Peder
Well-Known Member
The New Past
Time moves along and carries us with it, calmly,
Effortlessly, as we live our lives in the moment,
Only occasionally noticing mile-markers passing
Along the way, birthdays of course, anniversaries too,
Arrival of children and passing of family and friends.
The future arrives incrementally, in tomorrows
Not so different from the present, while the past
Accumulates in memories which remain forever
In our minds, snapshots of memorable events,
Comprising our experiences, among our thoughts
And ideas and our accumulated cultural standards,
In a personal view of our surrounding world
Which we gradually come to think we understand,
Until . . .
Until one day in our formative years the World War
Comes to an end and the camps are opened and life
Is no longer the same, as brutally horrifying images
Crash unforgettably into reality, showing the genuine face
Of incomprehensible evil and staggering depravity to
A previously naïve and uncomprehending world;
Holding up to humanity's face an unavoidable broken mirror,
Which reflects only darker, uglier, more distorted images back,
And shatters forever ideas of man's innocence or perfectibility.
But times pass, new generations are born, memories fade,
And then the people with them likewise slowly disappear.
One remembers mile-markers when the last surviving veteran
of the American Civil War went to his final sleep some time ago,
And then the last veteran of World War I not so long ago.
World War II will have its turn and people born since then
Will note its passing and soon find their knowledge – if they are interested –
Only in written histories now available on the shelves.
And they will read a novel set in the time of the Holocaust
Which describes the burning of books, bad enough in itself,
But loses the purpose to exterminate all knowledge and ideas
Generated by a people themselves marked for extermination;
Which alludes to people brutally imprisoned but conveys
No realistic sense of the horror of millions of innocent people murdered,
Families, men, women, and children too of all ages, no exceptions;
Which seems to ignore and be unwilling to mention
That the entire purpose was genocide, total and complete.
But the frame of reference has shifted past World War II,
And the newer generation sees only so far back.
The monster who brought on World War II and restored genocide
To the language is gone and will seemingly fade into history,
Alongside the similarly murderous Stalin, Mao, and Genghis Khan,
Becoming no more than just a name in infamy,
Another name from the Old Past.
And the novel which provides only an empty misleading
Sense of the most reprehensible atrocity of modern times,
One which one would think would not, could not be forgotten,
Is year after year acclaimed as an outstanding book.
So, the Old Past is gone.
The New Past is here.
Time moves along and carries us with it, calmly,
Effortlessly, as we live our lives in the moment,
Only occasionally noticing mile-markers passing
Along the way, birthdays of course, anniversaries too,
Arrival of children and passing of family and friends.
The future arrives incrementally, in tomorrows
Not so different from the present, while the past
Accumulates in memories which remain forever
In our minds, snapshots of memorable events,
Comprising our experiences, among our thoughts
And ideas and our accumulated cultural standards,
In a personal view of our surrounding world
Which we gradually come to think we understand,
Until . . .
Until one day in our formative years the World War
Comes to an end and the camps are opened and life
Is no longer the same, as brutally horrifying images
Crash unforgettably into reality, showing the genuine face
Of incomprehensible evil and staggering depravity to
A previously naïve and uncomprehending world;
Holding up to humanity's face an unavoidable broken mirror,
Which reflects only darker, uglier, more distorted images back,
And shatters forever ideas of man's innocence or perfectibility.
But times pass, new generations are born, memories fade,
And then the people with them likewise slowly disappear.
One remembers mile-markers when the last surviving veteran
of the American Civil War went to his final sleep some time ago,
And then the last veteran of World War I not so long ago.
World War II will have its turn and people born since then
Will note its passing and soon find their knowledge – if they are interested –
Only in written histories now available on the shelves.
And they will read a novel set in the time of the Holocaust
Which describes the burning of books, bad enough in itself,
But loses the purpose to exterminate all knowledge and ideas
Generated by a people themselves marked for extermination;
Which alludes to people brutally imprisoned but conveys
No realistic sense of the horror of millions of innocent people murdered,
Families, men, women, and children too of all ages, no exceptions;
Which seems to ignore and be unwilling to mention
That the entire purpose was genocide, total and complete.
But the frame of reference has shifted past World War II,
And the newer generation sees only so far back.
The monster who brought on World War II and restored genocide
To the language is gone and will seemingly fade into history,
Alongside the similarly murderous Stalin, Mao, and Genghis Khan,
Becoming no more than just a name in infamy,
Another name from the Old Past.
And the novel which provides only an empty misleading
Sense of the most reprehensible atrocity of modern times,
One which one would think would not, could not be forgotten,
Is year after year acclaimed as an outstanding book.
So, the Old Past is gone.
The New Past is here.
