
week of April 16 - 22, 2000
Our third annual Yom Hashoah (Holocaust Remembrance Day) issue.
click here for submission guidelines
Up Liberty's Skirt | Feeding Holy Cats | E-mail Rick | Who The Hell Is Rick | Mowing Fargo
I'm a Jew, Are You? | Lizard King of the Laundromat | I Am My Own Orange County | Paris: It's The Cheese
Poetry Super Highway | Other Cool Rick Stuff / Upcoming Readings | Judaic Links | Rick's Bookmarks
Sherry Asbury
SLadypoet@aol.com
Bio(auto)
My name is Sherry Asbury, but I'm known mostly as Ladypoet. I live in Portland, Oregon and am 56 years-old. I am a survivor of very savage brutality and torture, in childhood, and again in my marriage to my husband. My work has been widely published. Here in Portland I am the Resident Poet for a homeless advocasy newspaper, as well as a regular contributor for almost five years. I am an Emily Dickenson recluse, but do readings once in a while. I have four chapbooks of my own and have appeared in several from street roots, our newspaper. I recently won first prize in The Writer's Web poetry contest. My work is poste on several sites on the net...and I have been invited to post many times, thus making new friends and having new venues for my poetry. It's been an arduous life. I am 7 years Free and Safe and in recovery from homelessness and mental illness. I take all those bumpy parts of the road and put them into words, hoping along the way someone will find something for themselves in my work.
The following work is Copyright © 2001, and owned by Sherry Asbury and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsover without written permission from the author.
| Her Holocaust and Mine It was 1956 in a very small and rural Montana town where I learned about hate, how it tasted, how it felt. My parents refused to come to Family Day and punctuated their refusal with a hiding from The Belt. So Susan Cloud and I sat huddled and embarrassed in our outcast isolation. Susan's folks were reservation. Susan was brave and hateful, she called out funny remarks, and we leaned int each other in our desperate conversation. Aaron Abromovitz was a Jew and I was forbidden to even walk to school with him, though he passed the house each day. When it was his turn to introduce his family, proudly stood the father and mother, and a bent old woman whose hair was gray. It was Susan who said, "Christ Killer," in a loud, heavy voice. It was the grandmother who looked over at us with kindly eyes. Our giggles were fueled by self-righteous emptiness, with an envy two very small and abandoned girls could not disguise. Aaron's grandmother told us of the Holocaust in Germany, took off her sweater, rolled up her sleeve so we could see the line of numbers that marked the skin of her wrinkled arm. Our eyes met again and I felt sorrow for her sturdy dignity. Treblinka, Auschwitz, Dachau, Bergen Belsen were just words. Someone had hurt this old woman just because she was a Jew. I could feel the ridges of my scars, some healed, some not. I understood then, because I was a child who was being hurt too. In a strong voice, she said, "They could scar and mark me, but they couldn't take away who I am, here, deep inside." She looked at me and smiled, softly, as if I really mattered. I felt the searing flame of every mark I had to deny and hide. If strangers could main and kill old people like Aaron's gran, maybe the people who marked my skin were the ones to blame. Could it be that I wasn't really worthless and ugly and lazy? They could take our bodies, she said, but never, ever our name. When it was time for cookies and punch, kids went up to Aaron's gran and asked if they could touch her numbers tatooed in ink. She said scars are private things, not meant for the eyes of others. She said what really matters is inside, not in what others think. An old woman and a little girl lived through their Holocaust. The next day as Aaron walked by, I walked with him to school. I got a hiding that day, and others, for taking up with Jews, but I'd learned there were no rules when people chose to be cruel. |
Moshe Benarroch
moben@inter.net.il
Bio(auto)
Moshe Benarroch has published two collections of poetry in English "Horses and other doubts" (http://iuniverse.com, 114 pages, 9.95$) and "You walk on the land until one day the land walks on you" (http://xlibris.com, 248 pages, 16$), both available from Amazon, Borders and Barnes And Noble. He was born in Morocco and lives in Israel. He writes in three languages, Hebrew, Spanish and English and his poetry has been published in hundreds of magazines worldwide. He was featured poet in the international Austin poetry festival, 1999, in poetrymagazine.com (july 2000) and has read his poetry in Israel, Spain and the US. He has published ten books, of poetry prose and one novel. For more information and more poems:
http://www.authorsden.com/moshebenarroch.
