Does Grapefruit Affect Coversyl

the Shoah and the memory to not to forget

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