Dagmar Brenne  

27.4. 2007

Yes I came here so willing, was summoned to the court.

The letter told, to do this, in cold and legal word.

With care I dressed and brushed, from head down to my socks

gave me into their keeping, as to the slaughter is the ox.


And as I crossed the threshold of that gloomy courtroom door,

I clutched my many papers, well sixty piece or more.

This was a witches trial, the law was on their side.

I steeled myself with valour, a modern Gothic knight.


I see them all a-fussing, that busy courtroom throng,

with muffled voice, politely and still it is all wrong.

And on the bench the judge sits, solicitors and crew-

Alas, the bane of my life, there's Jeremy the Jew!


I speak so educated, so clearly without slur,

Address the man: ''Your honour, well, yes, your honour, Sir''.

Alone I stand before them, I stand here, oh my brother,

as Luther did, so help me God, and I can do no other.


They leer at me, their victim, mince words when it is clear,

there is no guilt on my part, perfidious malice here!

With words they stab my innards, with words they pierce my soul.

They build their case against me, to trap me is their goal.


I feel myself transported, another place and time.

My ancestor the Gothic knight, he listens to this crime.

He shakes his mane in anger, his flashing sword I see

and in my spirits twilight- my Gothic ancestry.


And as they crowd around me, the men and women hiss,

that I was born for freedom, I was not born for this.

I hear their spirit-marching, the tramp of many boots,

as in this gloomy courtroom I'm thinking of my roots.


Why should I stand so silent, so still as if in chains,

Why meekly to surrender, my heart is wracked with pains?

Why should I take dishonour and shame upon my head,

as silent as the little lambs, when to their deaths are led?


So many eyes are on me, these heroes of the past.

The slavery of Jewry, it must, it cannot last.

Should not the women folk around, bash pot lids with a clang

and howl in loudest protest as if the banshees sang?


It's one of our number, by lies and vile report

dragged from his house's safety to stand before this court.

Oh, Gothic knight, to battle! Lets hear your battle cry,

and shake this dusty courtroom, yes why not, why not , why?


I never betray my people with a kiss

                                                          it is for steadfastness I'm in a court like this.                                                          


                          White Woman's Anger

                          The Handkerchief of Benesch



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