THIS FURNACE (Note To An Old Photograph In A Family Album) JOHN SHANE. I published this grieving poem on Holocaust Memorial Day in witness to the way the shadow of the holocaust falls across us all

WRITTEN AFTER A FAMILY FUNERAL, I don't know if this previously unpublished poem is finished, or even if it could ever be finished, but I decided to post it here to mark Holocaust Memorial Day...

CLICK ON THE PLAY BUTTON ABOVE towards the right hand side of the page to hear a rough & ready recording, made quickly at home, of John Shane reading his poem.

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THIS FURNACE

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The image, at a family funeral, of a loved one’s coffin passing through the automated iron gates into the crematorium furnace and being consumed by the flames raised powerful and painful memories in me and this poem arose as I tried to process the feelings of profound grief and sorrow at a deep personal loss that were amplified and increased by their becoming mixed with the overwhelming grief and sorrow that flowed from the simultaneous arising of insistent cultural memories of horrific historic collective loss that I associated with the image of the furnace and its flames.

Looking for a way to express hope in the face of an overwhelming sense of loss and despair, I’ve struggled for a long time trying to finish ‘THIS FURNACE’ always feeling there was much more to it than I had been able capture…more that I could say about what goes on in the furnace of the individual ‘nuclear family’ that is inextricably linked to what goes on in the furnace of the collective ‘human family’.

But now, abandoning any idea of ever truly ‘finishing’ the poem in a way that would fully reflect the weight of my own and others’ suffering in the face of catastrophic loss, I’m ready to let it go.

And perhaps - after sharing here what I can’t help but see as my failure to be able to adequately express what I wanted to say in the poem - the nagging feeling that it needs to say something more will leave me be…?

I know that it’s not a pretty or a comfortable poem, so if you do find a moment to read it or listen to it, thank you for bearing with me.

JS

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‘Compression is the first grace of style.’

Marianne Moore.

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‘Enough….!! Or too much..!!’

William Blake

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THIS FURNACE

(Note To An Old Photograph 

In A Family Album)

John Shane

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Here we 

stand

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A group of 

shadows

Barely 

distinguishable

One from the 

other

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Merging where the 

dark

Seeps out of the 

corners

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We are 

illuminated 

For a brief 

moment

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From time

to time

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When those metal

doors slide 

back 

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Revealing fierce 

flames

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Whose light throws our 

surroundings

Into sharp 

relief

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One by 

one 

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We must 

each 

Pass 

through 

That narrow 

embrasure

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But no one 

knows 

Who must go 

next

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And, forgetting 

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- ⁠between each 

opening of the

doors -

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The briefly glimpsed

conflagration

within

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We take what

we see 

Here before

us

For a 

constant

That It can never

be

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This furnace is 

fuelled 

By an explosive 

mixture

Of love and 

guilt

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Hatred and 

gratitude

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Attraction and 

revulsion

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Affection and 

distaste

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Fear, joy, 

desire

Attachment and 

compulsion

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All contribute to this 

primal combustion

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Whose purpose 

is 

To consume 

the flesh

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While the 

bones 

That endure 

its furious

heat

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Must later be ground 

down

Into the finest of

powders

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Nothing remains

some say, but 

dust

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Yet still the furnace

burns 

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And enough energy is

released

From its fiery

intensity

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To light an entire

galaxy

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This, then, the ultimate

mystery

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Revealed in the unraveling

of the secret intimate

history

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Of the members of one

so-called ‘ordinary

family’

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