Fascist Nations
Shortly after the war of 1914-1918 the first fascist nations
emerged in Europe In those nations
the sun rose and set at the usual time shedding light
on homestead roofs and hills' green slopes Cattle
mooed gently in cowsheds Mothers kissed
their children's foreheads to wake them at dawn Fathers returning from
work
with cheerful weariness in their bones smelled
the smoke from their hearths and after dinner
fell asleep in armchairs or tinkered intrepidly or
practiced their music with a passion Children
played at stickball at hopscotch and hide-and-seek Little girls
sprouted breasts and overnight
little girls turned into big girls filled with whisper
and murmur like trees in the woods and sudden giggles the sound of which
made boys' throats go dry On summer evenings
curtains lit from within showed shadows meeting
parting and meeting again tenderly Whereas in winter
lovers inhaled the steam of each other's breath in snowy gardens And
one might also mention cats arching their backs sparrows
soaring up above the pavement old women on their porches flowers cut and potted
nurses
taking patients' temperatures people sweeping streets
with brooms One might mention drying
wood wind in a thicket damp furrows in a field And one might also
call to mind many particulars bearing Witness that
For there were no signs on the sky mournful comets
burning bushes water turned to blood For
life went on as always Hence there truly were in those nations
many ordinary people and good people and people
who knew nothing and to whom
it never occurred and who
didn't consider themselves accessories and who
had nothing to do with it and who didn't
even read the papers or read them carelessly caught up
in thoughts of what they had to get done
fix the leaking roof get the shoes
repaired propose have
a beer mix the paint light a candle and who
really didn't see the fear in a neighbor's eyes didn't
hear the trembling in travelers' voices asking the way didn't
see the difference didn't hear
an inner voice or if
they had their doubts there was nothing they could do and they took
comfort
saying At least we
aren't doing anything wrong we live the way we always did Which was true
And yet these were
fascist nations
Roommates
The roommates I had in my hospital bed
were very nice people
But now they are dead
Mr. Wisniewski in the bed on my left
who had one lung removed and believed
that the other one had only to learn
how to breathe and he wouldn't wheeze
Mr. Liebchen in the bed on my right
who was ashamed of being bedridden
and fed with a spoon, and also of the tube that
ran from his blanket to a see-through bottle, and who told us
how he'd been driving his truck for two solid days
Mr. Jastrzebski in the opposite bed
who cracked jokes Doctor why don't you just admit
that in my gut there's a monster with pincers
rhymes with "answer," get it, doc?
I remember things about them And I remember
myself with them For example once
all day I told them stories from the books of a certain writer
who had just been denounced by the party paper
And they listened transfixed
It wasn't long ago But now they're dead
Only Mr. Wasilewski from the bed by the window
is still alive I see him from time to time by my house
and we stop for a minute His heart still bothers him
but he's back to work I guess it pays
(he says) to stick it out till I retire
Well and I'm alive
The Padlock Speaks
(From the sequence "Diary of Internment, II")
Wake up I'm your morning bird
my tender rasping rubs your eyes
my rusty rays illuminate your prayers
You've been a good boy Now you may take a step
but be careful I can jam at any time
Don't make my gravity any harder than it is
after all I'm only iron and can barely hold my own
Today I have to hear your confession
dictate your letter home
count your movements and your glances
make sure nothing's been concealed
Learn how to read me my dear scholar
this will help you make it through another day
And don't let your dream try to escape
The Belly of Barbara N.
(From the "Diary of Internment, II")
In this dark warm shelter
with its vault carefully shaped
from the flesh and blood of this young woman
he's hiding
from the padlock's hoarse pursuit
from the yellow sign barring the way
from the preying pitfall of despair
from the glowing cinder tip of hatred
he the prisoner waiting to be born
conceived between his father's release
and the arrest of his mother
not entered on the list of internees
the future citizen and soldier of this country
What a Poem Is Allowed
(From the "Diary of Internment, II")
Poem be careful
there are some things you can't do
You may
writhe in pain
gnash your teeth in shame
remember evil
You may not
make a note of someone's kindness
well-wishing
help
Kindness will be branded
well-wishing will be punished
The one who helped
will be betrayed
and perish helplessly
Translated by Stanislaw Baranczak and Clare Cavanagh
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