The poems in the exhibit "The Holocaust and Memory", composed in the camp during his imprisonment and subsequently by survivors and relatives of inmates, are taken from the book The Auschwitz Poems published by the State Museum of Auschwitz -Birkenau in 1999.
The texts were translated for the first time in Italian, by permission of the Polish Museum, from Marilinda Rocca (curator, together with Professor Adam A. Zych, the Italian version of this poetry anthology, forthcoming)
NIGHT ON BIRKENAU
Another night. Grim, the sky was still closed on
dead silence hovering like a vulture. Similar
a crouching beast, the moon falls on the ground -
pale as a corpse. And
abandoned as a shield in the battle, the blue
Orion - lost among the stars.
Transport growl and glow in the dark
eyes of the crematorium.
and humid, suffocating. Sleep is a tomb.
My breath was a gasp in her throat. This
lead foot that oppresses me
the chest is the silence of three million dead.
night, endless night. No dawn.
My eyes are poisoned with sleep. The fog set up
Birkenau,
as the Judgement of God on the corpse of the earth.
Tadeusz Borowski, KL Auschwitz
INFERNO
The Divine Comedy is a work of great feeling
if Dante, instead of hell,
had been in concentration camps.
Halina Szuman, Auschwitz, 1944
harps Birkenau
fragment
[...] The wheels hurry along the route
pushing the victory of the crime:
carrying, transporting people to the gas, people to
crematorium, people poured gasoline on the pyre.
The smoke floats, dense and filthy ...
Here, men burn other men.
and mast lights shine
wires thesis.
These are the harps of Brzezinka,
harps of Birkenau.
Grochowalska-Zofia Abramowicz, Birkenau, 1944
Life Life Wasted wasted
What infamy
That the days go by without any sense
that instead of rice - I know only tears
are miserable, are anxious to have
lost all hope for so long
Accepting the meanness of man?
How to think about death - when the world is calling me! I have not yet twenty
I'm young!
Young,
YOUNG!
life wasted, that infamy ...
Halina Nelken, Auschwitz, 1944
LETTER TO MOTHER
fragment
[...] Electrical wires, high and double
not let you ever see again your daughter, Mom.
not believe my letters censored,
the truth is very different, but do not cry, Mama.
And if you want to keep track of your daughter
not ask anyone, do not knock on any door
look for the ash in the camps of Auschwitz,
you'll find them there. But do not cry - there is already too much bitterness.
And if you want to discover the traces of your daughter
look for the ash in the fields of Birkenau:
will be there - Search, look for the ash
camps of Auschwitz, in the woods of Birkenau.
Search the ashes, Mom - I'll be there!
Monika Dombke, Birkenau, 1943
APPEAL OF THE MORNING The sun rises on the Auschwitz camp
Blazing a rosy glow
We are all in a row, young and old,
While in the sky the stars disappear.
Every morning we are here to appeal
Every day, rain or shine on our faces are painted
pain, despair, torment.
Perhaps now, at this time gray
At home a child cries
Maybe my mother is thinking of me ... I will never
the review?
at this time is nice to dream with open eyes,
Perhaps now my love I think
But - God forbid - if
to fetch him?
How about a silver screen
The action continues splendid
Not far away in a limousine
get someone new and shiny.
They descend slowly and gracefully,
The "Aufseherinnen" (1) wear blue robes.
We immediately converted into pillars of salt,
Numbers, lifeless void.
We arrogantly disdainful
count them - the most noble race
are the Germans, the new vanguard
What has the rabble into strips, faceless.
Suddenly like an electric shock,
shudder at the thought that we like a rocket in the head whale
She also has to be a wife or a mother
A woman ... And I am a woman ...
sensational film takes place slowly
" Achtung! "Put the row!
This is a really special moment,
Approaches "Lagerkommandant.
is possible that the world is so dangerous?
A whistle and, in a moment of silence among us
utter a quiet prayer
But there is someone who can hear?
The sun is again high in the sky, and pink diamonds are
its rays.
O dear God, we ask
will come better days?
Krystyna Zywulska,
September 1943 (1) Wardens.
