Hannes Wader is one of those musicians whose songs you’ve heard many times, but never have the artist ready. Visiting one of the great poets.
Of
Hilmar Klute
There are two indications that a poet has already become a legend during his lifetime: either a street or a square bears his name, or his songs are sung by the vernacular without the vernacular knowing the poet’s name. Both apply to Hannes Wader, even if it is not a street that is named after him, but, actually much nicer, a meadow. The Bielefeld city ordinance states that streets may only be named after dead legends, and Hannes Wader ended his autobiography “In spite of everything” with the fine volte, so he had to die first to experience that. Hannes Wader lives, and now he even lives again, in Bielefeld, in Hoberge, the district where he was born and grew up, and where there has been a Poetenweg for ages, as if this landscape of meadows and fields was just waiting for it to finally one comes and sings to her properly.