The following work is Copyright © 2001, and owned by Mosh Benarroch and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsover without written permission from the author.
| Suitcase I always carry a suitcase take it everywhere waiting for the moment they will chase me from house to house from town to town from country to country and the suitcase is full of toys no child has played with full of memories of people without a past full of love affairs that never materialized full of clothes no one will ever wear full of anger on a quiet river full of discriminations by people of illusions full of cruelty toward people who reached their hands and were told it's the end who wanted love and received a suitcase. |
Jim Bennett
Jimbennett11@btinternet.com
Bio(auto)
Jim Bennett is a writer, poet and journalist, who is married with six children and living in Merseyside (UK). He has over thirty books published covering many subjects including, transport studies, marketing and poetry
In 1997 he was invited to attend an international conference in New York on the work of Charlotte Perkins Gilman, where he delivered a paper on her short story "The Yellow Wallpaper". This paper is to be published in the USA next year along with the work of other Gilman scholars. While in the United States he gave public readings of his poetry which were judged to have been very successful. he is currently considering an offer to return to America for several months next year.
During the year, Jim was editor of a poetry collection and is preparing a second volume for publication along with a volume of his own poetry to be called "Painting On Sand." "When I get the time to finish them." He is currently working on a new edition of two of his technical works and has a book for children due to be published before Christmas.
Visit Jim's website here: http://www.geocities.com/Athens/Academy/1127/
The following work is Copyright © 2001, and owned by Sherry Asbury and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsover without written permission from the author.
| Sunsets In photographs all sunsets look the same red sun sinking into night but I have seen so many and all of them are different you cannot photograph the way it makes you feel but you can feel that way when you look at the photograph even if it looks like a thousand other sunsets but if you put that sunset on a billboard it is just another sunset to everyone apart from you you cannot photograph death smells anger pain or starvation you can photograph the effect you can show stick figures frozen as they walk aimlessly with sunken empty eyes towards their death put that on a poster post for everyone to see till it becomes just another figure walking to their death its just like another sunset to everyone but it isnt is it? |
Michael H. Brownstein
Garlic2222@aol.com
Bio(auto)
Michael H. Brownstein has been published over four hundred times in the small and literary presses. He has a few spoken word CDs and a number of poetry chapbooks, He is in search of a publisher for his first book length poetry manuscript.
The following work is Copyright © 2001, and owned by Michael H. Brownstein and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsover without written permission from the author.
| Bruno Bettleheim You work a lifetime on one idea and they take it from you, strike a match page by page, forcing you to work. These people still do not know the strength of rape, how you quest learning, how music flowed thgrough cell blocks how even children saw a future. Somehow the loss of a manuscript changed you into something else, and you survived, came across the ocean, created a better vision of how we think and know. |
Isabella Bruno
CorpusJesu@aol.com
Bio(auto)
Isabella Bruno is a junior in high school in New Orleans, Louisiana. She is interested in going to Fordham University and continuing her studies in dance. She formulates poetry out of occasional bursts of inspiration (and the other way around).
The following work is Copyright © 2001, and owned by Isabella Bruno and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsover without written permission from the author.
| Yom Hashoah i remember brushing twigs of bushes in fields brown hands pulling playfully at my hair thin prickly fingers that i barely noticed now those fingers are my own and they scratch what remains of my hair the length of which is gone made up for by the mass of lice i remember feeling soft flesh pliable, comforting fat a security blanket that's part of me now i only feel the hardness of the structure within bones i touch and i hear a crunch the crunch they make the sound that echoes every day as the ovens are fed i remember cutting myself during play surprise and apprehension passed over my countenance until the release of red would end now i use my jagged nails to release the flow and restore my faith in my vitality it's red: still not invisible i remember feeling real now i wish this was a dream |
Salvatore Amico M. Buttaci
sambpoet@yahoo.com
Bio(auto)
The former Editor of New Worlds Unlimited (1974-1988), and of Poetidings, the newsletter
of the New Jersey Poetry Society, Inc. (1995-1997). His poems, and short stories and articles have recently appeared in Friction Magazine, poetrymagazine.com, Aphelion: Webzine of Science Fiction and Fantasy, PoetrySuperHighway.com, and The Record. He is the author of a collection of poetry entitled Promising the Moon, and his most recent book A Family of Scilians: Stories and Poems.
