As Pesach approaches, and as we go into a ritual dinner-feast that reflects our freedom of life, mind and being, we have to remember those who're not. We have to allow any person who wants to join - join, because as poor as that person may be, thus not being able to afford the religious necessities that one must purchase for the feast, he is a free person and is one of us.
In the Talmud there are stories that tell of great, rich rabbis who told their "slaves" (as the Jewish term states - they are more like high-rank servants whom you treat with utmost respect) to sit with them at the table and be one of their own. "We're all free tonight", they said. "Let us be together as one and celebrate this night of our freedom."
Nonetheless, our movement to freedom and celebration of the tide in which we are elevated beyond our usual measure is bound with the reflection of our past as slaves. "In every generation and generation, a man must see himself as if he left Egypt", says the Haggadah; and it is not a plain statement. I see it as if we have an obligation to remember all the times where we were not free to speak or think our minds.
It is not for nothing reminiscent of the Holocaust. This is thrice as true to someone, like me, whose existence would have probably been otherwise determined whether or not the Holocaust were to happen. Many stories were said about the "last Sedder" they had on Passover. The last time the people had their feeling of freedom within the contraints. A little like Yoga, you find the comfort betwixt the strains.
And I thought of all the horrors in the Holocaust, I thought of all the tales my grandmother told me, all the things I heard on TV on the Holocause remembrance day, how history and general European politics brought doom unto the peoples that were hunted down by the Nazis. I thought, and wrote.
A Dying Flame
I said a word to them, none had replied, Their eyes, ajar, are cursing all in sight; There is no counting after one has died.
A person killed and stripped out of his hide, Was skinned beside his wife, put up a fight; I said a word to them, none had replied.
The officer had rules not to abide The Moral Code, but rather kill with might; There is no counting after one has died.
Indone, a massive grave – those who complied Upon a bridge to bond together tight: I said a word to them, none had replied.
Their bodies are now swept along the tide, Their souls – away to Heaven are in flight; There is no counting after one has died.
The aftermath; and generals had lied, Enshrouding truth, not shedding it in light. I said a word to them, none had replied, There is no counting after one had died.
***
Even Dan Masterson liked the refrains in this one: "The form you've chosen is one of the most difficult we have. You've handled it pretty well: the iambic is intact, the thrust is formal and reserved, and the two refrain lines are somewhat memorable."
It's no Dylan Thomas, but the idea of "After the first death, there is no other", and "I shall not murder the mankind of her going with a grave truth, nor blaspheme down the stations of her breath with any further elegy of innocence and youth" is strong here. And there is only one word that can capture so callistically that indescribably tragedy:
Remember.
[ April 11, 2006, 04:29 AM: Message edited by: Jonathan Howard ]
Posted by ClaudiaTherese (Member # 923) on :
("Indone?" Maybe "undone" or "intone?")
Thank you, Jonathan. That is excellent.
Posted by Tante Shvester (Member # 8202) on :
Nice to hear from you again, Jonathan. I like this one the best of all your submissions here.
Posted by KarlEd (Member # 571) on :
That is pretty impressive, Jonathan. It's very hard to do even a passable villanelle, and this one is better than passable, IMO.
Posted by starLisa (Member # 8384) on :
It has the feel of a Tisha B'Av Kinah.
Posted by Jonathan Howard (Member # 6934) on :
Indone = done in. I know, colloquial and all... But still.
Thank you all. Villanelles are easy to write shoddily, far easier than shoddy sonnets. To write them well takes a lot of energy, far more than sonnets or even sestinas.
I guess two years make you better in poetry... If it feels like a Kinnah, then I've done my duty. Morbidness...
Posted by romanylass (Member # 6306) on :
That is wonderfully written, Jonathon.
Posted by Jonathan Howard (Member # 6934) on :
Merci! Posted by Earendil18 (Member # 3180) on :
Very nice especially when you just got done cleaning out chametz. Posted by Brinestone (Member # 5755) on :
Nice.
Posted by Goody Scrivener (Member # 6742) on :
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