The Poetry
of the
Holocaust
of the
Holocaust
It has been said that beauty rises from the ashes; in the case of Holocaust survivor Pavel Friedman, that couldn't be more true. Despite the pain and suffering he endured during his time in the Jewish ghetto to which he was assigned, he was able to create beautiful language to articulate and capture that pain. His poem "The Butterfly" encapsulates the sense of despair that befell the Jewish people as they were taken away by the millions, unable to fly away like the yellow butterfly.
This artifact was chosen with the following learning goals in mind:
Common Core State Standards/GLCE's
This artifact was chosen with the following learning goals in mind:
- I will be able to interpret what the butterfly represents to the speaker in the poem using evidence from the text.
- I will be able to compare and contrast this account of the Holocaust with the other accounts I've encountered thus far.
Common Core State Standards/GLCE's
- R.WS.01.08 Use syntactic and semantic cues including picture clues, word chunks, and the structure of book language to determine the meaning of words in grade-appropriate texts.
- R.NT.01.05 Respond to individual and multiple texts by finding evidence, discussing, illustrating, and/or writing to reflect, make connections, take a position, and/or show understanding.
- CCSS.ELA-Literacy.L.8.5 Demonstrate understanding of figurative language, word relationships, and nuances in word meanings.
- CCSS.ELA-Literacy.W.8.9 Draw evidence from literary or informational texts to support analysis, reflection, and research
- CCSS.ELA-Literacy.RL.8.1 Cite the textual evidence that most strongly supports an analysis of what the text says explicitly as well as inferences drawn from the text.
The Butterfly - Pavel Friedman
The last, the very last,
So richly, brightly, dazzlingly yellow.
Perhaps if the sun's tears would sing
against a white stone ...
Such, such a yellow
Is carried lightly 'way up high
It went away I'm sure because it wished to
kiss the world goodbye.
For seven weeks I've lived in here,
Penned up inside this ghetto
But I have found my people here.
The dandelions call to me
And the white chestnut candles in the court.
Only I never saw another butterfly.
That butterfly was the last one.
Butterflies don't live in here,
In the ghetto.
So richly, brightly, dazzlingly yellow.
Perhaps if the sun's tears would sing
against a white stone ...
Such, such a yellow
Is carried lightly 'way up high
It went away I'm sure because it wished to
kiss the world goodbye.
For seven weeks I've lived in here,
Penned up inside this ghetto
But I have found my people here.
The dandelions call to me
And the white chestnut candles in the court.
Only I never saw another butterfly.
That butterfly was the last one.
Butterflies don't live in here,
In the ghetto.