the stories the survivors · 2017. 4. 5. · in the haunting poem, us two, nina cassian conveys the...

SONGS FOR THE BETRAYED WORLDTHE LIFE & DEATH ORCHESTRA

The World Betrayed1 NEVER 4.00

2 LOVE IN A COLD WORLD 5.22

3 THIS WAY FOR THE GAS, LADIES & GENTLEMEN 12.30

4 AUSCHWITZ 1987 1.53

5 PIGTAIL 4.18

6 BE HAPPY 1.24

7 JACOB’S JIG 1.15

The Stories8 FIVE MEN 5.01

9 KLARA’S ESCAPE 7.50

10 US TWO 3.31

11 HYMN TO A WOMAN UNDERINTERROGATION 0.51

12 DEATHFUGUE 3.49

13 VICTOR JARA OF CHILE 5.07

14 FOR RACHEL:CHRISTMAS 1965 3.40

The Survivors15 THE SURVIVOR 2.11

16 NIGHT EXCERPT FROM NIGHT 0.59

17 AGAIN 3.49

18 TOURISTS 1.40

19 JOSEF & SARA’S WALTZ 1.26

20 NEVER REPRISE 4.00

21 SLEEP 2.32

The songs on this album are principally about theHolocaust, an event unparalleled in human history.Unparalleled, because although there have been manyevils and many genocides, never before had a modernstate planned to kill every person of a particulargroup, turning race into a crime.

The Holocaust signifies the death of millionsof human beings, in the main Jews, who were killed inbarbaric ways by the Nazis and their collaboratorsduring Hitler’s evil regime which extended overEurope between 1933 and 1945.

The Holocaust also signifies the experiencesof Jews and non-Jews who survived the horror, butwhose lives were unalterably changed and who con-tinue to grieve through more than one generation.For many, it will take lifetimes for the horror andgrieving to abate. Testimonies by survivors displaycountless painful and conflicting emotions.

Sadly, the twentieth century has been themost violent ever. For as well as the Holocaust, it hasseen more barbarous acts than any medieval century.In truth, the world has been betrayed.

Perhaps it is only through the testimonies ofindividuals that we can truly appreciate that the mil-lions of people who have been killed in acts of geno-cide, represent unique individuals: brothers, sisters,mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, friends and neigh-bours. In literature and poetry, we can come closerto recognising the shared humanity of those who haveperished, and those who survived.

A few years ago, I was given a book of poemslargely about the Holocaust. The book was The Poetry ofSurvival edited by Daniel Weissbort. Some of the poemsso moved me that I set them to music. Pigtail, Five Men,Deathfugue and Us Two were the first poems I set. Thepoems led me to want to know more about theHolocaust and so I researched and read and spoke topeople about the Holocaust as much as I could. Out of

that research came this work. This album contains someof the greatest writing ever, by some of the greatest writ-ers of the 20th Century, including Yehuda Amichai,TadeuszBorowski, Kevin Carey, Nina Cassian, Paul Celan,Zbigniew Herbert, Reiner Kunze, Micheline Maurel,Czeslaw Milosz,Adrian Mitchell,Tadeusz Rózewicz, HildaSchiff, Elie Wiesel and Adam Zych.

In the main I have set poems to music,although there are two pieces based on prose. BeHappy is taken from Micheline Maurel’s book,Ravensbrück, while This Way for the Gas, Ladies andGentlemen, by Tadeusz Borowski, is adapted by AngiMariani and myself. Early on, I met composer MarkJolyon Sinclair, known to all as Bim, and he workedclosely with me on the work. He brought a numberof his own compositions to the complete work, plushe arranged more or less everything, with some helpfrom Herbie Flowers who arranged a lot of therhythm sections. We were helped significantly by theimmense skill of the musicians who became The Lifeand Death Orchestra.

Many people believe any portrayal of theHolocaust is misguided. How can you express theinexpressible? The German critic, Theodor Adornosaid, “After Auschwitz, poetry is barbaric”, but formany others there is a greater imperative, the need togive voice to the feelings of anger and despair at theunspeakable horror.

In making this album, we questioned ourintentions and our approach, and confronted many ofthe debates about art representing the Holocaust.Why have we used music? Why have we producedmusic that is intended to move or be uplifting? Whyhave we produced music that describes the graphicevil? Why have we related the Holocaust to other actsof genocide? What you will find is many messages inthe words of the songs, many in the words of sur-vivors. But simply, we say: Never shall we forget. Never

must we forget. Let there be no more camps.And wesay it in our musical language.

Czeslaw Milosz described this impulse best inhis great poem,“Campo Dei Fiori”,

Those dying here, the lonelyforgotten by the world,our tongue becomes for themthe language of an ancient planet.Until, when all is legend andmany years have passed,on a new Campo dei Fiorirage will kindle at a poet’s word.

- taken from the poem, “Campo Dei Fiori” (on the destruction ofthe Warsaw Ghetto) - Czeslaw Milosz,Warsaw, 1943

ABOUT THE WRITERSThis work contains writings by some of the greatestwriters of the 20th Century. Tadeusz Borowski’sAuschwitz stories are masterpieces of world litera-ture.Although a survivor of Auschwitz, Borowski diedby his own hand, by gas in 1951 in Warsaw.

Elie Wiesel, another survivor of bothAuschwitz and Buchenwald won the Nobel Prize in1986 for his unforgettable work, Night, and one of thekey passages is narrated here.Tadeusz Rózewicz is oneof the most respected Eastern European poets andwe have adapted two of his great poems,The Survivorand Pigtail. Micheline Maurel survived Ravensbrückconcentration camp, and then wrote her book,Ravensbrück, in which she wrote as a plea to the out-side world,“Be happy, millions of people envy you.”

Two other great Eastern European poets areincluded, Zbigniew Herbert and Reiner Kunze, both ofwhose works were banned in their own countries.Zbigniew Herbert’s first collection, A Chord of Lightcould not be published in Poland until after Stalin’s

death in 1956; and Reiner Kunze’s work was firstbanned in East Germany in 1968 when he publiclyprotested against the invasion of Czechoslovakia.Herbert lived all over Europe and America, and Kunzelater resettled in West Germany.

In the haunting poem, Us Two, Nina Cassianconveys the permanence and strength of love in just 5lines. Paul Celan, has achieved worldwide renown withhis six volumes of poetry published in his lifetime, andthree more since his death in 1970. Celan was Jewishbut his native language was German, and thereforelanguage became a complex and involved part of hiswork, as can be read in Deathfugue. In the poem,Auschwitz, 1987, Adam Zych describes the enduringhorror of that place, in his depiction of a visit toAuschwitz over 40 years after the mass murders.Auschwitz remains a terrifying and chilling place.

For many years a schoolteacher, YehudaAmichai teaches us all a salutary lesson about what isimportant, in his insightful poem, Tourists. AdrianMitchell is one of the UK’s most talented writers,writing in many different mediums, but most keenly,poetry.We include his poem,Victor Jara of Chile sim-ply because it powerfully depicts the world betrayed,a gentle and heroic man destroyed by cruelty. Thepoem, Again, by the UK writer, Kevin Carey, echoesmany of the questions raised by the above writers andwidens the focus from the horrors of Dachau, toother acts of genocide in the 20th century.

In this booklet, we include excerpts from theworks of Primo Levi, Ruth Altbeker Cyprys, EvaFogelman, Gerda Weissmann Klein and CzeslawMilosz.The Jewish-Italian writer, Primo Levi, wrote hisfamous prose work, If This is a Man, in 1958, about hisexperiences at Auschwitz, and this was one of the firstbooks to be read by a worldwide readership.

