I would get Father Michael
To go back for them
In his car.
It was foolish
To head for the big city
If we could do good nearby.
I walked up a hill
In the evening.
I could see only
Four feet ahead of me.
I turned a corner
In an icy hedgerow
And there he was—
A moose.
He was very tall
And strong.
I looked up
At his antlers
And dark muzzle.
His eyes
Were clear,
Like stars.
He could
Have killed me.
But he didn't.
I stayed calm
And he walked
Around me.
I felt safe with him,
As in my father's arms.
Poor Kurt's knees
Kept knocking
And his teeth
Chattered
For hours
After.
I tried not to laugh,
But I felt light and happy.
We should have left bread crumbs
To find our way back. I think we
Walked in the same circle twice
Before we found the shelter.
I was scolded
For leaving the shelter,
But I could tell
Father Michael
Was relieved
To see me.
Father Josef
Was there too.
He gave me a big hug.
I was so excited.
They didn't understand
When I said they must go back
To save the Lindenbaums.
Poor Kurt
Related the story
As best he could.
Father Josef and Father Michael
Sat on a bench at the other side of the shelter.
I could see their lips moving.
They came back over to me and Poor Kurt.
Father Michael was wringing his hands.
Father Josef put his hand on my shoulder.
Poor Kurt listened to them with a frown.
When they moved away, he told me
With the signs I taught him that they would
Not be going back. I was shocked!
They thought we would all be in danger
Hiding Jews in our midst. I said, "But they are
Keeping me secret. What will happen to Nelly
And the baby, Paul?" Poor Kurt held on to me
And we both sobbed. Would anybody take
Pity on them? Not even God?
1941
Germany
Was caught up
In the Russian Campaign.
Hitler
Wanted to avoid
Public unrest at home.
He gave the order
To end T4.
But the killings didn't stop
I learned much later that individual physicians
Were making the choices themselves as to whether
Or not their patients were
"Fit for life."
As German cities were being bombed,
Inmates in institutions were being moved.
Many of them wound up dead.
Disabled adults were killed in gas chambers.
For decades after, they tried to hide the numbers.
It is estimated that 275,000 Disable people
Were "euthanized" by the Nazis.
Another 400,000 were sterilized
So they couldn't
Bear children like themselves.
When the American GIs
Occupied Germany
And World War II
Was finally over,
A handful of doctors
Who had worked
For Action T4
Were brought to justice.
Not Dr. Bouhler;
He committed suicide.
But Dr. Brandt was tried
And executed in a place
Called Nuremberg.
Some of the others continued
To practice medicine.
T4 became something people
And remember.
But now I could go home
To my little house
On a street
With tall poplar trees
And bluish hills
In the distance.
Though
The war
Still
Raged on.
Poor Kurt had nowhere to go
I didn't want to leave him behind.
He had become my closest friend.
The road we had traveled together
Couldn't be understood by another.
There are times in life when everything
Seems to stretch ahead of us and time
Slows down, almost like a dream. We
Had been caught under the same spell.
I asked Kurt if he'd like to go back
To my town with me and Father Josef.
He was surprised, and sat in the corner
Of the shelter to think it over for a while.
Father Josef said to me, "Perhaps your
Parents won't want to feed and board him."
I said, "He can live and work on a farm."
Poor Kurt decided to come along.
My family was reunited
Mother and Father took turns
Holding on to me and
Standing back to look at me
To see how much I'd grown.
My grandparents pinched
My cheeks and shed tears.
Clara pulled me into
The house to see her new doll
And books. Schatze was
Probably the happiest to see me.
She licked my hands and face
And jumped on my back
When I bent down.
It was funny
To see my house
And family
Since I had
Gone out in the world.
I used to think it was all there was.
I had tucked my teddy bear
Into Paul's baby blanket
Before I left the cabin.
I always felt glad
About that later on.
The fairy tale book
I left with Nelly.
I wondered if she
Could still believe in
Happily ever after?
Poor Kurt's Surprise
My family looked at this strange person.
He would have to take a bath if he was
To come into the house and eat at the table.
I got in the large tub first and turned on
The faucet. Warm water tickled my body.
Usually more than one person shared the
Same water, but it was so dirty when I was
Finished, I unstopped the drain. And Mother
Filled it again. I was sitting at the kitchen
Table, eating a piece of apple strudel as
Poor Kurt washed then shaved. When
He came out of the bathroom I could
Hardly believe it! He was a young man,
Maybe eighteen years old,
With fine black hair and dreamy eyes.
Poor Kurt's Story
"The name my
People gave me is
Walthar Bihani.
I lived in Hadamar.
I saw the Disabled
Children arrive in buses.
Afterward the sky
Smelled of that
Terrible smoke.
I was afraid
They would come
For me too.
I wasn't Disabled.
I was part Gypsy,
Or Romani.
I was surprised
I coul
d grow
A full beard.
I smeared it
With gray
Ashes.
I thought no one
Would ask questions
If I were an old beggar
I traveled alone
For weeks
Out of loneliness
And hunger.
When I arrived
At the shelter
They called me
Poor Kurt.
The Church
Had not expressed
Sympathy for
Persecuted Gypsies.
So I didn't reveal
My true identity
To Father Michael.
