A further reason for my interest in Lotte Kramer and Judith Kerr is that they were born in the same year as my late mother. And my mother-in-law, in fact, and my late father-in-law. A generation that is fast fading from view, and will leave a big gap behind - namely first-hand recollections of what it was like to be a young person during the Second World War. Anyone lucky enough to still have the chance, I urge you to ask your relatives for their memories. Once gone, there will only be the TV to show a picture, and TV is inevitably biased.
.
Showing posts with label Lotte Kramer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Lotte Kramer. Show all posts
Tuesday, 26 March 2013
Friday, 22 March 2013
Low Point
Do you ever read a book so bad that it makes you feel queasy? And I am NOT talking about any shades of grey here. I have not so much as taken an E L James from the shelf of a second-hand bookshop - yes, they are already making their appearance in charity shops, if anyone wants a cheap copy! No, I do know my own limits, and am not going there.
The book I have just finished (I'm a great "I've started so I'll finish" person), is a memoir by a lady who was a Jewish refugee from Hitler in 1933. My interest was caught because she happens to be the same age, gender and nationality as both Lotte Kramer (on whom I have posted below) and Judith Kerr, the author of the inimitable "When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit". Both of those authors write movingly and with delicacy about their childhood experiences and the way these impacted on their development as young adults and beyond.
Anyway, back to the bad book. I won't reveal the author's name, as it might be considered offensive. The story was about her search for a long-lost ancestor, and could probably have been condensed into about three chapters. It was of minor interest, and there was nothing tearful in it, unlike the two authors referred to above. I am struggling to identify why it left such a bad impression, other than the fact that it was extremely repetitive. It left me craving a really classic work to put me back on my normal level of love-affair with books.
Has anyone had a similar experience?
The book I have just finished (I'm a great "I've started so I'll finish" person), is a memoir by a lady who was a Jewish refugee from Hitler in 1933. My interest was caught because she happens to be the same age, gender and nationality as both Lotte Kramer (on whom I have posted below) and Judith Kerr, the author of the inimitable "When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit". Both of those authors write movingly and with delicacy about their childhood experiences and the way these impacted on their development as young adults and beyond.
Anyway, back to the bad book. I won't reveal the author's name, as it might be considered offensive. The story was about her search for a long-lost ancestor, and could probably have been condensed into about three chapters. It was of minor interest, and there was nothing tearful in it, unlike the two authors referred to above. I am struggling to identify why it left such a bad impression, other than the fact that it was extremely repetitive. It left me craving a really classic work to put me back on my normal level of love-affair with books.
Has anyone had a similar experience?
Saturday, 27 October 2012
Lotte Kramer: New and Collected Poems, Rockingham Press 2011
Everyone should have a look at this book. See it Here
Every school should have a copy, and keep it in alive the curriculum.
There are many poems in this book, and all are incredibly accessible and easy to read. Some are only three lines long, but all the poems I read left a mark.
Lotte Kramer does not pretend to be a modern, an intellectual, or anything with a big handle on its name. She is a native German, who was born in 1924 and came to this country on a Kindertransport in 1939.
She writes from the heart about the emotions she still recalls connected with her lost family. Nowhere else have I read any account of how it felt to run down the stairs for the post each day, hoping a letter would come re-assuring her that her loved ones had survived. They did not.
She remembers her long dead grandmother each time she picks up the handwoven tablecloth her grandmother made, now darned and mended many times. Each year there is less of the original left.
In cold weather, she remembers how she sheltered behind her mother as they toiled up a hill in snow, then tries to imagine what her relationship with her mother would have been, had it continued through turbulent adolescence to adulthood and becoming a mother herself.
In the loft is the ancient suitcase her mother packed so carefully for that journey in 1939.
My mother was also born in 1924, and was evacuated during the war, from London to Sussex. I have a little tiny inkling of what it was like to be 15 years old and uprooted, in a time when no-one knew what the outcome was going to be. Many of those 15-year-olds are now dead, and most of those that are left (my dear mother-in-law, is one) cannot express their memories of that time.
Lotte Kramer's gift is that she remembers, and expresses with the simplest clarity, in a way that strikes to the heart.
Please read.
Every school should have a copy, and keep it in alive the curriculum.
There are many poems in this book, and all are incredibly accessible and easy to read. Some are only three lines long, but all the poems I read left a mark.
Lotte Kramer does not pretend to be a modern, an intellectual, or anything with a big handle on its name. She is a native German, who was born in 1924 and came to this country on a Kindertransport in 1939.
She writes from the heart about the emotions she still recalls connected with her lost family. Nowhere else have I read any account of how it felt to run down the stairs for the post each day, hoping a letter would come re-assuring her that her loved ones had survived. They did not.
She remembers her long dead grandmother each time she picks up the handwoven tablecloth her grandmother made, now darned and mended many times. Each year there is less of the original left.
In cold weather, she remembers how she sheltered behind her mother as they toiled up a hill in snow, then tries to imagine what her relationship with her mother would have been, had it continued through turbulent adolescence to adulthood and becoming a mother herself.
In the loft is the ancient suitcase her mother packed so carefully for that journey in 1939.
My mother was also born in 1924, and was evacuated during the war, from London to Sussex. I have a little tiny inkling of what it was like to be 15 years old and uprooted, in a time when no-one knew what the outcome was going to be. Many of those 15-year-olds are now dead, and most of those that are left (my dear mother-in-law, is one) cannot express their memories of that time.
Lotte Kramer's gift is that she remembers, and expresses with the simplest clarity, in a way that strikes to the heart.
Please read.
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