Dominik Hollmann (1899-1990) -- Champion of Human
Rights, Teacher, Poet,
Dominik Hollmann (1899-1990) -- Verfechter der Menschenrechte,
Bender, Ida. "Dominik Hollman." Volk auf dem Weg, Autumn 2004, 20-25.
Translation from German to American English by Alex Herzog, Boulder,
"Clearly before me there emerged a goal of encouraging my
people, through literary and artistic works and essays, so as to lend
them a feeling of self-worth, to enhance their sense of human dignity,
to allow them more self-assurance, and to help them treasure and preserve
their mother tongue." Dominik Hollmann, Diary, col. 5, p.
These were by no means empty words.
Dominik Hollmann, born on August 12, 1899 in the city of Kamyshin
on the Volga, was raised very strictly in the Catholic faith by
his then single mother: Justice, truth, honesty, goodness -- and
to these principles he remained true to the end of his life. He
was always hungry for knowledge, read much and with pleasure, learned
with even greater pleasure and was one of the best in school. His
vacations he often spent alongside his cousins of the same age in
the village of Marienfeld, participating in all of the work on his
uncle's farm, and by age 14 or 15, he became aware of how much superstition
and misery there existed in the German villages in the Volga region.
"Every person must have a goal. I, too, put up goals for
myself. My very first one, a youthful one, was to become a teacher,
to obtain much knowledge so that I would be prepared to serve my
people -- which at the time I understood to be my relatives in my
home village of Marienfeld -- to enlighten them, to impart culture
and knowledge. After that I saw my goal somewhat more expanded:
to serve not only my own village, but all German people in Russia.
It became very clear to me: one must have knowledge -- much knowledge.
Yet I, son of a poor cleaning woman, could not even dream of attending
gymnasium [secondary school in the classical mode; Tr.], because
tuition was much too high. To my great fortune, a course for training
teachers for elementary schools was started in 1914 (the First World
War had already begun) in Kamyshin, where I was living with my mother.
Upon completing it in 1916 ( I had just reached age 17), I became
a teacher at an elementary school (a so-called semstvo school).
My most intense wish, studying at university, remained but a dream
... And then came the Revolution and toppled all plans and everyone's
dream." D.H., Diary vol. 5
For fifteen years, with great dedication, he practiced his teaching
profession in the German villages of Rothammel (1917-23), Marienfeld
(1923-29), and Erlenbach (1929-31). In addition to his teaching,
he performed many other kinds of work: attempting to eliminate illiteracy
among adults, language circles for the purpose of acquiring the
Russian language, helping the village council -- at a time when
the Soviet government was introducing new official units of measurement
for length, area and volume, and accountants and surveyors had to
learn a lot of unit conversions.
If a village resident had a problem he could not solve by himself,
he went to see Teacher Dominik and had him explain what he could
not understand, or asked for advice. Together with his pupils, Dominik
Hollmann established a large orchard. He was always ready to impart
knowledge to his people, and in the evenings he read to them from
newspapers -- interesting items from all over the world, new developments
in agronomy, matters of health, serious and humorous stories.
In 1928, Dominik Hollmann began a correspondence course with the
Moscow State University, and from 1932 to 1935, he was in direct
studies at the German Pedagogical University in Engels. His years
of study were very difficult. There was a famine in the Volga region,
and students, too, barely existed, and suffered hunger. To make
a little extra money for his family of six, Dominik sought work
outside his studies, not only for himself, but also for his fellow
students, which his colleagues Hans Bahl, Alexander Gallinger, Irma
Dyck and Heinrich Kaempf still remember with gratitude, also that
as young students they often went to Dominik for advice -- after
all, he had 15 years of teaching experience which he gladly -- never
condescendingly -- shared with them.
"I undertook translation projects for the German State
Publisher. And thanks to the support of my good wife, mother of
my five oldest children, I was able to realize my second goal --
university study. On top of it all -- something I could not ever
have dreamt of -- I even was able to teach at the Pedagogical University
of Engles. I did that for six years. Although my teaching there
was a lot of work, it was work that brought pleasure, work that
brought joy. I effectively had one and a half jobs, as master teacher
while also furthering my education, reading scientific works on
grammar, language history, and phonetics. I completed many translations
for the State Publisher (he translated, for example, literary works
by the Russian classicists Turgenev, Chekhov, Chukovskiy,among others,
for literary coruses in German schools. I.B.), joined the work of
the writers' association, wrote a textbook on German grammar for
German middle schools, a similar one for adults, and wrote poems,
essays that were published in the press." D.H. Diary vol.
