many who came; and together they heard and felt the sounds of the Cosmic Baby, that song which turned his departure, pure, into comfort. Angela, Arno bore witness: so many, so many, they came, family, the old companions, all the way's companions, that it would have struck even him, the eloquent one, dumb. "A looking back on hours, on great and wild and lovely ones, with you, in Ibiza, Berlin and Braunschweig - you live on in our hearts, remain for ever our Andy." - So, in tears, spoke the friends.

ELEVENTH CANTO - THE THANKS TO THE PARENTS

(for Baerbel and Alfred)

And at last, o you who listen, turn your gaze to the two to whom we owe it all: to Baerbel, the mother, and Alfred. For it was your work - your work of nothing but of love. You bore the man, loved and carried him, and then, so endlessly generous, shared him with us all. Never did you shut him in, never set the barrier for him, left him every one of the dreams; this your "Go the way that is yours, we are with you" - it made him what he was and became: animator, actor, fighter, free spirit, and son, and brother, and companion, and friend. Because you believed in him, when he himself still searched and asked, he made the dreams come real. It was your work of love. No comfort is there, we know well, for a parent's heart, no words for this, the lasting, emptiness. Yet quite softly, o lay it to your hearts: he lives on still - on in each of us whom his light once touched, on in every story that we tell one another, on in every one of the sunsets of Ibiza. Not truly has he gone. For none whom one has so loved is ever wholly away. He has only stepped into a brighter light, looks down from up there, with just that wink that was his alone. Thanks, dear Baerbel, thanks, dear Alfred: that you made Andy into the one he was; that you let go, so that he might fly; that you shared him with us. What fortune, to walk a stretch of his way.

CODA

So then, Andreas - Opa, Guvna, Andy and N-Mann -, lion-hearted King of the dance, you friend of all friends: we weep, yes, and we smile, and both go hand in hand now - we weep, because you went ahead; and smile, because you once were. When longing overtakes us, we look up high into the sky, where your locks now flow in a lovelier time, and hope that there are mirrors up there, in the brighter place, that you may see how much, o how much you are still loved. Easy you were, Andy, to love. You were, and you remain to us, the Opa. Long live the King of the Ibizan dance! For ever. For ever. And when the wind blows over from the island, then we hear, softly, hear you say, with that unmistakable wink: "You know, you get it, see what I mean?" - Yes, Andy. We know it. We feel it.

- Sung in love by all who knew him:
from Ibiza, Berlin, London, Braunschweig and from the whole wide world.