Poems about the holocaust
Tale of a Sprinter By Sudeep Pagedar
THE PAST -
I am an athlete from Berlin,
my feet are fast and swift.
I can run faster than anyone!
Truly, this is the Lord's gift!
Any race I participate in,
I always come in first,
for I tell myself, "I HAVE to win";
it is like a great thirst.
Even if someone, somehow passes me,
I put on an extra burst of speed
and run past him, leaving him behind;
thus, I take the lead.
I once thought, "If I keep running this way,
I might be in the Olympics, some day..."
THE PRESENT -
But now the year is nineteen-thirty-eight
And for my dreams, it's just too late.
My running days are all gone,
I'm not going to see tomorrow's dawn.
Yes, it is true
that I can run very fast;
But it is also true
that I am a Jew...
There's no running, from the Holocaust.
I am an athlete from Berlin,
my feet are fast and swift.
I can run faster than anyone!
Truly, this is the Lord's gift!
Any race I participate in,
I always come in first,
for I tell myself, "I HAVE to win";
it is like a great thirst.
Even if someone, somehow passes me,
I put on an extra burst of speed
and run past him, leaving him behind;
thus, I take the lead.
I once thought, "If I keep running this way,
I might be in the Olympics, some day..."
THE PRESENT -
But now the year is nineteen-thirty-eight
And for my dreams, it's just too late.
My running days are all gone,
I'm not going to see tomorrow's dawn.
Yes, it is true
that I can run very fast;
But it is also true
that I am a Jew...
There's no running, from the Holocaust.
Holocaust By Barbara Sonek
We played, we laughed
we were loved.
We were ripped from the arms of our
parents and thrown into the fire.
We were nothing more than children.
We had a future. We were going to be lawyers, rabbis, wives, teachers, mothers. We had dreams, then we had no hope. We were taken away in the dead of night like cattle in cars, no air to breathe smothering, crying, starving, dying. Separated from the world to be no more. From the ashes, hear our plea. This atrocity to mankind can not happen again. Remember us, for we were the children whose dreams and lives were stolen away.
we were loved.
We were ripped from the arms of our
parents and thrown into the fire.
We were nothing more than children.
We had a future. We were going to be lawyers, rabbis, wives, teachers, mothers. We had dreams, then we had no hope. We were taken away in the dead of night like cattle in cars, no air to breathe smothering, crying, starving, dying. Separated from the world to be no more. From the ashes, hear our plea. This atrocity to mankind can not happen again. Remember us, for we were the children whose dreams and lives were stolen away.
Frozen Jews By Avrom Sutzkever
Have you seen, in fields of snow, frozen Jews, row on row? Blue marble forms lying, not breathing, not dying.
Somewhere a flicker of a frozen soul - glint of fish in an icy swell. All brood. Speech and silence are one. Night snow encases the sun.
A smile glows immobile from a rose lip's chill. Baby and mother, side by side. Odd that her nipple's dried.
Fist, fixed in ice, of a naked old man: the power's undone in his hand. I've sampled death in all guises. Nothing surprises.
Yet a frost in July in this heat - a crazy assault in the street. I and blue carrion, face to face. Frozen Jews in a snowy space.
Marble shrouds my skin. Words ebb. Light grows thin. I'm frozen, I'm rooted in place like the naked old man enfeebled by ice.
Somewhere a flicker of a frozen soul - glint of fish in an icy swell. All brood. Speech and silence are one. Night snow encases the sun.
A smile glows immobile from a rose lip's chill. Baby and mother, side by side. Odd that her nipple's dried.
Fist, fixed in ice, of a naked old man: the power's undone in his hand. I've sampled death in all guises. Nothing surprises.
Yet a frost in July in this heat - a crazy assault in the street. I and blue carrion, face to face. Frozen Jews in a snowy space.
Marble shrouds my skin. Words ebb. Light grows thin. I'm frozen, I'm rooted in place like the naked old man enfeebled by ice.
Burning Of The Books By Bertolt Brecht
When the Regime
commanded the unlawful books to be burned,
teams of dull oxen hauled huge cartloads to the bonfires.
Then a banished writer, one of the best,
scanning the list of excommunicated texts,
became enraged: he'd been excluded!
He rushed to his desk, full of contemptuous wrath,
to write fierce letters to the morons in power —
Burn me! he wrote with his blazing pen —
Haven't I always reported the truth?
Now here you are, treating me like a liar!
Burn me!
commanded the unlawful books to be burned,
teams of dull oxen hauled huge cartloads to the bonfires.
Then a banished writer, one of the best,
scanning the list of excommunicated texts,
became enraged: he'd been excluded!
He rushed to his desk, full of contemptuous wrath,
to write fierce letters to the morons in power —
Burn me! he wrote with his blazing pen —
Haven't I always reported the truth?
Now here you are, treating me like a liar!
Burn me!
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep By Mary Elizabeth Fryre
Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.
First They Came For The Jews By Martin Niemöller
First they came for the Jews
and I did not speak out
because I was not a Jew.