A graduate of Seton Hall University and Rutgers Graduate School of Management, Sal is an elementary school English teacher in Garfield's Thomas Jefferson Middle School and adjunct professor at Bergen Commmunity College. He is listed in the current volume of Who's Who Among America's Teachers. Sal lives in Lodi, New Jersey, with the love of his life, his wife Sharon.
The following work is Copyright © 2001, and owned by Salvatore Amico M. Buttaci and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsover without written permission from the author.
| Emma Levi By then, inside the death camp gates of Theresenstadt, she had been someone's grandmother, but long before, the men raved about her long blond hair, "Gold like the sun!" her neighbor Julius said, though he played down her beauty in earshot of his wife Sophie, called her meshugunah, that crazy bleach-blond who walked like a slut down Schillerstrasse. "Cover the children's eyes," he'd tell Sophie. "The Whore of Babylon is coming!" but at night Julius dreamed himself a Satan, long spiked tail, ears sharp as pitchfork tines-- the devil himself succumbing to her blondness, losing himself in the parting of Emma's lips, trading his dominion over hell for one night in Emma Levi's arms. In bed beside him fat old Sophie slept. That was in Munich when young Emma turned men's heads, long before she was the grandmother of Nathan, also blond, who was gassed that first day in the camps. Little Nathan whom they tore from Emma Levi's arms. Later, shaved head bowed, she stands on a cold December morning shivering in a wobbling line of camp slaves. Commandant Franz Mueller struts up and down as if inspecting troops. He holds a luger in his black-gloved hand, with which he taps each woman as he passes. "Your name, Jewess," he says. "Emma Levi," she replies. He worms the gun between her trembling lips, closes his eyes, remembers childhood, Hide-and-Seek in Bavaria, then fires. She lies crumpled at his boots, staring up at the polluted sky, seeing what? he wonders. "I am Emma Levi," he mimics. "Emma Levi," he says, spitting out her name. At the next woman, he points the luger like an accusing finger, a maestro's baton, a wand blessed with dark magic. |
Mike Cluff
baleen@rccd.cc.ca.us
Bio(auto)
Mike Cluff works as the Assistant Chairperson for the Communications. Humanities and Social Sciences Department at Riverside (Ca.) Community College-Norco Campus where he also teaches English Literature and creative writing full-time. He has hosted many readings in the SoCal area as well as published eight chapbooks of poetry and currently is scheduled to perform "Matt" in a staged reading of Eileen Bateen's "The Stony Road" on May 6 and 7 in Beaumont and Palm Springs, Ca. He also played "Aaron" a Jewish rabbi in a staged reading of Rowena Silver and Mark Steven Scheffer's "The Disputation: A Christian and Jewish Dialogue in Sonnet Form" on March 24 in Norco, California.
The following work is Copyright © 2001, and owned by Mike Cluff and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsover without written permission from the author.
| Treblinka, September 1944 "I was hired because I had experience back in Bratislava," Josef stated stolidly, stoically, " It really is not all that different------- "it's just the way you look at it-------- "Since man is an animal too. "Let us go now and meet the cattle train; it should be arriving from Warsaw or Berlin soon. |
T.J. Daniels
tjdaniels@bigfoot.com
Bio(auto)
I'm not sure why I write poetry. All I know is that I HAVE to. I MUST!! The words come and I must write them down. If I didn't write something down that wanted to be written, I would feel something inside of me, desperatly trying to get out.
Maybe one day I'll wake up and know who I really am.
After my divorce, I lived alone for many years, but I don't really recommend that, unless you're such a great person that you can get along with anyone, including yourself. I don't live alone anymore, I live with a friend. I finally got tired of me.
