Poetry Anthology

Year 10

Poetry Anthology

THE TERROR YEARS

Rajko Djuric (1947-)

Translated by Julie Ebin

* NB: Most websites on Rajko Djuric are in Serbian – you will need to ‘translate’ the page.

Social Issue: The Holocaust

Who are subjected to prejudice? The Jews and Roma people

Think: What is the poet saying about this prejudice?

Our house is Auschwitz,

So big and black. So black and big.

Petals of skull are hidden,

Strewn amidst the tall grass.

Prayers rise up and fall back

Beneath the ashes, beneath the dreams,

Searching for a door, a road out.

House so big. House so black.

Lightless house, hopeless house.

As I arrive at our house

My lips turn blue.

These terror years are my path;

Their names are the way-stations.

Our house is Auschwitz,

So big and black. So black and big.

This is where our tears flow,

Destroying our sight.

This is where they crushed our pleas

For no one to hear.

This is where they turned us to ashes

For the winds to scatter.

Listen, Adam! Listen, Simon!

Eve and Mary, too!

The twenty-five thousand shadows

That watch and follow me:

These terror years are our path;

Their names are the way-station.

House so big.  House so black.

House with no street, house with no address.

Anthem for Doomed Youth

Wilfred Owen

Social Issue: World War I

Who are subjected to prejudice? Men who didn’t join the war effort.

Think: What is the poet saying about this prejudice?

What passing bells for these who die as cattle?

Only the monstrous anger of guns.

Only the stuttering rifles’ rapid rattle

Can patter out their hasty orisons.

No mockeries for them from prayers or bells,

        Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs, -

The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;

        And bugles calling for them from sad shires.

What candles may be held to speed them all?

        Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes

Shall shine the holy glimmers of good-byes.

        The pallor of girls’ brows shall be their pall;

Their flowers the tenderness of silent minds,

And each slow dusk the drawing down of blinds.

Telephone Conversation

Wole Soyinka

Social Issue: Racial Equality                                                                                                                                                                 Who are subjected to prejudice? People with ‘dark’ skin

Think: What is the poet saying about this prejudice?

The price seemed reasonable, location
Indifferent. The landlady swore she lived
Off premises. Nothing remained
But self-confession. “Madam,” I warned,
“I hate a wasted journey—I am African.”
Silence. Silenced transmission of
Pressurized good-breeding. Voice, when it came,
Lipstick coated, long gold-rolled
Cigarette-holder pipped. Caught I was, foully.

“HOW DARK?” . . . I had not misheard . . . “ARE YOU LIGHT
OR VERY DARK?” Button B. Button A. Stench
Of rancid breath of public hide-and-speak.
Red booth. Red pillar-box. Red double-tiered
Omnibus squelching tar. It was real! Shamed
By ill-mannered silence, surrender
Pushed dumbfoundment to beg simplification.
Considerate she was, varying the emphasis—

“ARE YOU DARK? OR VERY LIGHT?” Revelation came.
“You mean—like plain or milk chocolate?”
Her assent was clinical, crushing in its light
Impersonality. Rapidly, wavelength adjusted,
I chose. “West African sepia”—and as an afterthought,
“Down in my passport.” Silence for spectroscopic
Flight of fancy, till truthfulness clanged her accent
Hard on the mouthpiece. “WHAT’S THAT?” conceding,
“DON’T KNOW WHAT THAT IS.” “Like brunette.”

“THAT’S DARK, ISN’T IT?” “Not altogether.
Facially, I am brunette, but madam, you should see
The rest of me. Palm of my hand, soles of my feet
Are a peroxide blonde. Friction, caused—
Foolishly, madam—by sitting down, has turned
My bottom raven black—One moment madam!”—sensing
Her receiver rearing on the thunderclap
About my ears—“Madam,” I pleaded, “wouldn’t you rather
See for yourself?”

What Were They Like?

Denise Levertov

Social Issue: The Vietnam War

Who are subjected to prejudice? The Vietnamese

Think: What is the poet saying about this prejudice?

Did the people of Viet Nam
use lanterns of stone?
Did they hold ceremonies
to reverence the opening of buds?
Were they inclined to quiet laughter?
Did they use bone and ivory,
jade and silver, for ornament?
Had they an epic poem?
Did they distinguish between speech and singing?  

Sir, their light hearts turned to stone.
It is not remembered whether in gardens
stone gardens illumined pleasant ways.
Perhaps they gathered once to delight in blossom,
but after their children were killed
there were no more buds.
Sir, laughter is bitter to the burned mouth.
A dream ago, perhaps. Ornament is for joy.
All the bones were charred.
it is not remembered. Remember,
most were peasants; their life
was in rice and bamboo.
When peaceful clouds were reflected in the paddies
and the water buffalo stepped surely along terraces,
maybe fathers told their sons old tales.
When bombs smashed those mirrors
there was time only to scream.
There is an echo yet
of their speech which was like a song.
It was reported their singing resembled
the flight of moths in moonlight.
Who can say? It is silent now.