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Auschwitz
| Open Poetry #44 |
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Auschwitz |
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Huan Yi Member Ascendant
since 2004-10-12
Posts 6688Waukegan 
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. A hank of hair What an odd Phrase that You would think People being gassed Would have such courtesy As befits a poem Still There’s that blue ribbon Among the strands As deserves A line or two It can’t be said Of course They died well Yet still That little girl . . . Let’s put our pens To paper between the lines And make something Worth the while . . . . . |
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| © Copyright 2009 John Pawlik - All Rights Reserved | |||
WTBAKELAR
since 2008-09-09
Posts 1089Utah, USA |
John, This is very powerful. Take not lightly, histories painful truths. Very well done. Tracey |
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Juju Member Elite
since 2003-12-29
Posts 3429In your dreams |
Sad. You always have a way of bringing images with out forcing imagery. Very good. Juju -Juju |
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Osprey Member
since 2009-04-12
Posts 249 |
The most difficult of subjects, treated with delicacy and respect. |
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Robert E. Jordan Member Rara Avis
since 2008-01-25
Posts 8541Philadelphia, Pennsylvania |
John, That subject was covered well by Anthony Hecht in his "The Book of Yolec": http://www.washingtonpost.com/ac2/wp-dyn/A41307-2003Oct30?language=printer The Book of Yolek Wir haben ein Gesetz, Und nach dem Gesetz soll er sterben. The dowsed coals fume and hiss after your meal Of grilled brook trout, and you saunter off for a walk Down the fern trail, it doesn't matter where to, Just so you're weeks and worlds away from home, And among midsummer hills have set up camp In the deep bronze glories of declining day. You remember, peacefully, an earlier day In childhood, remember a quite specific meal: A corn roast and bonfire in summer camp. That summer you got lost on a Nature Walk; More than you dared admit, you thought of home; No one else knows where the mind wanders to. The fifth of August, 1942. It was morning and very hot. It was the day They came at dawn with rifles to The Home For Jewish Children, cutting short the meal Of bread and soup, lining them up to walk In close formation off to a special camp. How often you have thought about that camp, As though in some strange way you were driven to, And about the children, and how they were made to walk, Yolek who had bad lungs, who wasn't a day Over five years old, commanded to leave his meal And shamble between armed guards to his long home. We're approaching August again. It will drive home The regulation torments of that camp Yolek was sent to, his small, unfinished meal, The electric fences, the numeral tattoo, The quite extraordinary heat of the day They all were forced to take that terrible walk. Whether on a silent, solitary walk Or among crowds, far off or safe at home, You will remember, helplessly, that day, And the smell of smoke, and the loudspeakers of the camp. Wherever you are, Yolek will be there, too. His unuttered name will interrupt your meal. Prepare to receive him in your home some day. Though they killed him in the camp they sent him to, He will walk in as you're sitting down to a meal. (Anthony Hecht's "The Book of Yolek" appears in his "Collected Later Poems." Alfred A. Knopf. Copyright © 2003 by Anthony Hecht.) It's one of my favorite poems. This poem of your is also very fine. Bobby [This message has been edited by Robert E. Jordan (04-21-2009 10:48 PM).] |
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critical mass Member
since 2009-03-25
Posts 275Michigan |
Powerful poem. You would think People being gassed Would have such courtesy As befits a poem Most powerful stanza in the poem. CM |
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unboundpoetess Member
since 2008-05-24
Posts 477 |
Knocked my socks off, of course. Amazing how you always blow me over with a feather. Heather |
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