Eva Fogelman’s book, is the definitive book onrescuers of Jews during the Holocaust. Both Ruth

Altbeker Cyprys and Gerda Weissmann Klein providea unique view of this darkest period of history.As canbe read from the excerpts included, their accounts arememorable and heartbreaking testaments of courage.Czeslaw Milosz was awarded the Nobel Prize forLiterature in 1980 and has written many poems onthe Holocaust which are included in his CollectedPoems.

Many of the poems and excerpts used havebeen translated into English. We are indebted to thetranslators of these works. The translators areBarbara Vedder for This Way for the Gas, Ladies andGentlemen; Hilda Schiff for Auschwitz, 1987; AdamCzerniawski for Pigtail and The Survivor; Margaret SSummers for Be Happy (excerpt from Ravensbrück);Czeslaw Milosz for Five Men; Ewald Osers for HymnTo A Woman Under Interrogation; John Felstiner forDeathfugue; Glenda Abramson & Tudor Parfitt forTourists, and Margitt Lehbert for the profile ofZbigniew Herbert.

ABOUT THE ARTISTSThe picture on the front cover is a watercolour by Arnold Daghani, paint-ed whilst inside the Mikhailowka forced labour camp, 1 January 1943. Itis dedicated to his wife Nanino wishing her a Happy New Year.

The picture on the back cover of the booklet is by RalphFreeman, entitled Rosina & Carlos IV (1940).

The photograph on the middle pages of the booklet is byDonald Woodman and depicts the view of ramp at Birkenau whereselections took place.

ARNOLD DAGHANIArnold Daghani came from a German-speaking Jewishfamily in Suczawa, Bukovina, now Suceava in Romania.He died in 1985 in Hove, UK. In 1987, a substantialcollection of around 6,000 of his works includingdrawings, paintings, collages, folios, sketchbooks and

albums were given to the University of Sussex, enter-ing the archives of the Centre for German-JewishStudies in 1997.

His many drawings and writings document hisexperiences in the Mikhailowka forced labour camp in1942-43, from where he and his wife escaped only afew months before the camp was liquidated by theNazis. Characteristic of Daghani’s work is a selectionand presentation of words and images, but often with-out overt comment. As he wrote, “I have preferredsetting out the facts to interpreting them. I have pro-vided plenty of nails. May others hammer them in.”The Centre for German-Jewish Studies hasearned international acclaim for its study of German-Jewish social, cultural and political history. TheCentre’s main aim is to investigate the contribution ofGerman-speaking Jewish communities to modernEuropean civilisation.

RALPH FREEMANRalph Freeman was born in London in 1945. HisJewish parents escaped Hitler’s Germany betweenthe Nuremburg racial laws of 1938 and the outbreakof World War Two. After studying at St Martin’s andHarrow Schools of Art, Freeman worked as a jazzpianist, artist and designer in London, Hamburg andFrankfurt and now lives in St Ives.

Rosina & Carlos IV (1940) - mixed media oncanvas, is taken from the exhibition Foundations andFragments. This ongoing series of collages uses pri-vate ephemera that belonged to the artist’s familyand links them to their experience of war and life aspersecuted people. The work is grounded in thestory of European Jewry in the period of the ThirdReich, but relates to how racism continues to trans-form innocent people into refugees.

DONALD WOODMANDonald Woodman was the main photographer on TheHolocaust Project, an exhibition and book by one ofAmerica’s leading artists, Judy Chicago. His pho-tographs of concentration camps today are over-whelmingly sad and evocative.

ABOUT THE ORCHESTRAThe Life & Death Orchestra comprises some of thebest musicians I’ve ever met. Bim Sinclair is a bril-liant composer, performer and producer in boththe classical and pop worlds. Herbie Flowers is‘‘one of the world’s finest bass players’’ accordingto the Guiness Encyclopaedia Of Popular Music andhe brings with him many of his regular compatriotsincluding his regular partner in rhythm DaveTrigwell on drums.Also he brought with him, multi-instrumentalists, Nick Pynn and Tom Arnold, playinga range of instruments: fiddle, accordion, mandolin,tabla, bazouki and many more plus Tom adds a veryun-folky hammond organ on some tracks. IanHamer, one of Britain’s top jazz trumpeters, con-tributes on Never (Reprise). Mark Allen of coolcontinental band Manos brought his skills on zitherand Spanish guitar while Big Bob Taylor plays all theother guitars, including heart-rending solos on ThisWay for the Gas, Ladies and Gentlemen, and UsTwo. He also plays all saxophone parts. Lead vocalsare by Angi Mariani and Bill Smith and harmonyvocals are sung by Bill also. Thanks also toCatherine Black and Marjorie Ashenden who joinedthe orchestra for the live performances.The wholething was expertly recorded and mixed by JulianTardo at Church Road Recording Company inBrighton, UK.

Bill Smith

THE WORLDBETRAYED

The world is ruled by neither justice normorality; crime is not punished nor virtuerewarded, one is forgotten as quickly as theother.The world is ruled by power.

Tadeusz BorowskiNEVERNever shall I forget that placeWhere all faith was destroyedNever can I look into a stranger’s faceAll trust is lost, all the world betrayed

Never can I love againI search for that gift in vainBut I’m set apart, the camp is with me stillNow all is ash, and can’t be regained

Never can I hear againThe sound of violinsIf I hear their cry, I only see againWhen the music stopped, what happened then

Never must another feelThe way that I must feelWhen I think of my lifeI only think of death

Never, Never

Never shall we forget these crimesWhich no words can conveyStill I weep, still I cryLet there be no more camps

Never, Never

Words: Angi MarianiInspired by the words of Micheline Maurel

Music: Bill SmithArranged: Bim Sinclair

Why? Why did we walk like meek sheep to theslaughterhouse? Why did we not fight back?What had we to lose? Nothing but our lives.Why did we not run away and hide? We mighthave had a chance to survive.Why did we walkdeliberately and obediently into their clutches?

I know why. Because we had faith inhumanity. Because we did not really think thathuman beings were capable of committingsuch crimes.

Gerda Weissmann Klein, All But My Life, 1997, p.89l But My Life, 1997, p.89

LOVE IN A COLD WORLDTake a look all aroundTell me what you seeThere’s a world of such beautyAnd a world of such misery

I walk with a womanAnd we rue the role of menThose who ruled and extinguishedThe life of her kin

We stand on the beaconAnd we feel love’s sweet breathDown there in the valleyIs the valley of death

Love in a cold worldSee it trampled underneathBarbarian feet

She spoke in a soft voice

She explained many thingsThe smoke from the chimneysI see it rise again

I hear her wordsI see the siteWhere people were killed to plan“Just know it happenedBut please don’t understand”

Love in a cold worldSee it trampled underneathBarbarian feet

So we turn and she told meDon’t forget what I’ve saidDisease of fear and hatredI warn you is not dead

Look all around, look all aroundTell me what you seeA world of beauty, a land of plentyIs destroyed by cruelty

Love in a cold worldSee it trampled underneathBarbarian feet.

Words: Angi Mariani & Bill SmithInspired by the words of Nick Morgan Baker

Music: Bill SmithArrangement: Bim Sinclair

Perhaps one cannot, what is more one mustnot, understand, because to understand isalmost to justify. Let me explain:“understand-ing” a proposal or human behaviour means... to“contain” it, contain its author, put oneself in hisplace, identify with him. Now no normal mancan ever identify with Hitler, Himmler,Goebbels, Eichmann, and endless others....Butthere is not rationality in the Nazi hatred: it isa hate that is not in us, it is outside man...Wecannot understand it, but we can and mustunderstand where it springs from, and we mustbe on our guard. If understanding is impossible,knowing is imperative, because what happenedcan happen again.

