I am taking a trauma class this semester and I have been reading a lot of articles on the Holocaust and testimony. Last night (or I should say this morning) I re-watched Schindler's List and, consequently, could not go to sleep afterwards. So, I started going through some poetry, particularly poetry written about the Holocaust and I found a beautiful yet disturbing poem by Irena Klepfisz. Klepfisz is not only a poet but also an activist within the Jewish, Lesbian, Gay, Queer communities. The dots between the words and phrases represent the white space in the printed version of this poem that this blog did not let me include here.
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Death Camp
when they took us.....to the shower.....i saw
the rebbitzin......her sagging breasts.....sparse
pubic hairs.....i knew..........and remembered
the old rebbe......and turned.....my eyes away
i could still hear.....her advice...........a woman
with a husband.....a scholar
when they turned.....on the gas.....i smelled
it........first................coming at me....pressed myself
hard to the wall.............crying.....rebbitzin.....rebbitzin
I am here with you.........and the advice you gave me
i screamed........into the wall............as the blood burst from
my lungs.......cracking.........her nails in women's flesh.....i watched
her capsize......beneath me..........my blood in her mouth.....i screamed
when they dragged my body.........into the oven..............i burned
slowly at first.........i could smell my own flesh..............and could
hear.........them grunt.........with the weight of the rebbitzin
and they flung...........her on top........of me............and i could smell
her hair burning..........against my stomach
when i pressed through............the chimney
it was sunny..........and clear.........my smoke
was distinct..........i rose quiet.........left her
beneath
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This poem is so powerful to me....so many intersections, so many things are being touched upon and blended together. This poem is attempting to go beyond language....I feel compelled to write about it...study it...parse it out...but I also understand that to do so would be an injustice to its message/imagery because i realize that i now know nothing.
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4 comments:
wow. that was just... aching. You're right, there aren't words to contain it's message(s). Sometimes the text just has to stand on it's own without a reader's interference. To walk away reverently, painfully, humbly.
After reading this, I thought of Paul Celan's "Death Fugue" and all I could think of was "black milk."
http://www.mat.upm.es/~jcm/celan-daybreak.html
Celan's poem is tragic on such a deep level as well...but what struck me as profoundly different was that Klepfizs' poem takes the body further..."distinct smoke"...a body that has escaped...has crossed over from the violence of language in describing or metaphorizing the body as a non-site of transfiguration. Celan's poem on the other hand, speaks to stasis...the body is weighted...it does not transform. Rather it remains suspended within the site of trauma where memory and violence will always hold on to it.
ooh, I like your analysis especially it terms of the discussion of the body. I never thought about it like that.
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