“My father looked around him and cursed and spoke of the war, of society, of the misery that would have become even greater, of the hatred, and of the fact that nothing was worth anything because everything would be destroyed. He said that it was all useless, and he laughed nervously and looked at my mother, asking her if perhaps she expected her Messiah to save us.” Edith Bruck (from Chi ti ama così, Marsiglio Editore, 1974)
The poem is dedicated to Edith Bruck’s mother, whom she lost in the gas chambers in Auschwitz.
#lestweforget #holocaust #peace
| Quel pensiero Edith Bruck Quel pensiero di seppellirti te l’hanno tolto con almeno trent’anni di anticipo! Abbiamo avuto una lunga festa d’addio nei vagoni stivati dove si pregava dove si facevano i bisogni in fila dentro un secchio che non profumava del tuo lillà di maggio e anche il mio Dio Sole ha chiuso gli occhi in quel luogo di arrivo il cui nome oggi irrita le coscienze, dove io e te rimaste sole dopo una selezione mi desti la prova d’amore sfidando i colpi di una belva umana anche tu madre leonessa a carponi per supplicare iddio maligno di lasciarti almeno l’ultima la più piccola dei tuoi tanti figli. Senza sapere la tua e la mia destinazione per troppo amore volevi la mia morte come la tua sotto la doccia da cui usciva un coro di topi chiusi in trappola. Hai pensato alla tua piccola con quel frammento di coscienza risvegliata dal colpo del portoncino di ferro con te dentro mio pane amato mio pane bruciato! O prima ancora sapone paralume concime nelle mani parsimoniose di cittadini che amano i cani i poeti la musica la buona letteratura e hanno nostalgia dei familiari lontani. | That thought Edith Bruck That thought of burying yourself was taken from you at least thirty years too soon! We had a long farewell party in the packed boxcars where we prayed where in a line we relieved ourselves in a bucket that did not smell of your lilac in May and even my Sun God closed his eyes at that place of arrival whose name today irritates consciences, where I and you left alone after a selection you gave me proof of your love braving the blows of a human beast even you mother lioness on hands and knees to beseech malevolent god to let you keep at least your last the youngest of your many children. Without knowing your and my destination for too much love you wanted my death like yours in the shower from which came a chorus of mice caught in a trap. You thought of your little one with that fragment of conscience awakened by the crash of the iron gate with you inside my beloved bread my burnt bread! Or earlier still soap lampshade compost in the parsimonious hands of citizens who love dogs poets music fine literature and long for their distant relatives. Translation ©Matilda Colarossi 2021 |
Edith Bruck was born in Hungary. After being deported to a Nazi concentration camp as a child, she lived in numerous countries until in 1954 she settled in Rome. There she married Nelo Risi. She is the author of novels, short stories, poetry collections and three films, all written in Italian because, as she stated, in her own languange every word carried an unbearable weight…for example, bread: her mother .
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