Endangered Species: The moon
Dear Moon,
Old faithful friend
of lovers and romantics,
you are our nearest celestial body,
a main distance of 238,857 miles
from Earth,
with a lunar globe diameter
Of 3473 kilometers,
and nevertheless,
we can hide you by a finger
held at arm's length.
Dear Moon,
Only natural satellite of Earth,
You move in a slightly elliptical orbit
With a period of sidereal revolution
In 27 days,7 hours,43 minutes
And 11.5 seconds,
But I still have some concerns
Deep down in my heart.
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poem by Paul Hartal
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Samurai Competition
The steel blade of the sword flashed in the bright sunshine.
Second Lieutenant Toshiaki Mukai clutched the handle in both hands.
He raised the weapon high towards the sky and took a deep breath.
And then, with a powerful strike,
He slashed the head of the young Chinese man kneeling before him.
He smiled.
Did Second Lieutenant Tsuyoshi Noda win or lose?
On route to Nanjing, the two officers
Of the Japanese Imperial Army were
Competing with each other for being the first
To behead 100 people.
The competition was not a war crime, they said,
But in the Samurai spirit of kiri sute gomen,
The ancient feudal era custom
That authorized the Samurai to execute by sword anyone
From the lower classes who compromised the warrior’s honor.
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poem by Paul Hartal
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Shoes on the Bank of the Danube
On a sunny day in Budapest
The Danube Promenade offers a serene stroll.
The Royal Palace perched on Castle Hill
Greets you under an azure sky
And the mountains of Buda wave brightly
Their wooded hands across the river.
But along your peaceful walk listen
To the quiet murmur of the Danube,
Listen to the shifting waves that whisper
About bottomless grieves and sorrows.
The river drifts irremovable memories,
On the flowing waters float
Myriad sad stories.
Not far from the Parliament building
And the Academy of Sciences
Sculpted shoes cast in iron
Line the left bank of the Danube;
Between Roosevelt Square and Kossuth Square:
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poem by Paul Hartal
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The Dancer of Melody Palace
How is your beer?
Good. Bavaria brews the best beers in the world.
That is true. So what did you do in the war?
I was in the Russian front, wounded three times. How about you?
I was an SS guard in Auschwitz and Birkenau.
Was not that boring?
It was routine work. But unusual things had happened.
Don’t tell me that you ran out of Cyclon B for the gas chambers.
No. But on October 23,1943, we had some trouble
with a transport of 1,700 Jews who arrived from Bergen Belsen.
What sort of trouble?
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poem by Paul Hartal
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They Fought with their Bare Hands
To Mordecai Anielewicz (1919-1943)
Facing formidable forces,
Supported with tanks and artillery,
You knew that there was no way to win.
Nevertheless, you decided to fight,
Not for victory, but for Jewish honour.
So, one day in the spring of 1943,
You were 24 years old then,
The Zionist banner was hoisted
Over the Warsaw Ghetto wall,
Along with the Polish flag.
The SS troops preferred to use
Artillery fire, flamethrowers
And gas, or to blast the houses
By dynamite squads, rather than engage
In direct street fighting with untrained
And poorly armed young Jewish men
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poem by Paul Hartal
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Subway
He saw her at the subway station
Standing on the platform waiting for the train.
Inside the car they sat in front of each other.
She was quite young.
Though not strikingly pretty
She was good looking and attractive
And he liked her back-combed black hair.
It was long and lustrous and gathered into a chignon
And softened with a purple satin ribbon
That matched her elegant blue dress.
She wore high heeled black shoes
And her ivory skin shone on her comely legs.
The train moved and stopped
And moved again
At the stations the doors opened and closed
And people streamed out and in.
She sat quietly in her seat
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poem by Paul Hartal
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Armenia, Armenia
After the great flood Noah’s ark landed
on Mount Ararat, says the Bible.
Nowadays, the snow-capped summit
of the mountain soars over Yerevan.
Although the dormant volcanic cone
of Ararat lies south of the border,
in Turkish Anatolia,
the view of the mountain dominates
the skyline of the Armenian capital.
Most of the territory
that was once part of historic Armenia
belongs to Turkey today.
Under the yoke of the Muslim Ottomans,
the aspirations of the Christian Armenians
to obtain autonomy clashed
with the dreams of their rulers
to establish a pan-Turkish Empire.
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poem by Paul Hartal
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Little-Known Death Factory
Operation Barbarossa,
The German invasion of the Soviet Union
commenced on June 22,1941.
Behind the rapidly advancing Wehrmacht forces
mobile SS death squads, the Einsatzgruppen,
went into action. They killed Jews,
Soviet prisoners of war and political commissars.
The historian Raul Hilberg estimated
the number of Jewish men, women and children
murdered by the Einsatzgruppen
in the ravines of Babi Yar, in the forests of Riga
and many other places at 1.3 million.
On the outspread yards of a former kolkhoz,
a dusty Soviet collective farm,
the SS task forces set up a secret death factory.
Its horrible assembly lines creaked and cried
in the outskirts of Minsk of Byelorussia,
near the village of Maly Trostenets.
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poem by Paul Hartal
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The Boy Who Came Down from the Cross
He stood beside his father before tumbling into a deep pit.
A split second later a volley of shots were fired.
His father fell with the others into the abyss, shot dead.
But sixteen year old Zvi Michalowski was alive.
It was a pitch dark night when he climbed out of the pit.
He was naked and his body covered with blood.
He heard the Lithuanian executioners singing, laughing,
Celebrating the shooting of the Jews.
They were all drunk by now.
As Hitler’s armies were advancing on Moscow
The murderers arrived with an Einsatzgruppen unit.
They entered Eishyshok, an old Jewish town in south Lithuania,
On September 25 of 1941. On the same day and the next
The paramilitary SS units massacred about 5,000 Jews
From Eishyshok and adjacent villages.
Zvi Michalowski knew the place like the palm of his hand.
He passed the Jewish cemetery beyond which Polish and
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poem by Paul Hartal
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Science is Unscientific
The Professor rose from his chair.
He moved the book to the middle
Of the table as he stood up.
"Now, listen! " he said in an amicable voice.
"Science prides itself in being factual,
objective, precise, unbiased, detached
and verifiable, free from introversion,
a way of knowing things without added colours
and portraying accurately the physical world
in its own light".
The Turtle was sipping his ginger ale.
"Oh, this description of science is nothing
but a myth", he said. "As I see it,
even the most magnificent accomplishments
of science involve emotions,
an individual sense of wonder and curiosity,
the psychological experience of the rapturous
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poem by Paul Hartal
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