“Hitler’s Mother’s Eyes”

“Hitler’s Mother’s Eyes”

The finer strokes are hardened now, abandoned, put away
With fine tipped pens and rich rhetoric delicacies
Of touch that dance in satins in the margins, intricacies
Of form no longer sharpened somehow blurred in recent days,
An odd obscurity cocooned in saffron moods of comfort.
I linger now behind
The door before I join the others in the queue if I am there at all.
I shall not be missed, nor will I keep the lists of midnight calls
That come too late to birth an interest and not at all on time
To make a difference in the greater scheme of things.
I’ll not expire, no. But, what exactly do you say
I’m missing in the fray, my friend? I’m no one’s “by the way.”
My house was sold some time ago; I rent the coterie of my days.
So if the sentiment’s removed from hill to shore and back again
to claim the right-of-way
Tomorrow, or in some new guash and interplay
within a Chinese fan― speak gently to the hand
And when it dries, you’ll find me sitting where I was
when all of this began.
But then we always knew the score. The hidden wars along the left
Of pages in the history book, the marble records etch so little
Of the terrors of the kill, the whim and wanderlust,
the spin and spittle
Of the needle pointing to a second Khan or city states bereft
Of arms to hold the tide and teeming hoards
That threaten Po or Elbe; the Pyrenees or just another Hannibal
With elephants. Attila drives his chariots south
inspiring concert halls
Of future profiteers and Shermans
with a thousand bonfires to the sea.
The streets of Ord,
Nebraska rest with apathetic sycophants that speak of holocausts
among the Czechs back home while calmly nesting through it all.
To they who will in time read pages to the right,
We see the facts and figurative interpolation for a future night
Of chimæras distracting wallflowers at the mall with outraged calls
To arms against a swarm of pharaohs
that were never there to drown
Or talk of how a string of street gangs
brought the tallest buildings down.
Hitler’s mother’s eyes were modestly disguised
As she was wont to gaze at him intently―
Someone dear forgot to tell him something. Veils we re rent
At last in her and visible restraints she’d only vaguely exercised
Along with patience at the table―a little late for her and most of us.
And in that first November Kristallnacht,
there came the tests, malevolent,
The spark and germ of newly minted acolytes of thunder
scarcely banning headlines of a covenant
Between their suit of clubs and diamonds over hearts
and using spades in all that fuss.
No one knew, of course, but all applauded;
wreathes in memory hang proudly now on every door
Along with ribbons and a vision of some future August mushroom
there along an Asian shore.
Dissent, perhaps, but as King Richard found
when Bolingbroke was crowned,
“The truth is one, the ignorant have but multiplied…”;
the stage is primed for clowns
And living puppets, the genuine anointed;
the exorcised are those who’ve gone before
Disguised in crowds and adulation,
what amounts to flatulence within the masses
Pulling strings to serve a braying herd of half a million asses.


7 responses to ““Hitler’s Mother’s Eyes”

  1. I swear, it takes work to read, let alone understand, your work.

    Still, the worth of the work demands it.

    I’m praying that you will publish. I also pray that a small group of sympathetic and spiritual critics write a companion volume 🙂

  2. Whenever I am besieged, bombarded, inundated with the general news of the day, I am struck by how truly real is the grief and misery of the protagonists of whatever the news and how awesome the sheer size of collective trauma and pain is in this time. The news from Tunisia, Egypt, Yemen, Jordan, possibly Syria, et al in the Middle East, coupled with gargantuan cyclones hitting an already flooded Queensland in Australia announced in the same breath with the news of monster snow storms from Texas to Maine, fully one third of all American states, a merciless pounding in snow and sleet (two feet of snow, as you know, in Chicago); flooding and mudslides in the Amazon regions of Brazil; et cetera, et cetera, I get to the point that I am at this time overextended, mentally, with almost too much information about a world that appears to be out of control whether from sheer wanton ignorance or from the standpoint of natural disasters superimposed on this same burden of stupidity, I tend to cope with it all by retarding into poesy.

    This poem was written some time ago, but I have revised some of it here. My reference is to the fact that I remain the same no matter what the news. Even as I write, there are fresh atrocities that could be ignored in favour of poetic reference to style, fashion, the fact that it is presently dinnertime here, the wonders of liberty and freedom in retirement, et hoc genus omne, and you might well receive such comments comfortably assured that while the snows have mounted in Ohio, still, you have a roof over your head and are probably engrossed with whatever it takes to continue on to the end that your novel is published at last successfully. These are the “finer strokes” I mention in the opening verses of this poem, nothing more, nothing less. And while all hell may be breaking loose in Cairo and doctors are making house calls in rubber rafts in Queensland, I am still here and essentially not affected in the least by any of the latest news items, if I so choose to be. Of course, there may be another Attila at the gates of Rome or Khan accosting Baghdád just itching to burn the libraries and universities there or possibly Alí-Babá and some forty thieves about to destroy the Egyptian Museum while the Egyptian army may or may not lend a hand, but here I am, and this very evening, after ordering in a Mexican pizza [with extra cheese] from the local Iranian restaurant here, I will retire thereafter after watching the aftermath played over and over again about what did or did not happen in Cairo or Yemen today, again…if I so choose. Ord, Nebraska [originally settled by Czechs bemoaned the plight of Czechoslovakia in 1939, and by the time I knew them when I used to sing at their weddings in the 60’s they were still moaning and still filling their arenas with hundreds of polka dancers, and yet did nothing more nor less to arrest the spread of Hitler’s dreams then than enthusiasts are doing now in Tahrir Square in Cairo or gangs of terrorists for whatever their reasons plotting even now to stage another 911.