Then they came for the Communists
and I did not speak out
because I was not a Communist.
Then they came for the trade unionists
and I did not speak out
because I was not a trade unionist.
Then they came for me
and there was no one left
to speak out for me.
and I did not speak out
because I was not a Jew.
Then they came for the Communists
and I did not speak out
because I was not a Communist.
Then they came for the trade unionists
and I did not speak out
because I was not a trade unionist.
Then they came for me
and there was no one left
to speak out for me.
Passover Night 1942 By Yala Korwin
not a crumb of leavened
or unleavened bread
and no manna fell
no water sprang out
of the bunker's wall
the last potato was gone
we sat and we munched
chunks of potato-peels
more bitter than herbs
we didn't dare to sing
and open the door
for Elijah
we huddled and prayed
while pillars of clouds
massed above our heads
and pillars of fire
loomed like blazing traps
or unleavened bread
and no manna fell
no water sprang out
of the bunker's wall
the last potato was gone
we sat and we munched
chunks of potato-peels
more bitter than herbs
we didn't dare to sing
and open the door
for Elijah
we huddled and prayed
while pillars of clouds
massed above our heads
and pillars of fire
loomed like blazing traps
Chicago By John Greenleaf Whitter
Men said at vespers: 'All is well!'
In one wild night the city fell;
Fell shrines of prayer and marts of gain
Before the fiery hurricane.
On threescore spires had sunset shone,
Where ghastly sunrise looked on none.
Men clasped each other's hands, and said
'The City of the West is dead!'
Brave hearts who fought, in slow retreat,
The fiends of fire from street to street,
Turned, powerless, to the blinding glare,
The dumb defiance of despair.
A sudden impulse thrilled each wire
That signalled round that sea of fire;
Swift words of cheer, warm heart-throbs came;
In tears of pity died the flame!
From East, from West, from South and North,
The messages of hope shot forth,
And, underneath the severing wave,
The world, full-handed, reached to save.
Fair seemed the old; but fairer still
The new, the dreary void shall fill
With dearer homes than those o'erthrown,
For love shall lay each corner-stone.
Rise, stricken city! from thee throw
The ashen sackcloth of thy woe;
And build, as to Amphion's strain,
To songs of cheer thy walls again!
How shrivelled in thy hot distress
The primal sin of selfishness!
How instant rose, to take thy part,
The angel in the human heart!
Ah! not in vain the flames that tossed
Above thy dreadful holocaust;
The Christ again has preached through thee
The Gospel of Humanity!
Then lift once more thy towers on high,
And fret with spires the western sky,
To tell that God is yet with us,
And love is still miraculous!
In one wild night the city fell;
Fell shrines of prayer and marts of gain
Before the fiery hurricane.
On threescore spires had sunset shone,
Where ghastly sunrise looked on none.
Men clasped each other's hands, and said
'The City of the West is dead!'
Brave hearts who fought, in slow retreat,
The fiends of fire from street to street,
Turned, powerless, to the blinding glare,
The dumb defiance of despair.
A sudden impulse thrilled each wire
That signalled round that sea of fire;
Swift words of cheer, warm heart-throbs came;
In tears of pity died the flame!
From East, from West, from South and North,
The messages of hope shot forth,
And, underneath the severing wave,
The world, full-handed, reached to save.
Fair seemed the old; but fairer still
The new, the dreary void shall fill
With dearer homes than those o'erthrown,
For love shall lay each corner-stone.
Rise, stricken city! from thee throw
The ashen sackcloth of thy woe;
And build, as to Amphion's strain,
To songs of cheer thy walls again!
How shrivelled in thy hot distress
The primal sin of selfishness!
How instant rose, to take thy part,
The angel in the human heart!
Ah! not in vain the flames that tossed
Above thy dreadful holocaust;
The Christ again has preached through thee
The Gospel of Humanity!
Then lift once more thy towers on high,
And fret with spires the western sky,
To tell that God is yet with us,
And love is still miraculous!
The Little Boy with His Hands Up By Yala Korwin
Your open palms raised in the air
like two white doves
frame your meager face,
your face contorted with fear,
grown old with knowledge beyond your years.
Not yet ten. Eight? Seven?
Not yet compelled to mark
with a blue star on white badge
your Jewishness.
No need to brand the very young.
They will meekly follow their mothers.
You are standing apart
Against the flock of women and their brood
With blank, resigned stares.
All the torments of this harassed crowd
Are written on your face.
In your dark eyes—a vision of horror.
You have seen Death already
On the ghetto streets, haven't you?
Do you recognize it in the emblems
Of the SS-man facing you with his camera?
Like a lost lamb you are standing
Apart and forlorn beholding your own fate.
Where is your mother, little boy?
Is she the woman glancing over her shoulder
At the gunmen at the bunker's entrance?
Is it she who lovingly, though in haste,
Buttoned your coat, straightened your cap,
Pulled up your socks?
Is it her dreams of you, her dreams
Of a future Einstein, a Spinoza,
Another Heine or Halévy
They will murder soon?
