Vox Populi
A curated webspace for Poetry, Politics, and Nature with over 20,000 daily subscribers and over 8,000 archived posts.
John Guzlowski: Four Poems
Her First Winter in Germany – a sonnet
My mother never thought she’d survive
that first winter in the slave labor camps.
She had no coat, no hat, no gloves,
just what she was wearing when the Germans
came to her home and killed my grandma
and took my mother to the labor camps.
A German guard saved her life there.
He saw her struggling with her hands
to dig beets out of the frozen earth,
and he asked her if she could milk a cow.
She said, “Yes,” and he took her to the barn
where the cows were kept and raped her.
Later, the cows kept her from freezing
and gave my mother warm milk to drink.
.
Lessons of War
Some have to die, give up,
allow their bodies at last
to tumble to the ground,
and die
So that others,
struggling by, can think,
can say, I’m not dead,
I won’t give up
God will stumble and die
before I fall.
.
Silence of the Empty Rooms
There is no silence in the empty rooms
no emptiness either.
My sister Donna hides under the bed
where our mother chased her.
Earlier Donna said something
about the coffee or the wash
And my mom heard something else
and slapped her across the face.
My sister screamed and ran away.
My mother grabbed a broom
And followed her into the bedroom
swinging for her as she ran.
Under the bed, my sister couldn’t hide
And my mom hit her again, and again.
Now, no one is here. My sister
hides weeping under the bed.
My mom hides at the kitchen table
not knowing how to weep.
.
What My Mom Taught Me About Life
Life is shit,
people are worthless.
You can’t rely on anyone
to help you or save you.
You’re fucked up
no matter what.
There’s no heaven either
and the only hell you’ll see
is the hell here in your life.
But give me your hand.
and I will stand with you
on the corner and wait
for the boat to heaven
even though it will never come.
Copyright 2024 John Guzlowski
John Guzlowski was born the son of parents who met in a Nazi labor camp in Germany. His poems about his parents’ experiences as slave laborers appear in his memoir Echoes of Tattered Tongues. His most recent books of poems are Mad Monk Ikkyu, True Confessions, and Small Talk: Writing about God and Writing and Me.
Discover more from Vox Populi
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.
Such poignant, bare, courageous poems. That first “broken sonnet” — of course it’s broken!!
LikeLiked by 1 person
John,
I love your work. Your poems are open and genuine in voice. Nothing tattered or worn. Just real and startling.
LikeLiked by 1 person
J Guzlowski’s work, while, dark and stark, has the voice that gives the truth, a persuasion, which is an absolute treasure in the force for good, of course. The subject require his kind of poetic genius to work, of course. I can feel the experience with knowing and bewilderment and wonder—all striking and sinking home in my being trying to fathom. 🙏🏻🎬
LikeLiked by 1 person
Well-said. Thank you!
>
LikeLiked by 1 person
He makes it look so easy, but it aint. I am a fan.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Me too, Edison.
>
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thrilled to see your work in Vox Populi! We’re very proud to have published your award-winning book “Echoes of Tattered Tongues: Memory Unfolded.” The book takes a nuanced and comprehensive look at the impacts of war, working backwards from present time, to the postwar period when John’s family came to the U.S. as refugee immigrants, ending with the wartime experience.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thanks for letting us know about John’s book.
>
LikeLiked by 2 people
That first poem is a son-NOT. Jeezus.
LikeLike
I only write broken sonnets. Sorry.
LikeLike
Broken sonnets? WTF? How about torn sestina? Just call them SON-NOTS, which they vare.
LikeLike
Thank you.
LikeLike
True horror.
>
LikeLiked by 1 person
Heartbreaking. I am grateful for John Guzlowski and his ability to tell
LikeLike
The events he described happened almost a century ago and yet they still are with us.
>
LikeLiked by 1 person
These are heart-renting poems, John. And, yes, the terror of those times broke those women and then fixed them again, made them into strong, unyielding beings without trust or hope. My mother was one of them. On the other side of the fence, but equally marked. There is no comparison to your parents and grandparents suffering, but no-one came out of this horror untouched. Can you imagine the yield of hate and determination that will come from the cauldron of Gaza?
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yes, a child is not born a terrorist. He or she is turned into one by witnessing horror.
>
LikeLiked by 1 person
These poems are windows into terror and their direct and harsh tone fits the experiences they represent. These are powerful works, reminiscent for me in diction and syntax of Charles Simic’s darker poems. Thanks for sharing them, and congratulations on writing them John.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thanks, Mary.
>
LikeLike
thank you. Simic is one of my favorites. I miss him
LikeLiked by 1 person
Devastating poems, particularly that last one.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yes
>
LikeLike
These poems are so vivid and moving John. You share these horrors beautifully. (Carla Schwartz)
LikeLiked by 1 person
I agree. The poems give us insight into the horror that survivors and their families have to live with.
>
LikeLike