Taken from Shema: Collected Poems of Primo Levi,translated by Ruth Feldman, 1976

TADEUSZ BOROWSKIBorn in the Ukraine in 1922. Having survivedAuschwitz and Dachau, he died by his own hand,opening a gas valve, on July 1st 1951 in Warsaw. Hewrote poetry, short stories and novels as well as jour-nalism. Jan Kott wrote in the introduction to thebook,“Among the tens of thousands of pages writtenabout the Holocaust and the death camps, Borowski’sslender volume continues to occupy a place apart.Thebook is the cruelest of testimonies to what men didto men, a pitiless verdict that anything can be done toa human being...Borowski’s Auschwitz stories [pub-lished in Poland after World War II] are written in thefirst person.The narrator of three of the stories is adeputy Kapo,Vorarbeiter Tadeusz.The identification ofthe author with the narrator was the moral decisionof a prisoner who had lived through Auschwitz - anacceptance of mutual responsibility, mutual participa-tion, and mutual guilt for the concentration camp.

The Nazis did force prisoners to assist them

in carrying out barbaric acts. The prisoners had nochoice. They were not complicit. Despite this,Borowski felt immense guilt. He wrote:

‘‘It is impossible to write about Auschwitz imperson-ally...The first duty of Auschwitzers is to make clear just what acamp is... but let them not forget that the reader will unfailing-ly ask: But how did it happen that you survived?...Tell, then, howyou bought places in the hospital, easy posts, how you shovedthe ‘Moslems’ [prisoners who had lost the will to live] into theoven, how you bought women, men, what you did in the bar-racks, unloading the transports, at the gypsy camp; tell aboutthe daily life of the camp, about the hierarchy of fear, about theloneliness of every man. But write that you, you were the oneswho did this. That a portion of the sad fame of Auschwitzbelongs to you as well.”

Tadeusz Borowski wrote these things. In his sto-ries, prisoners eat,work, sleep, and fall in love a few yardsfrom where others are systematically slaughtered. Thewill to survive overrides compassion, the line betweenthe normal and the abnormal wavers, then vanishes. AtAuschwitz an athletic field and a brothel flank the crema-toriums.As one critic observed: “Borowski looks at the con-centration camp as if it were first of all a community of menand women, governed by unalterable instincts and formed bynecessary habits.The constant need for human contact - in thepersecutors as well as in the condemned - the clinging to ridicu-lous hopes and useless possessions; and at the same time thegrotesque corruptions that become accepted as the conse-quence of the gift for survival.These terse descriptions, almostanecdotal in form, become an oblique commentary on thenegotiations we conduct daily in our own, civilized ways.”

Notes taken from This Way for the Gas, Ladies and Gentlemen,Tadeusz Borowski, 1959, Penguin Books (1967). Stories Selected

and translated by Barbara Vedder with an Introduction by Jan Kott(Introduction translated by Michael Kandel)

THIS WAY FOR THE GAS,LADIES AND GENTLEMENWe walk round naked, the heat burns our skinIn Zyklon B, our suits are delousingCold killer of lice and people in gas chambersThis camp is sealed so tight

We sit legs dangling, bacon & bread we gnawSent just a week ago from WarsawHeld by my mother’s hand Dear LordWhere is she now, God knows

And Henri my French friend dreams of French wineI’ll get it from a Strasbourg transport, the very nexttimeBring me some shoes with double soles, I askPatience, I’ll get you anything you want

And what if there are no more cremos I sayThey’ll run out of people one of these days“Stop talking nonsense”, Henri repliesWe’d all starve to death if there’s no-one left to die

Sweat drenched men in bunks of eights and tenNude withered bodies, the stink alone is hellA rabbi wails so desperatelyA muslim falls and is pushed aside by Henri

Religion is the opium of the people, Henri shoutsIf they didn’t believe in God, they’d have smashed thecremos downWhy haven’t you done it, I say rhetorically“Idiot” is all he says back to me

It’s this way for the gasIt’s this way for the gas

Shiny brutal faces, carrying briefcases and whipsWe stand straight, as the top SS arriveDiscuss their mail from their children and their wivesTheir bamboo whips snap impatient by their sides

And then the transport comes and we hear the shoutsFrom tiny barred windows pale faces push outOf terror stricken women and exhausted menGive us water, give us air

The bolts crack and the doors fall openLike fish cast out on the sand they appearWhat’s going to happen to us they say silentlyBut the camp laws say to the end we must deceive

A huge wave of people are prodded on the roadLike a blind mad river trying to find a new bedBut all they will find is the stench and the muckLoaded like cattle in the back of a truck

The Red Cross van drives reassuringly besideBut it carries the gas that will kill every man, womanand childThe enormous cross on it’s back, red as bloodSeems to dissolve in the sun


Among the SS, the woman commandantColourless hair tied in a Nordic knotGun at her side, with a rat-like smileShe’s come to check out the new female crop

The lucky few are taken to her roomWhere the boys from Zauna will shave their pretty heads Laugh at their outside world modestyBefore they fill her bed

Pick up your child another SS man roarsBut she so wants to live, it’s not mine she criesBig Andrewi from Sevastopol, grabs hold of herYou bloody Jewess,would you run from your own child

And then above the teeming crowd, a girl appearsSoft blond hair she turns and stares at me Listen, tell me where are they taking usI say nothing, I know she says

Four Canada men lug a giant swollen corpseKicking children who howl like dogsThey throw this mound of meat on the sickOn top of the smothered, and unconscious in the heat

I wish to speak to the Commandant snaps an old manA young SS man laughs as he strikes him with a handIn half an hour you’ll talk with the top CommandantMake sure you greet him with a heil Hitler


Meanwhile in the shit and dirt of the trainWe find naked little bodies with bloated skinsLooking like monsters with enormous heads We carry them like chickens, several in each hand

Throw them on the truck, throw them with the womenThe SS Officer cries casuallyBut he’s more worried by his cigarette lighter whichwon’t flame My poor boy, the Jewish woman says, as I hand themto her with no shame

I’m not a good person, I say to HenriDamn all these people, I feel no pityIt ‘s natural, Henri says, it’s healthy c’est logique

Everyone relieves their hate by turning on the weak

Just when I thought it was all overAnother transport and then another trainI seize a corpse by the handBut the fingers close round mine, my heart pounds

My heart is like lead then jumps in my throatMy nausea is deafeningI begin to vomit then like a drunkI weave away past the rails

I lie against the metal and dream of my bunkSuddenly I see the camp as a haven of peaceOthers may be dying but I’ve still strength and food For this living moment, for today


But the lights on the ramp still have a spectral glowThe wave of feverish people, on and on they flowMost still think they’re going to the washroomThey can’t buy life with concealed gold

Experienced professionals probe every recess of theirfleshPull diamonds from the colon and gold from the tongueGold teeth will soon be packed up in crates On the train, bound for Berlin

For days the whole camp lives off the lootThe Strasbourg transport was a good rich trainGreat columns of smoke rise in the skyThe black river flows over Birkenau


Story: Tadeusz Borowski,This Way for the Gas, Ladies andGentlemen

Adaptation: Bill Smith and Angi MarianiMusic: Bill SmithArrangement: Bim SinclairSolo Musicians: Bob Taylor on Acoustic Guitar

Tom Arnold on Hammond OrganNick Pynn on Violin

AUSCHWITZ, 1987and nobody shouts haltand nobody firesand yet this deathlysilence fills one’s earsand no one slaps your faceor whips your back, your eyesand no one weepsnor do the skies cry outeven though we have arrivedat this well known placewith its resonant name:Auschwitz.

Words: Adam ZychTranslation: Hilda SchiffMusic: Bill SmithArrangement: Bim Sinclair

ADAM ZYCHPolish poet, essayist and translator, born 1945 inCzestochowa, Poland. He is Professor of Pedagogics atthe Univeristy of Kielce. Zych is the recipient of manyawards, and the editor of several volumes of ananthology entitled Auschwitz Was In My Land, 1987and 1993, published by the Auschwitz Museum. Hisown collection of poems are The Bridge, 1983 andDeparture is in Us, 1993.

