Jerome Rothenberg: At the Hotel Monopol

PROEM [1988].   It was raining when we got to Wroclaw (Breslau), the miles from Auschwitz bringing back the memories of what had happened there.  Traveling with our son we had made reservations for a single suite at the Hotel Monopol, but when we pulled in, the hotel could only come up with two separate rooms.  After a while, though, the desk clerk said that they had found a suite for us that was free.  An elderly bellhop carried our bags up the central flight of stairs, threw the big doors open, put our bags down on the floor, & asked me with a little smile, “And do you know who slept here?” Then he answered his own question: “Hitler!—And he made a speech from that balcony.”  After which  he turned & closed the doors behind him, leaving us to think again about our fate & theirs.

 

in the room

where Hitler slept

dreams didn’t come

but sounds

broke from the walls

 

& cracked

then crackled

made us stare down

past our feet

the dance beginning

 

while over our heads

the lights would flicker

one-two-three-four

brought to life

we stepped out

 

on his balcony

& hailed the crowds

hard faces

four-two-three-one

theirs like ours

 

our fingers flat

above our lips

looking like hairs

bunched up

touched by his tongue

 

the rain falls
upside-down
from iron boxes
the dead outside the ring
surround us

cousins fallen

bird-eyed

where the rain

like tiny knives

opens their wounds

 

children & rain

the redfaced killers

reach up to the man

the victims without faces

broken underfoot

 

four-one-three-two

I hadn’t been there

where the lines of gymnasts

march to the sounds

of open flesh

 

for them his face

is golden

old as time & echoing

the cry of what can never

be reborn

 

10.vi.15