This poem is based on a story from a village in the north of Holland. It is in response to a university assignment about the vicarious representation of trauma in war. Ruby has yet to submit it, so she is very appreciative of any critical comments you may have.
In this stack I can smell the rats.
They were in here with me before.
That’s why mother made me mittens,
because my fingertips were bitten
as they rummaged for aardapplen.*
In this stack I can smell the rats.
They were in here with me before.
That’s why mother made me mittens,
because my fingertips were bitten
as they rummaged for aardapplen.*
The straw it keeps me warmer
than I’d be in frozen fields.
It’s humid with my breathing
The stench it gets me heaving
As mine mingles with the rodents’.
than I’d be in frozen fields.
It’s humid with my breathing
The stench it gets me heaving
As mine mingles with the rodents’.
Their men know we keep these straw stacks
to stop the ground from freezing.
Growing the little food we have;
My mother’s feeding twelve.
But this tuber’s getting wizened.
to stop the ground from freezing.
Growing the little food we have;
My mother’s feeding twelve.
But this tuber’s getting wizened.
I can smell those Krauts
like I smell my cabbage breath.
They’re looking for new recruits:
Dutch farm boys for Hitler youth,
and shooting those who’re craven.
like I smell my cabbage breath.
They’re looking for new recruits:
Dutch farm boys for Hitler youth,
and shooting those who’re craven.
Each day I hope he’ll leave me.
But I never know for sure.
I cannot trust my father -
he became a Kraut informer.
He shows no prejudice for kin.
But I never know for sure.
I cannot trust my father -
he became a Kraut informer.
He shows no prejudice for kin.
Time winds in stagnant moments
and I play with straws and light.
But in this steaming mound that’s stinking
a boy he gets to thinking
about how he’ll soon get even.
and I play with straws and light.
But in this steaming mound that’s stinking
a boy he gets to thinking
about how he’ll soon get even.
He comes back every night
with rations and wretched coins.
He stays to get his fark
as I scavenge in the dark
for pilfered food and kindling.
with rations and wretched coins.
He stays to get his fark
as I scavenge in the dark
for pilfered food and kindling.
He’s as weedy as a weasel,
but I've had to snap the necks of lambs.
Now I’m six foot four
I’m as broad as a barn door
from my mother’s farmer breeding.
but I've had to snap the necks of lambs.
Now I’m six foot four
I’m as broad as a barn door
from my mother’s farmer breeding.
I recognise my father
because I am like him in revolt.
I can hear his breathing
And again I get to heaving,
but I’ll take him in the open.
because I am like him in revolt.
I can hear his breathing
And again I get to heaving,
but I’ll take him in the open.
I belt out what they name him
so he thinks he’s up for work.
I wait for him outside
in this gripping chill, blindside.
No shelter from the coping.
so he thinks he’s up for work.
I wait for him outside
in this gripping chill, blindside.
No shelter from the coping.
He gives that customary salute
as he steps outside the door.
Then he sees my form and knows my ruse,
puts his face in mine and yells abuse,
not knowing how this son's growing.
as he steps outside the door.
Then he sees my form and knows my ruse,
puts his face in mine and yells abuse,
not knowing how this son's growing.
These expansive hands’av snapped the necks of weasels
and they’ve forked rats in the hay.
Now when the Krauts come for kartoffel ~
they can stick my father’s offal,
and know they’ve got their man.
and they’ve forked rats in the hay.
Now when the Krauts come for kartoffel ~
they can stick my father’s offal,
and know they’ve got their man.
* aardapplen -Dutch for potato
~ kartoffel - German for potato
09.05.11 (trauma and war) ~ kartoffel - German for potato
if you want to see the result of holland and war just read (after a stiff drink) melbourne blogger sixthinline. her older sibling died of starvation before they got to australia. whole family suffering permanent trauma. I can't go there anymore.
ReplyDeleteI have a friend 85, highly literate, a descendant of the Herman Hesse family, and her stories of coping in Estonia/Prussia as a child during WW2 and as the young bride of a spy after, are harrowing. her father was a WW1 army officer and her mother was an aristocrat who had no household skills at all and did not cope after he was killed. everything to do with any war - the american war on Vietnam, WW1 or WW2, just paralyses me.
ReplyDeleteHi Ann,
ReplyDeleteYou are so fortunate to have a rich and interesting network of friends.
I know what you mean about the shock from those heinous stories. It is difficult to understand what we can be reduced to, and how we drag ourselves through it.
I am looking forward to having some time after this semester is over to reading for pleasure, but before then I hope to read sixthinline. From the title I am already forming a perspective of the content ...
Thanks for visiting Ann. See you around the blogs!
xx
Hi Ann,
ReplyDeleteNow that my assignments are submitted I have had a chance to look at the blog you recommended http://sixthinline.blogspot.com
It has been an interesting read.
Thank you,
xx