Return to Strasshof
I get off the train where a sign greets me:
Welcome to Strasshof! I feel strange and
Curious, detraining unbounded on a sunny
Day of July in this suburb of Vienna
Where as a small boy during the war,
I was a prisoner.
The town is quite charming
But hardly anyone here knows
About the concentration camp.
Finally, an Albanian guest worker takes me
To the camp site. Hitler's lager was here,
The place is a tangle of shrubs
And woodland and the old guard tower
Rises in its middle.
I take pictures, when suddenly
A tall and furious man runs out of a house.
He gesticulates and yells,
Why I take photographs of this place?
History, because of history, I tell him.
Strasshof has a railway museum. However,
No memorial commemorates what happened
Here in the war years. Only the enduring
Silence speaks of the eroding remembrance:
The execution of memory.
Paul Hartal's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Return to Strasshof by Paul Hartal )
Poem of the Day
- Daffodils, William Wordsworth
- The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
- Being With You, Heather Burns
- On the Pulse of Morning, Maya Angelou
- Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
- Dreams, Langston Hughes
- Phenomenal Woman, Maya Angelou
- If You Forget Me, Pablo Neruda
- If, Rudyard Kipling
- Home And Love, Robert William Service
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
- Heather Burns
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
(1679 - 1718)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)