Hanging in There

My poetry comes from a place where there are no words, an unconscious place, I often say.

And sharing my poems helps other people get to their 'place where there are no words', a place of calm and timelessness.

Much of my poetry is about my Jewish ancestry, most of whom passed away in WWII in the camps in Germany, and whose stories found their way into and out through my poetry.

Once I realised that all the words coming up for me were about them and the unlived lives and untold stories, I wanted to give them a place in the world. Just as I had done for myself. It was a profound and meaningful process; writing all the poetry and then bringing them out on to the walls of a gallery here in San Francisco.

The act of writing up the words and hanging them on a wall was, in itself, a tribute to their lives and celebrates who they were, however short their lives. It gives them a rock, a tombstone of sorts. And it has healed something in me too. Something I didn't know was there all that time, until it came out onto the paper and on to the wall.

Now I bow deeply for those who came before me and made me to who I am today.

Actively practicing compassion is what got me there.

Hanging in there, a poem

As I look Up

I see the wires in the frame

My neck slanted ever so slightly

From the wires holding me up 

loosely tied and knotted 

From dangling alone and seemingly

Uncontrolled

I feel the others hanging there too

Numbers are many and diverse

Clouding the open sky

And sending me mixed messages 

Of Belonging

I hear the menorah call

and the cries in the dark 

haunt me

there is laughter of soldiers around the fire

Feet stomping in the wet mud around it

I can almost feel the cigarette as it burns

Torah and the Bible lay before me and 

as I veer to one and then the other

I suddenly hear

the gentle voice of German Love 

sing through it all 

Goethe, this morning, my grandmother says

Brings enlightenment and calm 

My heart and my mind stretch

all at once

As my head falls onto my writing table 

my eyes stare at the sentences on the paper and

I see the Light

Shining across my words

As the sun makes its way through the curtains 

Patterns become visible

of shadows and light dancing across the room 

And as I rise and sip my tea 

with Ray on my heart

I hear the words ‘you are English too my dear’

The past is looming in the corner

acknowledgement in demand

I feel

Overwhelm 

and grief 

for the Lives that couldn't be lived

That must all live through me

The voices in the dark seem to call out

As I first realise, they are all me

and they are all them 

Slowly

Ground re-emerges under my feet and

I see that no one hangs at all

They stand behind me 

Tall and proud and

Hoping

I will write about them

To make a mark

To set a stone

To light a light

-

Acknowledging lives unlived 

Stories untold 

All so very alive in me

Where in desperation and in despair

Who I am

Is who they are

~ Barbara Piper