I don't own any dogs or cats. I don't dislike animals, I just enjoy them much more if they are owned by someone else. I live in Wisconsin.
The following work is Copyright © 2001, and owned by T.J. Daniels and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsover without written permission from the author.
| Merciful Beasts Some were thrown to the lions. Some were thrown to more hedious beasts. The lions were more merciful. |
Peter Desmond
TaxHombre@cs.com
Bio(auto)
Peter H. Desmond lives in Cambridge, Mass., where he prepares tax returns and writes poems. you can see some of his published work at http://members.nbci.com/peterdesmond/poetry.htm
The following work is Copyright © 2001, and owned by Peter Desmond and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsover without written permission from the author.
| At the Museum Cafe For lunch I order matzo ball soup before I tour the museum. "How was it?" asks the waitress as she wipes the table. "It was light," I say. "Airy. A dense matzo ball is like a stone in your stomach." She smiles. "Some people ask me why it doesn't have noodles, or carrots." Halfway through the exhibit I reach the hollow boxcar stenciled "Karlsruhe" on its side: Karlsruhe, Rhineland hometown of my German ancestors, car that rolled towards Mauthausen, crammed with Jews from one of the four hundred ghettos, each with its traditions, its folk songs, its recipes for soup. |
David Gershator
gershator@islands.vi
Bio(auto)
David Gershator lives in Saint Thomas in the U.S. Virgin Islands.
The following work is Copyright © 2001, and owned by David Gershator and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsover without written permission from the author.
| These I Will Remember ..........,,,,Ele Ezkérah Memory? What memory? The uncles aunts cousins grandparents father's sisters nameless nameless not known unknown and most forgotten the nameless close family the nameless collection my ersatz collection my make believe family so few names remain and among them shadows of shadows how shall I remember these? Ele Ezkérah the Ten Yom Kippur martyrs of the prayerbook at least we know their names!* what names do I go by why are names so nameless this hunger for names with or without Yom Kippúr this hunger that nothing can assuage returns again and again this hunger will never be broken this hunger to know the named and the nameless Ele Ezkérah these I shall remember without a memory to go on
|
Jerry Hoff
Bariton634@aol.com
Bio(auto)
My name is Jerry Hoff, am 65 (years of age), semi-retired--live in Akron, Ohio
The following work is Copyright © 2001, and owned by Jerry Hoff and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsover without written permission from the author.
| Isabella
She kept looking over her shoulder |
Ken Jones
poetken@yahoo.com
Bio(auto)
HOUSTON, Texas - Ken Jones has been a pubished poet for over 20 years.
The following work is Copyright © 2001, and owned by Ken Jones and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsover without written permission from the author.
| Know That Evil is Close at Hand
One fly buzzes us |
Ward Kelley
Ward708@aol.com
Bio(auto)
Ward Kelley has seen more than 800 of his poems appear in journals world wide since he began publishing in 1996. A Pushcart Prize nominee, Kelleys publication credits include such journals as: ACM Another ChicagoMagazine, Rattle, Ginger Hill, Sunstone, Spillway, Porcupine Literary Magazine, Pif, Melic Review, PoetrySuperHighway, 2RiverView, The Animist, Offcourse, Potpourri and Skylark. He has been honored as featured poet for Seeker Magazine, Physik Garden, Poetry Life& Times, and Pyrowords.
The following work is Copyright © 2001, and owned by Ward Kelley and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsover without written permission from the author.
| Elegant With Guilt
Yes, we all want to be Jews, for there
|
Christine Lennon
ThisPoetGirl@aol.com
Bio(auto)
Christine has been writing poetry and prose for more than 20 years. She resides in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia (Harrisonburg). She is the editor of "Verse Libre Quarterly" (http://thispoetgirl.com/verselibre) and "The Eclipse" (http://theeclipse.net). She is a freelance web designer and writer/artist. Her design studio is Artisan Studio (http://artisanstudio.org).
