Black milk of daybreak we drink it at evening
we drink it at midday and morning we drink it at night
we drink and we drink
we shovel a grave in the air there you won't lie too cramped
A man lives in the house he plays with his vipers he writes
he writes when it grows dark to Deutschland your golden hair Margareta
he writes it and steps out of doors and the stars are all sparkling, he whistles his hounds to come close
he whistles his Jews into rows has them shovel a grave in the ground
he commands us to play up for the dance.
Black milk of daybreak we drink you at night
we drink you at morning and midday we drink you at evening
we drink and we drink
A man lives in the house he plays with his vipers he writes
he writes when it grows dark to Deutschland your golden hair Margareta
Your ashen hair Shulamith we shovel a grave in the air there you won't lie too cramped
He shouts jab the earth deeper you lot there you others sing up and play
he grabs for the rod in his belt he swings it his eyes are so blue
jab your spades deeper you lot there you others play on for the dancing
Black milk of daybreak we drink you at night
we drink you at midday and morning we drink you at evening
we drink and we drink
a man lives in the house your goldenes Haar Margareta
your aschenes Haar Shulamith he plays his vipers
He shouts play death more sweetly this Death is a master from Deutschland
he shouts scrape your strings darker you'll rise then as smoke to the sky
you'll have a grave then in the clouds there you won't lie too cramped
Black milk of daybreak we drink you at night
we drink you at midday Death is a master aus Deutschland
we drink you at evening and morning we drink and we drink
this Death is ein Meister aus Deutschland his eye it is blue
he shoots you with shot made of lead shoots you level and true
a man lives in the house your goldenes Haar Margarete
he looses his hounds on us grants us a grave in the air
he plays with his vipers and daydreams der Tod ist ein Meister aus Deutschland
dein goldenes Haar Margarete
dein aschenes Haar Shulamith
(Übersetzung von John Felstiner, in: Paul Celan - Poet, Survivor, Jew. New Haven 1995.) (Provided by Professor)
This is most likely the most famous poem about the Holocaust, and certainly Paul Celan's most famous.
The Lead Plates at the Rom Press - Avrom Sutzkever
Arrayed at night, like fingers stretch through bars
To clutch the lit air of freedom,
We made for the press plates, to seize
The lead plates at the Rom printing works.
We were dreamers, we had to be soldiers,
And melt down, for our bullets, the spirit of the lead.
At some timeless native lair
We unlocked the seal once more.
Shrouded in shadow, by the glow of a lamp,
Like Temple ancients dipping oil
Into candelabrums of festal gold,
So, pouring out line after lettered line, did we.
Letter by melting letter the lead,
Liquefied bullets, gleamed with thoughts:
A verse from Babylon, a verse from Poland,
Seething, flowing into the one mold.
Now must Jewish grit, long concealed in words,
Detonate the world in a shot!
Who in Vilna Ghetto has beheld the hands
Of Jewish heroes clasping weapons
Has beheld Jerusalem in its throes,
The crumbling of those granite walls;
Grasping the words smelted into lead,
Conning their sounds by heart.
Vilna Ghetto, September 12, 1943
Translated by Neal Kozodoy. Provided by Professor Adair.
This poem by Avrom Sutzkever immortalizes the resistance in Vilna, of which Sutzkever was a part. It describes how the resistance fighters were finally forced to melt down the famous Vilna printing presses for bullets - in a way, they were fighting back with words, just as he is doing with his poetry.
Vilna was considered an artistic hub for Jewish arts and sciences in its day, and because of this, it was a specially emphasized target for the Nazis. It's important to remember that the definition of genocide is not just a destruction of a race and of a people, but also of the culture of those people. Destroying the art and culture of the Jewish people was just another way that they were systematically dehumanized.
“To write a poem after Auschwitz is barbaric … It has become impossible to write poetry today.”
– Theodor Adorno, German philosopher.
To witness a tragedy like the Holocaust is indescribable; this is a core problem that great writers such as Elie Wiesel and Primo Levi, among others, have encountered over the years. How do you describe something so terrible, so unbelievable, that it defies all logic?
And yet, it happened, and the vast majority of those who went through it did not live to tell their stories and their experiences. This leaves the small amount of survivors as the only ones who can give testimony, who can even attempt to explain to the rest of us what it was like, and what they went through.
Human understanding of such great tragedy such as the Holocaust can often begin with the power of art. It's a way to process the horrific crimes that occurred, and also a way to remember, a way to pay tribute, in one of the only way we can; by learning what happened, by learning how not to repeat it, and by taking on the burden of being witnesses ourselves. It is with this in mind that I begin this project, to share some of the powerful art of the Holocaust with whomever wants to witness it.
