Kristallnacht

This is a work in progress, so I’m not really counting it as a post. It is meant to be an epic poem about the holocaust and will eventually be set up as an immersive multimedia performance art experience. It is being posted here and will be edited over and over again, with many more parts being added. The third piece that is on here now, will be moved further back in the composition. I need to lose myself into the period for a few days, for inspiration. I’d like you to be able to view the creative process with me. The first poem was written many years ago, but lost to the vagaries of time. It is reconstructed here (the only four lines that I can remember; the first and last two), but the original was much more powerful and moving. You’ll also notice that the writing style differs from the other writing styles you have seen, so far. I blame it all on the voices. No, not really, but sometimes they have some really cool ideas. No, not really. The best way that I can describe my mind is for you to envision galaxies colliding. It never stops. Ever. As always, comments, criticism and insults are always welcomed. If you like it, please let me know. If you hate it, let me know that, too. Thanks. – Steve

New - 


I Saviour (change title - using this one for another sequence)

II Kristallnacht

You ask me, child, if I remember
I remember, I remember, I remember
Hobnails on the cobblestones
And the strutting marionettes
Torches in the night
Shattered glass
Spilled across the sidewalks like stars across the sky
A million points of light
Shouted commands and muted whimpers of fear
Beatings and blood
A mitzvah for the host, this brutal, ritual bath
Running, screaming, shots in the night
Tears and horrible, inhuman laughter
Boots on the stairs and a pounding at the door
Hide the children!
The wood cracks, splinters and breaks apart
“Raus, raus!”
Too late! Too late!
Too soon, our voices join this choir of the damned
And the world burned around us
Collapsing in upon me
And those who speak no more.
You ask me, child, if I remember
How could I ever forget?


III Six Points of Yellow

A star of yellow cloth
A patch upon my clothing
A stain upon my soul
They hunt, they come in packs
Wolves, they are
They strike without warning
“Juden,” they call
“Halt,” they command
They descend upon you
They feed their madness
Sometimes, they hurl words
The easier pain to bear
But most times those words are weighted
With fists, brick and stone
“Am I not one of you,” I cry
They laugh, “You are nothing like us.”
The blows rain down
No, I am nothing like them
I have become nothing
Perhaps something less

IV The Vanishing

V Boxcar

The baby never stops crying
A sardine has more room
And smells so much better
The press allows for no movement
The baby never stops crying
I don’t know how many days have passed
The baby never stops crying
I am thirsty, there is no water
I am hungry, there is no food
I have soiled myself, there is no shame
Just the endless standing
The baby never stops crying
Did I fall asleep? Am I still awake?
Please, let it be a dream
The baby grows quiet; she will cry no more
The grandfather next to me is the next to go
And still he stands
Lord, help us. God of my fathers, hear our pleas
How many more?
The endless miles clack by
We are less than cattle

VI The Arrival

VII Savior (change title?)

"God will help us," we cried
"God will protect us," we prayed
Surely, God would not abandon us

As I watched as my wife and children being led away
I knew there would be no savior
God would do nothing

He has abandoned us
And I have abandoned him

VIII Arbeit Macht Frei

IX Angels of Mercy, Angels of Death

X Garden of Stones

Contemplate if you will
Depthless silence that envelopes you
Much like a greatcoat
Sullen and black as pitch
Like the ash that drifts upon the wind

I tread softly through the mourning mist
To tend this garden of stones
I hear the echo of whispers and soft, ancient wind songs
Songs... and memories; a bitter requiem for the spirits
A prayer that dies and lay unspoken

The killing fields grow strong and vibrant
Serene, yet deathly still
Over far horizon, so endless and emerald green
Sustained by the tears of children that never blossomed
And the long dead flesh of man

I have come to seek your spirit
I have come to ease my soul
And for a moment much too brief
I feel your presence that slips through the mist
Here... in this garden of stones

Did I rouse you from your dreams of eternal night?

