Give Obama Credit: Drones Are Better Than Boots

[Journeyman]

8. A poem for you, by Thomas Merton . . .

My name is Adolf Eichmann.

A poem (c. 1962) by Thomas Merton, a Trappist monk of the Abbey of Gethsemani, Kentucky.

My name is Adolf Eichmann.
The Jews came every day
to vat they thought vould be
fun in the showers.
The mothers were quite ingenious.
They vould take the children
und hide them in bundles of clothing.
Ve found the children,
scrubbed them,
put them in the chambers
and sealed them in.

I vatched through the portholes
as they were droven und chant:
“Hey, mein Liebe, heyyy."
Ve took off their clean Jewish love rings,
removed their teeth and hair –
for strategic defense.
I made soap out of them,
I made soap out of all of them;
and they hung me,
in full view of the prison yard.

People say,
“Adolf Eichmann should have been hung!”
Nein.
Nein, if you recognize the whoredom
in all of you,
that you vould have done the same,
if you dared know yourselves.

My defense?
I vas a soldier.
People laugh,
“Ha ha! This is no defense,
that you are a soldier.”
This is trite.
I vas a soldier,
a good soldier.
I saw the end of a conscientious day’s effort.
I saw all the work that I did.
I, Adolf Eichmann,
vatched through the portholes.
I saw every Jew burned
und turned into soap.
Do you people think yourselves better
because you burned your enemies
at long distances
with missiles?
Without ever seeing what you’d done to them?
Hiroshima . . . Auf Wiedersehen . . .