She has also been a magician's assistant, an "extra" in a few movies, a computer operator, a licensed artist in New Orleans' French Quarter, a soldier in this girl's U. S. Army, a baker, and a student of all things interesting (currently, flying small aircraft). She is also a Master Poet in Ardeon's Poets Guild. Her publication credits include Poems Niederngasse, New World Poetry, Free Zone Quarterly, Poetry Super Highway, Countless Horizons, The White Shoe Irregular, Bay Review Liberal Arts Journal, Friction Magazine, 2 River View, Kota Press, Absinthe, The White Shoe Irregular, Clean Sheets, Erosha, and a forthcoming issue of Beauty for Ashes. She is also a contributor to "In Their Own Words; a generation defining itself." Her other personal poetry sites are Pieces of me... (http://thispoetgirl.com) and Allegory (http://stas.net/poems).
The following work is Copyright © 2001, and owned by Christine Lennon and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsover without written permission from the author.
| Frau
She was weathered |
Joleen Lutz
dshart@pipeline.com
Bio(auto)
Joleen Lutz, from Los angeles, California, is a playwrite, poet and actress. Author of "Poetry without Prozak".
The following work is Copyright © 2001, and owned by Joleen Lutz and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsover without written permission from the author.
| Filthy Rich
The business still bears the name |
Peter Magliocco
magman@iopener.net
Bio(auto)
PETER MAGLIOCCO, 52, single white writer, was raised in Southern California but has spent the last 16 years editing the lit-art zine, ART:MAG, out of Las Vegas, Nevada. His bio appears in the Marquis' WHO'S WHO IN AMERICA 2001 ... He labors in the security field for a day job, but has worked in print shops, warehouses, & telemarketing boiler rooms ... His next poetry chapbook is "POEMS & STORIES OFFLINE" from JVC Books, due this summer ... Also a freelance artist, he's done drawings for several small press outlets like NOW HERE NOWHERE, NERVE COWBOY, FIRST CLASS, et al ... His recent fiction & poetry's at THE ANGRY THOREAUAN, COMRADES, GNOME, THE DOOMED CITY, FRICTION, THE PHYSIK GARDEN, THUNDER SANDWICH, & elsewhere ...
The following work is Copyright © 2001, and owned by Peter Magliocco and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsover without written permission from the author.
| Of a Vision in the Anne Frank House
There was something bruised |
Val Magnuson
valmag@tm.net
Bio(auto)
Val Magnuson: http://valmagnuson.com, Author of "Destiny", editor of the "Company of Women", upcoming book, "Five Gates of Poetry," was born in Detroit, Michigan BA, MBA and is a stained glass artist- Her work has been exhibited in both the Corning Museum of Glass and the Royal Ontario Museum, Toronto, Canada- Her work is published world-wide.
The following work is Copyright © 2001, and owned by Val Magnuson and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsover without written permission from the author.
| Provisional Existence
There are no words strong enough |
Stazja McFadyen
Stazja@aol.com
Bio(auto)
From print to performance, poetry societies to slams, Stazja McFadyen, nee Braunstein, is an equal opportunity poet. Her works have appeared in over 200 print and electronic publications in the US, Canada, England and Australia. She has featured throughout the United States, most recently at Poetic License in Los Angeles, Oscar's in Houston, and Dialogue Among Civilizations Through Poetry readings in Austin.
Committed to spreading the word for poets worldwide, she publishes Map of Austin Poetry weekly e-newsletters and coordinates Austin International Poetry Festival each April.
She has published four chapbooks, most recently: Two Bit Love Poems Cheap, $5 Buys You 21, available from the author at stazja@aol.com
Stazja was voted Poetry Super Highway's 1998 Favorite Featured Poet. She lives in Austin, Texas.
The following work is Copyright © 2001, and owned by Stazja McFadyen and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsover without written permission from the author.
