| | Auschwitz unter allemPage 5 of 22 (1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22) | The snow has been falling for days on Montreal.
It’s beautiful but a nuisance and a hazard.
I sit in my café and read an account
of an album of photographs
discovered by a prisoner in Auschwitz,
but you cannot read an account
of what went on in Auschwitz
and continue to believe in snow
let alone God, or love.
During the Harvest Festival in November, 1943,
the inmates from three camps were gathered in Majdanek.
42,000 were shot in two days.
“In the fifty-four days between May 15
and July 8, 1944...four hundred and thirty-four
thousand people were put aboard trains to Auschwitz
–so many people that the crematoriums,
which could dispose of a hundred and thirty-two thousand
bodies a month, were overrun,
and bodies were thrown into pits dug by prisoners
and set on fire.”*
Against such facts even the most noble
of selfless human acts--a hand raised
to spare a child from being struck
–is like a flake of twice-burned ash
rising desultorily toward the heavens,
and falling back.
*Alec Wilkinson, “Picturing Auschwitz,” The New Yorker, 17 March, 2008, pg 52 | |
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| Auschwitz unter allem
Posted: 3/20/2008 5:54:14 AM |
The snow has been falling for days on Montreal.
Such a beautiful beginning....
is like a flake of twice-burned ash
rising desultorily toward the heavens,
and falling back.
....and what a beautifully dreadful, heartbreaking end. | |
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| Portrait of a man reading about Auschwitz
Posted: 3/20/2008 12:15:55 PM | | Thanks, Canuckperuser, I'm gratified by your appreciation of both areas. Notice that I've changed the title, in keeping with Adorno's injunction that after Auschwitz poetry is not possible; which I take to mean especially not about Auschwitz per se. | |
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| Portrait of a man reading about Auschwitz
Posted: 3/20/2008 11:02:19 PM | In a small café
A wise man sat at the counter of a small café
In downtown Montreal
He enjoyed his encounters with people
Especially interesting faces and children
It was his way to remain attached to the outside world
A young girl comes in perhaps 24 or 25
Tall slim with soft brown eyes
And a sweet smile
Her hair is neatly tied back in a knot
And she is dressed in a trendy sweater
A little self conscious
Searching for a voice of understanding
She is trying to adjust to the big city
Where people are so detached
There isn’t the familiar smiling faces of the small town
She grew up in and she is in a foreign country
Life on a different scale
She is doing really well at university
In business and marketing and has an open mind
Wanting to understand everything about life
Recently she took on a part time job
Looking after 3 very small children
In an orthodox Jewish family
Father is a Rabi and mother a teacher in a Jewish school
A young couple in their early thirties
The children are being raised in a strict kosher environment
Everything available to them for fun is directed at the Jewish faith
The movies and books even the board games instead of the candy land game
It’s the kosher land game
Everything she learned as a child is forbidden in their world
No Disney or kids music that doesn’t have a religious overtone
The baby just under one is untouched by her world so far
And she loves the baby and makes her smile
The four year old treats her like she is white trash
Who can’t go to the Synagogue because she is inferior
And because she isn’t Jewish she isn’t worthy of respect
What should she do to brighten up the lives of these little ones?
She is afraid to ask if there is playdough because it might not be kosher
No Halloween, or Christmas or Bambi, no cheeseburgers
No playing tea parties, no Barbie dolls or pretty ponies
A very structured life that some how this young woman has to find a balance in
She tries hard to understand what is expected of her for the ten dollars an hour
She receives for her help
she has an open mind to all religions
As she walks towards you in your small café in downtown Montreal
With a puzzled look on her face feeling inferior because
She can’t bring any of herself along into the job
Is there something wise man that you could tell her
To brighten up these children’s lives
Without crossing a restriction
Or is she doomed right from the start? | |
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| Portrait of a man reading about Auschwitz
Posted: 3/21/2008 4:19:09 AM | Wow, Autumn, this is an amazing foray into the life of an imagined other! It is as if you know everything about her down to her shoe size!
A quibble, insofar as this might be about my cafe: it isn't downtown but in a comfortably seedy section of town in what is called "Mile End," just beyond the increasingly fashionable Plateau. | |
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| Portrait of a man reading about Auschwitz
Posted: 3/21/2008 6:47:07 AM | "Is there something wise man that you could tell her
To brighten up these children’s lives"
just a suggestion - have you tried tiddlywinks!!! | |
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| Portrait of a man reading about Auschwitz
Posted: 3/21/2008 7:43:00 AM | | Sorry about the location of the Cafe Jer I was just guessing or weaving it into my story and as far as the imaginary other she is my daughter who kept me up until 2 in the morning last night with her tales of woe. I listened made suggestions but couldn't really help not undersanding a life without disney or pretty ponies and make believe. | |
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| This precious space
Posted: 3/28/2008 7:20:06 AM | The time will come at last
when I have passed
and who will watch the scene
through my front window?
The beech tree and the red brick
four-storey school-house will still be there,
the “special-ed” kids will still come stumbling, yowling,
dragging their feet at recess
or lunch-time, the neighbour’s cat,
for as long as it shall live, will still
come leaping up on to this window-sill
and slink its way across. A bird
or a school of birds will still swoop by
carrying out their agendas
on their way thither from yon.
The snow will come again
and the snow will be plowed or melt away.
The grass will struggle up towards the sun.
But who will be looking out through this space,
this precious 33" by 6' space
of wood and glass? | |
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| Black Folk Sing the Blues
Posted: 3/31/2008 4:26:43 PM | Black folk sing the blues
like misery is nothing but joy
that’s slow on its feet.
