Shoved in a jacket, a folded heart,
a breakage of notes about the body fascism.
Nach Auschwitz ein Gedicht zu schreiben
ist barbarisch. So sing then a song about
Oswiecim, about the ice on the Sola, about
Silesian firs, tell the story of a train hanging under
stars, late from Hannover. Tell me in hushed tones
about a hole in a roof, about rushed concrete,
about the sinking to ash.
Then throw this poem into the sun.
No paper can carry this weight.
About Leslie Philibert
Leslie Philibert is a social worker from London. After studying English literature at the University of Coleraine, he now lives in Germany. He has published work in the United States in magazines and has also done some translating for theatre groups in Bavaria. He is married with two children.
