Selections from Liberation Recalled

10

—Could you tell who were the SS and who
were Hungarians?
—Sure, the SS men were in uniforms.
They had these, uh, swastikas, on their clothes,
and the Hungarians were not the soldiers
or police—just regular people.
—But the Hungarian police were not
resisting? They were helping?
—They were cooperating, cooperating.
They were helping the Germans to get us
faster out.
—So then your whole family was put on
one train car?
—Yes, we were all together in one wagon,
in one train. But not just one family:
They pushed us all in there. But one day they
said: Okay, now we're gonna take you all.
And it was before Passover. My poor
mother got together the Passover
dishes for taking into the ghetto
because Passover's coming. That was like
April. Then, they didn't let us have dishes.
They let us have whatever clothes we had—
to put everything on—so we took nightgowns,
dresses. They didn't let us have any packages,
just like one suitcase, and we took that suitcase
with us and we went. And that train stopped
in Auschwitz. Everything was lighted up.
But we didn't see any people around,
just wires. The whole thing was wired around
and we saw these chimneys—that was the
crematorium. And the light was on.
We didn't know what the hell was going on
and when we came off the trains then the SS
men were there. They put the men and the boys
on one side and the women and children,
the girls, on another side. And my mother
had three little girls, the babies, so I
went there to help her pick up the little
girl—helping with my sister. The SS men
took away my sister, dropped her to
my mother. And they took my two other
sisters and myself in one spot, because
we were older so we can go to work.
And the other kids went on the one side
and they went all right away in the
crematorium.

14

—And by the first night, it was just you and
your two sisters?
—Yes, my mother and father were gone.
Then the next morning when we got up...
—This was still April?
—It was April, before Passover. Maybe
it was already Passover. But then
when we woke up, then each barrack—about
a thousand people was a barrack—each
had two ladies over us, Polish ladies.
Because they were there already so many
years. Two ladies had to take care of us
and then when we got up in the morning
we asked: “Where are my parents? Where can we
meet them?” And then the chimney was the flame
going out and they said, “They're in Himinlaga.”
“What do you mean Himinlaga?” That means
they're in Heaven. And there they're burning.
That's what they, she, told us. They were very
angry at us.
—I think you first told me that people didn't
believe her when she said that.
—No, nobody believed it. We thought she
was so mean. Because she was mean to us.
She was very angry at us. How could
intelligent people figuring without
a fight to come here? Why didn't you struggle . . . ,
put up a fight and don't come here?
We just, we just went literally like lambs. Because
we were promised to go to work. And we
never went to work. As we went in the
wagon—my father was in World War I,
He recognized the mountains through the little
window the train has, that these mountains are
Polish mountains. We aren't going to work
this way, we're going to Poland.
—So you thought you were going to Germany?
—We thought we were going to Germany
to work, and meantime we went to Poland.
Auschwitz was Poland.
—Had you heard of Auschwitz before?
—Never. No, no, nobody heard of Auschwitz.
We couldn't believe it. Who would believe that?

25

In the midst of early American modernism,
            35,000 workers were killed
            & over 700,000 injured
            in 1914's industrial accidents.
That year, more than 100 socialists
            elected local office
            by pure products
            of Oklahoma.
The Brooklyn Eagle fired Helen Keller
            after she self-declared socialist
            pointing out
            her physical limitations
as if deafness & blindness
            entered her life
            as bodily defense against
            ideological transformation.
In 1919, Seattle workers sustained a citywide strike
            nonviolently,
            about which
            Anise wrote in labor's paper:
“The businessmen / Don't understand
            That sort of weapon...
            It is your SMILE
            That is upsetting
Their reliance / On Artillery, brother!”
            Not many read Anise's poems anymore.
            And Seattle now renowned
            for grunge rock & coffee shops.
In 1924, KKK Nights of Abhorrent Cloth
            masked America
            with over 4.5 million
            white hoods.
In 1932, the Bonus Army came to D.C.
            imploring early depression-era payment
            of World War I bonuses
            already pledged:
twenty thousand vets were smacked back
            by McArthur, Eisenhower & Patton—the best
            military minds the U.S.
            could muster against its own.
Opposing the most elegant thuggery
            big business could buy,
            1.5 million U.S. unionists nonetheless
            went on strike 1934.
Since then wars have been fought—
            wars have been stopped.
            MLK's birthday declared a holiday—
            his radical democratic legacy quietly ignored.
Developing World materials and misery
            prop up the western wardrobe
            yet laughter & music become
            more internationalized than ever.
Despair/Desire, sorrow/hope, stenotopic/
            eurytopic—old stories witnessed
            in new ways. What is history
            if not a bit of wishful thinking?

