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To Ira Cohen's previous pieceThe Stauffenberg Cycle
for Julian Beck in Eternity
Was habe ich hier verloren in diesem Land
What have I lost here in this land
Hans Magnus Enzensberger
Left Kathmandu on winter solstice
Arrived Munich 10:30 a.m. Dec.22, 1977
ARRIVAL
Herman Goring screamed at me
demanding one deutschmark for the use of
a pushcart
at German customs!
He muttered to himself, abashed,
when I told him to shove it up
his ass.
10 YEARS TOO LATE: A MONUMENT
23 December
So Venus has 7 screws in her left leg &
Orpheus has one screw in his heart
which is left of center
Only one block away is Baaderstrasse
where a pregnant woman & two children
pose with machine guns - -
Can there be humor in terrorism?
Will the first X over the picture of
Wackernagel
spread over the undisguised faces of Europe?
Will the daughters of the pastors
betray the sheep to the wolves
prowling, hopeless?
And Julian Beck, crawling in the dust,
carries on a hopeless legacy
like the reincarnation of Emma Goldman
wandering in the streets shroudless &
alone --
I think Thomas is right,
only the 300 kilo glue on the doors of
Germany's banks
could make them aware of the terror
once sacred like sacrifice
in the time of gods gone by.
24 December Christmas Eve
She says I shouldn't leave Germany
without making a poem free of malice,
a poem celebrating something,
as if it would not be the self evident
statement of a man who cannot,
by blood, refuse the conventional
grievance nurtured by history -
We spoke of a curtain rising
knowing it bore the word Hysteria
in place of History & of course there were
always those same fat figures making their
vulture songs on the currency of greed -
& so I willingly accept the pain & guilt
not on knees but on feet of gold
& know that there is a flame yet unignited,
a laser staircase on which such gods
might ascend
to strains of glory Kriemhild never dreamed of
but then awake to these extra cerebral knots of
nostalgia
& the thrilling fear suspicious
of what awaits a single Parsifal
in a world careless of horses
Still in love w/Klingsor, tied
to an impossible past &
a lust for survival at any expense,
they shlep their corsages of approval
from Bahnhof to Bahnhof & I was moved
enough by the face of Friederike Krabbe
to make a crooked star shine above her
head
on the WANTED poster
pasted on the front door of the Schwabinger Krankenhaus
It is Christmas Eve & I realize I am in
a country where one can count on angels
hiding in surprising places,
& that the potential gleam exceeds your request,
shines by necessity in a way only I can know,
a brilliant flash
in the oven of your soul
taking on the karma of unpublished love &
ready to fall on knees broken by Fate.
There will never be a last day of this war,
my love, and he who was shot
will rise in Eternity to praise the open heart
which forgets itself in recognition of doom
covering the kindred.
The Elephant need not be caged
A circle of steel spikes is enough to keep it from
escaping/but there is noplace to hide,
seltsam & loaded w/ivory -- *
Night of the 25th (Christmas)
A mad hatters meeting
with Otto, Joachim, Wolfgang Amadeus &
Thomas
tearing apart a half jewish chicken
Suddenly on the TV screen,
an Xmas special, The Merchant of Venice
Joachim likes to take LSD
when he works as a machinist,
Otto dreaming of Bangkok
turns up the schlager musik &
makes Wolfgang run out screaming:
Sadism Sadism
Thomas smokes a cigarette w/conscious
elegance
and asks dialectical questions as
hypothetical Davids stand frozen in Eternity.
CHAPLIN IS DEAD!
Dec. 26th
Better to be carrying bananas in Africa
than to be the god of Europe -
Goebbels too might be digging Rhapsody in Blue
or even Charlie Parker in 1977.
München ist für Hündchen
Every true German knows he must have a dog
& there his soul runs from silver or golden
leash
to the whimpering kiss of his heart's reflection
Training can be draining
& the trainer conditioned
by the dog's reflex
empties another can of dogfood
to feed an ego chained by hunger.
Mein hof (My hope) is greater than any traitor
& Baader was better, let the dogs bark later
27th December
"Der Ruhm der Welt ist wie ein Windesrauschen
Das bald von hierher, bald von dorther kommen
Den Namen mit der Richtung pflegt zu tauschen."
Dante, Pergatorio 11, 100
'The Glory of the World is like a rustle of wind
which coming, first from here, then from there,
usually confuses the Name with the Judgment.'
The point of course was not to make it good again
(wiedergutmachen) but to make it good
& what you lost, brother, you still don't know
nor did you dare to venture forth to search
songless in other lands
What you lost & cursed your elders for -
only your children know,
The meaning of false apologies
curdling like mother's milk gone sour,
the lines of rectitude sowing hatred in the stuttering
dawn,
these gravepits you stand in as if they were level
land,
and still wondering what you lost
without the courage to die
Not here, you cried, brother, not here
Why not hear then the sound of bullets
fired by the children?
Why not hear the anguish nurtured by grasping
hands?
For here is the song you have been waiting for,
O brother, here is the song of your siren screaming
in the night
& now without understanding still, brother,
you condemn your children's cry
Love them as you despise your elders
or you will live to know why
Believe me, you will live to know why
Don't make it good again, brother,
you need your police cars for other things
These are not real synagogues, brother,
only cultural replicas you cannot go near
They are not sellable like your plaster pharaohs
& your bedpans are overflowing with cheap champagne
Just make it good, brother,
but make it good in here
This Wunderpanzer is the doom of your heartland,
brother, better let your armor down,
Wilhelm Reich may be dead, brother, & panthers
prowl your streets, your women are lusting for the
TURKS,
brother, & your men are full of fear
Your winning was always your losing, brother,
& your losing was no losing, brother
O heirs of Hagen in black leather,
be undeceived by the wet tongues of your dogs
It is time to celebrate your own mongrel longings,
brother, time to love the terror you left to your
children,
for they are your only hope, brother,
sons & daughters of a cowardly despair,
the arbiters of justice, they bring you
the truth you never could bear.
I tell you Hitler is alive & feeding fish
in the Ganga!
Ira Cohen, Jew
Hakim Khan, Sufi
Avdut Irawadi Giri, Naga
Watchful Deer Priest
Colonel Claus Graf von Stauffenberg (1907 1944), Chief of Staff of the Reserve Army.
One of the leaders of an unsuccessful attempt on Hitler's life, Stauffenberg, on July 20, 1944, placed a rigged briefcase under the table in a conference room where Hitler was meeting with his top advisers. The bomb exploded, killing one person but Hitler received only superficial wounds. Stauffenberg and his brother were slowly tortured to death in an abattoir, the proceedings of which were filmed for Hitler's pleasure.
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