He wrote reviews of performances by the young German State Theater
and was literary consultant to the German section of the writers'
association of Engels. Well-known Volga German poets such as Edmund
Guenther and Waldemar Herdt later wrote: "If I achieved anything
in literature, I have Dominik Hollmann to thank for it, who with
his fatherly advice and concrete suggestions helped promising authors
to realize their abilities."
Consequently, Dominik Hollman was invited, in 1940, to become member
of the writers' assocaition of the Soviet Union. (In the then USSR,
a person could call himself a writer only after he was accepted
into the writers' assocaition and had published some literary works.)
Dominik acted as consultant to the Collective at the German Theater
of Engels and made available to it a volume of folklore he had collected
while still in his studies in 1934.
The 1930s, with so many arrests of so-called enemies of the
state, were very difficult times. Yet, Dominik had to keep going,
despite all, working, training teachers, propagating knowledge.
He strongly believed in the power of knowledge. He taught, wrote,
and instructed with total dedication, as his students and eventual
literary figures Nelly Wacker, Erna Hummel, Herbert Henke and Friedrich
Bolger remembered later on.
"And then everything suddenly fell apart. The most gruesome
of wars broke out. Gruesome because of the barbaric destruction,
the general brutalizaion, and hunger suffered by a quarter million
people. Gruesome because of the screaming injustices administered
to our simple, honest, hardworking people -- injustices that to
this day have not been righted and probably will never be fully
All of us together were chased from our home soil, banished,
and declared enemies of the state. We were unwilling slaves and
were pushed to and fro. Soon the men, and many of the women, were
inducted into the work units of the Trudarmy's concentration camps,
where renewed cruelties awaited them. Anyone who attempted, merely
attempted to protest, was given up to even greater cruelties --
condemned to ten years in the worst of camps."
D.H., Diary vol. 5
This period of aimlessness, of being subjugated and scattered about,
lasted from 1941 until 1956; of these years, Dominik Hollmann spent
1942 to 1944 in the Trudarmy camp of Vyatlag. With scurvy wounds
on his whole body, Dominik Hollman was written off as one about
to "croak" (dochodyaga [in Russian]) and released for
"recovery" to his family, who at the time was doing forced
labor and suffering hunger and cold in the far North on the Yanissey
river. With an ax in his hand -- not his pen -- he was earning the
right, only the right (!) to obtain food via a ration card, and
constantly had to listen to "five-tiered," humiliating,
raw curse words about himself. More from his diary:
"Fifteen years of night and darkness, hunger, misery,
no personal rights, depression, shame, pariahdom, beneath all human
dignity ... We were all so depressed that we simply vegetated, without
aim. A new life goal finally appeared when in 1956 we were partially
rehabilitated. Partially -- only half way, rehabilitated. Thereafter
I applied for a teaching position, received many rejections, but
was finally employed as German teacher (to satisfy foreign language
requirements) at a technical university in the Siberian city of
Krasnoyarsk. New hopes awakened. Eight years of work at this institution
were beneficial. In addition to my lectures, I also led a German-language
group at a regional library, and I started to write again. Not that
I saw all that as my life's goal in the truest sense of the word,
but it was a period of partial compensation [for the past], a glimmer
of hope for regaining our human dignity following years in the morass,
of all sorts of humiliation. The German-language newspaper 'Neues
Leben [New Life]' began to publish on May 7, 1957 in Moscow. Although
I was fully aware that these were all mere crumbs thrown to the
German people by the Soviet government, they provided joyous impetus
for taking new steps in the area of literature. Even in the darkest
times of my life, I had not entirely stopped writing poetry: Because
then I may feel the chains less, the burden of the exile may appear
half as heavy."
D.H. "The Muse"
After the Soviet government had let it be known via its decree
of November 26, 1948 that we Germans were to be exiled in perpetuity,
Dominik Hollman wrote the poem [Das Heimatland], and repeated again
and again its refrain:
On the Volga, on the Volga
There is my true homeland!
This and the poems "Wiegenlied einer sowjetdeutschen Mutter
[Cradle Song by a Soviet German Mother]" and "Ein Traum
[A Dream]" were sung by our German people in their barracks,
to the tunes of well-known Russian songs. [Note: these poems are
also translated herein. Tr.] Irma Schaefer, now Stadler, who has
resided in Stuttgart since 1999, writes: "The words 'Das Rauschen
der Quellen von Balzer wie uralter Freunde Gesang [The rush of springs
in Balzer, like the song of ancient friends]' moved me to tears.