I lived in fear of
Being discovered.
Then I met Paula."
We looked at
Each other
And smiled.
Old Marthe was willing
To give Walthar a chance. She hired
Him to tend to her land and animals.
It turned out he had real skill in training
Horses. Once I saw him ride a mare
Standing on her back with his eyes
Closed and arms crossed. It must
Have been a kind of Gypsy magic.
He lived in the attic of Marthe's house.
If someone asked about him,
She threatened to punish them with
A hex. I enjoyed going to visit him.
I had romantic ideas about Walthar
He was three years
Older than I,
But that didn't matter.
I would grow up.
It was better
To be friends
Before husband
And wife.
His hair was like
The wing of a blackbird.
His long arms reached up
To the higher branches of a tree.
He could ride a bicycle
Backwards in the rain,
Singing, "I will steal
A little horse and our
Fortunes make thereby..."
My family seemed to approve
Walthar used Sign
With me
And soon my parents
And Clara and some
Of our neighbors
Understood too.
Father said
After the war
I could go to
A special school
In another town
For Deaf teenagers,
If it was still standing.
In truth,
It had to be rebuilt.
Germany's Deaf
Community
Never completely
Recovered
From the public
And personal
Destruction.
Father said
He was sorry
He hadn't thought
Of getting me
The best education
Before the war.
In 1943, the spring thawed
Our land, but our country was fighting
With the whole world, it seemed.
My experience had taught me
That Germany's cause was wrong. I was lucky
To have parents who were kind and taught
Us not to hate anybody. Could I make a
Difference, like Father Michael?
I thought of the future world—if Jews,
Gypsies, and the Disabled would have an
Equal part in it? Meanwhile, the sweet
Brook flowed and I slept on the hammock.
I was almost happy when summer's bees
And dandelions were replaced with a hard
Freeze and dark winter days. It had
Seemed wrong to feel so safe and alive.
Christmas Eve, 1943
The Christkind
Brought us a tree
And presents.
Walthar gave me
A boy and girl
He carved
Out of wood.
The next day
We had a roast
Goose lunch.
Outside
Snow fell
On my house
And other parts
Of Europe,
Lightly
Covering
The mass graves
Of the Nazis' victims,
And our fallen soldiers,
Young German
Boys who had
Given their lives
To an unjust cause.
I held on to Mother
As she and everybody else sang—
I had started to speak, but mostly
Croaked like a frog—
A song by our countrymen,
Father Josef Mohr and Franz Gruber.
Silent night, Holy night
All is calm, all is bright
'Round yon virgin Mother and Child
Holy infant so tender and mild.
Sleep in heavenly peace
Sleep in heavenly peace.
It was a prayer that year, not just a carol.
Our Savior's birth was tinged with sorrow.
I never saw
Stephanie Holderlin
Again.
But she was
In my heart.
Father Josef
Remained
A family friend.
Father Michael
Was killed
By an Allied bomb.
Later we learned
That six million
Jews
Had been
Murdered.
But I always
Thought
Of those seven
In the cabin.
The End
In May of 1945,
Germany
Surrendered.
The United States,
Russia, and England
Were victorious.
Japan and Italy
Fell with us.
Our crimes
Would live in
Infamy.
Forty-eight million
People had died
Fighting
Across the globe.
Grandmother said,
"All the suffering,
All the casualties.
This is the worst
War the world
Will ever know."
I prayed to God, our
Lantern in the dark,
That it would be so.
In 1947
Father Josef married me and Walthar
In a country church ceremony. I wore
A long white gown and satin slippers.
I braided my hair and pinned it around
My head, like a crown. I proudly wore
A necklace of gold coins Walthar had
Given me when he proposed. It was
A Romani tradition. My groom had no
Family left after the war, so he decided
To join my world. Still, on our wedding
Night, we shared some salted bread before
Going to bed, another Gypsy custom. We
Had a son and daughter: one with dark,
Faraway eyes, the other with hair like spun
Gold. I was a farmer's wife. We visited
Father and Mother until they died, four months
Apart, in the same bed. Clara married too,
And became an actress in Berlin. Whatever
Season, whatever weather, we were glad we
Had survived the worst, but we also felt guilty.
That feeling—that we had escaped when others equally
Important had died—would never subside.
Postscript
A plaque
commemorating
The victims
of Action T4
Was set in
the pavement
Where the offices
once stood.
The original
building
&n
bsp; Had been destroyed
in the war.
Educating
people is
The best tool
we have
Against
forgetting.
We must
make sure
Nothing
like T4
Ever
happens
Again.
And so
My story
told in
Poetry
ends.
* * *
Notes from the Author
Paula Becker is named after the German painter Paula Modersohn-Becker (1876-1907). The Nazis labeled her art, mainly portraits of peasant girls and women, "degenerate." She was a close friend of the great German poet Rainier Maria Rilke (1875-1926). Rilke's wife, the sculptor Clara Westhoff (1878-1954), was Paula's closest friend.
"Hear the Voice of the Poet" was inspired by the English poet William Blake's "Introduction," the first poem in his book Songs of Experience (1794).
Unfortunately, the practice of pouring hot wax into a person's ears to cure deafness was more common than it should have been into the twentieth century.