"Special Action"
by
Wayne Thomas
(Age: 58)
copyright 05-30-2008
Age Rating: 16 to 127
Konzentrationeslager.
It is, of course, a camp.
It does not matter which camp,
Only that we are somewhere in occupied Poland,
And today we had "Special Action".
Again.
Hundreds of them,
Driven with whips from
The cattle cars they traveled in,
Were shipped in,
On they come,
Down the chute,
Purged of every last dredge
Of dignity,
Between the SS and the snarling Alsatians.
Straight toward me.
I gesture with my thumb
To each one,
Right or left,
Gas or slave?
Which?
When out of the stumbling herd
One stands out.
My eye is caught.
She stands before me.
I gesture.
She slips to the right
And in behind me.
I have the power of a god!
Now she sleeps, this tender Jewess
Beside me, and a soft moan
Escapes her lips.
Unable to sleep myself,
I watch her instead.
Peeking out from beneath the quilt,
The long fingers of her left hand
Beckon in slow motion to the ceiling.
She sighs.
A well-thumbed volume of Ovid
Lies beside her, gilt on red leather
On the white marble-top table.
Somewhere across the night,
Beyond this barbed-wire insanity,
A lone dog is barking.
Right here,
I trace her uncovered breast
With my finger,
Watching in fascination
As one nipple grows
In solitary arousal.
And turn away.
Once again I have digested Herr Faustus,
And place his tattered green corpse
Beside the crimson leather.
I douse the cut-glass oil lamp
To admit the pallid arms of a waning moon,
Its amber crescent recumbent in watery clouds.
I place my hand gently on her chest,
Feel the rising and falling,
Knowing that with my slightest gesture
She goes up the Chimney.
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This made me feel physically ill. And it made me hate you for writing it, because it's so vulgar. But I don't really hate you, don't worry, lol. What I mean is that my immediate reaction was disgust and horror and rage, and because of that, I know this poem is perfection.
It's just really hard for me to say anything other than while this was an amazing piece, I think you did what you meant to do. I'm thoroughly horrified (which is a good thing).
Also, I think this hit me even stronger, because I am from a Hebrew background, I have family that has the dual Isreali American citizenship, I am highly proud of my heritage, and as to my knowledge, there is family in our lineage that did survive and/or die in the holocaust . . . it just makes me think . . . she could have been someone bearing my name.
The really ironic thing, here, is that a million words can be written, a million visions brought to mind, a million prayers and songs to be heard and sung, but what was done, was done. The horrors and atrocities that insane man can inflict, upon each other and upon countless millions, still doesn't alter future insanities from occurring or even current insanities from continuing. But it seems that only the artist has the courage to leave a legacy of horror for the world's generations to look at and consider.
Just some thoughts inspired by your excellent write.
Really well done, Wayne. Sophie's Choice from the other end of the gun. Great imagery, too. I'm reminded once again that it's almost impossible to present a "likable" Nazi, short of Hogan's Heroes.
Certainly, one cannot even come close with your Kommandant. This was a powerful piece that I'll come back to. Thanks.
Welcome !