Balzer --that's where I was born! Those springs -- a gathering place
for the youth! How far all this lay in the darkness of years gone
by, separated by suppression, hunger, misery, humiliation and total
helplessness. But now this poem, sent via a letter -- it was a brightly
shining star and it awakened the hope that our poets are still alive,
they are writing, and not all is lost."
Dominik Hollmann sent those poems only to his closest, most trusted
friends. These were Volga German literary people such as Victor
Klein, Reinhold Koeln, Heinrich Kaiser. The latter wrote to the
author: "Dear Dominik, please, more such poems! Day and night
I shall sit and make multiple copies (he wrote them by hand; I.B.),
and I shall send them to our people so that they may not lose hope."
"And now, 1957, because there was a German-language newspaper,
there was clearly before me the goal of encouraging my people through
literary and artistic works and essays, to lend them a feeling of
self-worth and to enhance their feeling of human dignity, to spur
them on toward maintaining their culture and preserving their mother
tongue ..." D.H., Diary, vol. 5
In 1957, he wrote his first letter to the Soviet government concerning
the general lack of rights for the Germans in the USSR. In his archives,
there are copies of 17 letters to the Soviet government, to the
Supreme Soviet, and to leading personalities -- in them, this champion
of human rights cited many factual examples of violations of human
rights and of the Soviet Constitution. Again and again, he wrote
to the Supreme Soviet: we have no schools in which our children
can learn their mother tongue, no theater, no films, no publishers
and, therefore, no books, and we have no representatives in government
who could represent the interests of our people. This constitutes
a grave violation of the constitution of the USSR and of human rights.
Every time, he was threatened by the security organs, but he did
not give up.
The "doyen" of German-Russian literature, Johann Warkentin
(Berlin), wrote in 1997 in his almanac entitled "Wir selbst
[We ourselves]": "It is a hidden fact that many former
fellow sufferers give testimony of his (D.H.'s) extraordinary helpfulness,
his true Christian love of neighbor. And here another word about
Dominik Hollmann, citizen: Dominik was the only one among all the
great exponents of our people who fought valiantly in the autonomy
movement, and without hesitation, without false excuses, straightforward,
and always with personal commitment."
Moved about by the deportation of 1941 and the various forced-labor
stints in the Trudarmy, and scattered all over Siberia like chaff
in the wind, our German literary greats soon lost sight of each
other. It was Dominik Hollmann who organized the very first get-together
of German literary figures, yet under the effects of censure and
[NKVD-] supervision, which after 1956 no longer existed, but which
one always felt. Three men, Reinhold Frank, Andreas Saks and Herbert
Henke, followed Hollmann's call and gathered privately with him
on November 7, 1956 in Atchinsk [see the accompanying picture of
the four; Tr.]. They agreed: writers must worry about the preservation
of the German mother tongue and of the culture of our people.
Via the Krasnoyarsk branch of the writer's association, Dominik
Hollmann had applied for reinstatement of his membership in the
Writers' Association of the entire USSR (which he had lost simply
because he was German). As a member of the writers' association
he was now able to effect, within the Krasnoyarsk branch of the
national society, the establishment of the first section of German-language
writers living in the regions of Irkutsk, Kemerovo and Novosibirsk.
He kept at it and finally even received permission for a seminar
of German literary people of the Krasnoyarsk area. Between July
16 and 19, 1959, eighteen authors and several friends of literature
met (naturally, party functionaries, who were always watching over
our German people, were present as well). [See the large picture.
"It was Dominik Hollmann who after all those years of cruel
exile, of the long period of silence, blew his breath into the barely
glimmering poetic ember and issued his call 'Nor net lopper gewe'
[Dialect, meaning "Never give up!" Tr.] to his friends
of writing and spurned them on to keep working," wrote Victor
Klein, the well-known Volga-German literary figure and teacher.
The seminar [participants] decided that German-Russian literature
must be revived.
Dominik took up frequent correspondence with the appropriate authorities
and, by 1962, a third seminar took place in Krasnoyarsk. Alexander
Henning, who confessed that without Hollmann's encouragement he
might never have worked in literature, reported on the seminar via
a piece of rhyme. A. Henning deemed this third gathering of German
literary figures especially successful.