| Sunday Recital, Interrupted Sunny parlor, air alive with dust moats floating on the tinkling music of piano keys in upper octave, Rachel singing. Last rehearsal, first recital, finest dress and hair in ribbons, freckles scrubbed to pink and glowing, fingers arched against misgivings. Mother makes her preparations, polishing the silver service. Lily-patterned china tea cups set by proud hands, white and nervous. Underfoot and in the way, Father paces, disconcerted, pops his knuckles, tugs at tie knot, hiding tears, his eyes averted. Footfalls heard beyond the window, stomping past in marching cadence. Thirty fingers clenched in silence, pounding hearts devoid of patience. Seconds rage from mantle clock. Guests arrive by invitation. No one home to answer knocks, hadn't time for cancellation. |
Barbara Nightingale
BNighting@aol.com
Bio(auto)
Barbra Nightingale has had over 100 poems accepted for or published in numerous poetry journals and anthologies, such as Calyx, Kalliope, Many Mountains Moving, Birmingham Review, Chatahoochee Review, Liberty Hill Poetry Journal, Florida in Poetry, The MacGuffin, Crosscurrents, The Kansas Quarterly, Cumberlands Poetry Journal, Passages North, The Florida Review, The Palmetto Review, The South Florida Poetry Review, Coydog Review, Red Light/Blue Light, Voices International, Visions International, Teaching English in the Two-Year College, and The Poet.
Singing in the Key of L, her first full length collection, won the 1999 Stevens Poetry Manuscript Award and was published by the National Federation of Poetry Societies (June, 1999).She has had four chapbooks published, Lovers Never Die(1981), Prelude to a Woman (1986), and Lunar Equations (1993), and Greatest Hits (1980-2000) PuddingHouse Press, 2000.
Barbra Nightingale holds a doctoral degree in Higher Education and is Professor of English at Broward Community College, South campus, Florida, where she was awarded the 1997 James L. Knight Endowed Teaching Chair.
The following work is Copyright © 2001, and owned by Barbara Nightingale and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsover without written permission from the author.
| No Dream (for Henry & Sabrina Frydman) (first published in The MacGuffin, 1994) Night after night the soldier watches the woman give birth-- takes the baby still wet from the womb tosses it up high into the unwilling air then shoots with his rifle the yet unwailing target. Silk in winter wool in summer, real showers icy cold, scalding hot- counting, always counting in the deadly night while bodies drop like snowflakes, like rain into puddles of bone. Confusion breeds fear, submission breeds silence. And always the air thick with ash the smell of flesh- mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, grandparents, children gone-disappeared, a magician's trick up in smoke. Incredibly through the nights, the days, the long, aimless marches through woods, glass, barefoot and bleeding, past memory, beyond reason some survived and fifty years later it is still no dream. |
Barbara Phillips
pulsar@idirect.com
Bio(auto)
I have had work published in publications such as The Canadian Writers Journal and in anthologies in the Open Window and No Love Lost series. I was a winner in a poetry anti-contest run by imp press in Vanderhoof B.C. in Canada. I was a featured poet on the PK List site and have had work appearing in Transparent Words as well as in various 'challenges' supported by the PK List. I live in Toronto in Canada.
The following work is Copyright © 2001, and owned by Barbara Phillips and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsover without written permission from the author.
| After Battles beneath the sod souls bleed roots claw away from trees supplicants who raise arms skyward imbued with eternal grief winds erase time stunned into skeletal silence across walls stained by tears immovable through rains or snow voices rise in dry whispers ricochet across violated spaces wasted into voided sepulchers past hope of reclamation |
Alex Stolis
Baudelairious@aol.com
Bio(auto)
Alex Stolis lives and works in Minneapolis, Minnesota.. After a ten-year hiatus, during which he had kids, got sober, changed careers (from Hotel Management to Drug and Alcohol Counselor) and got divorced, Alex has returned to writing poetry. In the past year, he has edited the on-line Literary review Samsara and has been published both on-line and in print. Recent publications include Ilya's Honey, Stirring, Nerve Cowboy, Thin Coyote and Chiron Review.
