We asked Cyrus Cassells to tell us something about the inspiration and composition of Crossed-Out Swastika, his powerful book of poems about the Holocaust which was featured in our most recent blog posting. Here's what he told us:
What happened consistently during
my 2005-6 sabbatical in Paris, as I say in the poem “Sabine Who Was Hidden in
the Mountains,” was that the Holocaust and World War II became “les devoirs”—my
urgent, unavoidable homework; I couldn’t seem to escape the phantoms of the
war. I lived in Paris at one point on the rue Pont Louis Philippe, about a half
a block from the Shoah Memorial; my landlord noticed a copy of my second book, Soul Make a Path Through Shouting, and revealed that she’d been hidden away in the
mountains of southern France as a child, and that her mother was interned in
Bergen Belsen. One summer I lived on the rue des Rosiers and my writing desk
faced the Ecole de Travail—with its plaque dedicated to the deported Jewish
schoolchildren of the Marais.
This sort of phenomenon happened
time and again in Europe. I would ostensibly go somewhere for a visit, such as
Amsterdam, and I’d discover I was staying around the corner from the Anne Frank
House. I traveled from the Slovak Republic to Krakow to meet the poet Adam
Zagajewski, and on the way, the train stopped at the Auschwitz station. I was jolted
out of a nap at dusk; I looked down and discovered we’d arrived at the
Auschwitz platform. Later Zagajewski encouraged me to have a little courage and
visit the camp memorial; the only day I could go was November 1, the “Day of
the Dead”—a daunting prospect. It turned out to be a very powerful and
distinctive day to make a pilgrimage—there were deeply moving memorial candles
and flowers near the ovens and other key places in the camp. The experience in
Auschwitz took hold of my psyche and spurred the creation of The Crossed-Out
Swastika, a voice-driven poetic cycle focused on the haunting beauty and
integrity of young people caught in the vise of World War II. We’re loathe to
look at what children go through in the midst of war: it’s one of the most censored
dimensions of conflict. But it’s inspiriting to look at Sophie Scholl, Anne
Frank, and other young people who matured in the crucible of the war, to
examine the chastening and enduring legacy they left.
In the six years it took to
complete the book, silence and concision became important allies in attempting
to do justice to the “antimiracle” of that time. Just as I break off the poem
“The Toss” in Soul Make a Path Through
Shouting, I felt the need to stop the action on the page in the seventh
section of the long centerpiece poem, “The Fit,”—to let the silence and blank
space signify atrocity. As poets, we’re always trying to locate the most
effective way to represent reality in our poems. Silence, line breaks, white
space, et cetera, can be major tools in this process of diligent and accurate
emotional representation. These poems fragment under the weight of painful
testimony—which is often the case in real life. Silence shores the intensity of
the frequently painful testimony of the young, war-tapped speakers. Silence in
the poems often serves as a healing tool, as an allaying strategy to cope with
the conveyance and the absorption of trauma.
I have a powerful sense of
history as very human and individual,
as a lived, individual experience, not as a master narrative overlaid on
people’s lives. Empathy and witness, a
reclamation of the wounds of the past, returning agency
to those who have suffered—these were significant aims with this project;
another aim was to create a sense of intimacy with individual stories and voices from the war; I was
thrilled and deeply gratified when a reviewer remarked that The Crossed-Out
Swastika “reveals the commonality of pain in such a stark, revelatory way, that it
seems idiotic to think that there was ever any distance between a contemporary
reader and a Ukrainian child in the 1940s.”
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To read more at Writing the Holocaust about Mr. Cassells' Crossed-Out Swastika, just click here: Crossed-Out Swatstika.
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To read more at Writing the Holocaust about Mr. Cassells' Crossed-Out Swastika, just click here: Crossed-Out Swatstika.
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