As we approach the holiday season, so many people will be pulling out their cameras and phones to mark the festivities on firm and to take selfies to post on social media. As we go through life, we want to remember and commemorate these special events and moments. After all, our memory banks can’t hold everything, and over time we will forget some of these occasions, or the details involved. Some day we will look back fondly at our Christmas photos and take stock of who is still with us, and pay homage to those who have passed on. We may even pause and reflect and let the emotions roll through us as we take in all the details. This is all made possible by the camera’s eye. This next poem is a little tribute to the camera, and all of the moments and memories it helps to preserve as we go through our lives. It is one of those little inventions I feel we all take for granted. It’s always been a part of our lives, but imagine if it wasn’t. What if it had never been invented? We would never know that we were missing the faces of our grandparents as they celebrated their wedding day. We would never have seen our own parent’s faces as children. Our own childhood would be a vague memory as there would be no photos to show our delight and excitement on Christmas morning, or the joy on our wedding day, or the first glance at our newborn baby, and all the moments that follow that child through his or her life. So much of our lives are documented on film, and thank goodness for that, for it allows for us to glimpse into the past, and leaves a footprint of our lives on the world for future generations to see us and how we lived.
I remember several years ago when I was in Germany and visited the Dachau concentration camp outside of Munich. I remember the train ride to the camp along with several other tourists. Most everyone on the train was happy and jovial, talking and laughing with each other and taking selfies to post on social media. The train ride back was equally memorable, but for a totally different reason. This time there was silence and the mood was very somber. Each person was most likely absorbing what we had seen there, and trying to process the atrocities that happened on that site so many years ago.
Sure, we were impacted as we stood in the gas chambers where fake shower heads hung from the ceiling and thousands of men met their death as they innocently marched in line thinking they were merely going to get clean. Sure, we were impacted by the crematorium literally feet away where the bodies were shoveled from the floor and brought over to be disposed. We were impacted as we looked up to the tall chimneys against a glorious blue sky and listened to the tales of the smoke that never stopped pumping through the cap of the chimney. And we were affected as we stood inside the barracks and tried to imagine spending just one night there as we tried to make our exit as swiftly as we could.
I can’t speak for anyone else, but what impacted me the most were the photographs that we saw in the main building before we began our tour of the grounds. Many of the displays that held the photographs were double sided. On the first side was a man, usually hearty and healthy with a big smile and a twinkle in his eye, sometimes a pipe hanging out of his mouth. Some of the photographs were of families or wives along with the men. These photographs showed these men enjoying life. Then the opposite side of the display showed the same men after being imprisoned in the camp, and it was hard to believe it was the same person. The twinkle was gone, and they resembled a human skeleton with sagging skin and droopy eyes. Gone was the zest for life and the sparkle in their eyes that was captured on the opposite side of the display. However these displays didn’t only show the victims who were imprisoned there. There were photographs of the men who worked in the camp; those who operated the gas chamber or the cremation chamber. The photographs showed handsome men with their wives and families, having picnics or playing in the park, and the plaque next to them told the stories of how their families had no idea what the men did for a living. It was an interesting juxtaposition of the two different scenarios; both horrifying and unimaginable, but for such different reasons.
Recently I visited the Holocaust Museum outside of Chicago, where I was reminded of the pictures I had seen at Dachau, as similar photographs hung on the walls and displays all over the museum. One photograph really settled in my bones. It was a young mother holding onto her two young children shortly before they were all taken to be executed. The young woman glanced at the camera and gave it a small smile. So brave in that moment, not knowing what was around the corner. Or did she? We’ll never know. But what I remember thinking right then was “a moment marked in time”. The bravery displayed on her face as she protected her children is something that will live on, so I am grateful for that moment captured on film. As I walked around the museum I took note of all the other moments marked in time, and over the next few days I started thinking about all of the important moments in our history that were thankfully captured on film or video. These moments, held forever as captured by the camera’s eye gives us a glimpse into a previous time, and allows us to imagine what the subject may have been thinking or feeling then, or what life was like as far as the clothing they wore and the cars they drove. If we didn’t have these photographs, these moments would not have been captured and we may never have known what life was like before we walked on this earth. And it doesn’t have to be the big historic moments either. It could be a child’s fifth birthday party, or learning to walk or ride a bike. It could be a wedding or someone going off to college, or just two friends toasting each other on a warm summer’s night. So many moments of our lives frozen in time by this perfect little invention called the camera.