ASH
One day we go home or maybe not,
who knows?
a day I thought that everything was a horrible dream, everything
what happened there, in the Auschwitz
where the chimney spewing smoke all the time ... constantly
See the huge column of smoke
glow?
'There's a fire?', Ask
But do not you know?
're burning thousands, millions of human bodies! People come here
in large groups, apparently
to a safe haven after a long and tiring,
here where there is water for drinking and bathing
.
But there is also the gas ...
'Gas?', Ask
But do not you know?
is the gas that suffocates asphyxiation strangling
People can not say that word
pain
test is immediately silenced and in a moment
only one column of smoke
show that here was, that here is
lived and perished, leaving only
... ASH! ...
Author unknown, KL Birkenau
the Sonderkommando
The Sonderkommando
those prisoners known as the Death Squad
that was not dragged
after the death
reordering
and repackaged its parts
drove the crowds flock in
showers
the
pulled out sodas
the
watered
to take away the excrement
hitched
bodies slippery
with straps around the wrists and
them crammed into
the elevator going up
the ovens.
Lily Brett
THE WARRANTY
In
Sonderkommando
you were guaranteed
three months working
milk bread
clean sheets
chocolate candy
cognac and three
months of life.
Lily Brett
AERIAL VIEW OF A SCENE INDUSTRIAL
There is a train on the ramp, download
people falling from the trucks and stumbles towards the door. The shadows are inclined
building in the field, behind every shadow
a longer shadow slips and a shadow of black smoke
freshly plowed earth. Beyond the gate,
a small garden and some kneeling.
Is he feeling the yellow blooms
to see which have taken root and what wilt,
clinging to a green tomato that grows. People do
resistance but is pushed to force the door open, and when it enters
and someone will see the garden, gardener himself, yearn to throw
kneeling, climbing to disentangle, pull weeds
, freshen up your hands in the earth moist.
will die soon, a matter of minutes.
Even from our height, we see the photograph
the shadow of the aircraft, dark and huge, is printed on
Birkenau, with black wing shading the garden.
We can not say what the guards and what the prisoners. We
observers. But if we had bombs, spears.
Andrew Hudgins
Rudolf Hoess
Cultivez votre jardin! -
repeated the commandant of Auschwitz
in imitation of Voltaire.
And why not?
... But if your garden is close
of the four crematoria burned
where every day thousands of corpses.
Julius Balbin
REAL CHOCOLATE
The practice of gang rape of prisoners by the soldiers was a common occurrence in the fields ...
- anonymous inmate of Auschwitz -
I drew out of the cabin
with promises of chocolate and words such as "Schätzchen"
but the other women knew
and, even before you hear the noise out there, they called me a bitch
soldiers.
I also knew, but
hunger has his own way to change you,
and you forget who you are.
Funny, how there can be hope in despair.
threw the chocolate on the floor and laughed: "From Friss." I desired to be crazy, but the flavor was
mud. "Dreh dich rum, Judenschwein."
huge boots I saw blacks, pairs and pairs, and the ground so muddy
plunge from my body.
I pulled up my dress and spread my legs prisoner. They were so light
es'aprirono
so easily that I thanked God, I knew that I would not
resisted.
This body is not mine, this hunger;
finally, there is no reason to fight.
I wonder now if their desire for me
was a longing for death:
fuck a bald woman who was just skin and bones,
whose only salvation was a cup of watery soup
for dinner, a slice of bread stale
and perhaps, if the soldiers had wanted again, this time
, a piece of real chocolate.
Stewart J. Florsheim
THE FIDDLER OF AUSCHWITZ
Jack-Yaacov strums
- survivor of Thessaloniki
Every morning for the case even when there was no nightmare
aroused when I am in a cold sweat,
when I woke up in fright,
in terror of the SS. Just
every morning.
I wonder where I will go today?
I get dressed, drink tea,
start the car and childbirth?
to where?
The motor hums softly
sites run away quickly
Avenue, traffic lights
the road climbs,
up the hill, the gate
open. Every morning
Yad Va'Shem?
the Holocaust Memorial. The same hum
the same items the same notes
the same music
running this small city in flames.
music driving my car, like a magnet pulling me
such as a cable chain to a winch
Va'Shem Yad.
