A Dark Place
Gravelled highway manned by poplars.
In the far distance memorials rise up:
Russian Orthodox, Catholic, Protestant.
So many children, a school excursion.
A sea of slabs, rectangles like plant beds
but instead outlines of barrack bunks.
The camp guide offers to take
my photo at the gate. It’s smaller than I
imagined. I think logistics:
how did they all fit?
I dreamt of the chimneys in black and white.
And now a daughter of a survivor can’t stop
talking, a town in Bavaria can’t stand
the connotations and you flinch when I say
“I caught the bus from Dachau”.
Poetry in Progress
Sorlil's comments on the revision process
"I've not changed a great deal, mostly just the format. I can't say I'm particularly happy with it, it feels rather bland and screams of being exactly what it is - an exercise poem!
Interesting exercise nonetheless. I tend to work more methodically even on first drafts and perhaps I need to practice 'loosening up' to allow the poem room to grow before constraining it with a critical eye."
You can read the first draft of this poem here.