Under the Waves Stays With You My Heart

[dedalus]

Unter die Wellen Bleibt Bei Dir Mein Herz

Frau Elena Proschkow, 88, remembers her first husband, her abiding true love, Kapitanleutnant Hans-Christian Meier, commander of the submarine U-263, lost at sea on November 9, 1942.
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O Christian
how it all comes back --
I can see you now
so young, so eager,
resplendent
in your tailored uniform,
your dark eyes gleaming,
your shy lovely smile,
and the proud glances of your father,
the apprehensive eyes of your mother,
and, there, both laughing and fearful,
little me, three months pregnant
with Johann, our firstborn,
the son you would never see.
Life can be so cruel.

I weep to remember;
I can see it all so clearly
even now, after sixty-four long years,
like a photograph, like an image
burned into my brain;
you, my darling husband,
you, the best of all men,
on the night before you went to sea
for the last time, never, never
to return to the warm bed of love.

We had been married only two years
and your parents had made
some initial old-fashioned fuss,
but you, my dear, had insisted politely,
with the hidden steel of a German officer
(I think they were a little afraid of you)
and I loved you all the more for that.
You made me so happy.

Your father had an eye for a pretty girl
(yes, you smiled when you told me!)
and your mother soon capitulated
when she saw how much I loved you.
O Christian, Christian,
in those early days, we were
so happy together, so proud!

The degenerate filthy French
had been soundly trounced,
and the treacherous arrogant English
were left snarling on their island,
and the new Germany, under Adolf Hitler
was rightly triumphant!

The shame and the stain
of the First War had been erased
(in which my father fell, as you know)
and the German nation, reborn,
was holding a lamp to the world:
Kraft durch Freude, Strength through Joy,
a bulwark against godless communism,
a shining example of truth.

Do you remember, my darling,
the day we first met?
You were a young lieutenant
and I was with the BDM
(I was a leader, you never knew that)
and we were lost in the crowds
the celebrating thousands
cheering for Goering and Der Fuehrer
after the fall of France:
such a day of national pride!

I was pushed this way and that,
lost one of my shoes, such enthusiasm,
and you, my dark-eyed knight
came to my rescue, plucked me forth
from the surging multitudes,
and carried me off for coffee and cakes
at the Adlon Hotel. Such class!
I fell in love immediately.

The courtship was exciting,
but correct and approved,
and we were married within six months
after the usual blood tests
and racial examinations;
I thought my heart would burst
with sheer joy. O my darling!

The War continued for some reason
although everyone knew
we had already won. The British
behaved very badly, in my opinion,
but you fought like a lion, naturally,
gaining a Knight's Cross (First Class!!)
and well-deserved promotion.
Then came your first command.

When you were at sea
I used to pray for you.
In one corner of my little room
(we had to move to your parents
when the cowardly bombing began)
I had a picture of the Sacred Heart,
and in another, the divine Fuehrer,
and with my arms outstretched,
I prayed to both of our saviours.

Keep my Christian safe!

Such joy when you returned,
I would rush headlong to the docks
(along with your mother and father,
now my dear friends, lovingly united
in our adoration for YOU, dear Christian)
and you would hold me in your strong arms,
there in full view of your crew,
lustily cheering and smiling,
waving their caps, whistling:
O how they loved you!

But never as much as me.

In June came the attack on Russia.
We were surprised, but realised
these swine were the real enemy,
the Bolshevik dagger at the throat
of western civilisation: the foul
English, blind to decency and reason,
continued their useless resistance,
and you, my dear, punished them
remorselessly. Your name was respected.
I was proud to be your wife.

I noticed how haggard
you had become; with each
successive homecoming from a patrol
you became more withdrawn, less
enthusiastic for the dream of Greater Germany.
Naturally, I restored your patriotism,
even when you were snappish and surly,
but I was a bit taken aback, darling,
when you removed the portrait of the Fuehrer,
and once (almost) I had the feeling
you were about to strike me:
silly, silly -- my imagination.

America (I mean, really!)
came into the war, and the bombing
became much much worse.
They are such hateful, despicable
opportunists, everybody knows that,
bought off by the British and the Jews;
they are in this war for money, nothing else.
Can't they understand anything?
The Bolshevik hordes want to destroy Europe.
Only Germany can prevent disaster.

Strange news is coming from the East
which I can't believe: the BBC
is spreading vile propaganda
about German actions in Russia.
These people will say anything.
They also say that the Jews,
having been removed for their own safety,
are being eliminated. Nonsense.
Our enemies will go to any length.

I worry about darling Christian .....
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At this point Frau Proschkow broke down and was unable to continue. The news of her husband's death shortly after the birth of their first child is something she still cannot discuss. There is evidence that Frau Proschkow entered into a liaison with an American sergeant after the conclusion of hostilities and was thus provided with food and also cigarettes and nylons which she was able to trade on the black market. Charitably, one must assume that this was done to protect her young son Johann although this relationship seems to have led to a breach with her late husband's parents. In 1955 she married a prosperous factory owner named Werner Proschkow with whom she appears to have lived amicably until the death of Herr Proschkow in 1970. Johann Meier-Proschkow is now a senior executive with Siemens in Munich. Frau Proschkow lives alone in an apartment in Berlin surrounded by photographs and memoribilia of the early 1940s, most prominent of which are citations from the BDM and two large studio photographs of her first husband in naval uniform. He looks remarkably young.
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-- BDM- Bund Deutscher Maedel - female equivalent of the Hitler Youth.

