Two Poems by Lucas Carpenter Sunday Morning in Kiev On squirmy steep Andrievski Street Babi Yar Part of a park now, young couples strolling hand in hand, Old folks on benches for the rare warmth of Ukrainian sun. Expanses of lush jade turf framed by leafy chestnut trees Stirred by remnants of breeze from the Dnipro River nearby. The Centerpiece is a monument on the old Soviet heroic scale, Fifty-foot granite figures of the dead and dying. A chiseled agony of acid angles and sharp lines. You can barely make out the original ravine, The bare-dirt gully carpeted with corpses That you see in the handful of photos in the visitor center Because the Germans filled it in to hide their mess, Later covered with turf and left to heal itself. About 34k killed in the first two days in groups of ten, Stripped and segregated by sex, as if there was a difference. There’s a photo of naked women lined up, some with babies at their breasts. The SS learned a lot here, just getting their greasy killing machine warmed up, Like how even drunk storm troopers could stand only an hour behind the gun Before they started trembling, crying, puking, and about how labor intensive The shooting was, leading to the first experiments with mobile gas chambers, And how buried bodies could still be awkward evidence, so they started burning them In piles and then in ovens. They built a concentration camp here the turned out to be A streamlined operation processing thousands a day from warm bodies to warm ashes, Jew, Gypsies, party apparatchiks, mental patients yanked from their asylums… I can form no other images of the eventual dead. Their mystery Is opaque, the darkness visible of industrial death: What we will do to each other when we can, when the time is right. Lucas Carpenter |