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And now, for the eighth edition of the Virtual Poetry Circle:
OK, Here's a poem up for reactions, interaction, and--dare I say it--analysis:
Remember, this is just for fun and is not meant to be stressful.
Keep in mind what Molly Peacock's books suggested. Look at a line, a stanza, sentences, and images; describe what you like or don't like; and offer an opinion. If you missed my review of her book, check it out here.
Here's today's poem by Pavel Friedmann from Holocaust Poetry compiled by Hilda Schiff (Page 25):
He was the last. Truly the last.
Such yellowness was bitter and blinding
Like the sun's tear shattered on stone.
That was his true colour.
And how easily he climbed, and how high,
Certainly, climbing, he wanted
To kiss the last of my world.
I have been here for seven weeks,
Who loved me have found me,
Daisies call to me,
And the branches also of the white chestnut in the yard.
But I haven't seen a butterfly here.
That last one was the last one.
There are no butterflies, here, in the ghetto.
Let me know your thoughts, ideas, feelings, impressions. Let's have a great discussion...pick a line, pick an image, pick a sentence. Most of all have fun!