HILDA SCHIFFHilda Schiff compiled and introduced the book,Holocaust Poetry, which is one of the main works onHolocaust Poetry.A poet herself, and also a short storywriter and editor,Hilda Schiff was born in central Europeand came to England as a small child. She was educatedat the Universities of London and Oxford, in both ofwhich she taught and engaged in research. She isattached to Wolfson College, Oxford, and is now a free-lance writer.Her publications also include A Condition ofBeing and Contemporary Approaches to English Studies,

…I well remembered the end of July andSeptember of 1942 when my child who hadwhooping cough, would constantly choke in thesultry air of our furriers,while the children of theTobens factory enjoyed the safety of their littlekindergarten. Unfortunately I also rememberedthat day when quite suddenly a lorry arrived,which the Germans crammed with all the chil-dren, driving them off to the Umschlagplatz.Now my friend told me a sequel to this story.

‘You don’t know, perhaps, that the moth-er of one of the abducted children was my schoolpal, Franka.After learning that her ten year olddaughter was among the victims she suffered anervous breakdown, worked herself up into anincredible fury and had started ranting and rav-ing, calling the German managers criminals andmurderers. She had then been compelled toleave the Tobens factory but thanks to some bigfavour she got a job with us. After a couple ofweeks a Polish policeman came to our factorybringing a letter stating the following: “Any manof goodwill who finds this paper should knowthat it was written by a girl whom the Germansare driving to her destruction. If you have a kindheart, please deliver this paper to my mummy

who is working in the furrier’s shop, or in Tobensfactory in Leszno Street in Warsaw. DearestMummy, at this moment I am in the train. I donot know exactly where we are going but I guesswe are going to our death.Do not worry,Mummy,I am not scared at all, and as I am the eldest hereI have explained to the other children that someday all people must die anyway.As a matter of factthere is nothing wrong in our dying sooner.At pre-sent here on the earth there are only Germans,life is very hard,while there in Heaven among theangels there surely won’t be any Germans.So it isfor the best that we get away from the Germanssooner. The children who are with me are noteven crying. I shared the breakfast we had equallyamong all of us. Only Janaczek regrets he did nottake his overcoat with him. I remember now thatI did not kiss you good-morning today,as I will notbe able to kiss you any more. I cannot write morebecause this paper is so small. Farewell Mummy,please do not cry for me.I am fastening this paperwith a hairpin. I think it will make it heavier”. ’The paper was found by a Polish railway guardwho,moved by its contents,had decided to deliv-er it to the mother at all costs. Finding it impos-sible to enter the ghetto he eventually got apoliceman to take it to the Tobens factory andfrom there the letter, pierced with the hairpin,reached the hands of the mother.

Ruth Altbeker Cyprys,A Jump For Life, 1997, p154

PIGTAILWhen all the women in the transporthad their heads shavedfour workmen with brooms made of birch twigsswept upand gathered up the hair

Behind clean glassthe stiff hair liesof those suffocated in gas chambersthere are pins and side combsin this hair

The hair is not shot through with lightis not parted by the breezeis not touched by any handor rain or lips

In huge chestsclouds of dry hairof those suffocatedand a faded plaita pigtail with a ribbonpulled at schoolby naughty boys

Words: Tadeusz RózewiczTranslation: Adam CzerniawskiMusic: Bill Smith & Bim SinclairViolin Solo: Nick Pynn

TADEUSZ RÓZEWICZWe include two poems by Rózewicz finding them all somoving.A Polish poet, born in Radomsko, central Polandin 1921. He was involved in the Polish Resistance duringthe war, and he went on to have his work translated intomany languages, and in 1966 won Poland’s most presti-gious literary award.About his work, Rózewicz writes:

“So for me poetry was a form of action and not thewriting of beautiful poems.My objective was not poems,but facts. I created - so I thought and still think - certainfacts and not (more or less successful) lyric construc-tions. I reacted to events with facts which I mouldedinto the shape of poems - and not with “poetry”....Atthat time, in the year 1945, several months after WorldWar Two, I thought expressions such as “aesthetic expe-riences” or “artistic experiences” were ridiculous andsuspect. Afterwards, in August, the first atomic bombwas dropped.And today I still think so-called “aestheticexperiences” are ridiculous, though I no longer consid-er them despicable.The conviction that the earlier “aes-thetic experience” is dead is the unchanging platform ofmy literary activity. Speaking “directly” should lead tothe source, to regaining a banal faith, banal hope, banallove. Love that conquers death and love that is con-quered by death. I was concerned with such simplethings as these. Poems in which I gambled on originality,uniqueness, surprise have secondary importance for me.Even if they were possibly better from the point of viewof “aesthetic experiences”.

Tadeusz Rózewicz, words translated by Adam Czerniawski. Quotestaken from The Poetry of Survival, edited by Daniel Weissbort, 1991

‘BE HAPPY’ from ravensbrück…Be happy, you who live in fine apartments, in uglyhouses or in hovels. Be happy, you who have yourloved ones, and you also who sit alone and dream andcan weep. Be happy, you who torture yourself overmetaphysical problems, and you who suffer because ofmoney worries. Be happy, you the sick who are beingcared for, and you who care for them, and be happy,oh, how happy, you who die a death as normal as life,in hospital beds or in your homes. Be happy, all of you:millions of people envy you.

Micheline Maurel, Ravensbrück, (translated by MargaretS Summers) Published by Blond & Briggs, London 1958

BE HAPPY song adaptationBe happy, you who live in fine apartmentsin ugly houses, or in hovelsBe happy, you who have your loved onesand you who sit alone and dream and can weep

Be happy, you who torture yourselves over metaphysical problemsBe happy, you who suffer, because of your money worriesBe happy, you the sick who’re being cared forand you who care for them

Be happy, oh how happyyou who die a death as normal as lifein hospital beds or in your homes

Be happy, all of youmillions of people envy you.

Words: Micheline MaurelTranslation: Margaret S SummersMusic: Bill SmithArrangement: Herbie Flowers

MICHELINE MAURELIn the book, Ravensbrück, Micheline Maurel writesthat nothing can ever make up for the sufferingendured in the camps. “To make up for so much suf-fering, for those millions of miserable creatures...whostare at us with horribly despairing eyes it would takeso much joy, oh God, that even a bountiful and kindlyGod would not have enough.” Yet conversely, Maureldoes not advocate sadness. She cries out to us all, thatwe must be happy. “I believe that each deportee whohas returned has felt,...that he has no right to beunhappy. For behind us, is the multitude of the deadleft at the camp, who fix us with crazed and envious

eyes.Those millions of people envy us and wish theycould shout, “You fools, don’t you see that you arehappy?” But, in the last few lines of Ravensbrück,Micheline Maurel laments “Each survivor has broughthis camp back with him; he would like to run awayshielding his eyes with his arm in order not to see,howling in order not to hear. But the entire camp risesagain slowly, for it has not been destroyed, and noth-ing has made up for a single day of suffering.”

