Poetry for April 14

National Poetry Month Poem of the Day for April 14, 2007

Ukiah Library

Poem of the Day Ukiah Library

Paul Celan - Fugue of Death

"Only one thing remained reachable, close and secure amid all losses: language. Yes, language. In spite of everything, it remained secure against loss. But it had to go through its own lack of answers, through terrifying silence, through the thousand darknesses of murderous speech. It went through. It gave me no words for what was happening, but went through it. Went through and could resurface, 'enriched' by it all."

Black milk of daybreak we drink it at nightfall

we drink it at noon in the morning we drink it at night

drink it and drink it

we are digging a grave in the sky it is ample to lie there

A man in the house he plays with the serpents he writes

he writes when the night falls to Germany your golden hair Margarete

he writes it and walks from the house the stars glitter he whistles his dogs up

he whistles his Jews out and orders a grave to be dug in the earth

he commands us strike up for the dance

Black milk of daybreak we drink you at night

we drink in the mornings at noon we drink you at nightfall

drink you and drink you

A man in the house he plays with the serpents he writes

he writes when the night falls to Germany your golden hair Margarete

Your ashen hair Shulamith we are digging a grave in the sky it is ample to lie there

He shouts stab deeper in earth you there and you others you sing and you play

he grabs at the iron in his belt and swings it and blue are his eyes

stab deeper your spades you there and you others play on for the dancing

Black milk of daybreak we drink you at nightfall

we drink you at noon in the mornings we drink you at nightfall

drink you and drink you

a man in the house your golden hair Margarete

your ashen hair Shulamith he plays with the serpents

He shouts play sweeter death's music death comes as a master from Germany

he shouts stroke darker the strings and as smoke you shall climb to the sky

then you'll have a grave in the clouds it is ample to lie there

Black milk of daybreak we drink you at night

we drink you at noon death comes as a master from Germany

we drink you at nightfall and morning we drink you and drink you

a master from Germany death comes with eyes that are blue

with a bullet of lead he will hit in the mark he will hit you

a man in the house your golden hair Margarete

he hunts us down with his dogs in the sky he gives us a grave

he plays with the serpents and dreams death comes as a master from Germany

your golden hair Margarete

your ashen hair Shulamith.

Willits Library

for Holocaust Remembrance Day, April 15

In the concentration camp Ravensbruk, an unknown prisoner wrote this on a piece of wrapping paper and left it on the body of a dead child:

O Lord

remember not only

the men and women of good will

but also those of ill will

But do not remember

all the suffering they have

inflicted on us,

Remember the fruits

we have wrought

thanks to this suffering…

Our comradeship

our loyalty

our humility, our courage

our generosity

the greatness of heart

which has grown out of all this

And when they come to judgment

let all the fruits

which we have borne

be their forgiveness.