Thoughts
on a Grey Morning in Amsterdam
(for my Mother)
The
ashen morning skies
over
the Prinsengracht
are
thawing.
We
follow in your footsteps
to
Anne Frank's House
along
the banks of the Herengracht
and
the Keizersgracht.
I
try to conjure up
the
horror of death
in
the the windows of the reddish houses
in
Westerkerk Square
The
Frank family's kitchen removed,
the
intricate designs decorating the porcelain
gone,
hundreds of people crammed into this secret place,
saw
her writing, in the dull expectancy of the crowd,
as
meeting a need for hope - Anna ,
your act of writing
making
an international temple
of
world litrerature for our time.
Less
important to know through which door
you
slipped out at night
on
your bicycle -
a
young woman's liberation
from
days of four-by-four cubits,
your
youth coffin
the
hinterland of your hiding-place
in
my veins.
Rezension I Buchbestellung I home II04 © LYRIKwelt