Versi in memoria di Peter Fechter, nell’anniversario della sua morte, di Federico Federici

Chronik der Mauer – Peter Fechter (1944-1962)

 

August 17, 1962
  Peter Fechter was shot while trying to make his bid for freedom.


He bled to death in agony right behind the Wall on Zimmerstraße near Checkpoint Charlie, in Kreuzberg.

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Walled in, death

by wall and concrete,

neither too tall, nor thick

but an empty zone

open to the appointed

West. The last jump,

the spark long since kept

lit against the spying

of the dark, blown out.

The guard observes

the thing drop dead

in no man’s land.

He doesn’t know

my name, and in duty

finds no word of rest,

his tough teeth rooted

in my flesh, chewing

the nerves and bones

of a painless body.

I’m living my last

hours, well protected

by guns and barbed wire,

lying down, dying, unburied,

lost to heaven under

the tree I may not climb.

A door slammed behind:

the snapshot of my mother

and I sitting still on the small

bed, neither East nor West

before we kissed goodbye.

It was the last spring

in my step. Bleaching

myself white on the tar,

nerves knotted or in bits

the breeze whirls around

my head, pressed against

the faint mark of a spine.

Where does the border run?

The blood sheds as the thought

clots but neither’s in a hurry.

What could fall has fallen.

My breath breaks through.

Federico Federici

Posted on by Ruth

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