34

—So, a lot of times the violence that
they gave was not explained?
—No, no, NO! NO! On purpose. Because he
was so mad they have to run away.
And she sewed those dresses. Because they had
to run away they went crazy. The SS
men probably went crazy. Why would they
give a reward of beating them up?
—So how did you feel when the British came?
—Oh, we were very happy! But then they
did a very stupid thing, the British.
Very stupid. Because we were very
hungry. Well, the Germans poisoned the water,
we shouldn't be able to even drink
the water.
—Before they left?
—Before they left, SS men poisoned the
water. They poisoned the water so we
couldn't drink. But whoever drank got very
bad diarrhea. And all the sicknesses.
I had a little bit, a little water.
But that's why I went into the hospital.
The stupid thing the British did—they were
so dumb—they made these big packages of
food with delicious meat, like canned food.
I never saw canned food in my life. Chicken
and food and everything and very salty.
And we didn't eat a little bit at a time.
We just ate everything and that's why
they were killed, lots of kids.
—People were killed?
—Because they ate everything and then they
had to drink the poisoned water and that's
how they died. And we were all very sick.
That made us even worse, sicker than we were.
That's what killed lots of them.

35

in “frame,” adrienne rich makes explicit point to situate her sub-
jective position, boston, 1979, standing just outside action frame
watching innocent undergraduate female lab student beaten by
police. such a compelling stylistic move, i vowed

to use the tactic in some future poem, so here i am, home in new
jersey, at desk, transcribing tapes w/ inexpensive handheld battery
recorder & laptop computer, flipping assorted historical books, tap-
ping lucky imagination's daily secretions, bad back propped

against foam lumbar roll, here in state still nicknamed after now-
extinct gardens, where famous contemporary fragrance now em-
anates midnight industrial elizabeth smokestack, where car window
serves as jersey turnpike's respiratory guard of last resort,

whitman's restplace, now curled barbed wire fence concrete cube
jailhouse directly 'cross street from good gray poet's final home,
state where first alleged “welfare reform” passed to deny increased
grants to welfare mothers' newly born children,

new scapegoating sippet sweeping the newt republican nation. on
plus side, first state introduce profound legislation mandating high-
school holocaust classes—when bill introduced, some senators
attempted amendatory inclusions, each press conferencing

a world genocidal lesson plan: contemporary bosnia, pol pot's
cambodia, stalinist russia, turkish armenian slaughter, all named,
all crucial instructions. yet no senator named even one genocide
directly or indirectly american-induced—no germy blanket,

smoking monster slaveship, burnt atomic bomb, book of the dead's
bhopal billows, vietnam's fiery children on the run, cancer's nuclear
atmospheric blasts & rotting plutonium soup cans threatening a
thousand generations, u.s. presidents whispering indonesia's

east timorous ears, latin american death squads southern-hospitality-
trained. as dad says, this country has truly done much good that needs
carrying on. quite true. yet part of poet's citizenly duties also the daily reminder,
democracy begins at home. the difficult decisions—

which suitcases to drop. paul revere riding through town sounding the
alarm. you ask, what is home? after eight years as housing advocate, my
reply still changes minute by minute. how many think home till exact
moment tornado rips the roof off? how many homes

