Immediately, I do not like the form. It's too artsy for the subject, & I have a feeling that this has already undergone some format changes, but if you keep at it, you'll get it there. I am, mayhaps, prone to couplets, but I think they allow that breathing & the opening of space.
I love the directness of the first line. I love directness in general, really. To say something well & as it is, somehow, can be surprisingly difficult.
& "fen" is an interesting word. It's shortness feels good. Yes, I like that. "tossed about the fen/Of bruised bedspreads."
I am not sure about "that slither as a noose." It is a rather characteristic symbol of death, but does not suit Auschwitz, though that might be my brain scheme interfering. Auschwitz is all death, but I see faces to a wall, gas chambers & starvation. You have the starvation & how something comfortable, the bed, can be death, too, as well as the body rejecting itself. Just, do you get what I'm saying? Something to think about.
My bed is empty-
Fragmented filaments tossed about the fen
Of bruised bedspreads that slither as a noose.
Evening lays its heavy form
Across my cold body -- fists of breath beat
Against bronze elements, scarred skin draping
This stack of bones:
Your silence ossifies my sinews.
I tweaked "draped" to draping & nixed the "over" as I think it's already implied by the act. & the ending: I wanted that directness to return, & I think to speak directly to Auschwitz does that. It is a place that has developed a personification thru its haunted & tragic being. This also hearkens back to your use of "Herr" to address Auschwitz.
& I think this is on the edge of being there, where it's supposed to be, & being quite powerful & startling.
An immediate thought jp, because there's a presence to this piece, something quite gripping, and I think this minor nit will keep that tone intact right through:
The silence ossifies my sinews
? Just a thought.
This is quite glorious in its bleakness, its outright morbidity. It's startling, these undertones of death and suffering.
I'm going to start at the bottom and work my way up (sometimes this helps me to think).
Sinews being ossified- I like that you haven't gone for bones. There is the lovely alliteration, of course, but the very notion of it, sinews hardening, turning to stone, and how that implies a paralysis, a lack of growth, death, being unbending. It's excellent. A really excellent idea.
The idea of skin draping, too-- so it feels quite separate from the bones, like a blanket or something, unliving, you know? There's a deadness to it.
The fists of breath speak so much of suffering, though I'm uncertain as to the role bronze has to play in that, other than sounding good. Though it does have elements of statues, like you're a statue-- but the bronze, it's too bright, too abrupt I think. So maybe some playing would be worthwhile.
I think cold is unneeded-- you imply it throughout, and it feels a little easy, here.
I like how the evening feels like an unwanted blanket, too, and how that parallels/is recalled by the skin draping. Both feel like a weight you don't want.
Noose is fricking bleak.
The bruised bedsheets-- this is also recalled later, with the fists of breath. It's tight, this piece. Excellent work.
How about filament-fragments, to keep this clean, tight? Just a thought, on rereading this. Makes that sentence easier to digest.
I love your opening- an empty bed, so we're left wondering where you are.
This is dark, jp.
I'm going to ditto daniel re the spacing-- playing is good, and this needs some breath.
jp, i don't think it's quite there. i read it three times at three different times during the night, and the first two seemed awesome in parts but i couldn't climb in to your end mood.
then i did some slight mind-edits and right or wrong, i think i got what you were aiming at. ie there was a moment when the poem hung there and was quite alarming. beauty is in the way it is intended....
My bed is empty-
Fragmented filaments tossed about the fen of Bruised bedspreads that slither as a noose.
Evening lays its heavy form across my cold body-
Fists of breath beat against bronze elements,
Scarred skin drapes over this stack of bones;
Herr Auschwitz- This silence -ossifying my sinews---
play with space mr man, the poem is heavy and that's good. but i feel in order for you to realise the thing- you have to punctuate, use italics, space, ingenuity of some sort in order to create space for concepts to be taken in. the beginning of the poem is fine,
it's the close that is a massive leap and i feel we need your assitance.
play around with it, there's nothing you could do that you couldn't then undo, you never know what you'll find.