XI Kaddish

English translation follows.

Yitgadal v'yitkadash sh'mei raba.

B'alma di v'ra chirutei,
v'yamlich malchutei,
b'chayeichon uv'yomeichon
uv'chayei d'chol beit Yisrael,
baagala uviz'man kariv. V'im'ru: Amen.
Y'hei sh'mei raba m'varach
l'alam ul'almei almaya.
Yitbarach v'yishtabach v'yitpaar
v'yitromam v'yitnasei,
v'yit'hadar v'yitaleh v'yit'halal
sh'mei d'kud'sha b'rich hu,
l'eila min kol birchata v'shirata,
tushb'chata v'nechemata,
daamiran b'alma. V'imru: Amen.
Y'hei sh'lama raba min sh'maya,
v'chayim aleinu v'al kol Yisrael.
V'imru: Amen.
Oseh shalom bimromav,
Hu yaaseh shalom aleinu,
v'al kol Yisrael. V'imru: Amen.

Exalted and hallowed be God's great name
in the world which God created, according to plan.
May God's majesty be revealed in the days of our lifetime
and the life of all Israel -- speedily, imminently, to which we say Amen.
Blessed be God's great name to all eternity.
Blessed, praised, honored, exalted, extolled, glorified, adored, and lauded
be the name of the Holy Blessed One, beyond all earthly words and songs of blessing,
praise, and comfort. To which we say Amen.
May there be abundant peace from heaven, and life, for us and all Israel,
to which we say Amen.
May the One who creates harmony on high, bring peace to us and to all Israel.
To which we say Amen.

Scared Sober

I'm not one to believe in the supernatural; to me, ghosts and goblins, creepy creaks and moans, as well as errant footsteps in the night are all things that can be explained away quite rationally. Explanations may assume many forms, from the weather to an old home settling upon its foundation. An overactive imagination may also play its part. The mind loves to play tricks on itself, whereby every sight and sound can assume a malevolent purpose. Supernatural occurrences can always be explained away rationally; except for when there is no rational explanation.

It began like any other day, indistinguishable from the day before, it moved along like any other day; no portent of doom appeared on the horizon as the day bled out into night. Penny and I had made plans to visit our friend Lisa, for an evening of fun. Penny had a young daughter, who was close in age to Lisa's daughter; the two girls frequently played together and were fast friends, as we all were. We had arrived at Lisa's home, had dinner, and Lisa and I had a few drinks.

The children played while the adults socialized; the hours passing quickly. We had made plans to spend the night, and as the evening deepened, the children were put to bed. Penny wasn't feeling very well and was tired. She decided that she was going to lay down with the girls, leaving Lisa and I to fend for ourselves. We retreated into the den, closing the door behind us, so as not to wake the children. We listened to records, watched movies; we told jokes and we laughed; talking about anything and everything. We'd also had a few more drinks. We were laughing about something, when suddenly, our revelry was interrupted by a soft knocking at the door, a soft knock that somehow reverberated like the sharp report of a gunshot in the close quarters of the room. Thinking that one of the girls had woken up, I walked across the room to the door, telling Lisa that I would tuck the child back in and return. As my hand touched the doorknob, I felt the shock of deep cold. Opening the door the same way I would any other, I looked down to see which one of the girls was awake.