(This is a bit of a strange poem to start in with, I realise, but we'll more than likely move on elsewhere from here. I just wanted to worm into this lady's head -- don't ask why. )

[Robert]

Dedalus. It is a compliment to your writing skills that I read the entire poem twice. Normally I shy away from long verse. I thought it was an excllent narrative and an intriguing way of showing a different perspective. If I have but one minor comment it is that I was thrown with the exclamation "I mean, really!". I can understand the sense but it seems somehow different from the rest of the writing style. It would work equally well without.

It reminds me of of the Russian narrative poets.

Thanks for a good read and for all the effort you have put into it.

Robert

[benjywenjy]

hey

I quite enjoyed it, and it was itneresting seeing it from a german perspective however do you really believe people were so taken by the whole Nazi ideology, it seems a bit unbelieveable. But who knows?

I felt it could have been cut down a tiny bit, but thats just a personal preference.

thanks for posting

benjy

[dedalus]

City of Manchester ... thanks!!

Yeah, right, the poem was a bit long. I was trying to get into the mentality. I lived in Germany when I was a kid and there were a number of these people still knocking around, although getting on in years. Did they believe in the Third Reich? Oh, yes, they did! Some of these people thought the Hitler years were the high point of their lives and blamed the Allies for "letting" the Russians win. They're all dying out now, hence this attempt to capture the mindset before it disappears forever.

I've written a number of "German" poems based on my understanding of the period and the people who lived through it over there that I ran into -- not all of them taken in by the glamour and propaganda, by any means!! -- but I promise to take it easy on that theme. There are other more interesting things to write about.

[kozmikdave]

I promise to take it easy on that theme. There are other more interesting things to write about.

Why take it easy on a theme that is interesting and looks at the world from a different perspective? I think we all try to do that most of the time. If you can add a small amount of new light, then go for it. I know a couple of Germans that were really pissed off that Hitler lost when he was "on the brink of victory". Nice people really - wouldn't hurt a fly.

Welcome on board, by the way.

Cheers
Dave

[benjywenjy]

hey dedalus

thats really interesting, your view of Germans from a first hand yet foreign perspective. very interesting that those kind of people are still around...

were crazy creatures us humans

benjy

[sinisterevilness]

even for me, a german native speaker, this poem isn t much fun at all. for example in the 1st strophe: tailored uniform, dark eyes, lovely smile, proud glances, apprehensive eyes. this is bad style in any language.

rgds. your sinister evilness.

listening to herbie hancock.

[dedalus]

this is bad style in any language.

The style is determined by the narrator, in this case Frau Meier.

listening to Horst Wessel

[David]

yse, you're a German native speaker? Amazing. Your English is excellent.

I don't think the poem is stylistically flawed in the way you seem to think. Dedalus is right: "The style is determined by the narrator, in this case Frau Meier" - on that basis, I think the phrases you list work just fine.

Of course, what you might also object to, with much greater justification, in my opinion, is the fact that we Brits - and you're not even a Brit, are you, dedalus? Unless a West Brit? I think not! - still don't seem to have got over that whole WWII thing.

For what it's worth, I think the poem captures the particular point of view it is after superbly well. She is possibly too quintessentially a good Hitlermaedchen (sorry, can't do umlauts), too stereotyped - "degenerate filthy French" and "treacherous arrogant English" indeed - but for all I know she's a real person.

Overall, I think the poem is really well handled, with some great phrases - I like "America (I mean, really!)" - but I can see how a German native speaker might just go "Oh no, not again!"

I hope you'll stick around, if only to explain the German love of that old Freddie Frinton sketch. It's nearly Neujahr again!

We won't mention the war again. We've mentioned it once. Have we got away with it?

And dedalus ... "I just wanted to worm into this lady's head -- don't ask why." Sorry, great poem and all that, but why?

David

P.S. John Coltrane. Ballads. Glass of whisky. No water, no ice. Very mellow.

[pseud]

I can see what sinister e. is saying too. Frau Meier didn't post this, dedalus did. It's still filtered through d. There are other adjectives that are synonymous with or related to "lovely" and "apprehensive" that have a little more flare in English.

But then this debate quickly goes beyond me, because I take it Frau Meier would be reciting this in German - I don't know Frau Meier, and don't know enough German to judge that even if I did. Maybe it would have a lot of cliche's in German.

I have seen a few documentaries of Hitler Youth, and the one with Hitler's secretary (with English subtitles, mind you) -- the story and mindset matches the one portrayed here, dedalus, with the exception that the seceretary decided that the Allies were right after the Holocaust was uncovered.

Of course we Yanks are over the war. Fascinating history, not as many hard feelings. Perhaps that's a bad thing. Probably got something to do with the fact that our homeland wasn't bombed. But I have a feeling it's got to do with the distractions of Korea, Vietnam and Iraq as well...but I digress...

- Caleb

Listening to Schubert, drinking a Pepsi.

[dedalus]

Just caught this ... Schubert, a Pepsi?
Let's hang Saddam Hussein.
Champagne & Kit-Kats.