Wednesday, June 27, 2007

60th Anniversary Of Anne Frank's Diary

Sixty years ago this week, Anne Frank's father published the first version of his daughter's diary under the title "Secret Annex."

The personal account of life in hiding during the Nazi occupation of the Netherlands was later translated into nearly 100 languages -- the English version first appeared in 1952 -- and has sold tens of millions of copies worldwide. In honor of the anniversary, Anne Frank's 82-year-old cousin Buddy Elias in Basel, Switzerland, has permanently loaned 25,000 documents, letters and photographs to the Anne Frank Foundation in Amsterdam.

The archive's contents, which Elias had kept in his attic for decades, range from 19th century family photos to post-war letters after the publication of the diary, many of which have never been published before. For the first time, all known historical material about the Frank family will be under one roof.

Anne Frank, born in 1929 in Germany, fled with her Jewish family to the Netherlands when Hitler came to power in 1933. When the Nazis invaded and took control of their western neighbor, the Frank family was forced to go into hiding. For two years, Anne kept an account of her life in hiding, which would later come to be considered a paramount document on the era.

The Frank family was betrayed, arrested and deported to various concentration camps in August 1944. Anne died of typhus in the Nazi camp in Bergen-Belsen in March 1945. Anne's father, Otto Frank, was the only survivor. He published his daughter's diary, which had been saved by members of the resistance, in 1947. When Otto Frank died in 1980, he willed his daughter's manuscripts to the Netherlands State Institute for War Documentation in Amsterdam (NIOD). The ANNE FRANK-Fonds in Basle, which as Otto Frank's sole heir had also inherited his daughter's copyrights. Visit the foundation at:

Research info provided by:, staff writer (kjb)

Today's poems:

Ceaseless, In My Floating Craft


Here are some images my mind is willing to forfeit:

a surface dark and sticky as tar. Breathless
and blank on a sheet of paper. A heavy door
that opens to the possibility of weight-loss.
Air that doesn't knock before entering. The
crest of a mystery novel building up in the
binding. So many stalls of fresh flowers and
fruits passing by. Pencil shavings that litter
the floor like question marks. Or ones own
finality, spilled all over a celestial windswept

Can you use any of them?

For Instance, My Last Request...

printed in words on one side of a paper napkin in a room
full of floor-fallen linoleum pears selecting the best
hymn from moon's tender knife or a tongue-lash
of tawdry voyage till some ocean wooden-legs
the shore or inherits craft's last plank or
maybe that part in the movie where
the monster chews at the margin
as if determined to devour
every footnote or a fickle
finger of shard coated
with vanilla shingles to
scratch on my nerves at the
elm st. of mouth's hunger every
night beneath a burdened sky where
light is the universal path to legitimacy &
a red pen the rudder as if all the while wondering
which of the senses would my mind kill first & whether it
would choose to anchor the remains in a song.

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