Bavaria’s Harvest
[Augsburg, Germany]
Your enchanting rivers, with earth-bearing decay;
Your picturesque cathedral, weather tarnished;
Your citadel-worn clocksBavarian *time;
The city's fountain of regal design;
Your ancient, thick walls of Roman descent;
Your houses of pleasure, with red lights of tinge;
Your burial grounds, where all must lay in time;
Your lost and hidden beauty undefined.
Your houses of schnitzel, and guesthouses** of brew;
Your rural potato pickers worn old.
(Ah, Augsburg! Ay, me! Your texture, your cover.)
Your festivals of tents, with flavored birch
I feel your medieval songs, Your harvest gold,
Past, but still present inside my soul.
Originally published in the book:
“The Other Door,
Poetic Exhortations,” © l980, by dlsiluk
Facing East
1
In the Beginning
[Augsburg, West Germany, l970] It was a troubling time, back in the late 60s and early 70s the war in Vietnam was going on, as was the war inside of Rolande’s head, slowly ending. Love does not have a name in my story, although it has side effects, for both involved. Love as we knew it was the wealth it gave us, for what it was worth at the moment, we both I think forgot to look at ourselves, what was important was grabbing the moment for our own personal reasons, or gains. It was maybe what we wanted though, and needed; maybe that was the best combination of the whole affair. Maybe this was more an affair, yes, that’s exactly what it was, more of an affair, yup. But I prefer it reside in the river of truth, so I place it in the space that lies between two people as growing pains. She was twenty-four years old, I was twenty-two.
2
A View in
The East
(Christopher Chavez) The street was narrowan army compound, with its towering concrete wall, in West Germany, towered above my head, as I walked along its narrow sidewalk if one takes walking seriouslyand in the distance you could see the emerging city as it started to surround you. Towards the end were guard towers, trees, and more streets. At night when I walked home along this walk, the lights seemed always to be twisted, but then I was seldom sober.
Until the huge wall emerged, the compound was completely concealed; thus, until that moment the element of surprise remained. New recruits, assigned to the military compound would seldom dare to glance along this long side view of the compound in fear they would not find their way back I believe. They were young and unraveled for the most part, their contempt for being in this foreign land and city of Augsburg, and even for being assigned to a small compound like Reese, knew no bounds in disappointment.
The water tower in back of the compound could be seen above the large concrete walls as could some of the trees when I walked steadily along the side of the tower wall going down the street as the VWs and Mercedes passed me. Very cleaver I thought if anything, for surely World War Two, the Nazis’ could have used it in part, for spying; but the more I think about it, I suppose they used more sophisticated means, and spying on whom, themselves?
The area around the compound had a gothic kind of look, medieval not like the inside barracks in the compound. The barracks green and patched with red and brown colors: gave it a drab and rustic feeling, if not a flat affect on the mind. I never liked the colors, but then I’m no decorating freak anyhow, it will do.
Its countless windows with decaying iron and wood could had never contemplated another defense against any new war of the 60s or 70s, for I’m sure its painful memories of the Nazi era filled its spaces. On all four of the barrack sides were doors, as heavy as the church doors down in Augsburg, in the middle of the city that is, with its iron sides, like an old fire-escape. This iron went to the upper and lower parts of the doors.
The rooms were small, four men to a room, and in some, two men to a room, and if you were a part of Security Police Force, as I am, one to a room, but the room was like a prison cell, one could say, in that it was a thin emplacement: no more than 12-feet long and six feet wide. Thank God I was not claustrophobic.
There were upper rooms to these three stories barracks, filled with staircases on each side of the building, and in the center of it, as if there were to be constant drills [thus, meaning: having soldiers running about].
The windows were dark at night, only a lifeless light could be seen from a distance: our bed check sergeant could be seen walking up those lonely steps at night with his flashlight as to check each room and see who was missing at twelve-midnight. He was an asshole, one who loved to kick people in the ass as they walked up the stairs, I often said to myself, ‘Don’t, don’t you dare.’ I think he read my mind, the bastard he never did play around with me.
Now that I think about it looking back at the building over the wall, one might think of a Peeping Tom, as you look through the windows and see the light shinning in on the stairs leading up to the second floor; I somehow can picture a crazy old man with a toothless mouth peering through the doorways like a guard in a prison cell: thinking about escaping.
As I continued to walk down the street, smoking a cigarette I walked along this wall, I walk it almost every day, my mind would produce these visions, as I pressed forward with the excitement I knew would be ahead of me: simply excitement for a privet like me, nothing to wake up the dead. The coming bar scene, the good dark German beer, the girls, and a few friends might be at one of the bars: that was my excitement. I knew by walking, not by hiding at the damn compound I’d survive this adventure, aloneness, ordeal at times, I’d get there, and the night would start, which would make me focus on ‘the here and now,’ not the bullshit of the Army life.
And I did exactly that, kept walking, looking ahead, closer and closer coming to my lifeless adventure for the evening.
The very air above me seemed fresher now that I had left the compound with its military madness. Ski Nutgall would meet me there, or be there, most likely, be there, at the guesthouse that is, several blocks northeast of the compound. He merely put up with the military; his head was some other place it always seemed, wondering why he was still here, here at Reese [meaning: he military compound] Germany I guess! It seemed to me the way he acted was like he was on some expensive vacation: he is separated from the real army, mentally anyway,like the Army is from the Marines.
As I observed my watch, I noticed I was making good time, I do when I talk to myself. I was now far from the great walls of my assigned military compound, my home away from home; out of sight, out of mind. That is how a draftee thinks I think. Or I wonder if I simply act the way I think people expect me to act: sometimes I just don’t know. It seemed about half the people in the Army actually joined the Army, not sure why, but the other half like me, got drafted. You know the ones that didn’t make it to college, or got married before l965; a cut off date someone came up with. They have all these rules so they can figure out who is dispensable and who is not. I was one that was dispensable I guess. But then so was Elvis, everyone over here seems to like him, that being: the Germans in particular. I think the U.S. Government tried to get rid of Elvis so they could get back to the old ways of music and thinking, he was surely a rebel for his time: and if anyone changed America, it was him. He’s settled down now somewhat I hear.
I can see the guesthouse now from where I am at now, catching the wooden beam crossovers in the middle sides of the guesthouse like a sloppy-x, it always looks so medieval heavy; and along the sides and front of the establishment is the walkway, it looks deserted, yet it is only 8:00 PM, early for night life, just wait, it will be swinging soon Christopher…
see Dennis’ web site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com
