(AA) Canto 49: Rabbitcatchers
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I look forward to tea in the garden, & the flavour of bread & butter… to all teh other things that make up home
Edward Chapman
Apprehended!
I fete you dear
commanding
officer, for your stealth
Ralph Cherbo Geeplay
As Yeo walk’d he thought ‘poor Brisculette
Must rescued be, that gray streak in his hair,
Dyed black, must sooneth fade – where IS Anette!?
Not at the kiosk, no, not anywhere;’
Tho’ scream’d all nerves,
‘Man, keep your cool, keep sane,’
He, from the rendezvous, curv’d thro the streets again,
& slid back to that meeting place,
Still agent unattended,
Where springs on him a fearsome face,
Who forearms apprehended,
With neck secur’d by headlock brace,
Liberties there ended,
“Wir haben Shelley!” hiss’d the gristle-voice
“Please come this way…” as if he had a choice!
As soon as he was in the car
They smash’d him in the face
The fat one snarl’d, “Just who you are
We’ve tried & test to trace,
Then Thomas plung’d in darkness underneath a pillowcase.
Paris
May 30th
1944
A Broken Nose
Once, in the burning age
of flowing stone
the Devil’s old dark toffee overflow’d
Robin Munro
With imprecations litanizing fears,
Into a street he could not recognize,
Steps Yeo, “Schweinehund!” “Terrorist!” rakes ears,
While raw red bruis’d & broken were his eyes;
All hope abates,
Interrogation wends,
Creak open iron gates, Tom thanks his new best friends.
Counting the floors so could ken
How far he would have to leap,
Once in a room upleap’d three men,
Whom blows upon Yeo heap,
Whom manacl’d, spat at, & when
All wanted he was sleep,
In slowly walks Gestapo ghoul, who stands
Gloves slipping on, with backs of slapping hands
Beats out ‘Inglisher Hund!” on cheeks
Then punch’d & broke a nose,
Of booze he reeks, “Der Fuhrer seeks
The truth, so I’ll propose
You’ll tell us all we need to know, else, well, the Devil knows…
Paris
May 30th
1944
Resolve & Resolution
It’s gotten so dark
I feel fear within me.
The life of small noises
Rocco Scotellaro
‘This was it, my name is Kenneth Dodkin,
Whatever they might do, then things far worse;
Beatings, drownings, pierc’d by a bodkin,
Whatever meted greet with kiss or curse;
Each minute gone
A letterbox shall close
Or meeting place deem done…’ blood streaming from his nose
Soak’d red his clothes, eyes swoll’n to shade,
Neck this way, that-a way toss’d,
“Your duty’s done, don’t be afraid,
You’ve had your flutter & lost,
We know the Allies will invade
But where, but when?” – as frost
Obscures Yeo’s thoughts, hair tugg’d out in clumps,
“So tell us, yes, where are the ammo dumps?”
As tightening the handcuff sprain’d
Tom’s will-determin’d wrist,
More seconds gain’d, more time obtain’d
For lives too long to list,
& gazes mute, but fearless, mister ‘best shots I’ll resist!’
Paris
May 30th
1944
A Good Ducking
If I should die, think only this of me:
That there’s some corner of a foreign field
That is forever England
Rupert Brooke
As slipping into consciousness regain’d,
Yeo’s arms blaze pain, straining each socket,
A swirl of hurl’d insults, “We have obtain’d
This ten-franc note out of your own pockets,
On which is scrawl’d
A number… whose it it?”
“I do not know…” appall’d by the sheer cheek of it
They naked stripp’d him, dragg’d him to
A tank with water filling,
“Whose is this number, tell us who?”
Plung’d under, gushes spilling
Flush’d lungs, then was dragg’d out to spew
His liquid guts, thrilling
That deep, Teutonic need for sacrifice –
Yeo clears his throat, chirps “boys, that was nice!”
They duck’d him down & out again,
Against the tiles he slumps,
Then broke his jaw, echoes the roar
“WHERE ARE THE AMMO DUMPS!”
But still defiance thrusted from nightwatchman at the stumps.
Paris
May 30th
1944
Tortureboarded
The wind suffers of blowing,
The sea suffers of water,
The fire suffers of burning
Laura Riding
The Devil stands on his high mountain peak,
Count of crude turmoil-, oxgut crashes chest
Oer stomach aquaful… enforc’d a creak,
Disgorgement…& Yeo’s pass’d his next test;
Hustl’d along
Passages, dripping wet,
He sings, inside, a song, he knows he’ll get there yet!
