I goofed. It seems that I took up pencil again in 2007 to write this ode (or whatever) to Raoul Wallenberg (if you don't know who he is, shame on you -- leave this site at once and go look him up!). It seems that I also wrote a rather bitter American Ballad in no less than 7 parts, but I'm not willing to stick that anywhere until I read it a few dozen more times to see if it's acceptable for human consumption....
If you are interested you might see if you can find my references to Wim Wenders (well, OK, that's a gimme), Mel Brooks (should be pretty easy), Thomas Pynchon (a little tricky) and Raoul's (official) profession -- although, actually, his only profession that really mattered was HERO.…
1932, Prescient Homage to Raoul Wallenberg
In Berlin, Hitler rules in the warming Spring
Jews and Gypsies walk verdant parks
Smell the trees not yet blossoming, but soon
(Perhaps not Gypsies... and, Jews, well.... be discrete!)
In a decade... or so... they’ll be dead, roasted
or, shot, or, occasionally, hanged
or, more often, poisoned, then roasted
Efficient folk, the murderers will keep good records
Names, numbers, details of scars, shoe sizes and styles of glasses
In Berlin, Wim Wenders hasn’t been born, but...
There's’ a raffish fellow, a Swede, visiting El Norte
(What precisely did Raoul Wallenberg study in America
The waft and woof of a building... Yes
The smell of the World’s Fair... Yes)
Perhaps he met a dark-eyed Jewess who immunized him
Against incipient bland hatred
Whilst listening to tinkling starry music
An aristocrat with pale eyes, blond hair - Aryan pure
In a decade .... or so.... will stand with Nazis
And say, here there be Swedes while
waving a pale hand toward the cattle cars
packed with Jews, Gypsies, Fags and Retards
(off to the Schlachthof... hinky dinky doo)
While chums, equally pale, wispy, Aryan pure, Swedes
Wandering along the tracks writing names on pure blank sheets
Creating, as they walked, new, pure, dark complected non-Aryan Swedes
Making the cattle cars wait, here there be Swedes
Until finally, “Yes, yes. Take them. Go. We have schedules...”
How many will he save, this ne'er-do-well
Blond Aryan lad now playing in the spring sun?
One hundred thousand?
Until - one last train to catch and delay -
He is now to be, to have been, caught in the Zone
(evolving to Soviet Germany)
And will disappear....
Blame Stalin - might as well - blame me or Wim
We weren’t born yet... so blame us... blame the wind
Blowing from the East or South... warming ‘things’ in that
Spring Summer (to be) in the Zone where - poof, pop
So many. This one at least. Hero. Disappeared.
2 March 2007
rev. May 2007