{"id":1280,"date":"2011-10-03T21:49:21","date_gmt":"2011-10-03T21:49:21","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/?page_id=1280"},"modified":"2011-10-04T22:51:35","modified_gmt":"2011-10-04T22:51:35","slug":"claudia-emmingham-1011","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/archives\/claudia-emmingham-1011\/","title":{"rendered":"Claudia Emmingham"},"content":{"rendered":"
Requiem (for my grandfather)
\n<\/strong><\/div>\n
His memories sleep in a wooden suitcase
\nthat travelled all the way to Tripoli
\nShe had never heard of that place
\ngot left behind rolling cigars twelve hours a day
\nto feed a whingeing child.
\nI picture them saying goodbye
\nat the station that no longer exists.<\/div>\n
Forty years on I craved his desert stories;
\nhow he was stung by a scorpion
\nand the sun turned the sand blood red – I had no idea<\/div>\n
He spoke of Stauffenberg, which was good
\nbecause we were all antifascists by default –<\/div>\n
He never mentioned the Africa corps<\/div>\n
But he told me how he met the devil one night
\nin the forest, after he came back from Libya
\nand that he pitied me, because I would live through
\nthe next war, more murderous than the previous.<\/div>\n
In the end, his face was a thin smile on a starched hospital
\npillow and he said how much he liked my new
\nsparkly-blue braces and that he was too tired to live
\nin yet another<\/em> Germany, one with glossy
\nmagazines and countless opportunities.
\nWe held hands for a long time before he said
\nMach\u2019s gut mein Spatz (So long, my dear)<\/em><\/div>\n
Last Supper<\/strong><\/div>\n

\n<\/strong><\/div>\n
Grandma asked for semolina:
\nwarm and milky,
\ndusted with sugar and cinnamon,
\nlike she used to make for us
\non summer days.
\nIt\u2019s the last thing I want<\/em>,
\nshe whispered,
\ninto the hospice room\u2019s
\nsacral silence<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Requiem (for my grandfather) His memories sleep in a wooden suitcase that travelled all the way to Tripoli She had never heard of that place got left behind rolling cigars twelve hours a day to feed a whingeing child. I picture them saying goodbye at the station that no longer exists. Forty years on I […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"parent":934,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-1280","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"yoast_head":"\nClaudia Emmingham - Full Of Crow: Poetry (Archives)<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/archives\/claudia-emmingham-1011\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Claudia Emmingham - Full Of Crow: Poetry (Archives)\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"Requiem (for my grandfather) His memories sleep in a wooden suitcase that travelled all the way to Tripoli She had never heard of that place got left behind rolling cigars twelve hours a day to feed a whingeing child. I picture them saying goodbye at the station that no longer exists. Forty years on I […]\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/archives\/claudia-emmingham-1011\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"Full Of Crow: Poetry (Archives)\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:modified_time\" content=\"2011-10-04T22:51:35+00:00\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:card\" content=\"summary_large_image\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:label1\" content=\"Est. reading time\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data1\" content=\"1 minute\" \/>\n<script type=\"application\/ld+json\" class=\"yoast-schema-graph\">{\"@context\":\"https:\/\/schema.org\",\"@graph\":[{\"@type\":\"WebPage\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/archives\/claudia-emmingham-1011\/\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/archives\/claudia-emmingham-1011\/\",\"name\":\"Claudia Emmingham - Full Of Crow: Poetry (Archives)\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/#website\"},\"datePublished\":\"2011-10-03T21:49:21+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2011-10-04T22:51:35+00:00\",\"breadcrumb\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/archives\/claudia-emmingham-1011\/#breadcrumb\"},\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"ReadAction\",\"target\":[\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/archives\/claudia-emmingham-1011\/\"]}]},{\"@type\":\"BreadcrumbList\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/archives\/claudia-emmingham-1011\/#breadcrumb\",\"itemListElement\":[{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":1,\"name\":\"Home\",\"item\":\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/\"},{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":2,\"name\":\"Archives\",\"item\":\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/archives\/\"},{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":3,\"name\":\"Claudia Emmingham\"}]},{\"@type\":\"WebSite\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/#website\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/\",\"name\":\"Full Of Crow: Poetry (Archives)\",\"description\":\"Archives Of Previous Issues\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"SearchAction\",\"target\":{\"@type\":\"EntryPoint\",\"urlTemplate\":\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/?s={search_term_string}\"},\"query-input\":{\"@type\":\"PropertyValueSpecification\",\"valueRequired\":true,\"valueName\":\"search_term_string\"}}],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\"}]}<\/script>\n<!-- \/ Yoast SEO plugin. -->","yoast_head_json":{"title":"Claudia Emmingham - Full Of Crow: Poetry (Archives)","robots":{"index":"index","follow":"follow","max-snippet":"max-snippet:-1","max-image-preview":"max-image-preview:large","max-video-preview":"max-video-preview:-1"},"canonical":"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/archives\/claudia-emmingham-1011\/","og_locale":"en_US","og_type":"article","og_title":"Claudia Emmingham - Full Of Crow: Poetry (Archives)","og_description":"Requiem (for my grandfather) His memories sleep in a wooden suitcase that travelled all the way to Tripoli She had never heard of that place got left behind rolling cigars twelve hours a day to feed a whingeing child. I picture them saying goodbye at the station that no longer exists. 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