How I Got Here

(Original, unedited version, by Murray Gordon,

workshop participant in Keeping Your Hand (Foot, Spleen) In It)

I got here from my great-grandfather

who had a dairy farm in Kovna-Kiberna near Vilna.

I got closer when he came to New York, tailored,

and sent money back home.

And nearer yet when my great-grandmother got the money

and hired a hay wagon with a false bottom.

The next passage was crossing the Russian border

when the border guard pounded the bottom

of the hay wagon with his bayonet.

I got here in the middle of the night

when my grandmother used to wake up

in a cold sweat hearing,

Thump! Thump!

I arrived here with my grandmother in the Lower East Side

fighting her way to survival in gang streets.

I got to Philly doing the same thing in ’41 before the war

seeing swastikas pre Pearl Harbor.

I got here and bring all this with me.

Can you take any of this away?

I don’t think so.

Directions (Edited version) Part 1

I got here from my great-grandfather

who dealt in dairy in Kovna-Kiberna near Vilna.

I came closer when he landed in New York,

worked in a sweatshop, and sent money

back to my great-grandmother

who hired a hay wagon with a false bottom.

The next passage was crossing the Russian

border where the guard pounded the bottom

of the hay wagon with his bayonet.

Part of me arrived with my grandmother

in the Lower East Side as she fought

her way to survival.

I was with her in the middle of the night

when startling in her sleep,

jumping up in a cold sweat hearing,

Thump! Thump!

She was with me in Philly ’41 pre-Pearl Harbor

we saw swastikas flying from row houses.

It takes more than a map

to get from there to here.

Directions (In Wartime) (Suggested Edits)

I got here from great-grandfather, who

dealt in dairy in Kovna-Kiberna near Vilna.

I got closer when he landed in New York,

worked the sweatshop, sent money

back to great-grandma, who

hired a hay wagon with a false bottom.

Crossing the Russian border

the guard pounded the wagon bottom

with his bayonet.

Part of me arrived with my grandmother

in the Lower East Side as she fought

her way to survival. (details needed.)

I was with her, middle of the night

in her sleep, jumping up in a cold sweat

hearing, Thump! Thump!

She was with me in Philly, November ’41,

watched swastikas fly from row houses.

Germans who never saw a Camp Harmony

or any other American concentration camp.