JACOB’S JIG instrumentalComposed and arranged by: Bim Sinclair

The STORIESFIVE MENThey take them out in the morningto the stone courtyardand put them against the wall

five mentwo of them very youngthe others middle-aged

nothing morecan be said about them

2when the platoonlevel their gunseverything suddenly appearsin the garish lightof obviousness

the yellow wallthe cold bluethe black wire on the wall

instead of a horizon

that is the momentwhen the five senses rebelthey would gladly escapelike rats from a sinking ship

before the bullet reaches its destinationthe eye will perceive the flight of the projectilethe ear record a steely rustlethe nostrils will be filled with biting smokea petal of blood will brush the palatethe touch will shrink and then slacken

now they lie on the groundcovered up to their eyes with shadowthe platoon walks awaytheir button strapsand steel helmetsare more alivethan those lying beside the wall

3I did not learn this todayI knew it before yesterday

so why have I been writing unimportant poems on flowers

what did the five men talk ofthe night before the execution

of prophetic dreamsof an escapade in a brothelof automobile partsof a sea voyageof how when he had spadeshe ought not to have openedof how vodka is best

after wine you get a headacheof girlsof fruitof life

thus one can use in poetrynames of Greek shepherdsand one can attempt to catch the colour of morning sky write of loveand alsoonce againin dead earnestoffer to the betrayed worlda rose

FIVE MEN song adaptationThey take them out in the morningto the stone courtyardand put them up against the wall

five mentwo of them very youngthe others middle-agednothing morecan be said about these men

when the platoonlevel their gunseverything suddenly appearsin the garish lightof obviousness too clear

there’s the cold, cold bluethe yellow wallinstead of a horizonthe black wire on the wall

that is the moment

when the five senses rebelthey would gladly escapelike rats from a sinking shipfrom this hell

before the bullet reaches its destinationthe eye will perceive it’s flightthe ear record a steely rustlethe nostrils will be filled with biting smokea petal of blood will brush the palatethe touch will shrink and then slacken

now they lie on the groundcovered up to their eyes with shadowas the platoon walks awaytheir button strapsand their steel helmetsare more alivethan those lying beside the wall

I did not learn this todayI knew it before yesterday

so why have I been writing unimportant poems on flowers

what did the five men talk ofwhat did the five men saythe night beforethe night before the execution

of prophetic dreamsof an escapade in a brothelof car partsof a sea voyageof how when he had spadeshe ought not to have openedof how vodka is best

after wine you get a headacheof girlsof fruitof life

I did not learn this todayI knew it before yesterdayso why have I been writing unimportant poems on flowers

so one can use in poetrynames of Greek shepherdsand one can attempt to catch the colour of the morning skyone can write of loveand alsoonce againin dead earnestoffer the betrayed worlda rose

Words: Zbigniew HerbertTranslation: Czeslaw MiloszMusic and adaptation: Bill SmithArrangement:: Bim Sinclair

ZBIGNIEW HERBERTPolish poet whose work could not see the light of dayuntil Stalin’s death in 1956. He was a notable essayiston art historical themes, and also wrote plays for radio.His poetry has been translated into many languages.Writing in the Poetry of Survival, Herbert wrote:“The feeling of fragility and of the futility ofhuman life is less depressing if we weave it intothe chain of history, which is nothing but thehanding down of a belief in the meaning of ouractions and volition.This way even the shriek ofterror is transformed into a cry of hope.” 1967, translated by Margitt Lehbert in The Poetry of Survival, p.335

CZESLAW MILOSZOne of the great European writers, Czeslaw Miloszwas awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1980.A Polish poet who was a member of the PolishUnderground during the war, editing anti-Nazi poetry.He is also a great translator. His translations (bothEnglish to Polish and Polish to English) include the firstPolish version of T.S. Eliot’s The Waste Land, as well asworks by Simone Weill, and Walt Whitman and theanthology of Post-War Polish Poetry.

Klara’s ESCAPE instrumentalComposed and performed by Bim Sinclair

The words “It is never too late to live” areinspired by a poem by Gary Sea entitled, UrsulaGoetze.The poem itself, is adapted from a let-ter that Ursula Goetze wrote to her parentsjust before her death. Ursula Goetze studiedphilosophy in Berlin. With other students shetook up collections for political prisoners andracially persecuted peoples. She listened toFrench radio broadcasts, passing informationalong to French prisoners. She was arrestedand condemned to death on January 18th, 1943and was hanged on August 5th.The poem ends:“And slowly, gracefullywith astonishingly little effort

all the holes torn in my life by fatewere filled by something new and beautiful -

a knowledge, a peace,wisdom,

the greatest wisdom of all -

It is never too late to live!”Gary Sea, ‘Ursula Goetze’

The poem is included in Beyond Lament, edited by Marguerite Striar, 1998

No one knows for certain how many non-Jewsrisked their lives to save Jews during theHolocaust.There were nearly 700 million peo-ple in Nazi-occupied territories. Only a tinyfraction of them were involved in rescue activ-ities. Moreover, rescue activity demandedutmost secrecy. Lives depended on it. Manyrescuers were discovered and killed. Somesheltered a Jew for a night; others hid severalpeople for years. Some made single, one-timegestures; still others were part of an anony-mous network that searched for hiding places,papers, food coupons, and money for Jews.Theparting words between some Jews and theChristians who saved them were:“Promise methat you will never tell anyone my name. Don’tever write to me. Good luck.”

Not all Holocaust survivors were sosupportive of my work. Since so few non-Jewshad helped them, many survivors doubted therescuers’ altruistic motivations. Many worriedthat by highlighting the courageous acts of arelative handful of individuals I would obscurethe essential fact that six million Jews weremurdered.Two-thirds of the Jewish populationof Eastern Europe was wiped out, and mostpeople had done nothing to stop it.

That, however is precisely the point ofmy interest. At a time of worldwide upheaval,when civilized norms were held in suspension,a few individuals held fast to their own stan-dards.They were not saints. Nor were they par-ticularly heroic or often all that outstanding.They were simply ordinary people doing whatthey felt had to be done at that time.

Eva Fogelman, Conscience And Courage, 1995, pxvi

HYMN TO A WOMANUNDER INTERROGATIONBad (she said) wasthe moment of undressing

Thenexposed to their gaze shediscovered everything

about them.

Words: Reiner KunzeTranslation: Ewald OsersMusic: Bill SmithPercussion: Tom Arnold

REINER KUNZEBorn 1983 in Oelsmitz in East Germany. Forced out ofUniversity of Leipzig in 1959 because of politics, helater had to leave East Germany and settle in the westas a result of his work - particularly the publication inWest Germany of “Die Wunderbaren Jahre”. DanielWeissbort wrote of him in The Poetry of Survival:“This is a last-ditch poetry - resist now, or it will betoo late; or, perhaps, that it already is too late, but allthe writer can do is warn. Still implicit, of course, ishope, even if it is hope on the very edge of extinction.”

US TWOMy God, what a dream I had:the two of us, more passionate than ever,making love like the first couple on earth...-and we were beautiful, naked and wild,and both dead.

Nina Cassian

US TWO song adaptationMy God, what a dream I hadthe two of us, more passionate than evermaking love like the first couple on earth

My God, we were so beautifulthe two of us, so naked and wildmaking love like the first couple on earth

and we were beautifuland we were beautifulwe were making love like the first couple on earthand we were beautifuland we were beautifulwe were making love like the first couple on earth

My God, what a dream I hadthe two of us, so naked and wildmaking love like the first couple on earth

and we were beautifuland we were beautifulwe were making love like the first couple on earthand we were beautifuland we were beautifulwe were making love like the first couple on earth

My God, what a dream I hadthe two of us, more passionate than everwe were so beautiful and both dead

Words: Nina Cassian Adaptation: Angi MarianiMusic: Bill Smith Arrangement: Bim SinclairElectric Guitar Solo: Bob Taylor

NINA CASSIANBorn in 1924 in Romania.A composer as well as a pro-lific writer of fiction and poetry. Daniel Weissbortwrote of her in The Poetry of Survival: “Nina Cassianis essentially a poet of the everyday but her everydayis so highly charged as to have a mythic dimension...Cassian’s strength is that of vulnerability....There ishumour, passion, spontaneity, imaginative extravagancebut principally, and this sums it all up, there iscourage.”