By well-groom’d women lining walls,
Who mock’d him as he pass’d ‘em,
With spittle-whistles & cat-calls,
He flicks his head & splash’d ‘em
With droplet blood, stumbl’d, then falls…
Hands sprawl’d, jackboots smash’d ‘em…
Dragg’d to his feet they haul’d him thro’ a door
“Those ammo dumps, or do you want some more?”
As rubber coshes rush to work
On body, legs & arms;
Like Knight or Turk right gone beserk,
For Hadith, or for Psalms,
What blows of righteous fury thrash from angry, blist’ring palms.
Paris
May 30th
1944
The Violinist
Dearly ye pay for your primal Fall –
Some flowerets of Eden ye still inherit,
But the trail of the serpent is over them
Thomas Moore
Two burly Sicherheitsdienst burst inside,
“We have him here!” “Who?” “Your telephone friend!”
Roll’d in was some wretch, limply terrified,
“Perhaps he’ll tell us where are the dumps – send
You to Auswich,
Instead, of your best fate –
The pleasant treatment which befits friends of the state.”
As stranger, young & very slim,
Claim’d, “I am a musician!”
The thugees went to work, a grim
Bestial demolition,
“Stop that at once! I don’t know him!”
Nobody would listen,
As, after blow to his ribs bonebreaking,
Yeo taken down corridors snaking
To plung’d be in some pitch black cell,
Where echo did the moans;
Twyx shout & yell he could not tell,
When silenc’d were the groans,
If that poor violinist deaf forever to the tones.
Paris
May 31st
1944
Indomitability
I have nae will to sing or danse
For fear of England & of France
God send them sorrow & mischance
Sir Richard Maitland
Dark swamps again, led all alone with thirst,
Grand aches, dull pains, his long, blood-matted face,
Drooping all pumpkin-shap’d, hoping the worst
Was over, lumphead buzzing, but with space
To calculate
This situation’s core,
Escape, for now, must wait – he’d have to suffer more.
With mouth blood-saltily impure,
Cold handcuffs biting at wrists,
He weigh’d up what left to endure,
How much torture to resist,
& if some fresh supersedure
Sadistic hedonist
Studying Dante for inspiration,
Might charge take of his interrogation.
The padlock rattl’d; priggish, rude,
Men came with bread & meat –
Flavors imbued the well-cook’d food,
“You’ll watch us while we eat!”
Tom froth’d & salivated like a babe denied the teat.
Paris
May 31st
1944
Fresh Air
I care not, Fortune, what you me deny
You cannot rob me of free Nature’s grace,
You cannot shut the windows of the sky
James Thomson
Hours blend, t’were two or twenty, who could tell,
& Yeo still entomb’d, he heard the clang,
Of iron on steel, high-pitch voices swell,
“Raus!” “Raus!” “Raus!” again, cell door open sprang;
A submachine
Gun train’d at him with rage,
Unchain’d from the latrine, the rabbit leaves the cage.
They led him to a spacious hall,
Where thirty other faces
Like his appear’d, cut were them all,
As if strawberry laces,
From dirty hair did crawling sprawl,
Ticking off name spaces,
Into a prison van each man was toss’d
“Where now?” “Who knows?” “Escape!” counting the cost
Of being caught he trac’d the way,
Thro’ well-known streets they went,
& glimps’d the gay Champs d’Elysees
Beyond thumb-narrow vent,
Parisianic fondness tear-ducts triggers liquescent.
Paris
June 2nd
1944
Fresnes
Into a famous prison Yeo’s turn’d,
At least, for now, the tortures are halted,
& to alive the famishment that burn’d,
Allow’d a little oatmeal, & salted’
Two sheets each morn
Of toilet roll – small-siz’d,
Square cut & crudely torn -, wield war’s news fragmentiz’d
& so he join’d an awful stint
Of life in a caustic loop,
Where ersatz coffee made men squint
& as for mangel-wurzel soup,
Twas like rainfall in a hoof print –
Yeo refus’d to stoop
His spirit… sang his anthems, pac’d cell.
To shine a hint of Heaven on his Hell.
Upon the wall concupiscence
Screams communications;
Omnipotence, deliverance,
Crude manifestations
Of men condemn’d to carrying crosses round the stations.
Paris
June 4th
1944
Mumble Words 