Petr Ginz
It is a foggy day in
Prague ;
The fading of the
Jews begins,
begins with a sign,
a branding:
black-and-yellow
stars of David;
On his walk to school, Petr counts
sixty-nine ‘sheriffs’ with badges.
Petr Ginz is a star shining in darkness;
He sees seeds germinate in mud and scum;
colours a visit from prehistory;
laughs cannonballs of explosive satire;
Caged Prague
Before any soul has rocketed to space,
He draws Moon
Landscape, earth seen from the moon;
Moon rock heaves mountain peaks in linocut.
It is a foggy day in
Prague ;
Death hovers over the Vitava;
Normal time fades in
the ghetto;
Jews are starving to
skeletons;
no fruit, geese,
poultry, cheese, onions;
Tobacco rations are verboten
to prisoners,
madmen, and Jews.
Petr logs the
calamity.
He records in yellowed notebooks:
The people fade
away, hundreds,
And then thousands,
gone on transports:
Levituses, Poppers,
Mautners;
One August day he
barely notes:
‘In the morning at
home.’
Petr is sent to the ‘spa
town’,
Transit camp for the
death camps;
His mind is still an
adventure;
Reads, writes, draws,
paints, carves linocuts,
Edits a secret
newspaper;
He is sixteen
talent-rich years
He is gassed in
Auschwitz.
1 February 2003:
On Petr Ginz’s birthday, death
Flies the shuttle Columbia ;
Ilan Ramon, carries with him
A copy of Moon Landscape.
