Literature of the Holocaust
Published on Nov 21, 2016
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Eva Pickova: Born in the Czech republic and deported to Terezin. Died in Auschwitz in December 1943. Her poem "Fear" was discovered in Terezin after the camp was liberated
Photo by Kevin B 3
Today the ghetto knows a different fear,
Close in it grip, death weilds an icy scythe.
An sickeness spreads a terror in its wake,
The victims of its shadow weep and writhe.
Today fathers heartbeat tell his fright.
And Mother's bend their heads into their hands,
Now children choke and die with typhus here,
A bitter tax is taken from their hands.
My heart still beats inside my breast
While friends depart for other worlds.
Perhaps its better-who can say?
Than watching this, to die today?
No,No, my God we want to live.
Not watch our numbers melt away.
We want to have a better world,
We want to work-we must not die!
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Eva shows a certain determination to live in her poem. Who from Number the Stars reminds you of Eva and her determination?
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Keith Douglas: One of the best soldier poets of world war 2. His attitude about death and dying makes some uncomfortable, but he was real about what happens on the battlefield. He was killed in action 3 days after D-day. Only one of his collections of poetry was published during his lifetime. It was titled, "Selected Poems."
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Notecard: Keith Douglas
British soldier poet, wrote "Desert Flower" and "Vergissmeinnicht"
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Desert Flowers: Living in a wide landscape are the flowers -
Rosenberg I only repeat what you were saying -
the shell and the hawk every hour
are slaying men and jerboas, slaying
the mind: but the body can fill
the hungry flowers and the dogs who cry words
at nights, the most hostile things of all.
But that is not news. Each time the night discards
draperies on the eyes and leaves the mind awake
I look each side of the door of sleep
for the little coin it will take
to buy the secret I shall not keep.
I see men as trees suffering
or confound the detail and the horizon.
Lay the coin on my tongue and I will sing
of what the others never set eyes on.
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Donald Bain: War Poet who wrote one poem called "War Poet." War Poet talks about the issue of writing during war time. It discusses the pain, destruction and loss one experiences during war.
Photo by Peter E. Lee
We in our haste can only see the small components of the scene
We cannot tell what incidents will focus on the final screen.
A barrage of disruptive sound, a petal on a sleeping face,
Both must be noted, both must have their place.
It may be that our later selves or else our unborn sons
Will search for meaning in the dust of long-deserted guns,
We only watch, and indicate and make our scribbled pencil notes.
We do not wish to moralize, only to ease our dusty throats.
Photo by Nfoka
