Five After Paul Klee, by Barbara Krasner

Pathetic Germination, by Paul Klee (Germany, b. Switzerland) 1939

You Want It Darker?

after Leonard Cohen

Tanks roll into town, following screaming shells. You want it darker?
On Rosh Hashonah, bayonets push us
onto trucks, roll us to the brewery.
They make a fire. You want it darker?
Nearby, they take my brother
in another truck to another town.
They make him dig and dig and dig.
Line up, take the bullet, fall into the ditch. You want it darker?
Nothing will grow here. Not in the fields.
Not in the forests.
The river will dry up. You want it darker?
See our bones gleam in the moonlight.

Angelus Novus, by Paul Klee (Germany, b. Switzerland) 1920

Look Homeward, Angel

“...The ‘Angelus Novus’ is not in New York. It remains at its home, the Israel Museum in Jerusalem, unable to be transported because of the war in the Middle East that started when the United States and Israel attacked Iran.” The New York Times, March 26, 2026
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I am the angel looking back and forward. I am the angel flapping my wings in greeting and warning. I am the angel scooping up my ancestors and bringing them to my descendants. To remind the new generation where they’ve come from. It is possible to be in the past and the present at the same time. I flit between the worlds of past, present, and future. Or did, until bombs pinned my wings. And that’s why it was so hard to get me out of Eretz Yisroel.

Protected Children, by Paul Klee (Germany, b. Switzerland) 1939

Umbrellas

I.
At sixteen, Bernhard was one of the oldest on the Kindertransport out of Vienna. His mother held her umbrella over his curly hair. Let Mama think it was rain and not tears on his face. Boys his age didn’t cry. There along the track stood his father, his older brother Moishe and his older sister Eva. He was the baby of the family. He never knew their home in Galicia. Never knew the shelling that forced their move to Vienna.

II.
I held the umbrella over my boychik’s head. What would become of him? Were we making the right decision? Chaskel says yes. We have family in America, he says. We’ll go there and meet up with Bernhard there.
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III.
My cousin Chava Pesia offered me an umbrella, an affidavit of American sponsorship to bring me, a refugee, out of Europe 1949. During the war I escaped to Switzerland. After the war, to Amsterdam. Bernie was safe in England. But my parents? My sister? Shot upon arrival in Minsk.

Fish Magic, by Paul Klee (Germany, b. Switzerland) 1925

Something Wicked This Way Comes

We are fish considering our skin’s reflections
in the murky deep, drawn to the beat
of the clock’s rhythmic ticking. Daisy petals
greet us as we prepare to line up
per the ocean protocol. Moon shadows
cloud our vision, sending gel floaters. Behind
the net lurks a diver, on the ocean floor,
a pink-handed siren and a dunce-capped joker.
The gurgles of the sea drown them out.
The net lowers until we find ourselves inside.
A knife stands upright, ready.
For gutting or resistance?

The lone perch swims west, a sardine swims
east to warn the others. They cannot scream
loud enough to work their magic.

Reflections in the Dark, by Paul Klee (Germany, b. Switzerland) 1932

The Shining

They’re coming. Their faces hide between the pines of Leshner Forest, under the Brok River’s bridge to Andrzejewo, behind the blades of windmills in the fields. They’re coming. Eyes upon eyes, always shifting in the dark, shoulders folding into another. They’re coming. With gleaming bayonets they’ve spent hours polishing. They’ll kill our cows and goats. But that’s not what they’re hungry for.

Barbara Krasner
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Barbara Krasner first learned about Paul Klee in German class as an undergraduate major. She personally encountered the works represented here at a Paul Klee exhibition at The Jewish Museum in New York City in May 2026. Her most recent ekphrastic collections are The Wanderers (Shanti Arts, 2026) and Insomnia: Poems after Lee Krasner (dancing girl press, 2026)  Visit her website at www.barbarakrasner.com.