That was when it hit me, or, more accurately, went through me. This cold, malevolent presence, this thing, had violated me with malicious intent; the cold somehow imparting a taste of death. It was if my very soul had been raped. In a fraction of a second, I had felt what I can only describe as pure, oppressive evil; ice cold and yet, I had sensed a raging fire, the smells of soot, ash and brimstone. I literally knew the tread of something walking across my grave, been given a vision of that desolate and lonely place. Words alone cannot begin to describe the fear, dread and hate that passed through my body. I started shivering, shaking uncontrollably, my arms wrapped tightly around myself; freezing on a hot summer's night. "What the hell was that?" I heard Lisa say. "What the hell was that?" she repeated. "What?" I asked, uncertain that I wanted to admit to anything. "Whatever the hell that black thing was that that just walked through you," she replied nervously. "You saw it?" I asked. "Hell yes, I saw it!" she said. You could hear the tremors of fear in her voice. I told her what I had experienced and felt, asking her if anyone had ever died in the house; died in a fire, to be specific, for I had glimpsed... something. She assured me that nothing of the sort had ever happened, yet I knew that it had, beyond a shadow of a doubt. We attributed what had happened to our having had a few drinks, but I think we had both just been scared sober. We decided to leave the house for a bit and go to the beach until our nerves settled, thinking that Penny and the girls would be safe until our return. There was nothing to fear, really, this was, after all, an alcohol influenced episode.

Once we reached the beach, we took a walk along the shore and discussed what had happened, convincing ourselves that what had occurred was nothing more than imagination. Hours later, as a false dawn crept across the horizon, the decision to return to Lisa's house was made with great trepidation. We drove back slowly, both of us apparently still quite rattled and on edge. Arriving back at Lisa's house, we were startled to see that every light was on, both inside and outside of the house. I'm sure we both had puzzled expressions as we looked at each other and simultaneously asked, "What now?" As we approached the front door, it suddenly flew open, startling us.

There in the doorway stood Penny, disheveled and frightened; the gleam of terror and madness burning in her eyes. "Where the hell have you been?"she thundered. Lisa and I explained to Penny what had happened and why we chose to leave. "Yeah? Well, it got really pissed off after you left," she responded. She went on to explain that it, whatever it was, had awakened her and the girls, walking around the house, opening and slamming cabinets and drawers; knocking on the walls and the bedroom doors. Terrified, Penny and the girls had been huddled together, cowering in the living room, anxiously awaiting our return. The entire episode would still have been easy enough to pass off as alcohol induced, except, Penny hadn't had a single drink all evening. She had been completely sober and hadn't even been aware of the events that Lisa and I had experienced. Still groping for answers, I wondered if someone might have tried to break in. Prudence dictated that I go back outside, to look for any sign of an intruder, which I did. Finding nothing, I went back inside the house. The remaining hours of the morning passed without further incident, until Lisa decided to call her mother and explain what had happened the night before. All hell seemed to break loose after that.

Lisa's parents, a very conservative Jewish couple, contacted a couple of crazy Kabbalah mystics, who came to Lisa's home. After questioning the three of us about the events of the previous night, these self proclaimed mystics, claiming themselves to be psychic, roamed throughout the house, making comments and suggestions. They mentioned that some mezuzahs were missing from the doorframes, others had been turned upside down, and still more were missing their requisite verse from the Torah. The Kabbalists then proceeded to prove themselves correct, pointing out spots on the doorframes, where you could clearly see the outlines of the missing icons. All of the remaining mezuzahs were removed from the walls, opened and found to be empty inside; a barren womb. The Kabbalah mystic gave instructions to Lisa's father on the appropriate remedy to the situation, in order for the icons to once more perform their duty to guard the home. Soon after this, the Kabbalists performed an exorcism on the house, followed by a ritual cleansing and a blessing. Claiming the battle to be won, the two erstwhile psychics departed the house, but not before questioning me further, explaining to me that mine was a new soul, and therefore much more receptive to the supernatural. Yeah, right. Stranger still, the next day, Lisa researched the history of her home, discovering, of all things, that there had indeed been a deadly fire in her home, an electrical one, that had taken the life of a previous owner. The discovery of this information shook the three of us once again. While it had been a strange and dreadful night, as far as I know, there was never another incident in that house.

Over the years, I've tried to rationalize the events of that night, trying to explain them in every possible way and have never been able to, not with any degree of satisfaction. There are so many questions, still, and they are begging for answers. I still don't believe in things that go bump in the night, but it still scares the hell out of me, whenever I think of that night.