Now misery is quick,
and misery is mean.
Wants to occupy the whole damn scene
but joy is coming, soon,
oh soon. Yeah, joy
is coming soon!
Yeah, joy is coming soon,
real soon! Joy is coming soon!
Yeah, joy is coming soon, real soon! | |
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| I like the front end of love
Posted: 4/3/2008 3:46:49 AM | I like the front end of love,
that feeling of a Mack truck
bearing down on you
and there’s just barely enough time
to jump out of the way
only you’re not sure you want to. | |
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| The Rain that Fell that Sunday
Posted: 4/20/2008 2:22:16 PM | The Rain that Fell that Sunday
The rain that fell that Sunday,
that rained for as long as it took
for us to say good-bye
--although, come to think of it,
didn’t that begin the moment we met?
(The good-byes, I mean, or
was it raining even then?)
Some loves come with sunshine,
some with dawn or dusk.
Sometimes we love because we choose to
and sometimes, because we must.
But the rain that fell that Sunday,
that rained for as long as it took
for us to say good-bye, has been raining
every Sunday since. | |
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| Poems inspired by The Tao of Physics
Posted: 5/12/2008 6:47:01 AM |
I can never
look at a pickle
the same way
I look at a cucumber
Agreed, and isn't it a wonder
the different ways
they look back at one? | |
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| Today we are giving away
Posted: 5/22/2008 2:29:34 PM | Nothing
for free!
Have you noticed that Nothing
works even better than it used to do?
Nothing
is new and improved!
Nothing
is what you’ve been waiting for!
But wait!
Call right now
and we’ll send you DOUBLE
the offer! (Just pay Shipping & Handling)
That’s Nothing
and Nothing more! | |
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| I like the front end of love
Posted: 5/22/2008 3:52:32 PM | Love
The hospitality
might
smother you
Consider
the air quality
before you enter
the hospital
hey Jer, bin a while...greets from Ont.
I like the grill of your Mack.
The Tao mind ponderng, also. | |
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| I like the front end of love
Posted: 5/23/2008 3:32:14 PM |
Love
The hospitality
might
smother you
Consider
the air quality
before you enter
the hospital
'Fyou think that poem's any good, you should see some of those that a dude named "Om" used to post on here! | |
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| I like the front end of love
Posted: 5/23/2008 3:47:20 PM | hey, that guy was institutionalized, but I hear the hospitality there is nurturing some creative thinking.
cheers. | |
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mmmmmy
| | Joined: 2/11/2008
Msg: 119 | |
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| Dear Ann Landers,
Posted: 5/26/2008 6:45:05 AM | Why, when someone breaks up with us,
do we go
SPLAT
like falling at 100 mph
to French-kiss
the pavement?
Squished in Montreal | |
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| Dear Ann Landers,
Posted: 5/26/2008 6:49:25 AM | Dear Squished,
Flatness is transitory....
just need some time
to re-inflate.
Sincerely,
Hopeful (but homeless) | |
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| I, like a practiced adulterer
Posted: 5/30/2008 4:27:03 PM | Everything was in that light way
I placed my hand under your elbow
as we began to cross the street
to the café... You’d come to my office
supposedly to discuss your final mark
and we had dealt with that
and yet you lingered there.
I noticed your knees
but reproached myself silently.
You’d been my student, after all.
I stood up, to signal
that the interview was over
and walked you to the door.
“Have coffee with me?” you asked.
“Of course,” I said - why shouldn’t
a prof have coffee with one of his students?
“I’m here very Tuesday and Thursday evening–“
But you cut me off: “No, now...”
you said, and maybe I wondered then
but more likely I reasoned
you were troubled about something.
Riding down in the elevator
I couldn’t help but be aware
of the proximity of our bodies
in that small, closed cage,
but still... Women didn’t usually
come seeking me out. About to cross
the street you seemed vaguely unaware
of where you were, of the traffic,
so it made sense for me to place my hand
under your elbow as if to guide you
but it was also, somehow, to see
if lightning would strike me down
for touching a student...
In the booth you sat on a bench
across from me, your hand
resting on the table, and said:
“Now you must think I have a problem,
but I don’t...” and I,
like a practiced adulterer, reached
my hand out to cover yours and asked:
“Would you like to come home with me?”
From "Passing the Salt" | |
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| I, like a practiced adulterer
Posted: 6/11/2008 9:04:51 AM | If you cannot make poetry
out of a broken heart
then, of what can you make it?
If you cannot make poetry
out of charred bits of plywood
found in a filthy alleyway,
the backside of a pleasant street facade
then, you might as well
go back to the broken heart,
which will always
be #1
on the Hurt Parade!
My name is Alyosha and I approved this poem. | |
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| VPS
Posted: 6/16/2008 2:50:48 PM | You know that for the longest time
I’ve had nooky on my mind,
nooky, nooky,
nooky, nooky, nooky, nooky,
nooky, nooky,
nooky,
(I guess I’ve made my point)
But you, dear friend, absolutely won’t
put out for me
except for sweetness, humour
and unfailing friendship. | |
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| VPS
Posted: 6/16/2008 3:19:23 PM | The Nooky Monster
Nooky monsters come and go
But friendship last forever mo'
Neither here nor there with all that nooky
I'll stop this now and serve us a cookie.
We'll drink tea and have our cookies too
As the light of day fades and night is anew
So think of me when friends you need
And all will be well my friend, take heed.
Thank you Uncle Jer.
ILYJN!!
vps
oncelucid
16 June 2008 | |
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