Thanks to Hollmann's efforts, yet another seminar for German literary
folks was staged in Krasnoyarsk in 1965. Thereafter, several seminars
organized by the editors of the newspaper "Neues Leben"
took place in Moscow. Dominik Hollmann urged the editors of "Neues
Leben" to establish a council for German-Russian literature.
As a member of this group he spent much item and effort in training
of young writers from our ethnic group. He kept up lively correspondence
with many promising writers, with schools, and with students. He
traveled to a gathering of readers, at the so-called Savatzky-readings,
in settlements in the Altai, visited village groups and schools,
and read from his own works.
His courage motivated many, and he "infected" them with
the will to write again, since the deportation of 1941 had torn
all Germans out of their German milieu. Up to ninety percent spoke
neither Russian nor Kasakh, the languages of the areas they had
been dragged to, the few fragments of the foreign languages, learned
under duress, were not sufficient to satisfy their cultural needs.
Like a man wandering through the desert in burning heat, and thirsting
for a sip of refreshing water, those banished Germans were panting
for things to read in their own German mother tongue.
In 1956, the German-language newspaper "Die Arbeit [Work]"
was founded in Barnaul; in it, Hollmann first contributed his short
stories "Zwei Brigaden [Two Brigades]" and "Der Stille
[The Quiet One]." In May, 1957, the small German-language newspaper
"Neues Leben" appeared for the first time. It measured
only 27x40 cm [11x16 inches], and with its mere two pages each week
it was intended to refresh its German readers. Its small size was
not due to scarcity of paper, but rather to the Soviet government's
lack of trust in the German-Russians and consequently the prohibition
of any larger volume. Imagine trying to leave room, alongside mandatory
propaganda text provided by the Pravda publisher and the Central
Committee, for works by our own writers! And of course, they also
had to conform to censors. Not a syllable was to be written about
the years prior to 1941, nor the words Trudarmy, Volga, and many
others. Neither could there be writing about the situation of our
ethnic groups without their own schools. Our literary people were
forced to be very clever in order to make it around the censors.
Dominik Hollmann wrote a story called "Baerbel." The
heroine of this story is a large and strong woman of calm and very
reserved nature, and one who works as if possessed. This down-to
earth female figure was dear to our people and gave them courage.
The author thereby established a literary memorial for German women
who were in faraway Siberia without their men and carried their
families' business on their own shoulders -- without much complaint,
without many words. Female readers were moved to tears, because
their efforts had been appreciated at least in this manner; Baerbel
was one of them.
In 1959-60, he followed up with poems, reports, sketches, humoresques,
and short stories. By 1961, when the newspaper's size became slightly
larger, Dominik Hollmann's story "Der Neujahrsschuss [The New
Year's Shot]" was published. With humor, its author reminded
readers of the custom of greeting the New Year with shooting, and
also of many other prewar matters, all without provoking the censors.
1964-65: the first German delegation appears in Moscow, Dominik
Hollmann among them, in order to report on the situation of the
unjustly exiled Germans and to ask for their rehabilitation. They
received only rejection, and good promises as a substitute. Dominik
Hollmann wrote the poem "Die Palmen [Palms]": as an extension
to Michail Lermantov's poem "Drei Palmen [Three Palms]."
Just as a spring without other means dribbles into the sand after
unthinking people had felled the three palms, thus the Volga-German
Republic had unthinkingly been destroyed. But in falling, the palms
had spilled their ripe seeds into the sand, and moisture hidden
deep beneath allowed the seeds to germinate. And soon young palm
trees would grow.
They defended themselves!
They fought and struggled!
Thus a new grove emerged, wrote Dominik Hollmann in his poem, which
appeared in "Neues Leben" in 1966.
Many critics call Hollmann a master of the short story. His stories
"Ein Menschenleben [A Human Life]," "Peterche [Little
Peter]," "Helda," "Eine Nacht [One night],"
"Kern des Lebens [Life's Core]," and many others told
the reader of the fate of exiled Germans in the Trudarmy and the
various exile locales, and in these stories skillfully avoided the
censor's forbidden words.
