Jerzy Ficowski, '5.8.1942'

[duathir.livejournal.com]

Cross-post from war_poetry:

5.8.1942
In Memory of Janusz Korczak

What did the Old Doctor do
in the cattle wagon
bound for Treblinka on the fifth of August
over the few hours of the bloodstream
over the dirty river of time

I do not know

what did Charon of his own free will
the ferryman without an oar do
did he give out to the children
what remained of gasping breath
and leave for himself
only frost down the spine

I do not know

did he lie to them for instance
in small
numbing doses
groom the sweaty little heads
for the scurrying lice of fear

I do not know

yet for all that yet later yet here
in Treblinka
all their terror all the tears
were against him

oh it was only now
just so many minutes say a lifetime
whether a little or a lot
I was not there I do not know

suddenly the Old Doctor saw
the children had grown
as old as he was
older and older
that was how fast they had to go grey as ash

By Jerzy Ficowski
(translated by Keith Bosley)

"My Birthday", by Susan Coolidge

[med_cat]

My Birthday

Susan Coolidge

Who is this who gently slips
Through my door, and stands and sighs,
Hovering in a soft eclipse,
With a finger on her lips
And a meaning in her eyes?

Once she came to visit me
In white robes with festal airs,
Glad surprises, songs of glee;
Now in silence cometh she,
And a sombre garb she wears.

Once I waited and was tired,
Chid her visits as too few;
Crownless now and undesired,
She to seek me is inspired
Oftener than she used to do.

Grave her coming is and still,
Sober her appealing mien,
Tender thoughts her glances fill;
But I shudder, as one will
When an open grave is seen.

Wherefore, friend,--for friend thou art,--
Should I wrong thee thus and grieve?
Wherefore push thee from my heart?
Of my morning thou wert part;
Be a part too of my eve.

See, I hold my hand to meet
That cool, shadowy hand of thine;
Hold it firmly, it is sweet
Thus to clasp and thus to greet,
Though no more in full sunshine.

Come and freely seek my door,
I will open willingly;
I will chide the past no more,
Looking to the things before,
Led by pathways known to thee.