Send Down the Master in Person: Reflections on Adolf Eichmann

By A. Keith Carreiro

This poem is a tribute to my parent's generation. It pays homage to those who fought for the Allies and to those who contributed to the Allies' war effort against the Axis powers. While it is about Adolf Eichmann, it also refers to the evil that existed in the world, especially the horror unleashed by Nazi Germany, and the hell that Hitler and h

• Language: English
• Publisher: Copper Beech Press
• Release date: Jul 4, 2022
• ISBN: 9780997382730

A. Keith Carreiro

A. Keith Carreiro lives in southeastern Massachusetts. He has an abiding love and passion for the visual, literary, and performing arts. At an early age, he started playing the classical guitar and toured professionally as a solo concert classical guitarist in the 70s throughoutNorth and South America. He started writing poetry in high school. Reading, music, storytelling, and movies became his passions, all of which set him on a lifelong path exploring creativity. For him, poetry and music form the basis upon which all imagination and storytelling unfold. For more information about his writing, please see the following link: < https://www.amazon.com/A-Keith-Carreiro/e/B01M28LUP0 >.

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Send Down the Master in Person.¹

— Reichsführer–SS Heinrich Luitpold Himmler (1900–1945)

On the 11th of May in 1960

I did not see a nasty nazi.

Heydrich’s special expert was not overt in his manner.

He was just one minion out of a million² like him.

I became filled with anger at this mild looking official.

A protection squad³ parasite now

with no swagger left in his stride.

Such foresight, to look into the face of his present captivity

from the past of his ancient identity.

If I could just shout at him,

"Is that a pox on your lips

or apocalypse on your mind?"

Unlike him, I never could summon such glib

phrases on loyal command.

His alter ego is captured in San Fernando suburbs

of good airs Argentina.

No subpoena is needed today for you, Ricardo.⁴

Neither another moment nor another tomorrow in freedom

is allocated by the Mossad⁵ for this self–proclaimed

Italian technician born in Bolzano.

Brought down onto the ground off of Garibaldi⁶ Street,

he shrieks like a demon; a wild beast trapped in his own disguise

by the methods which he so well played

in seeking the demise of whole peoples.

Perhaps the spirit of Giuseppe helped:

Odd, how one wearing the red shirt of the gaucho

who in similar exile to South America a century ago

now finds the former black shirt bearer a fiend

filled with self–important machismo

slapped down by the sword of freedom.

They look without success for the SS tattoo

under his left armpit

removed by him to deter discovery.

He is frightened now,

nervous of capture,

eager to be of help to his new captors.

My mind explodes in hearing a mantra:

Isolation

Expropriation

Ghettoization

Deportation

Into the camps they must go.

Selection by destruction through work, by gas, or by fire.⁷

In worshipping false deities, he transforms into one himself.

He becomes the very ideas he idolizes,

a 20th century Molech⁸

appeased only by continual sacrifice.

Through reduction of numbers

a construction of powers has begun.

He is madness gone even over the edge of insanity.

Having an alias of lucidity,

he is draped in an aura like

a chameleon replete with all the colors

of what it takes to be normal as well as a chimera.⁹

He burns in a holy passion.

AKA thrice named Otto;¹⁰

he is a vicious version of an Otto-man,

a pasha who delights in being a connoisseur of decency.

After all, he is steeped in the motto:

Meine Ehre heißt Treue.¹¹

This perfect petty functionary,

this pedant of purity,

this student in the thought process of annihilation,

removes the reins from the waterfall of time

to speed the spill of hate’s slaughter more.

Cascading into its depths

he hears a bell ring when the forces of

rue,

regret,

remorse,

pay for an act of contrition.

He takes great pride by

increasing the flow of evil’s juices;

his succuba salivating for an eternity of fear.

Despite gaining a brief respite

from the ignorance of the world,

he is penitent only because not all were punished.

His indifference to innocence is sheer insolence.

A clinician experimenting with a solution of finality,¹²

he enjoys, even revels in his research of ruin.

It would have tortured him not to do so.

Having the same history teacher named