Poems from Eastern Europe
For more information about all the places mentioned in these poems, see my journal from Eastern Europe and Israel.
Treblinka-- Written while sitting on the ground among the stones at Treblinka, about a story I heard that when the Nazis destroyed Treblinka they planted strawberry fields to hide the evidence.
Terezin-- This was the camp where the children were allowed to draw and put on plays, and a lot of their artwork still survives. It was supposed to be the model camp for when the Red Cross came to inspect the camps.
Plaszow-- When we had our memorial service there, a family sat nearby, having a picnic and playing catch, either not knowing or not caring about what happened there and what that place means.
Auschwitz-- This is about looking out the open window of one of the barracks.
Birkenau-- Walking through the old barracks there, I did see that butterfly.
Tykocin-- What used to be a small Jewish town is now a mass grave after all the people were gathered in the synagogue and marched out to the forest to be shot. This is the story of what happened there.
Comfort?-- About my experiences at Auschwitz and Birkenau, seeing footprints in the dirt and our counselors running back to the bus to get water bottles for us because it was a hot day.
The Shema in Krakow-- While we were walking through the Krakow ghetto where kids threw stones at us, our group leader started to sing part of this prayer.
Am Yisrael Chai-- The people of Israel live -- our motto when trying to deal with the destruction and horror.
The Train -- Prague to Krakow, 1997-- We took a train ride and it was one of the most horrible experiences of my life, but then I realized it wasn't nearly as horrible as the experiences of others who took this same route.
The Train -- Terezin to Auschwitz, 1941-- The follow-up to the previous poem.
The Train Station-- About Treblinka, where the station was decorated to look like a real train station, with travel posters and a clock that was always set at six.
Majdanek-- One of the last concentration camps we visited, it had the most impact on me and probably many of the other people in my group as well.
Treblinka
Purple and yellow petals carpet
an ash-filled ground
where strawberry fields
once grew.
Cries echo in the wind,
distant memories fading
like dispersing smoke,
as raindrops gently splash
my face
like tears.
17,000 stones
for 800,000 victims
whose bones and ashes
fertilize the flowers,
the strawberries,
and appear
after heavy rain.
Pines surround
the barren field,
like Nazi officers with their guns ready,
and gas not far away,
as they guard the remnants
of this horror.
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Terezin
No one was supposed to die.
The model camp--
only one crematorium,
no gas chamber.
They didn't think the diseases,
the crowding,
could kill.
But the “citizens” died anyway.
And for those who lived,
Auschwitz became their home,
their grave.
Sun shines on white stones
of the memorial,
the grave markers
in the new cemetery
of old graves.
Weeping willows cry
over the lost souls,
the children
who left behind
their drawings,
poems.
The wind whispers gently
through their branches.
In the distance,
a rooster sings
at the rising sun.
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Plaszow
The yards of death
now look like a park
where children play
and lovers picnic.
Two stone markers
are all that's left
to remind us
of that suffering.
But the children
don't understand,
their parents don't teach,
they don't know.
Nazis have vanished,
the bodies
are deep underground.
It's just another park
to them.
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Auschwitz
As I walk through musty barracks,
the diluted sun strains
to light
this chamber of death.
In the corner,
I find
the one open window.
A light breeze tickles my face
as I watch people pass outside,
walking over ancient footprints
in the dirt road,
whose owners,
confined to dusty existence
in crowded barracks,
never looked through these windows,
as I do.
Outside,
barbed wire separates
my comfortable life
from theirs.
Memorial candles
burn in the crematorium's ovens
for the souls of the lost.
I run from the confines
to the air outside,
still stale with the smell of death.
As I turn,
a white bird takes flight
through the once smoke-filled air.
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Birkenau
Cobwebs crowd the dusty air
in the dim light
of the washroom.
Soap dishes
that never held soap
line the crumbling sinks
that once spewed water,
unfit even
for washing.
Near the toe of my shoe,
lies the torn wing
of a butterfly.
Unknowing,
that insect entered this place.
Unknowing,
our ancestors arrived.
We knew,
but we came anyway;
and we can leave,
unsettled by the lingering presence
of those days.
