These deadening lines of sometimes discerning, sometimes defiling dissonance bestir us, hector us like some Old Testament prophet enumerating past horrors, here and there naming names and, above all, accusing the future, which harbors all of us, of ignorance or worse—complicity.
In the title poem Terezin the Eastern European world of 1942 passes by the cattle cars carrying the stunned Jewish families to the holding town or ghetto of Terezin, where many of them would be sent on to their appointed concentration camps and, of course, their deaths. The poet laments,
I carried my days
until we remain only a body
a historian’s vague nightmare
to a destination marked Terezin
with our aims throwing off
thin suitcases, blankets, towels
up to our waist in human dirt.
And this is just the beginning. The intensity and stridency of horror continues, For more of my review go here: http://dougholder.blogspot.com/2012/09/terezin-bz-niditch.html