My friend Mrs N. got one of her boys back in away which deserves special mention. Mr N.went with his two boys to the Jewish CouncilBuilding.The Council gave out life numbers tosome though not all of its clerks and Mr N. wasgiven one, and only one, although there werethree of them. What were they to do? Theolder boy did not await his father’s decision butleft without a word to hide somewhere in theruins.The father remained with his little Jasio,a beautiful fair haired boy with blue eyes- butthey still had only one number. So they went tostand in the row and waited, unable to do any-thing.Time was short and a decision had to betaken.Another moment or two, and the checkup would begin. Next to the father and sonstood an elderly couple, a husband and wife. Heas a council executive had been given a lifenumber, she had none.And now they stood andargued. He asked her to accept the life ticket,she implored him to retain it; one did not wantto live without the other. Finally the old ladywent up to little Jasio,handed him her life num-ber and said: “Here you are, little boy.You areyoung, you will survive.And here is the pictureof my son in Palestine whom I shall never seeagain, and here, take this too, we part from this

world’’ - and gave him their last 500 zloty.Thenthey both took some white powder- potassiumcyanide - and a moment later they bothdropped dead. Nobody moved to save them.On the contrary, everybody envied them. Acommand rang out: “Fill in the rows” and thegroup went forward.Only the two bodies of theheroic couple remained on the road. LittleJasio survived the war.

Ruth Altbeker Cyprys, A Jump For Life, 1997, p72

After supper, pretending to sleep, I listened toPapa and Mama talking. They talked both ofthe good life they had together and of whatwas to come - how the war would end soon,how Arthur would come back, and how hewould have matured: “It is good for a man tohave been away for a while,” Papa commented.Presently, they discussed me: how much of lifeI had missed because of the war.“We will makeit up to her,” Mama said. “She shall have theprettiest dresses, dancing, and everything ayoung girl should have.”

They talked about their parents, aboutthe first years of their marriage, about waitingthrough the First World War... their reunion...when Arthur was born. Listening, I wanted tocry out - to reassure, to be reassured - but I bitmy pillow in pain and kept silent.

And so they talked on through thenight, animated and happy.They faced what themorning would bring with the only weaponthey had - their love for each other. Love isgreat, love is the foundation of nobility, it con-quers obstacles and is a deep well of truth andstrength. After hearing my parents talk thatnight I began to understand the greatness oftheir love. Their courage ignited within me a

spark that continued to glow through the yearsof misery and defeat.The memory of their love- my only legacy - sustained me in happy andunhappy times in Poland, Germany,Czechoslovakia, France, Switzerland, England.It is still part of me, here in America.

Gerda Weissmann Klein, All But My Life, 1997, p.85

DEATHFUGUEBlack milk of daybreak we drink it at eveningwe drink it at midday and morning, we drink it at nightwe drink and we drinkwe shovel a grave in the air there you won’t feel toocrampedA man lives in the house he plays with his vipers hewriteshe writes when it grows dark to Deutschland yourgolden hair Margueritehe writes it and steps out of doors and the stars areall sparkling he whistles his hounds to come closehe whistles his Jews into rows has them shovel a gravein the groundhe orders us strike up and play for the dance

Black milk of daybreak we drink you at nightwe drink you at morning and midday we drink you ateveningwe drink and we drinkA man lives in the house he plays with his vipers hewriteshe writes when it grows dark to Deutschland yourgolden hair Margueriteyour ashen hair Shulamith we shovel a grave in the skythere you won’t feel too crampedHe shouts jab the earth deeper you there you otherssing up and playhe grabs for the rod in his belt he swings it his eyes

are bluejab your spades deeper you there you others play onfor the dance

Black milk of daybreak we drink you at nightwe drink you at midday and morning we drink you ateveningwe drink and we drinka man lives in the house your goldenes HaarMargueriteyour aschenes Haar Shulamith he plays with his vipersHe shouts play death more sweetly Death is a masterfrom Deutschlandhe shouts scrape your strings darker you’ll rise thenin smoke to the skyyou’ll have a grave then in the clouds there you won’tfeel too cramped

Black milk of daybreak we drink you at nightwe drink you at midday Death is a master ausDeutschlandwe drink you at evening and morning we drink and wedrinkDeath is ein Meister aus Deutschland his eye is bluehe shoots you with shot made of lead shoots you leveland truea man lives in the house your goldenes HaarMargaretehe looses his hounds on us grants us a grave in the airhe plays with his vipers and daydreams der Tod ist einMeister aus Deutschland

dein goldenes Haar Margaretedein aschenes Haar Sulamith

DEATHFUGUE song adaptationBlack milk of daybreak we drink it at eveningwe drink it at midday and morning, we drink it at nightand we drink and we drink and we drinkwe shovel a grave in the air there you won’t feel toocrampedA man lives in the house he plays with his vipers hewriteshe writes when it grows dark to Deutschland yourgolden hair Margueritehe writes it and steps out of doors and the stars areall sparkling he whistles his hounds to come closehe whistles his Jews into rows has them shovel a gravein the groundhe orders us strike up and play for the dance

Black milk of daybreak we drink it at eveningwe drink it at midday and morning, we drink it at nightand we drink and we drink and we drinkA man lives in the house he plays with his vipers hewriteshe writes when it grows dark to Deutschland yourgolden hair Margueriteyour ashen hair Shulamith we shovel a grave in the skythere you won’t feel too crampedHe shouts jab the earth deeper you there you otherssing up and playhe grabs for the rod in his belt he swings it his eyesare bluejab your spades deeper you there you others play onfor the dance

Black milk of daybreak we drink it at eveningwe drink it at midday and morning, we drink it at nightand we drink and we drink and we drinka man lives in the house your goldenes HaarMargueriteyour aschenes Haar Shulamith he plays with his vipers

he shouts play death more sweetly Death is a masterfrom Deutschlandhe shouts scrape your strings darker you’ll rise thenin smoke to the skyyou’ll have a grave then in the clouds there you won’tfeel too cramped


Black milk of daybreak we drink it at eveningwe drink it at midday and morning, we drink it at nightand we drink and we drink and we drinkDeath is ein Meister aus Deutschland his eye is bluehe shoots you with shot made of lead shoots you leveland truea man lives in the house your goldenes HaarMargaretehe looses his hounds on us grants us a grave in the airhe plays with his vipers and daydreams der Tod ist einMeister aus Deutschland


Black milk of daybreak we drink it at eveningwe drink it at midday and morning, we drink it at nightand we drink and we drink and we drink and we drinkand we drink and we drink and we drink and we drinkand we drink and we drink and we drink and we drinkand we drink and we drink and we drink

Words: Paul CelanTranslation: John FelstinerMusic & Adaptation: Bill Smith Arrangement: Bim Sinclair

PAUL CELANBorn Paul Antschel in Czernowitz, Bukovina, his nativetongue was German. He was born to Jewish parentsin 1920. His parents were deported to Transnistria bythe Nazis in 1942 where his father died of typhus andhis mother was murdered by a shot in the neck. Celanhimself barely managed to escape the camps. He him-self survived in other camps and in 1947 he moved toVienna and then settled permanently in Paris in 1948.However he never recovered and in 1970 committedsuicide (as did Primo Levi and Tadeusz Borowski). PaulCelan said that his poems were “messages in a bottle”which might or might not be picked up. His poetrywas based on the anguish of his experience.Althoughhe survived physically, the Holocaust and its masskillings became a lifelong obsession.

john felstinerJohn Felstiner is a writer and translator who teachesEnglish and Jewish studies at Stanford University. He isthe author of Paul Celan: Poet, Survivor, Jew.