Or are you orphaned already?
But even if you still have a mother,
She won't be allowed to comfort you
In her arms.
Her tired arms loaded with useless bundles
Must remain up in submission.
Alone you will march
Among other lonely wretches
Toward your martyrdom.
Your image will remain with us
And grow and grow
To immense proportions,
To haunt the callous world,
To accuse it, with ever stronger voice,
In the name of the million youngsters
Who lie, pitiful rag-dolls,
Their eyes forever closed.
like two white doves
frame your meager face,
your face contorted with fear,
grown old with knowledge beyond your years.
Not yet ten. Eight? Seven?
Not yet compelled to mark
with a blue star on white badge
your Jewishness.
No need to brand the very young.
They will meekly follow their mothers.
You are standing apart
Against the flock of women and their brood
With blank, resigned stares.
All the torments of this harassed crowd
Are written on your face.
In your dark eyes—a vision of horror.
You have seen Death already
On the ghetto streets, haven't you?
Do you recognize it in the emblems
Of the SS-man facing you with his camera?
Like a lost lamb you are standing
Apart and forlorn beholding your own fate.
Where is your mother, little boy?
Is she the woman glancing over her shoulder
At the gunmen at the bunker's entrance?
Is it she who lovingly, though in haste,
Buttoned your coat, straightened your cap,
Pulled up your socks?
Is it her dreams of you, her dreams
Of a future Einstein, a Spinoza,
Another Heine or Halévy
They will murder soon?
Or are you orphaned already?
But even if you still have a mother,
She won't be allowed to comfort you
In her arms.
Her tired arms loaded with useless bundles
Must remain up in submission.
Alone you will march
Among other lonely wretches
Toward your martyrdom.
Your image will remain with us
And grow and grow
To immense proportions,
To haunt the callous world,
To accuse it, with ever stronger voice,
In the name of the million youngsters
Who lie, pitiful rag-dolls,
Their eyes forever closed.
War And Peace By Lonnie Hicks
'There is in this world that eternal battle'
the General said
'between Good and Evil.
There can be no compromise;
each nation needs living space
and those who follow Evil
will not hesitate
to take yours
and that means,
some of the time,
War.
War is the ultimate expression
of Evil vs. Good
and inevitable.'
Peace spoke:
War is for those who profit from War
and every war ends in Peace
and diplomacy,
Why not skip the destruction and killing
save human lives
and go straight to the Peace?
Nation-State spoke:
Ah, you Peace forget War
is more than the interval between
the Peace
because War decides which people
will be free
and which people will be oppressed.
Peace you misunderstand;
soldiers fight to preserve their country-mens' lifestyles
their families
and those five dollar lattes.
Ah, indeed in War and Peace
someone wins
and someone loses' Nation-State said.
Peace spoke:
Well, Nation-State, that used to be true
but not anymore.
Nuclear holocaust has no winners,
only losers.
A radioactive planet
where no one can live
for a thousand years
is not victory
but massive defeat for everyone.
.
Nothing to celebrate.
You '
Peace said
to the General
'cannot fulfill your main mission
which is to protect the population.
The foe you fight can blow up
all of their nuclear weapons
and the fall out will drift and kill
the rest of us
without even an attack.
You soldiers have to learn new tricks.
You can't really protect us.
All that is gone. You have to retire that side-gun
and sit at the diplomat's table.
'Peace 'Peace said'
has come to depend upon successful social ecology
and restraining those who would have us kill ourselves
in order to preserve our lives.
the General said
'between Good and Evil.
There can be no compromise;
each nation needs living space
and those who follow Evil
will not hesitate
to take yours
and that means,
some of the time,
War.
War is the ultimate expression
of Evil vs. Good
and inevitable.'
Peace spoke:
War is for those who profit from War
and every war ends in Peace
and diplomacy,
Why not skip the destruction and killing
save human lives
and go straight to the Peace?
Nation-State spoke:
Ah, you Peace forget War
is more than the interval between
the Peace
because War decides which people
will be free
and which people will be oppressed.
Peace you misunderstand;
soldiers fight to preserve their country-mens' lifestyles
their families
and those five dollar lattes.
Ah, indeed in War and Peace
someone wins
and someone loses' Nation-State said.
Peace spoke:
Well, Nation-State, that used to be true
but not anymore.
Nuclear holocaust has no winners,
only losers.
A radioactive planet
where no one can live
for a thousand years
is not victory
but massive defeat for everyone.
.
Nothing to celebrate.
You '
Peace said
to the General
'cannot fulfill your main mission
which is to protect the population.
The foe you fight can blow up
all of their nuclear weapons
and the fall out will drift and kill
the rest of us
without even an attack.
You soldiers have to learn new tricks.
You can't really protect us.
All that is gone. You have to retire that side-gun
and sit at the diplomat's table.
'Peace 'Peace said'
has come to depend upon successful social ecology
and restraining those who would have us kill ourselves
in order to preserve our lives.