Ellis Island
Ellis Island is an island that is located in Upper New York Bay in the Port of New York and New Jersey, United States. It was the gateway for millions of immigrants to the United States as the nation’s busiest immigrant inspection station from 1892 until 1954. The island was greatly expanded with land reclamation between 1892 and 1934. Before that, the much smaller original island was the site of Fort Gibson and later a naval magazine. The island was made part of the Statue of Liberty National Monument in 1965, and has hosted a museum of immigration since 1990. Long considered part of New York, a 1998 United States Supreme Court decision found that most of the island is in New Jersey. The south side of the island, home to the Ellis Island Immigrant Hospital, is closed to the general public and the object of restoration efforts spearheaded by Save Ellis Island.
For many, Ellis Island was the beginning of our plight in America. The “Land of Opportunity” beckoned and immigrants (our ancestors) came to her teeming shores. There are many directions you can go with this: A beginning poem, an arrival poem, a poem from the perspective of an immigrants coming to this new (for them) land. You can write an “ancestor” poem, a genealogy poem… even a deportation poem!
Phoenix Rising Poetry Guild 
THE STEAMER TRUNK IN THE ATTIC
The frayed label reads:
“White Star Lines,”
calling to mind Olympic and Titanic;
but another label says
Oceanic.
Yes, that’s right:
steerage, on an older ship;
that’s how they would have come.
Under the heavy lid,
inquiring eyes
stare forth from dark daguerrotypes
and tintypes and other types
of old pictures. Amidst
these lie brown-cornered books,
including
pamphlets of rules and rights
for naturalized citizens.
This is all there is
of those people:
amber photographs
and age-softened documents
full of Victorian hieroglyphics.
Yet, I hold these old people close
because,
by concatenations of circumstance,
I have their eyes.
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tender memories for you – and a new word for me
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Inprocessing
he asks your name
and when you say it
he writes down what he hears
you are forever known by
a name not your own
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I know many whose names got changed there. The last line is especially memorable.
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Priorities
I don’t remember much about Ellis Island
or even the Statue of Liberty.
I remember being on the ferry
and my little niece looking into the bay
saying, “Goodbye, water,
we have to pick up Lori Peters at the airport.”
My thirteen-year-old daughter
had been in Jordan all summer
and I wasn’t thinking much about history,
just the immediate future
when I’d see her get off that plane
with a duffle bag
about as big as she was.
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July 28 – Ellis Island
The New Beginning
Millions have passed through
Many penniless or nearly
Only a heart full of hope
And the clothes on their backs
They came from every corner
Of this crazy mixed up world
Looking for a new life and
Freedom from oppression
And a new beginning
With gratitude in their souls
They worked with calloused hands
Sweat and blood freely donated
To make a better life
With thankfulness they offered
To serve and protect America
So those that weren’t yet here
Could live a life of freedom
And a new beginning
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[…] Please see links for additional information and photo/artwork https://phoenixrisingpg.wordpress.com/2015/07/28/phoenix-rising-july-p-a-d-travelog-destination-poet… http://margoroby.com/2015/07/28/poem-tryouts-some-things-never-grow-old/ […]
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An Island Fighting to Age with Grace (a haibun)
We were on a private tour in the late 1970’s of what is now called Ellis Island
which was the first stop on the path to enter the United States late 1800’s to
the mid 1950’s. We saw things and places that were not on any regular tour.
A place where some of our relatives had come through two, some three
generations ago. Those who thought they were streetwise in their Mother
countries thrown into a mass ganglion of people being processed. Some may
have been delinquents, others may have appeared creepy just because they
held every possession they could within the layers of rags they called clothes.
Others in better brackets of financial means sought to avoid those who seemed
cheap. ‘They’ not wanting to be near those they could not understand, or made to
suffer lack of expected comforts, wanted to have all manor of courtesy extended.
And yet all who came through were treated equally. Since all were strangers.
It was an implosive habitat – that island. For some never left. To full of illness
to be allowed freedom to step onto the ferries that would carry them one step
closer to the land of opportunity to Liberty Island. To ‘The land of Milk and Honey’,
where streets were paved with gold. Too many ended up in the Charnel waiting
to be cremated. How many know of the crematorium on Ellis Island – a defense
to rid the states of fever filled diseases that could not be treated.
There was no geometric patterns, just masses of roped poles that took hours to
worm through. But the dreams of a better existence never grew old. And that
may be the reason why some of our grandparents withheld their language from
us. Wanting their children and grandchildren not have to be tied to the
superstitions and traditions of their people. Only perhaps a mild disservice
for all they gave up in order to add freedom to their and our resumes.
So many names were changed through the processing. Brothers coming through
at different times received different names. Misspellings were the least of anyone’s
problems. Especially when all one could write was an X or an O. One can only
imagine the ghosts that may still haunt the grounds. I know my own memories
if that tour are chillingly real – even after almost forty years.
brick and stone foundations
may crumble; dreams though, live on
through our sleepless nights
©JP/dh
For those who would like to go to the post at my site to see the four prompts I used:
An Island Fighting to Age with Grace
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POSTCARD TO IGOLOMIA, 1905
Father,
I have come to America.
We are huddled here, masses
of peoples from many places.
Polish, German, Irish, Italian.
Swedish, Nordic, Austrian, Czech…
Slowly, we are processed to be free.
Men, women and children;
both strong and infirm.
Some are detained;
but I am lucky.
The lady of liberty says,
“Welcome to America, Jozef”.
I am free.
Your son,
Jozef
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New Lives
From Russia and Romania
my grandparents took
a terrifying risk–fled
their native countries
to start a new life
in America. They came
here poor, hoping
employment opportunities
awaited them. How would they
manage without a word
of English? Would traditions
and cultures for which
they were persecuted,
be accepted in this new land?
My father’s parents birthed
two children, who taught
them English, and made them
proud.
My mother’s parents birthed
seven children, some of whom
had short lives, as did they.
In healthier circumstances,
they too, would have been proud
of their children.
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Ellis Island
Sea’s surface glittered
days and nights I dreamt of land –
opportunity.
Copyright © Hannah Gosselin 2015
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[…] PHOENIX RISING JULY P.A.D. TRAVELOG – DESTINATION: POETRY (ELLIS ISLAND) […]
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