The Tent of Remembrance
Lume the plugs Perpetual
the Hall of Names
photo, eyes,
teeth, gold teeth, human hair.
Here are the gas chambers, ovens
,
the crematoria and the Jews in striped clothes tell
that move bodies.
naked women
trying in vain to hide their shame
the side of the grave. There are only
the stench, smoke and music.
What does the noise, the timing of steps
"Links, left, left ..."
The whip, the shots,
"Work makes you free"
arch above the gate. And all around
walls, dogs, and barbed wire;
lists of names and numbers
there is a hand? Yad hands.
In the parade, who comes, who goes
from where to where?
There I played the violin, I was selected
for the orchestra that accompanied each day, with the music, pushed
Jews in gas chambers
edge of the abyss?
to the place from which no returns, no
back
is only removed dead
for incinerators.
There is no need to run
no reason to fear
but that tune still echoes in my head.
So
arrive here today tomorrow yesterday
,
front of photos of players:
orchestra
driving the endless procession of those who walk
in the Valley of the Shadow of Death.
Yes, I am now a white-haired grandfather
;
remains well just me but my features resemble
still
a bit ', the musician, to me, there on
photos of Auschwitz.
It may happen that a visitor to Yad
Va'Shem I look at it,
fixed to the wall, and was surprised. As if he saw someone
beyond a watershed?
an appearance that, for him,
belongs to another world;
that, for me, is
world that was.
Morning after morning, day after day
arrive here,
with that music that haunts me,
those pictures on the wall at that
stench in the nostrils that only I can tell.
This is my place, I belong.
I'm not a "living statue"
am alive.
of these monuments are a part. This
Yad Va'Shem?
Hand and Name?
and body
mine.
Moshé Liba
FROM AUSCHWITZ
What ports huge and heavy!
A strange smell, faint but persistent
tough ... a powerful disinfectant.
'Stay on the point of the shower'. Wait
water. Do not think the crowd.
not notice your humiliation.
not distinguish your shaved head from the rest!
My God ... those damn huge doors are closing!
Why? ... Can not be!
No, the water will come in a minute.
Do not cry, Just be patient,
soon be over.
There is a noise - there.
are holding a grating.
All eyes look surprised.
No sound.
What are these crystals? ... Disinfectant Cleaning. Sulphur
!?
Gas! Gas! Gas! Panic!
The screams, the reeling
jerky and mix.
The total terror of realizing.
eternal Minutes to climb and scramble. Forget
families. Self-preservation.
meat on meat - which grabs and rips.
Gas, screams, and death ... silence.
Elizabeth Wyse
THE VALLEY OF DRY BONES
In memory of my beloved uncle Eugene,
Uncle Jacob and his wife Ilona, \u200b\u200b
Uncle Ernesto and his wife Ethel, Aunt Rachel, and all
my family killed by the Nazis at Auschwitz
In the valley of dry bones
There are no graves, no stones -
The petrified remains of innocent victims of persecution
Covered by the blood stains are everywhere,
inspire
horror and dismay on clay soil.
I witnessed their unjust execution -
They were taken by force
In the rooms of extermination,
kicked and beaten by cruel blows -
had numbers tattooed on her wrists and the shield of David on the breasts -
meet death
Uttering the sacred prayer
With his last breath,
" LISTEN TO ISRAEL, THE LORD IS OUR GOD THE LORD IS ONE
- "
brave martyrs of the Jewish race,
Members of my family,
fellow prisoners, many years have passed
Since you are gone - but I remember
still your desperate cry:
"forfeited our bodies, our flesh will rot
,
If you survive Auschwitz
not leave, please, that falls on us to forget! "
My life was saved by the intervention of God,
know the purpose of the heavenly protection:
to return with the memory Of your
of your pain and suffering,
Ensure that you are not died in vain,
fulfill your last wish,
Do not let your spirits die brave -
Magda Herzenberger
what is left
When the rest
World
you woke
discovered in
what was left of
Canada
the six cabins
that had not been burned
38,000 pairs of men's shoes
13,964 rugs and
836,255 dresses.
