Post by MoonyLuna on Jan 17, 2009 11:55:30 GMT -5
June, '40. They sang in the streets
toys given out to children
contained their death certificates.
*
The form to fill out
is a ticket for a free trip
from the Post-Mortem Tourist Bureau.
*
On schoolboys' smocks
stars were dying of laughter
forced laughter, yellow stars.
*
Those who were in hiding
brought to buried hearths
their share of fire.
*
That July 16th, '42
a policeman gives me the handout
of an hour to live my life.
*
He asks me "Where were you born?"
A tune hums in my mind
"Me, I'm from the Faubourg St-Denis."
*
Lie picking up an old tune
that opened up Paris to me
picked up and saved my life.
*
My God, you haven't abandoned me,
I am the child who
doesn't know how to be born.
*
I am only a thread
passing through the needle's eye
of an unlikely survival.
*
Death asked me for
my papers I looked like a dunce
death left me back.
*
The "me" was hateful to me
the Jewish me that melted
on a candelabra's arms.
*
A flogging goes on in my sleep
even during the night
my interrogation continues.
*
In the darkness I grip
barbed wire
my dreams are electrified.
*
Child in a basement corner
I gnaw on crumbs. The rats
laugh forgivingly.
*
Nothing was left but a book
hunger was eating my tongue
so I nibbled on its letters.
*
Childhood wedged in a basement
frays away little by little
down to its last thread.
*
The basement: room and board
for the cavernous child
who must reinvent fire.
*
My brother the cave bear:
I loved his fur. He painted
the alphabet on the walls.
*
Terror keeps your eyes red
earth bare and bony
death too kind by far.
*
You exist weightless
in that phreatic
pocket of fear.
*
My father gave up our ration cards
he shrinks little by little
day has lost sight of him.
*
He would have given his skin
to pass unnoticed
outside himself.
*
My mother falls down the slope
snow which trembles
on the lip of the abyss.
*
The underground occupant
is merely in remission
fed only by his shadow.
*
You're dropping from hunger
near the end of the food supply
card faked for bed and board.
*
In the age of shams
lives and faces are swapped
for a pat of butter.
*
The only problem lies
in not being
what they think.
*
Every Jew is his own Christ
carrying the cross
of being what he is.
Copyright
Charles Dobzynski
translated from the French by Marilyn Hacker
toys given out to children
contained their death certificates.
*
The form to fill out
is a ticket for a free trip
from the Post-Mortem Tourist Bureau.
*
On schoolboys' smocks
stars were dying of laughter
forced laughter, yellow stars.
*
Those who were in hiding
brought to buried hearths
their share of fire.
*
That July 16th, '42
a policeman gives me the handout
of an hour to live my life.
*
He asks me "Where were you born?"
A tune hums in my mind
"Me, I'm from the Faubourg St-Denis."
*
Lie picking up an old tune
that opened up Paris to me
picked up and saved my life.
*
My God, you haven't abandoned me,
I am the child who
doesn't know how to be born.
*
I am only a thread
passing through the needle's eye
of an unlikely survival.
*
Death asked me for
my papers I looked like a dunce
death left me back.
*
The "me" was hateful to me
the Jewish me that melted
on a candelabra's arms.
*
A flogging goes on in my sleep
even during the night
my interrogation continues.
*
In the darkness I grip
barbed wire
my dreams are electrified.
*
Child in a basement corner
I gnaw on crumbs. The rats
laugh forgivingly.
*
Nothing was left but a book
hunger was eating my tongue
so I nibbled on its letters.
*
Childhood wedged in a basement
frays away little by little
down to its last thread.
*
The basement: room and board
for the cavernous child
who must reinvent fire.
*
My brother the cave bear:
I loved his fur. He painted
the alphabet on the walls.
*
Terror keeps your eyes red
earth bare and bony
death too kind by far.
*
You exist weightless
in that phreatic
pocket of fear.
*
My father gave up our ration cards
he shrinks little by little
day has lost sight of him.
*
He would have given his skin
to pass unnoticed
outside himself.
*
My mother falls down the slope
snow which trembles
on the lip of the abyss.
*
The underground occupant
is merely in remission
fed only by his shadow.
*
You're dropping from hunger
near the end of the food supply
card faked for bed and board.
*
In the age of shams
lives and faces are swapped
for a pat of butter.
*
The only problem lies
in not being
what they think.
*
Every Jew is his own Christ
carrying the cross
of being what he is.
Copyright
Charles Dobzynski
translated from the French by Marilyn Hacker