Throughout our time at Brandeis, we have been involved in unique art and activist spaces. Inspired by the coffeehouses and open mic nights that have shaped us as writers, we decided to host our own event. In class, we read the Theodor Adorno quote, “To write poetry after Auschwitz is barbaric.” This thought-provoking statement influenced our decision to make the event exclusively a poetry night. After pouring through Sarah Horowitz’s piece in Beyond Anne Frank and lengthy discussions about what we were learning in both this class and our Women’s and Gender Studies courses, we decided on questions we wanted our readers to explore: What does it mean to create art about genocide? What does it mean to explore trauma that you yourself have not experienced? How is the Holocaust still relevant today? For example, can we use talking about the Holocaust as a lens for understanding why, although the mantra is ‘never again,’ so many stand idly by as genocides occur in our time, with regularity. Can art combat this apathy?
Sam and Julia Jay Cohen No Angry IslandsThere were no angry islands where we met,
Only the quiet flow of hidden streams By silent lonely forests and by seas That have grown calm with age and still by night, Only the steady lapping at the shore Of peaceful waters, restless for the dawn. No bitter cities rages beside this sea; No din of dusty houses marred the sky That dark with midnight held a single star. And we together, where? By islands lost? By shores uncharted or by seas unnamed? In darkness set upon some lonely beach? Only the wind to weep of former days. Only the dawn to take us back again. Allison’s thoughts on the poem: "My grandfather’s poem, No Angry Islands, expresses wistfulness for peaceful, easier days. The poem does not directly relate to Anne Frank or the Holocaust, but it makes me think about Anne’s removal from her everyday life, her loss of peace, and her desire for simple pleasures. On a greater level, it reminds me of the personal struggle in times of conflict and the desire to control the uncontrollable, to find peace." |
samantha Dear BobbeDear Bobbe
when he told me you would be disappointed in me i felt sick for 13 years i came to sheepshead bay you fed me cookies from the freezer and mandelbread i rubbed your feet as you spoke to grandma and dad in yiddish sing a song you’d say am yisrael chai am yisrael chai you’d clap and clap Dear Bobbe i went to israel, you know to meet your cousins all of them swarming me, feeding me i am nina’s granddaughter i’d say and in arieh’s crowded home office he pulls out an 11 by 17 sheet of paper Semi, this is our our family tree so many names and stories shaped by survival you were on there, Bobbe i was, too Bobbe, i have your daughter’s thick brown hair and a Star of David from Jerusalem i know where we, where i, came from i know my identity has roots in the soil of (my family’s) graves i will never forget even if my politics convey otherwise Dear Bobbe, i was raised to do the right thing not to fly on the right wing you came to ellis island and found freedom in america but that freedom floats atop a trail of tears i know my identity has roots in the soil of (indigenous) graves Dear Bobbe i strive to rectify injustice from Ferguson to Gaza but it is all around us my soul aches for humanity i am trying to be the best person i can be Dear Bobbe: i hope you would be proud of me i hope these words will grow flowers in the soil of (your) grave Sam's thoughts on the poem: My great-grandmother was a Holocaust survivor and I had the privilege of spending time with her until her death when I was 13. She never talked about her experiences and neither did my grandmother, but Jewish culture was very important to her. I had the opportunity to meet many of her relatives when I traveled to Israel two summers ago. This poem was a way for me to explore my relationship to the Holocaust as well as my personal politics and commitment to social justice. |