Now in the days of social media, many people document their lives online for everyone to view and comment. Musicians, artists, film makers and novelists all mark their moment in time by the work they leave behind. For me, I am not really a picture taker, either in front of or behind the camera. So I leave my books and poems behind. They may not be as compelling as the pictures of the towers falling on a crisp Tuesday morning and the faces staring in disbelief. They may not pull on your heart strings as much as the pictures of the Holocaust victims. They may not be as memorable as the pictures of a new born baby’s precious smile. But my books will tell the world that I was here…that I existed. And maybe I am leaving a piece of myself behind to make the word a little better or to touch someone’s emotions. That is my moment marked in time.
A Moment Marked in Time
A man stares at a photograph
Taken long ago.
The image is in black and white
So imperfections do not show.
But if one looks close enough
The eyes reveal a story
Of battles won and lost,
Along with all the guts and glory.
He looks at the plaque upon the wall
And searches for a name.
He doesn’t know the person,
But his heart sinks just the same.
The brilliant smile, the handsome face
Portrays the mood of that one day.
The man in the photo unaware
Of hardships to come his way.
A moment marked in time
With a photo in a frame.
A plaque to tell his story
So no one forgets his name.
A few photos down, a young mother
Clutches her babies tight.
She smiles as the camera clicks
But her eyes reveal a fright.
A look of false bravado
On that young mother’s face;
A moment marked in time
With a smile locked in place.
The plaque next to the picture
Tells us of their fate.
The man staring at the photograph
Begins to feel irate
By this moment marked in time
With a photo in a frame
Of a mother with her babies,
But no listing of a name.
So many stories frozen
By a moment locked in time
Before lives changed forever
As the victim of a crime.
I am grateful for these photographs
For they do help to teach
Of the battles fought in Normandy
By soldiers on the beach.
Or the smiles on the fireman
Before the dreaded call
And the horror on the faces
As they watched the towers fall.
A runner at the starting line,
Determination on his face
Marked forever in time
As he begins to run the race
Not knowing what was planned
Or how the day would unfold.
The chaos captured in the crowd
As they felt the bombs explode.
A moment marked in time
To tell our history
And to give a glimpse into the past
And how things used to be
Photos of cities in their youth,
Pedestrians all abuzz
Gives us a glance back in time;
A view of how life was.
The victories and struggles,
The laughter and the sorrow;
The innocence of not knowing
That life could change tomorrow.
A beaming groom in black tuxedo
Staring at his bride . . .
A mother’s first glimpse of her baby
Her face lit up with pride . . .
A child on her birthday
Clapping hands before her cake . . .
All captured in these photographs
As memories they make.
Soldiers in their bunker
As they prepared for battle . . .
A cowboy in the Wild West
Sitting proudly in the saddle . . .
A boy on graduation day
Tossing cap into the air . . .
For each one of these moments
The camera’s eye was there.
Thank goodness for the camera’s eye
And for those who snapped the scene
To capture life’s big moments
And the small ones in between.
When the camera clicked the scene
They may not have realized
That by being captured in its lens
They’ve been immortalized.
Whether a grin from ear to ear
Or a teardrop in the eye,
No matter what we’re feeling
The camera does not lie.
A moment marked in time
And the emotions that it brings
Can evoke such joy and happiness,
Or pull at our heart strings.
And someday in the future,
Maybe someone yet unborn,
Will get a glimpse into our lives
And stare with emotions torn
As they gaze into our faces
And try to analyze
The pain, the joy, the sorrow
Reflected in our eyes.
They may wonder how our life was
And what was going through our mind
As the moment was locked into place
For future generations to find.
