PLACES 2

JUST A SHORT WALK

Auschwitz-Birkenau 12 September 1995

I

On some days here,
When it is almost silent,
You can sense the terror.
Almost hear the rattling trucks
Screeching to a stop
And doors clattering open
To coarse, impatient commands.
Almost see the dark train load
Of bent, shadow-shapes,
Tumbling into the night,
Bewildered by the noise.
Almost hear their whispered fears
Hanging on the frozen air.
This is journey's end.
It is a short walk
Just a short walk.
The starlight punctures the sky
As the chosen people,
Promised to be countless-
Like those stars-
Are numbered here.
There are only four million,
Shuffling and staggering
From here to eternity.
Just a short walk.

II

Here hell burst through,
With gas and flames and smoke
And spilt it's festering puss
Into our world.
And fifty years later?
Despite this warm sunlit day
This place is still cold and dark.
Its black evil horror,
Drives long and hard
Into the mind and heart
Until its deep piercing,
Screams silent and angry curses.
There is no escape
From the demons.
Just a short walk.
Once, this chaos of bricks,
Fractured concrete
And twisted metal,
Was the Death Machine.
Now it is, paradoxically,
A sacred place
Where lie prayers
Of candles, ribbons and flowers.
And here a piece of paper,
Torn from some notebook
And caught by the warm breeze
(Or maybe ghostly breath),
Rests by the rails.
An anonymous petition-
O Mensch bewein
dein Sünde groß!!
Just a short walk.

_______________________

O humans weep, your sin is great.

TOMB

My crouching curiosity
Took me through
The open entrance
Of the stone tomb.
Once filled black
With dark eternity,
The warm sunlight now spills
Into the rock-white space
Of patient chisel marks.
I was nervous,
As if desecrating
Those who had lain here
Still and shrouded.
I thought I heard
The whispered Hebrew
Of ancient prayers
And names as old as the world.
Outside in the warm sun
I left a small stone
Balancing on the marker post
As my kaddish.

AIR TRAFFIC CONTROL

It is summer
And the holiday flights
Take to the sky
Above the garden
Where I sit.
Hoverflies ferry
From petal to petal,
Whilst the simple,
Private flies
Cavort among the daisies.
Two flapping butterflies
Perform their acrobatics
As a vintage lacewing
Does its fragile circuit.
A wasp in military markings
Patrols the catmint.
A jumbo bee takes off,
Lifting her laden body
Into the sun.

All poems and photographs [unless otherwise acknowledged] 
 © Bryce Cooke  All rights reserved

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