The butterfly's tattered design
reminds us,
a black and red flag,
flying proudly to affirm
the destruction.
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Tykocin
Crowded among holy scrolls and drawings,
they wait,
shouts of Nazi officers and dogs
in the air.
1600 Jewish souls awaiting
fate.
Marching through once familiar streets,
now soaked with tears and anguish,
they know their destination--
out of the way,
past the graveyard,
to the forest
they’ll never leave.
Underneath the high leaves
blocking the sun,
they walk to the three large pits.
Lining up near the edges,
cold metal against their foreheads,
they one by one
collapse
into the graves.
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Comfort?
Sneakers trample over gravel
on fifty-year-old roads,
protecting the owners' feet
from the difficult terrain.
Jeans and t-shirts provide
protection and ventilation
against the summer weather.
At the slightest thirst,
we grab our water bottles,
breathe fresh air
when the dimness threatens
to overtake us,
unlike those who once lived here,
no -- not lived here --
died here.
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The Shema in Krakow
"V'lo navosh l'olam va-ed,
Never will we be ashamed."
Crossing the bridge,
singing in united voice,
we walk together in triumph.
Children of Israel,
the new generation of believers.
We connect
our ancestors' suffering
50 years ago
and our children's glory.
Retracing footsteps,
learning,
to be new
witnesses of the past.
We rejoice,
sing,
dance,
Israel, our proud past,
our glorious future,
remains alive,
despite attempts
to destroy our legacy.
We will live,
survive
and bear witness.
V'lo navosh.
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Am Yisrael Chai
The eternal battle cry
of a chosen people.
Am Yisrael Chai.
Through fire and gas,
destruction and discrimination,
forever burning
with undying passion.
Am Yisrael Chai.
With faith in the L-rd
and love for the world,
triumphing over adversity,
the few against the many.
Am Yisrael Chai.
Children of Israel,
G-d's Chosen,
we've lasted through the ages, prevailing
despite everything.
Through wind and rain,
sun and famine,
slavery and war,
we will unite,
survive,
live
for all eternity.
Am Yisrael Chai.
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The Train -- Prague to Krakow, 1997
Barren fields rush past
as frigid air whistles
through the cracked
train window.
Watching the scene,
from my first class room,
I wonder:
How did my ancestors see
these same fields
60 years ago?
Cramped,
100 to a car,
freezing,
uncertain
of their destination.
Nameless, faceless,
now reduced to piles of
luggage, shoes, hair,
ashes.
Six million graves
that I can only visit,
ignorant of suffering,
comforted by my sheltered life.
I lie back in my bed,
pull the blanket around me
to deter the cold,
but the horror
the guilt
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The Train -- Terezin to Auschwitz, 1941
Boarding the train at Terezin
10, 000 children,
thousands of adults,
anxious to leave
this “model” ghetto
that is only a model
of terror.
Beside the tracks,
flowers cover the ash pits,
but they don’t know
where their families are.
They don’t know
the situation
only gets worse.
When the train finally arrives,
smoke and flames leap to the sky
on either side
in a sacrifice
too gruesome to accept.
So the horror
continues
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The Train Station
Two hours from arrival
to final destination,
but the clock always reads
6:00.
Treblinka--
travelers utter the name
with awe and reverence--
a beautiful resort town
(they were told),
in the barren plains
of Poland.
Men to the right, women left,
leaving their possessions,
their families,
their lives,
on the train platform--
they don’t need those here,
not in Treblinka.
In lines,
finally free from the cramped train,
they wonder what pleasures await them--
but first to clean off
the dust of the journey--
a large chamber,
with shower heads,
no water--
a mass grave--
at this lovely stop
Treblinka.
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Majdanek
Ashes blow gently in the cool breeze,
while birds sing the story
of this peaceful place.
A rabbit runs through
the overgrown grass,
deceiving.
A tall chimney,
blackened by soot,
surrounded by flowers,
looms over
this sanctuary.
We leave speechless,
crying.
This place will
never
be peaceful.
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all poems (c) 1997-98 Ann Lesley Hamvas
