Wednesday, May 9, 2012

The Lüger Hovered Lightly in Its Glove

You're not actually going to read Broch or Musil, L asked me at a Tuesday night version of Thursday Night Pints, changed at my request: Thursday night I'll be enjoying a walleye reuben at Muddy Misers in Zanesville before picking up Planet Friday morning and bringing her home for the summer. It's much better than you think it is, that walleye reuben. I said, no, though I might go to a baseball game, I've talked to Hamster and RC about going to a game, I'd like to go to at least one Nats game, I'd like to go back to Camden Yards, it's been at least twelve years [Hamster and RC, propose a game date in either or both locations, a night game, please, you'd each enjoy the others conversation, and other MOCOs are invited too!], but no, a friend reminded me of Good Soldier Schweik too, and I'd read that before the other two and I'm probably not rereading Schweik. Baseball was discussed, why L and D and I, once fervent fans, fell away. My bachelor party was Hamster and this guy taking me to an Orioles game against the Texas Rangers at Memorial Stadium, I said. Vile and justified nastiness was spit at Peter Angelos. On a flatscreen above the bar CNN said Lugar dead. D asked, you don't think you can not play POTUS 12, do you, and I said nope. You're going to post that Tony Hecht poem tomorrow, said L, and I said yup.


Anthony Hecht

Composed in the Tower before his execution
These moving verses, and being brought at that time   
Painfully to the stake, submitted, declaring thus:
“I implore my God to witness that I have made no crime.”

Nor was he forsaken of courage, but the death was horrible,   
The sack of gunpowder failing to ignite.
His legs were blistered sticks on which the black sap   
Bubbled and burst as he howled for the Kindly Light.

And that was but one, and by no means one of the worst;   
Permitted at least his pitiful dignity;
And such as were by made prayers in the name of Christ,   
That shall judge all men, for his soul’s tranquillity.

We move now to outside a German wood.   
Three men are there commanded to dig a hole   
In which the two Jews are ordered to lie down   
And be buried alive by the third, who is a Pole.

Not light from the shrine at Weimar beyond the hill   
Nor light from heaven appeared. But he did refuse.   
A Lüger settled back deeply in its glove.
He was ordered to change places with the Jews.

Much casual death had drained away their souls.   
The thick dirt mounted toward the quivering chin.   
When only the head was exposed the order came   
To dig him out again and to get back in.

No light, no light in the blue Polish eye.
When he finished a riding boot packed down the earth.   
The Lüger hovered lightly in its glove.
He was shot in the belly and in three hours bled to death.

No prayers or incense rose up in those hours
Which grew to be years, and every day came mute   
Ghosts from the ovens, sifting through crisp air,   
And settled upon his eyes in a black soot.


  1. I might be in the minority that likes Grant Hart's half of Husker Du's output more than Bob's. Also, I should have started reading your corner of the Internets way earlier than I have.

  2. Links thanks as always, but 1)the internets is suppose to be static lest hypnotizingly belligerent fowl keep one from working and 2) that poll is terrible. Where's the 'barrel of laughs' option?

  3. Thanks for the shout-out and the Dark Star.

    P.S. R.G. isn't supposed to make sense.

  4. I'd like to get back to Camden Yards myself... been a little longer than 12 years.

  5. These videos makes me happy:) cute dog!