Chapter 12
The Poetry of Dachau
Forty poets wrote a total of ninety-eight poems in ten languages, composed during their time in Dachau. These works have been bundled in the book “Mein Schatten in Dachau” (My Treasures in Dachau). The poems are printed in their original language, with a German translation next to them. There is a short biography of all the writers, in addition to the story of their arrest.
“All of us are not poets”, according to the Belgian writer and ex-Dachau prisoner Arthur Haulot. “But if we were we would have written it just like this, because we felt it all deep in our hearts”.
Some of the poets wrote about their experiences. Writing poetry was a escape for them, a way to retreat in another world, to be alone in surroundings where no one was ever alone. For them, writing was a like being saved, and took care that in this harsh world, they were not completely hardened inside.
When they arrived at the camp, everything was taken from the prisoners, they had no right to personal possessions. It was extremely difficult to procure writing materials. A butt of a pencil and especially paper was almost impossible to get. Often fellow prisoners would help, if they had the opportunity. If that did not succeed, the poems could be inscribed in their memory, to be written down after the liberation.
Everything was being used as writing paper. Old newspapers, cardboard, toilet paper. The note had to be hidden very carefully, under the floor of the barracks, in the ceiling, between clothes; everything was thought of to hide what was written from the continuing inspections of the SS. Because the poems were written with the intention of bearing witness to what had happened in Dachau, on the day the gates would open for them.
In the middle of a society where everyone wore dehumanizing striped suits and were only referred to by their numbers, a poet wrote:
“Ik ben not steeds IK,
ik ben een mens
Mogen de beulen dan geen gezicht hebben,
vervormd als ze zein door martelen en moorden,
ik ben een mens gebleven die kan huilen,
lijden en bidden."
"I am still ME,
I am a human being.
May be the executioners do not have a face,
Misformed as they are through torture and murder,
I have remained a human being who can cry,
suffer and pray."
The book contains a number of drawings by the Venetian artist Zoran Music, who in the last few months before the liberation of the camp worked at a desk, and therefore could get drawing materials. Like the poets in this book, he though it was important to draw his impressions for posterity.
The book was compiled by the writer Dorothea Heiser, who lives in Dachau and is financed by the International Dachau Committee. The book contains several Dutch contributions.
Bunker Dachau
Een traliegat, een dikke muur
Het zonlicht dat, hoe ik tuur
De weg door `t gat niet kan vinden
Alleen, ik ben alleen
Drie passen heer, drie passen weer
Terwijl ik strofen declameer
Van verzen uit herinnering
En zachtjes oude liedjes zing
Als uit verweer.
Een cel, een kale grond
O plek waar mijn wieg eens stond
Herinnering van lang geleen
Flits van thuis vliegt door je heen
Aleen, je bent alleen
Mary Vaders
Perseuskinderen
Wij weten niet hoe snel wij gaan
Geruisloos volgen wij een baan
Als reizegers op een planeet
Die wonderlijk de aarde heet
In deze heldere herfstnacht
Betoverd door een sterrenpracht
Van lichtjes, ongekeeend hoeveel
En ieder toch een wereldsdeel
Als wij dat dan mogen zien
Dan denken wij ach heel misschien
Wordt ons het wonder wel gebracht
En eindigt een te lange nacht
Zolang een ster valt en men ziet
Hoe snel zijn kosmisch licht verschiet
Laat God ons spelen als een kind
Dat blindelings het geluk soms vindt.
Willem A.H.C. Boellaard
Bunker Dachau
A hole in the bars, a thick wall
The sunlight that, how hard I peer
cannot find its way through the hole
Alone, I am alone.
Three paces to, three paces fro
While I recite passages
Of poems from memory
And softly sing old songs
Like in defense
A cell, a bare floor
Oh place where my cradle once stood
Memory from long ago
Flash of home flies through you
Alone, you are alone.
Mary Vaders
Perseus Children
We don't know how fast we go
Silently we follow a path
As travellers on a planet
Which full of wonder is called earth
In this bright autumn night
Magic with the splendor of stars
Of lights, unknown how many
And every one still part of a world
If we are allowed to see this
We think Ah it just may be
The wonder will be brought to us
And will end a night too long.
Like a star falls and one sees
How fast the cosmic light dims
God allows us to play like a child
Who blindly finds happiness sometimes
Willem A.H.C. Boellaard