In 1968, Dominik Hollmann wrote the story "Flucht ins Glueck
[Escape into Happiness]." Without the location of the village
Hammelbach ever being mentioned, the reader understood that the
action took place in a Volga-German village. Many, many readers
in the 1960s remembered the events of their youth that were similar
to or even the same as those depicted in the story. So the story
amounted for them to a healing, refreshing balm on the severely
Dominik Hollmann, in a 40-line epilog, does let the reader in on
the fact that the children of the main protagonists in the story
(following years of exile -- but these words did not appear) hardly
spoke German and had their German name (Weissheim) disfigured in
its Russian spelling (Wesgeim) -- all consequences of the 1941 deportation.
The reader also learns that the son of a formerly well-to-do farmer
[a so-called kulak! Tr.] from the village on the Volga has been
living in Karaganda for 30 years, so the reader understands that
this family was "de-kulak-ized" in 1930 and brought to
the infamous exile locale of Karaganda. With only a single sentence
-- "Life was not easy at first" -- the author can hint
at the fate of these "de-kulak-ized" people.
The other protagonists of the story, members of the teacher Krumbach's
family, are scattered all over. Of their two sons one lives in the
Urals, the other in Kazakhstan; they were taken into the Trudarmy
there, barely 16 or 17 years old, and would never be allowed to
leave their places of exile. The readers were all so familiar and
close to similar situations, because they had all experienced them.
Despite all, of the two Krumbach sons, one became an engineer, the
other a chief agronomist, simply because they did not spend the
day of rest with vodka, but with books, just as many of us did.
After the Trudarmy era, they had supported their practical abilities
with theoretical knowledge.
Dominik Hollmann tells us: "do not get discouraged, work diligently,
spend time with books, learn despite difficulties, acquire an occupation."
In the story "Kern des Lebens" he says, in the words
of a five-year-old: "Yes, Dada, the [wooden] cot is now our
room, large enough for the six of us ... Our room at home was larger."
Anyone who experienced the deportation or the fate of our ethnic
group understands that this family with many children, deported
to Siberia, must live in a very tight situation. Not accidentally,
the subtitle of the story is "Lose Blaetter [Loose Leaves]."
It is similar to a mutilated life ('s book) from which many leaves/pages
have been torn, forcefully, without mercy. The words of the child
cause us to read between the lines for what the author wants to
tell us, and thus he gets around the censor. A noble lady decides
to take care of the six orphaned children and raises them into exemplary,
genuine people. In the story "Eine Nacht [A Night]" we
again meet a German woman, who in her exile turns a run-down collective
into a successful business. The mere writing by the author about
these women, of which in reality there were thousands, and mentioning
of their difficult fate and courage, fills the readers with gratitude:
their own efforts have been recognized.
One cannot mention all of Dominik Hollmanns works in this essay
-- there are so many. In all of them, he wrote of close-to-life,
daily experiences of the exiled Germans, who did not give up, who
despite untold difficulties took their lives into their own hands
in order to make it better by diligence, willingness to work, and
simple goodness. In was in that way that he encouraged his fellow
Hans Bahl wrote: "Dominik Hollmann taught his fellow humans
how one can, with dedication and humility, wrestle for knowledge
and selflessly offer oneself for one's people. He has enriched our
literature with genuine, truth-loving, noble heroes. And he is himself
of noble mind." Johann Warkentin wrote in "Neues Leben"
on the occasion of the 70th birthday of this lierary figure: "In
German-Russian literature, the name Dominik Hollmann has a pure,
In 1978, Dominik Hollmann succeeded in returning to his original
home, Kamyshin on his beloved Volga, which he praised so often.
There in Kamyshin a circle of conversation formed spontaneously
around him. Germans came to converse with the teacher and author.
This excited the authorities and security people, and they attempted
to stop these "dangerous" gatherings of Germans.
Yet, with the help and active support of Viktor Herdt, then employee
of "Neues Leben," these gatherings were officially permitted
months later, as a club of "Neues-Leben readers."
Dominik Hollmann informally organzied a group and volunteer-taught
German. Gratefully, many who now live in Germany, for example the
Ballard, Altergott, Diel, Beller and other families, still mention
that these groups allowed them to improve their language skills.
Dominik Hollmann was fully aware that such a club could not substitute
for the Volga-German Republic, but he could not stand by idly as
the culture of his people was disappearing. He did whatever he was
able to. Even in his old age and while ill, he supported the "Wiedergeburt
[Rebirth]" Society with deed and finances, pamphlets, telegrams,
speeches and lectures.
And I fling myself nimbly
onto the wild winged horse,
put the spurs into its flanks,
drive it along, galloping,
cause it to rear up
and to neigh loudly,
jumping with anger
and trampling all this plunder junk
that impoverishes the fountain of truth.
