ASF in Dachau: On the way back from Münster...

Tuesday, 26 October 2010

On the way back from Münster...

I stopped off in Cologne for a couple of hours to visit the Cathedral, which is possibly my favourite Cathedral in Europe, aesthetically speaking that is. The sun came out, which offered some fantastic shots for my camera, which valiently fought on until the battery finally died. Judge for yourself

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In 1945, when the keepers cried
Josef Stein, poet, came out of Dachau
Like half a resurrection, his other half
eighty pounds still in their invisible grave.
Slowly then the mouth opened at first
a broth, and then a medication, and then
a diet, and all in time and the knitting mercies,
the showing bones were buried back in flesh,
and the miracle was finished. Josef Stein
man and poet, rose, walked, and could even
beget, and did, and later died of other causes
only partly traceable to his first death.
He noted - with some surprise at first -
that strangers could not tell he had died once.
He returned to his post in the library, drank his beer,
published three poems in a French magazine,

and was very kind to the son who at last was his. In the spent of one night he wrote three propositions:
That Hell is the denial of the ordinary. That nothing lasts.
That clean white paper waiting under a pen

is the gift beyond history and hurt and heaven.

- The Gift by John Ciardi