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To Ira Cohen's previous piece
The 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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