Oradour ... remember

I visited Oradour-sur-Glane in September 2007 and was moved to the very core of my being. I posted the famous poem on that "village martyr" shortly after my return.

More than one year later, this is and remains the most frequently consulted post on my blog. It still is consulted regularly. This gives me a serene and deep joy because it shows that these people are not forgotten.

Thanks to all of you who took the trouble to read my posts about that terrible event.

Oradour

Oradour n'a plus de femmes
Oradour n'a plus un homme
Oradour n'a plus de feuilles
Oradour n'a plus de pierres
Oradour n'a plus d'église
Oradour n'a plus d'enfants

Plus de fumée plus de rires
Plus de toits plus de greniers
Plus de meules plus d'amour
Plus de vin plus de chansons.

Oradour, j'ai peur d'entendre
Oradour, je n'ose pas
Approcher de tes blessures
De ton sang de tes ruines,
je ne peux je ne peux pas
Voir ni entendre ton nom.

Oradour je crie et hurle
Chaque fois qu'un cœur éclate
Sous les coups des assassins
Une tête épouvantée
Deux yeux larges deux yeux rouges
Deux yeux graves deux yeux grands
Comme la nuit la folie
Deux yeux de petits enfants:
Ils ne me quitteront pas.

Oradour je n'ose plus
Lire ou prononcer ton nom.

Oradour honte des hommes
Oradour honte éternelle
Nos cœurs ne s'apaiseront
Que par la pire vengeance
Haine et honte pour toujours.

Oradour n'a plus de forme
Oradour, femmes ni hommes
Oradour n'a plus d'enfants
Oradour n'a plus de feuilles
Oradour n'a plus d'église
Plus de fumées plus de filles
Plus de soirs ni de matins
Plus de pleurs ni de chansons.

Oradour n'est plus qu'un cri
Et c'est bien la pire offense
Au village qui vivait
Et c'est bien la pire honte
Que de n'être plus qu'un cri,
Nom de la haine des hommes
Nom de la honte des hommes
Le nom de notre vengeance
Qu'à travers toutes nos terres
On écoute en frissonnant,
Une bouche sans personne,
Qui hurle pour tous les temps.

Poem by Jean Tardieu.

Oradour-sur-Glane

Last Sunday I visited the ruins of Oradour-sur-Glane, near Limoges France, where the SS murdered the whole population on June 10 1944, four days after the landings in Normandy.

The village has never been rebuilt and the ruins remain as a stark and extremely moving reminder of the bestiality of mankind. 644 people, of which more than 200 childeren, were murdered in cold blood and the village was burned to the ground.

Words cannot describe the emotional impact this visit had on me - the sight of the ruins and the mass grave moved me to tears. I knew the story, but visiting the spot, 63 years after the terrible events, still evoked very powerfull emotions. Over two hundred childeren butchered, the youngest barely a couple of days old ...

In a first reaction I thought that such an act continues to cry for revenge on the Nazis (there still are lots of them around, believe me - I met some of them !) especially because the monsters guilty of this crime have never been adequately punished.

But then, under the pure blue sky of Oradour, I had to remind myself that the Nazis were not the only ones to commit such bestialities - although no beast is capable of such crime !

Smaller and bigger Oradours have happened since and continue to happen : think about Srebrenica, Sabra and Shatila, Iraq, Palestine, Somalia and so many, many other places. And let us not forget September 11 2001, which I also remembered during my tour of France.

Shall we ever learn ?