The following work is Copyright © 2001, and owned by Alex Stolis and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsover without written permission from the author.
| On the Day Maximillian Kolbe Died Wind carves rosettes in dirt, sticks to tongues like shoe leather, a blank eye turns yellow in the shade, drapes a lash over sunburned roofs, summer is cut into a quilted garden. Tattooed arms wrap prayers in brown grass, fingers, thin stiff poles spear words into the sky's throat beat down clouds that walk with compound fractures, wait for the steel drip of sleep. |
David Taub
UKpoet@aol.com
Bio(auto)
Columnist, Journalist, Consultant Editor, Poet, Lecturer and Narrator / Voice-over talent. Born in England, David currently lives and writes in Umatilla, Florida. His poetry and various magazine articles have been, published in England and North America. He was an editorial board member and overseas columnist for Writers' Forum (UK) magazine, is overseas columnist for Poetry Now (UK) magazine, Consultant Editor to UNKNOWN Magazine (USA),and also freelances for other USA & UK publications. Finally, his current co-authored hardcover book, Language of Souls is an entrant for the Pulitzer Letters. David Taub's website is www.ukpoet.cjb.net.
The following work is Copyright © 2001, and owned by David Taub and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsover without written permission from the author.
| In Denial of Atrocity. "It never happened!" - his dark, empty eyes stared through me. "I never saw bodies burned. Nor black stenched smoke - from towering stacks - ten miles away " And the horror of rattling train-trucks - "It NEVER happened!" (He emphasised "never".) "Train trucks? - Cattle - I heard the low moans - cattle, cattle, cattle " Through clenched teeth, "It never happened!" His mind could not calculate - could not comprehend such numbing numbers. "I was there - never happened - lies, lies, lies " he spat. "Perhaps a few. I heard about a few. I never saw them. BUT I was there!" A flicker of anger. A brief break in his otherwise stoic stance. "We all knew it never happened! Yes ALL!" (he emphasised "all" ) My mind caught and dwelt upon one word - "Knew." Past tense - 'what they wanted to know'. Knowing what they never saw - or knew - or did not want to know? Sometimes, what we know now, is not what we thought we knew then |
Lawrence Upton
lawrence.upton@britishlibrary.net
Bio(auto)
Lawrence Upton's publications include Initial Dance, housepress, Canada; Game on a line, PaperBrain Press, USA; & Meadows, Writers Forum, UK. With Bob Cobbing, he co-authored D.A.N. ## 1-300 and co-edited Word Score Utterance Choreography in verbal and visual poetry. He is chair of Sub Voicive Poetry. He lives in London
The following work is Copyright © 2001, and owned by Lawrence Upton and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsover without written permission from the author.
| Photograph: Child, Warsaw, dead
beyond the face you can see, at least one other face, your own |
Garth Wehrfritz-Hanson
revg@telusplanet.net
Bio(auto)
Garth Wehrfritz-Hanson is a Canadian poet, living in Calgary, Alberta. He has two poetry web sites--Garth's Page with fortunecity, and Lo Gos Room with tripod. He experiments with different genres, but gravitates towards freeverse. His interests and involvements include the Canadian Council of Christians and Jews and Amnesty International.
The following work is Copyright © 2001, and owned by Garth Wehrfritz-Hanson and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsover without written permission from the author.
| Remembering the Shoah
The Shoah: |
Laura Winton
karawane@prodigy.net
Bio(auto)
Laura Winton is a poet, playwright, and spoken word performer and editor and publisher of Karawane: Or, the Temporary Death of Bruitist. Her poetry and short fiction have been published in journals around the country. She performs her work at open mics, cabarets, and arts and theatre festivals around Minneapolis.
The following work is Copyright © 2001, and owned by Laura Winton and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsover without written permission from the author.
| A Surrealist in Dachau ............For Robert Desnos How do we live with the loss of the sun? The skin falls from my bones; I have never slept. Leaves crumble between broken teeth my words are dust spit dry from my tongue leaving ash and wishes gray upon my lips. The exiled Queen of Yugoslavia enters the Gates riding the white buffalo sacred whore defiant she breaks open seals reads proclamations adjusts her hair in the dawn she walks alone there are a million yellows hands dis- embodied in prayer await the day, clasp beads to their bosom. When you look into the sky have you forgotten how many times you bisected the clouds? Your arms forget themselves, how once they reached, their bones slump limp and empty. Your mothers crawled out of the ocean and left you grounded. Every hair is numbered on your head woven into the shroud you sleep in. A surrealist in Dachau digs his own ditch. Lie down now and dream in color. Remember how the pools of the moon once washed your wounds. Pray for ecstasy and say Goodbye to the sun. |
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