Serment

Dès le moment
que j’ai su que tout ce qui mène au sommet
d’aujourd’hui peut se voir seulement
comme un effet
de cette lumière affreuse, dorée,
étincellante et jaune, étoilée,
qui comme un souffle de catafalque nous arrive
des hiers lointains à travers les peaux juives,
émane des milliards de crânes vides
jetés dans la fosse commune monstre du passé,
j’ai fait serment
On ne finira jamais cette guerre;
reculant en arrière, suivant les traces des dégats,
aucun ne saura pourquoi
ces choses atroces ont été faites De ce qui est rapellé, je n’en reviens pas
et je n’en reviendra jamais
de ce pays lumineux d’aprés-midi, des champs de blé
tachés de pavots comme les blessures
qui apparaissent dans une foule mitraillée Dans les brumes grises du dernier siècle
le bruit grondant des vielles injures reverbre
entre le grésillement infini des larmes oubliées;
les cendres des morts coulent dans la pluie brûlante
Je me hisserai de cette boue infâme
par les langues mortes de mes souliers Je verrai dans mes rêves la poussière
des cadavres pourris, un demain ébloui,
se réunir avec leurs âmes vivantes
à neuf sur la terre.

Vow

At the moment
when I knew that all that has brought us
to the apex of the present can be seen solely
as an effect of that appalling golden light,
glittering yellow, starry,
that like the exhalation from a catacomb
reaches us from distant yesterdays
through lampshade skins
or emanates from the millions of empty skulls
discarded in the monstrous common grave of the past,
I made a vow
War never ends:
looking backward, following the traces of destruction,
no one will ever know why those atrocities took place Of what is remembered, I cannot bring myself to understand,
and I will never come back from that luminous afternoon
landscape of deceptive peace, the wheatfields
speckled with poppies like bloody wounds
sprayed across a machine-gunned crowd In the dark clouds of the last century
the rumble of ancient injustices reverberates
amid the endless spatter of forgotten tears;
the ashes of the dead dissolve in the burning rain
I will lift myself out of that fouled mud
by the dead tongues of my shoes I will summon a shining tomorrow
where the dust of decayed cadavers
will unite in glory with their living souls
to renew the earth.

Bathing, October 8, 1944

I couldn’t wait for the station when I saw the train smoke,
A nice cushion to sit on–I had only been on a train once
–but I had loved it
Yellow stars under a yellow sun
it’s not my color, but it was my mother’s,
said it was too bright for a tradesmen’s wife–
on the Sabbath Dark bodies shuffling past the light beams
between large cracks in the overused cattle car,
What did they do with all that beef?

“Name?”
“Alter?”
“Fähigkeiten?”
“Sonderbehandlung!”

Shoes, clothing, watches and jewelry piled–
I add,
didn’t even glance
“Zunächst!”
another girl inspected and stripped as
families separate and lines form
At last, a shower after days on the train!
No steam rose from the building ahead Oh no, cold showers–I hate cold showers It is cold and there is no soap a cough from the shivering elderly man to my right.

A Triptych: From the Mountains

(1) From the mountains to a hurricane

From the Pacific mountains
they set them down,
those lofty pines With deliberate chainsaws, 
they shattered the silent nights
while ears could still hear
the buildings rising
The armies marched apace While broken splintered pillars
were loaded like slain ghetto victims,
on to cross country wheels They were less majestic, 
lying prone,
not moved by winds
off distant shores
The flatbed hearses
all in a row,
conveyed their cargo ====
a caravan of progress
down the highway
All milling about,
some stood for hours
in
line
at
the
depot
waiting
for the hurricane to arrive

(2) From the mountains-to a cemetery

From the Tatra mountains of Poland, 
the wind saw them cut down Those lofty pines were
Once supple, and strong
Now like shattered glass, 
the silent nights
can only hear the saplings’ sighs

The armies marched apace
while splintered branches, 
and brittle, mangled twigs, 
were piled onto pushcarts
The cargo loaded, 
=== lying prone ===
unmoved by prayers;
they never heard from
those who were not there

Boxcar hearses
on cross country wheels, 
those caravans of progress
hauled half-dead timber
down groaning tracks
In the shadow of Gerlach, *
those once majestic pines, 
are now a graveyard’s raw material
Milling about, 
they stand for hours
in line for selection, 
soon to be sawdust

* the name of the highest peak of the
Tatra Mountains

(3) From the mountains-to a mountain

From the oldest mountains, 
he was told to cut down
those ancient trees
made strong by prescribed flames Lightning shattered
the silent nights, 
and the water drowned
the saplings’ sighs
They had marched apace, 
two by two, 
to save the world from itself, 
loaded like victims, 
the would-be survivors
The cargo secured, 
they were unable to move
until the storm began;
There was a clap of thunder,
then came the fear of dying
for those who were part
of an unnatural selection,
a floating caravan of One
Time’s shadow passed over
the devastation,  until finally,
two left the graveyard One returned with the branch
of hope

Atop a Turkish mountain, 
millennia away
from the peaceful mountains, 
from the Tatra mountains, 
and further still
from the forest’s necessary surface fires, 
some began to plant
the seeds again.