    The problem was that Hitler’s mother forgot to tell him something; so, too, did his teachers; so, too, did his father; so, too, did his friends [what few he had]; the problem was not that there was something wrong with his sense of justice for Germany after what had transpired through the Treaty of Versailles of 1919, but with his apparent total lack of love either for himself, for others, and for the whole of mankind. And whose fault was that? Yes, well, of course, there was his overbearing father; his over-protective mother; his neophyte professional teachers [public education of any sort had to be neophyte since the very concept of public education never really got off the ground anywhere until after 1850]; that fact that his neighbours, his fellow Austrians, and humanity as a whole at the time in that part of the world were absolutely exhausted and bankrupt morally, not to mention economically after the death of 9,000,000 souls and the devastation of much of Europe during what was, after all, a family squabble amongst the royals of most of Europe but at the same time the most devastating war the world had ever seen in its history; and, of course, never mind the overwhelming opinions of most Europeans over centuries that Jews were to be used and then abused and then exiled [or even exterminated as the world has learned took place in German occupied territory throughout the Second World War and before that in Spain, France, and England once these nations began to call themselves nations after 1492.] Adolf was able to win every battle, one-to-one because had a certain genius for politics and manipulation, not to mention a gift of elephantine proportions in the ability to express himself, orally, and was so disagreeable when contradicted that most were content either to merely stare in disbelief at something so fanatic or simple self-preservation in the sense of one’s own dignity ; he could not, however, win the war. Hitler’s advent, as it happens, circumstantially, gave him the edge to succeed under conditions as they existed the Europe that was his for the taking, apparently, when of course, he proceeded to do regularly and with unprecedented ease until 1941.

    In the girl from the poem I wrote some time ago had the same determination. She was and remains a mystery to me because I cannot fathom the depth of narcissism it takes to say to one’s self, “I may not win here, but no one else will, either!” When faced with such a line that appears to echo Cain, himself, one truly wonders just what may be the limits to the execution of a will, human or otherwise, that is so strong that it encompasses a willingness to see total destruction not only of oneself but all in one’s company. When Cain is questions God [in the account of Genesis] concerning the reason for which is sacrifice is not acceptable to that same God, the reply from the Divinity is, “Why are you so angry?”

    4:4 And Abel, he also brought of the firstlings of his flock and of the fat thereof. And the LORD had respect unto Abel and to his offering: 4:5 But unto Cain and to his offering he had not respect. And Cain was very wroth, and his countenance fell. 4:6 And the LORD said unto Cain, Why art thou wroth? and why is thy countenance fallen? 4:7 If thou doest well, shalt thou not be accepted? and if thou doest not well, sin lieth at the door. And unto thee shall be his desire, and thou shalt rule over him.4:8 And Cain talked with Abel his brother: and it came to pass, when they were in the field, that Cain rose up against Abel his brother, and slew him.
    Human justice in Cain’s considered opinion trumped the divine and God’s question and instruction, according to the account in Genesis, is utterly ignored in favour of what traditionally turns out to be the first murder, with the rest, of course, is history. By the same token, in consideration of the demands, righteously considered or not, socially equitable or not, the divine answer to most of mankind seems not only destined to fall on deaf ears but at times, the very progenitor of what humanity proposes to be both just and equitable in spite of every question and instruction revealed by every Prophet and Manifestation of God since the beginning of recorded time, and so, the general conclusion of what I wrote. Not that there are not inequities, injustices, blatant atrocities and the like that justify dissatisfaction in the generality of the whole of mankind at present, but that the solution as proposed by the Prophets from Adam through Bahá’u’lláh is simply not acceptable at the table of mothers whether they be of Adolf Hitler or any least soul who survives in the progeny of Abraham throughout the Middle East. We know about discontent and corruption in the streets of Berlin and Munich of Hitler’s time and even now still stare in disbelief as we do watching the nightly news frenzy that shows the blow-by-blow narration and description of the discontent and corruption in the streets of Cairo and Alexandria.

    Perhaps, again, too much information, but your comments evokes response; if it were not so, I would not have written so much in response.

  3. You never write too much 🙂

    I’m left with one shining thought:

    “He saith: ‘How many the fires which God converteth into light through Him Whom God shall make manifest; and how numerous the lights which are turned into fire through Him!'”

    (The Bab quoted by Baha’u’llah, Epistle to the Son of the Wolf, p. 173)

  4. Yes, indeed! With that in mind, everything is suspect and everything is blessed at the same time and of course one can never be sure if one or the other or both are equally true; so much for the bottom line in every moment’s contract.

  5. “He is, in truth, the exponent of ‘God doeth whatsoever He willeth’ in the kingdom of creation.”

    (Abdu’l-Baha, Some Answered Questions, p. 171)

  6. Once, thank you for liking my latest glosa, The Outer Law Does Not Need Me. I was drawn then by the title of this poem that you posted some time ago, and I feel strengthened by the courage you demonstrate here. What a masterpiece! Am sending you warmest wishes from sunny Canada.

    • …and thank you for your kind comments! I have appreciated your work, your care and consideration tp variety in form as well as a certain predestined promise, or, at the very least a presage of content that will inevitably transcend the form. Again, thank you for your warm and kind comment.response to the poem.

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