The Germans realized that the last-minutesinging of the Polish anthem, other patrioticsongs or shouting anti German slogans madethe hostage’s death easier so they devised newtorture. On the morning of the execution theywould shave the doomed wretches and fill theirmouths with a mixture of plaster and cementin order to prevent them from uttering asound. In the busiest streets of Warsaw thePoles would now be executed naked from theirwaists and die mute under the executioners’bullets.The ‘Herrenvolk’ would exterminate itsenemies using means of murder which Satanhimself had never invented.We had to look onhelplessly, praying for an end to it all.

Ruth Altbeker Cyprys, A Jump For Life, 1997, p172

VICTOR JARA OF CHILEVictor Jara of ChileLived like a shooting starHe fought for the people of ChileWith his songs and his guitar

And his hands were gentleHis hands were strong

Victor Jara was a peasantWorked from a few years oldHe sat upon his father’s ploughAnd watched the earth unfold


When the neighbours had a weddingOr one of their children diedHis mother sang all night for themWith Victor by her side


He grew to be a fighterAgainst the people’s wrongsHe listened to their grief and joyAnd turned them into songs


He sang about the copper minersAnd those who work the landHe sang about the factory workersAnd they knew he was their man


He campaigned for AllendeWorking night and dayHe sang: take hold of your brother’s handThe future begins today


The bloody generals seized ChileThey arrested Victor thenThey caged him in a stadiumWith five thousand frightened men


Victor stood in the stadiumHis voice was brave and strongHe sang for his fellow prisonersTill the guards cut short his song


They broke the bones in both his handsThey beat his lovely headThey tore him with electric shocksAfter two long days of torture they shot him dead


And then the Generals ruled ChileAnd the British had their thanksFor they ruled with Hawker Hunters

And they ruled with Chieftain tanks


Victor Jara of ChileLived like a shooting starHe fought for the people of ChileWith his songs and his guitar


Words Adrian MitchellMusic: Bill Smith Arrangement: Bim SinclairSolo Guitar : Mark Allen

FOR RACHEL:CHRISTMAS 1965 Caesar sleeping in his armoured cityHerod shaking like a clockwork toyand spies are moving into Ramaasking for a baby boy.

Caesar is the father of HerodHerod is the father of us alland we’ll be obedient, silent little childrenor the moon will dropand the sun will fall.

Someone must have warned the wanted mothershe’ll be hiding with her familyand soldiers are marching through Ramasilently, obediently.

Caesar is the father of HerodHerod is the father of us all

and we’ll be obedient, silent little childrenor the moon will dropand the sun will fall.

Down all the white-washed alleys of Ramasmall soft bodies are bayonetedand Rachel is weeping in Ramaand will not be comforted.


Caesar sleeping in his armoured cityHerod dreaming in his swansdown bedand Rachel is weeping in Ramaand will not be comforted.


Words: Adrian Mitchell Music: Bill Smith Arrangement: Bim Sinclair

ADRIAN MITCHELLAdrian Mitchell was born in London in 1932. Bestknown as one of Europe’s most inspiring poets,Mitchell is also a playwright for both adults and chil-dren. In addition to his numerous plays, Adrian haswritten libretti, four novels, and published numerousbooks of poetry as well as a collection of his lyrics for

the theatre, Love Songs for World War Three. He iscommitted to poetry as an oral medium and has givencountless readings in the UK and abroad. He has alsowritten stories and poems for children and teenagers.An opera is also set for a stage production.

TheSurvivors

THE SURVIVORI am twenty-fourled to slaughterI survived.

The following are empty synonyms:man and beastlove and hatefriend and foedarkness and light.

The way of killing men and beasts is the sameI’ve seen it:truckfuls of chopped-up menwho will not be saved.

Ideas are mere wordsvirtue and crimetruth and liesbeauty and uglinesscourage and cowardice.

Virtue and crime weigh the sameI’ve seen it:in a man who was bothcriminal and virtuous.

I seek a teacher and a mastermay he restore my sight hearing and speechmay he again name objects and ideasmay he separate darkness from light.

I am twenty-fourled to slaughterI survived.

Words: Tadeusz RózewiczTranslation:: Adam CzerniawskiMusic and adaptation: Bill SmithArrangement:: Bim Sinclair

ADAM CZERNIAWSKIAdam Czerniawski, the translator of many poems byTadeusz Rózewicz,wrote in The Poetry of Survival, talk-ing of Rózewicz,“That is why your poetry is common-ly described as simple, naked.This deceived people intothinking that it is easy to write. That is why you havehad so many imitators. It seems to me that only whenone tries to translate it does one discover its tightlythought out structure which has to be carried acrossinto the other language with great care. I often seeEnglish translations of your poetry which reproduce itword for word. It doesn’t work. Perhaps the experi-enced translator,more than the critic, is able to see thathere is art masking art.”

NIGHT Excerpt from the book, Night, by Elie WieselNever shall I forget that night, the first night incamp, which has turned my life into one longnight, seven times cursed and seven timessealed. Never shall I forget that smoke. Nevershall I forget the little faces of the children,whose bodies I saw turned into wreaths ofsmoke beneath a silent blue sky

Never shall I forget those flames whichconsumed my faith forever.

Never shall I forget that nocturnalsilence which deprived me, for all eternity, ofthe desire to live. Never shall I forget thosemoments which murdered my God and mysoul and turned my dreams to dust. Never shallI forget these things, even if I am condemnedto live as long as God Himself. Never.

Words: Elie WieselNarration: Bill Smith & Angi Mariani

ELIE WIESELElie Wiesel was born in the town of Sighet in Hungaryin 1928.He was still a teenager when he was taken withhis family, from his home to the Auschwitz concentra-tion camp and then to Buchenwald. His family perishedbut he alone survived. His memoirs of that experienceare unforgettably recorded in night, first published in1958, which became a worldwide bestseller. Since thenElie Wiesel has published extensively and receivedimmense international acclaim, including the NobelPrize in 1986. Elie Wiesel is now Andrew MellonProfessor of Humanities at Boston University andchairman of the United States Holocaust MemorialCouncil.

Robert McAfee Brown writing about Night,explains that Wiesel, takes the reader through a “painfuljourney through the darkness, through false dawns andfalse days, until there are hints that tiny shafts of lightcan pierce the seemingly unending night that Auschwitzhas imposed upon the earth. But we must not makethat journey too quickly.We must linger with this start-ing point and not rush on too soon, seeking relief fromits horror. How long must we linger? An eternity, per-haps - Wiesel’s chronometer for measuring the timebetween Auschwitz and the first emergence of hope.”

AGAINIf I have to say it Iwill say it; if Ihave to say itagainI will say it againrememberDachau which you saidwould never happenagaineven though, in galaxiesof exegesis you have not solvedthe there is no contradictionbetween mass murder and playingSchubert thesis

Since then My Lai,Kampuchea, paralysisin the face of ethnic cleansing. IfI have to say it I will say it. If I have to say itagainI will say itagainfor there is no such thingas compassion fatigureonly compassionforgetting. If I have to say itagain

AGAIN song adaptationIf I have to say it Iwill say it; if Ihave to say itagain

I will say it againrememberDachau which you saidwould never happenagain.

Since then My Laisince then Kampucheasince then in the face of ethnic cleansingparalysis.

If I have to say it Iwill say it; if Ihave to say itagainI will say it againthere is no such thing as as compassion fatiguethere is only compassionforgetting

If I have to say it Iwill say it; if Ihave to say itagainI will say it againrememberDachau which you saidwould never happenAgain.

Even though you have not solvedthat there is no contradictionbetween mass murderand playing Schubert

If I have to say it Iwill say it; if Ihave to say itagainI will say it againthere is no such thing as compassion fatiguethere is only compassionforgetting

If I have to say it Iwill say it; if Ihave to say itagainI will say it againrememberDachau which you saidwould never happenagain.