Lily Brett
"MUSEUM OF AUSCHWITZ
dead hair that once adorned the head of young women
and now lie behind glass.
old shoes that fit their feet
and brought them here.
and old eyeglasses, false teeth
,
some crutches, and some
prosthesis.
Michael Etkind
AUSCHWITZ
consider every word on the
items on his glasses on his shoes
up their hair cut on the brown bags with the names
images of pain
documents horror
stacked boxes of Zyklon B
the broken dolls
Featured in
long lines in the latrine
Ferrigni
equipment to the crematorium
consider every word on the reality of Auschwitz
red roses bloom and the sky is blue
Peter Paul Wiplinger
VISIT, 1971 AUSCHWITZ
Dr. Bronowski standing in the marshes. He returned in
Poland and crouches on heavy shoes,
collects the sludge and pour it from hand to hand.
Here, says Dr. Bronowski, looking
that concentrates the light,
are the ashes of four million people.
look at the fine silt of our parents
slip between his hands. He speaks
walking in the water. Moisture
the salt in his shoes. In the center slimy
the sky turned his eyes, the film envelops the pond
against him, embracing his flesh.
Lisa Ress
ANNIVERSARY, September 9
This is the day that started your agony.
I can not recall
But I can not forget it.
After Auschwitz, Adorno said,
No one should write poetry.
What is poetry? After Auschwitz?
I write, however. Others write. How else could
Get away?
Because inside, dispel the darkness.
Darkness. The morning light. Your awakening
Full of hope, today, fifty years ago.
The frontier before thee: salvation, freedom.
The excitement, the exhilaration. The sun shines sweetly
Then suddenly the hitch: the arrests, the raids
. Anxiety, agitation, terror, hands
maybe twisting, hands that remember
The mind can not bring order
... Words are not
... But I still stutter.
Hilda Schiff
FALL 1975
Since dad died I watch your steps on the fragile
tiny living space.
lashing wind - like a raven
October
On your tired face.
I know, I can not ask
a smile in your eyes the well of time
gurgles, the echo never acquiesce.
I didst save the lives of Auschwitz
Now, we will seek out small sparks
shining on the sea of \u200b\u200bashes.
not fear leaves
Hold on, my Mother,
Resist!
Adam Szyper
keep forgetting I keep forgetting the facts and statistics
and every time I need to know how
Search Books
these books deal
twenty
shelves in my room I know where
go
to confirm the fact that in the Warsaw Ghetto there were 7.2 persons per room
and Lodz
destined only 5.8 people to every room
continuously
forget that a third of Warsaw
was jew and that 500,000 Jews crammed into the ghetto
in 2.4 percent of the city
burned bodies and many
to Auschwitz at the height of production
twenty thousand a day I check and recheck
and I dreamed that on 19 January 4 pm
58,000 emaciated prisoners
were marched out of Auschwitz?
remembered well that in Bergen-Belsen
4 to 13 April 1945
28,000 Jews arrived from other camps?
remember hundreds and hundreds of phone numbers
numbers that do not call
are immediately available for twenty years and I remember
conversations of people and what somebody's wife told the husband
someone else that you have good memory
tells me people.
Lily Brett
ENIGMA
Bergen From a chest of gold teeth,
from Dachau a mountain of shoes, from Auschwitz
a light leather.
Who Killed the Jews?
Not I, cries the typist,
Not I, cries the engineer,
Not I, cries Adolf Eichmann,
Not me, says Albert Speer.
My friend Fritz Nova lost his father, a sergeant
had to choose.
My friend Lou Abrahms lost his brother.
Who Killed the Jews?
David Nova swallowed gas,
Hyman Abrahms was beaten and killed by hunger.
certain signature cards, and certain
stood guard, some
and pushed them inside, and some people
onto the glasses and some scattered the ashes, and some people
washed walls,
and sowed some wheat,
and some people trickled steel, and certain
cleared the tracks, and some people
bred cattle.
Some smelled the smoke, I heard some people
just talk.
were Germans? They were Nazis?
were men? Who Killed the Jews?
The stars will remember the gold,
the sun will remember the shoes, the moon
remember the skin.
But who killed the Jews?
William Heyen
