Producer's Notes: How should one imagine the holocaust? More pertinently perhaps, how can one begin to conceive of rendering the holocaust? : Within a pair of dusty spectacles? Within a gold tooth? Within a pond waist deep in mud? Within a chamber pot or a knot of ancient hair upon the floor of a filthy room? Preserve this fag-end of modernity’s archive, this miserable little piece of the real for all our children.
The holocaust is sublime, a true Kantian sublime: it is far beyond good or evil, it just is, howling as a bloodied fox in the corner of a room we rarely visit, in a house that we have seldom dwelled in but merely glimpsed in shadows from a train window, high upon a European hill, on occasional moonlit winter nights.
Ash on an old man's sleeve Is all the ash the burnt roses leave. Dust in the air suspended Marks the place where a story ended. Dust inbreathed was a house- The walls, the wainscot and the mouse, The death of hope and despair, This is the death of air.