Since then My Laisince then Kampucheasince then in the face of ethnic cleansingparalysis.

Words: Kevin CareyAdaptation: Angi MarianiMusic: Bill Smith & Bim SinclairArrangement: Bim Sinclair

KEVIN CAREYI found the poem, Again, in a poetry book, Klaonica,published by Bloodaxe Books containing poems aboutBosnia. Kevin Carey lives near Brighton in Sussex.

The Holocaust was unique in the experienceof mankind.As Hilda Schiff said “The word Holocaustis most widely recognised as signifying the death ofmillions of human beings who were destroyed inunimaginably cruel ways by the Nazis and their col-laborators.” However, although the Holocaust wasunique, over twenty million people died as a result ofgenocide in the twentieth century.

Kevin Carey makes the link between Dachauand My Lai and Kampuchea, and by inference all actsof genocide since. He asks each person, whether now,even after such acts of genocide, there is compassionforgetting. In this compelling poem, Kevin Careymakes an unarguable case for the constant need to bevigilant - again and again.

“KLAONICA is the Serbo-Croat word for slaughter-house, abattoir, butchery, shambles, and describes condi-tions in that doomed country after over a year ofvicious warfare that includes massacre, rape, pillage,ethnic cleansing, concentration camps, the destructionof towns and villages, churches and mosques, and ulti-mately of a state and a whole society. Whatever therights and wrongs of this conflict - and there are morewrongs than rights to it - it amounts to genocide, inEurope, here at the end of the twentieth century.”

Notes taken from KLAONICA: Poems for Bosnia, Editedby Ken Smith & Judi Benson, Bloodaxe Books

TOURISTSVisits of condolence is all we get from themThey squat at the Holocaust Memorial,They put on grave faces at the Wailing WallAnd they laugh behind heavy curtainsIn their hotels.They have their pictures takenTogether with our famous deadAt Rachel’s Tomb and Herzl’s TombAnd on the top of Ammunition Hill.They weep over our sweet boysAnd lust over our tough girlsAnd hang up their underwearTo dry quicklyIn cool, blue bathrooms.

Once I sat on the steps by a gate at David’s Tower, Iplaced my two heavy baskets at my side. A group oftourists was standing around their guide and for amoment I became their reference point.“You see thatman with the baskets? Just right of his head there’s an arch from the Roman period. Just right of his head.”“But he’s moving, he’s moving!” I said to myself:redemption will come only if their guide tells them,“You see that arch from the Roman period? It’s notimportant: but next to it, left and down a bit, there sitsa man who’s bought fruit and vegetables for his family.”

Words: Yehuda AmichaiTranslation: Glenda Abramson and Tudor ParfittMusic: Bill Smith and Bim SinclairArrangement: Bim Sinclair

YEHUDA AMICHAIBorn in 1924, in Würzberg, Germany. Hebrew writer,migrated to Israel in 1936. He saw active service bothbefore and after the Israeli War of Independence. Formany years he was a schoolteacher. He has publishedmany volumes of poetry. His Selected Poems, InEnglish translation, appeared in 1988, and his novelabout the Holocaust, Not of This Place, Not of ThisTime in 1981. He has been widely translated and ishighly regarded in Israel and throughout the world.

JOSEF & SARA’S WALTZinstrumentalComposed and arranged by: Bim Sinclair

NEVER REPRISEWords and music as before.Trumpet solo: Ian Hamer

SLEEPinstrumentalComposed and arranged by: Bim Sinclair

THE LIFE & DEATHORCHESTRA

BILL SMITH

Music and Lyrics,Vocals, Guitar, PianoBIM SINCLAIR

Music,Arrangements, Piano, Keyboards ANGI MARIANI

Lyrics,VocalsHERBIE FLOWERS

Bass GuitarDAVID TRIGWELL

DrumsROBERT TAYLOR

Acoustic Guitar, Electric Guitar,Saxophone NICK PYNN

Violins, Mandocello, Bazouki, MandolinMARK ALLEN

Classical Guitar,Tiple, ZitherTOM ARNOLD

Accordion, Hammond Organ,TablaIAN HAMER

TrumpetJULIAN TARDO

Recording and mixing

BIBLIOGRAPHYThe Poetry of Survival: Post-War Poets of Central andEastern Europe, Edited and introduced by DanielWeissbort, Anvil Press Poetry, London, 1991Holocaust Poetry, Compiled and Introduced by HildaSchiff, HarperCollins, New York, 1995Night, Elie Wiesel, Bantam Books, New York, 1960This Way for the Gas, Ladies and Gentlemen,TadeuszBorowski, Selected and translated by Barbara Vedder,Introduction by Jan Kott, Penguin Books, 1967Beyond Lament: Poets of the World Bearing Witnessto the Holocaust, Edited and with an Introduction byMarguerite M Striar, Northwestern University Press,Evanston, Illinois, 1998Conscience & Courage: Rescuers of Jews during theHolocaust, Eva Fogelman,Victor Gollancz, London,1996All But My Life: A Memoir, Gerda Weissmann Klein,Indigo, London, 1997A Jump For Life: A Survivor’s Journal from Nazi-Occupied Poland, Ruth Altbeker Cyprys, Edited byElaine Potter, Constable, London, 1997Holocaust Project: From Darkness Into Light, JudyChicago, with photography by Donald Woodman,Viking, New York, 1993The Oxford Book of Death, Chosen and Edited by D JEnright, Oxford University Press, 1987If this is a Man, Primo Levi, Bodley Head, 1966Klaonica: Poems for Bosnia, Edited by Ken Smith andJudi Benson, Bloodaxe BooksHeart on the Left, Adrian Mitchell, Bloodaxe Books,1997Ravensbrück, Micheline Maurel, Blond & Briggs,London, 1958See other books listed under individual writers.

PERMISSIONSThis Way for The Gas, Ladies & Gentlemen, byTadeusz Borowski, adapted and set to music by kindpermision of Maria Borowska and MalgorzataBorowska.Auschwitz, 1987 by Adam Zych, translated by HildaSchiff, from Holocaust Poetry, set to music andreprinted by kind permission of Hilda Schiff.Pigtail and The Survivor by Tadeusz Rózewicz, trans-lated by Adam Czerniawski; Deathfugue by PaulCelan, translated by John Felstiner; Us Two by NinaCassian; and selected quotations from The Poetry ofSurvival edited by Daniel Weissbort, 1991, are eachset to music and reprinted by kind permission ofAnvil Press Poetry Ltd.Five Men by Zbigniew Herbert, translated byCzeslaw Milosz, set to music and reprinted by kindpermission of Czeslaw Milosz.Hymn to a Woman under Interrogation by ReinerKunze, translated by Ewald Osers, set to music andreprinted by kind permission of Alan Ross and TheLondon Magazine.Victor Jara of Chile and For Rachel: Christmas 1965by Adrian Mitchell, set to music and reprinted bykind permission of Adrian Mitchell.Excerpt from Night, by Elie Wiesel.The words arespoken by kind permission of Georges BorchardtInc. NY.Again, by Kevin Carey, adapted, set to music andreprinted by kind permission of Kevin Carey.Excerpts from A Jump For Life, by Ruth AltbekerCyprys are reprinted by kind permission ofConstable Publishers, London and the ContinuumPublishing Company, New York.Excerpts from All But My Life by Gerda WeissmannKlein and Conscience and Courage, by Eva Fogelmanare reprinted by kind permission of Victor Gollancz.

Watercolour by Arnold Daghani, reproduced by kindpermission of the Centre for German-Jewish Studiesat the University of Sussex, UK.Rosina & Carlos IV (1940), reproduced by kind per-mission of Ralph Freeman.View of Ramp at Birkenau where selections tookplace, reproduced by kind permission of DonaldWoodman and Through The Flower.

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