And I swing my dagger
and smash the yoke of injustice,
and I become bold as before.
Ha! I still am a fighter!
D.H., from Altes Musenpferd [Old Horse of the Muse]
Where the Karaman [river], quietly babbling,
turns toward the sandy hill,
where the old weeping willow
drapes its branches over it,
where the wide plowed fields
are steaming under the heat of the sun, --
on the Volga, on the Volga,
that is where my dear homeland lies.
Where under the first beam of sunlight
a larch warbles and swings into the air,
where the shrill blast of a steamer
penetrates far into the steppes,
where every step and hill
of my youth is familiar, --
on the Volga, on the Volga,
that is where my familiar homeland lies.
Where cherries bloom purple
and the apple's golden load ripens,
where juicy melons
enriched our noonday rest,
where we raised German tobacco,
famous as no other, --
on the Volga, on the Volga,
that is where my dearest homeland lies.
Where my heart recognized the power of
first love and of friendship,
where in good times and in bad
I stood with steady feet,
where my father, tired of life's work,
found his final rest, --
on the Volga, on the Volga,
that is where my true homeland lies.
Where in nineteen-hundred-and-eighteen
we fought on the side of Soviet power,
our diligent hands' work
brought about prosperity and culture,
where, in brotherhood's bond
we built our Volga-Republic, --
on the Volga, on the Volga,
there is my homeland, my happiness.
After long and torturous years
in faraway forested ravine
I did, to satisfy my yearning,
visit my lovely hometown.
Surely I know, there I can never live again,
I have been denied from above,
yet how often have I lamented
it amidst the circle of my friends!
But I did not spare effort or difficulty
and traveled over hill and dale,
to see once again, at least once,
my home, my home village again.
The familiar Little Mother Volga,
she smiles at me, with melancholy:
"Where have you been so long?
What have I done to you?
Truly, you were and remain
my poor, well-regarded son,"
thus speak the babbling waves.
Thus my yearning has been rewarded.
The hilly shore greets me,
and on the left bank the meadows lie,
I recognize the place
where once there were rich gardens.
The villages, once so familair to me,
seem strange and deserted ...
But unchanged and homey
the Ilovlya river flows peacefully.
The Karamysh still snakes its way
toward the hilly area,
the rush of the waves in Balzer
sounds like the ancient song of a friend.
The Karaman is dark and sad,
its fame and its glory gone.
Where are those diligent farmers
who once achieved porsperity here?
I also reach the Yaruslan below,
it whispers, familiarly, like a child:
Can you, o traveler, tell me
where my coutnrymen have gone?
In haste, I also look at Seelmann,
Would love to reach Marxstadt once again,
But my eyes seem veiled,
for all the tears I fail to see.
Wiegenlied einer sovietdeutschen Mutter
Sleep, my child, my dear little boy!
Dark is the night.
Only the moon, with its walking stick,
is still keeping watch.
The beautiful shore of the Volga
was our home.
But with ignominy and shame
we were driven hence.
We received a black spot on
on our chests,
endured suffering and horror,
worry and frustration.
Every Soviet-German is branded
a subversive, a spy ...
Sleep, my little German Landsmann!
Sleep, my dear little son!
And you, too, even in your cradle
you are already branded,
for despite all great victories,
no one wipes it away:
In the grand Soviet land
fortune blooms for everyone.
You alone remain exiled,
for to your homeland shores
you are not to return.
Many fine words are uttered
even to you, my son.
But as long as we bear the brand
it is nothing but mockery.
Sleep, my child, in the silvery glow,
your'e still small and weak,
you know not yet why I shed these tears,
nothing of hate and shame.
Grow, my child! Make strong your tendons!
Be not anyone's silent servant!
Think of your mother's tears
and demand what is your right!
At a gathering on
November 7, 1956 in Atchinsk; L to R: Reinhold Frank, Domink
Hollmann, Andreas Saks and Herbert Henke
At a seminar of Soviet-German writers,
June 16 - 19, 1959, in Krasnoyarsk; (L to R): sitting -- W.
Eckert, V. Klein, D. Hollmann, A. Saks, N. Ustinowitsch, F.
Reis, Fr. Leschnitzer, Irma Duck, A. Henning and Th. Chromowa.
Our appreciation is extended to Alex Herzog for translation of this article.