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A Brickbat for Herman BroodTo 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


     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.


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
     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
     & 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
     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 &
    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
    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
       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
       these gravepits you stand in as if they were level
       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
       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
       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
       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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