A HYMN ON THE LIPS OF THE DAWN
by Fearghas MacFhionnlaigh
‘No poetry after Auschwitz’
(Theodor Adorno, philosopher and music-critic)
‘What do you think an artist is? An imbecile who has only his eyes if he is a painter, or ears if he is a musician, or a lyre at every level of his heart if he is a poet?...On the contrary, he is at the same time a political being...No, painting is not done to decorate apartments. It is an instrument of war for attack and defense against the enemy’
(Pablo Picasso, painter)
There is poetry after Auschwitz.
I say it respectfully, for I am not a Jew.
We won’t give that victory to the Nazis -
to pluck the last gold from our mouth
and traumatize our tongue with a barbed-wire gag.
What but poetry shall deliver our speech?
- each metaphor a severed wire
- each poem an utter breach.
There is painting after Dachau.
I say it respectfully, for my arm bears no blue number.
We won’t give that victory to the Nazis -
to make an endless Kristalnacht of our eyes
and brand our retinas with after-images of horror.
What but painting shall screen our vision?
- each brushstroke a beam of light
- each canvas a prism of insight.
There is music after Buchenwald.
I say it respectfully, for I have worn no yellow star.
We won’t give that victory to the Nazis -
to banish every bird from the ruins of our head
and seal in our ears the undying echo of death.
What but music shall make our hearing sound?
- each vibrant string a trembling wing
- each melody a hymn on the lips of the dawn.
by Fearghas MacFhionnlaigh
--- (See also "HOLLANDSCHE SHOUWBURG")