have served as mere launching pads to cattle cars, cotton fields, broken
treaties, rickety boats navigating between lightning streak roars across
oceanic hurricane floors? in grapes of wrath, muley proclaims to tom &
preacher casey, “places where folks live is them folks,”

a humanity-defining protest shout, voiced just before joads forced to
ride those damn lying roads. yet, homeless, many rode those roads
with dignified humanity rubber cemented intact—what a different
world that was, when being shoved off land was a shock,

when disillusionment with modern america actually surprised. what
odd notion it would seem in contemporary novel that average char-
acters believe in a right to own their own land, today, when american
ceo's take salaries 150 times factory workers,

when 358 international billionaires own more wealth than 40% of the
planet, when blake's most attentive readers instinctually know that
plowed land forgives the plow but eventually is ceded to the plow's
corporate manufacturer. so, where was i? 2 a.m. home writing

this line, late 30's radical jewish atheist praising the infinite kabbalistic
splendor of the universe, the spacious world constantly coming,
extoling the sacred seed within, the brain's brain, we were born on this
earth to learn, each honest insight invigorates the breath of creation,

so here offering up subjective contradictions, believing we need respect
diverse histories yet transcend nationalisms & notions of pure identity.
opposed to mystical paradox as policy solution, yet knowing public
spiritual crisis real & relevant as housing food medical emergencies.

subconscious imagery has subverted too many activist meetings, where
difference between family & state not yet clear to much youthful
energetic ire. what happens after death still unsolved dilemma driving
millions to stressful early graves. yes, e. katz, okay to rest awhile

in the unknown. no more teleologies! neither to guarantee success
nor resigned to flubbed failure. the future unknowable—dependent
on human actions here on. admitting defeat beforehand no help and
non-sense. fuck adorno's anti-enlightenment pessimistic shit

that capital's culture industry will always co-opt our holiest visions,
his turning the dialectic on its side where it can kick & scream, but no
longer even potentially motor history along, his turning milk into
iron prison camp bars. they're winning—

i can admit that. for the moment, able to incorporize both tangible &
otherworldly dynamics, even innovative montage, manifold forms
once thought untouchable hip techniques, indeterminate styles lurk-
ing in incorruptible corners, waiting to pounce. as long as they win,

they will co-opt old forms or new. that's why the whole shebang needs
replanting, spring roots & all. as long as it means all have a say, i don't
care what a third way is called—democratic socialism, radical demo-
cracy, liberty equality fraternity, feminist anti-racist enlightened

mixed economic ecological cooperation, egalitarian democracy, sim-
ple freedom, compassion in action, blue horse, red green pepper—
probably different names, some catchy & new, for different contexts.
but let's begin working to win, nonviolently as possible.

martin luther king: a nation that continues to spend more money on
defense than on programs of social uplift is approaching spiritual
death. doctor, is there time?—to save the spiritbody's pulse, yes. maybe
historically-contingent universal values

will satisfy the skeptical & safeguard our well of diverse earthly delights?
ah mandela, in this often disheartening world—full of rising zhiron-
ovskys, karadziks, l'pens, dukes—your election a stirring rebuke to
political fatalism and tribute to principled prismatic persistence,

an anticipatory illumination & verification of hope. from his grave,
i hear ernst bloch applaud. what can be imagined can be made real:
poetry prefiguring the popular front, bringing the not-yet into the room.
that's where i am. for the moment fending off destructive life patterns,

but not mistake-free. it took awhile to learn let pleasure-armor down
w/o defeating dionysus in a gin mill round. now done alcohol self-
defeat mechanism & enjoying occasional red wine toasts. i don't have
walt whitman's ability to be everywhere at once,

but have tried to form a decent set of cosmic eyes. my dad grew up during
the depression. my mom is a holocaust survivor. i wouldn't be here if not
for uncle sam. in the next race, i'm betting Unrealized Possibilities and
Unspent Dreams. now i gotta go. driving,

with lyrical instincts & obsolete maps,
                      pulled steady through this magnetic
           & hazardous spiral of time

Eliot Katz 1994-1997