My father, Jan Guzlowski, was born outside of Poznan, Poland, in 1920. In 1940 he was taken into Germany as a slave laborer.

My mother, Tekla Hanczarek, was born west of Lvov, Poland in 1922. In 1942 she was taken into German to be a slave laborer. My parents met in 1944. After the war they married and remained in Germany until 1951. That year, my parents, my sister, Donna, and I came to America as Displaced Persons.

A Good Death

My father says

in time he'll learn

to listen to the Polonaise

and not hear Sikorski

or Warsaw, the hollow surge

and dust of German tanks,

only Chopin,

his staff of clean notes

and precise legato.

His dreams will be

of crystalled tees,

papered gifts

in red half-light,

the smell of warm sheds

and girls drawing milk

from waiting cows.

The snow will fall

and go unnoticed.

# # #

This poem is from a book of poems, The Language of Mules, that I published last year about my parents' experience as slave laborers in Nazi Germany and displaced persons after the war. One of the last poems in the book is about mother's recollections of the liberation of the camp, and the period immediately following the liberation. Let me know what you think.

John John Z. Guzlowski
English Department Eastern Illinois University
Charleston, IL 61920
cfjzg@eiu.edu