The murderer sits down in his chair
A job is neatly done, the splintered steel
And brains are out of sight
Signs of power round the walls
Remind him of name and cause
But he is not there
He is cast off in flow of light
Sound of a language lost and found
Touch of a cool calm lake
Scent of the forest pines, footfall
A violin, a gentle drum
He killed the drummer long ago
But the drumming sound goes on.
This was sparked by reading about the rediscovery of Hitler’s store of classical music records. It had been looted in 1945 and carefully preserved by a Russian army officer who was Jewish, and who, his son said, had been perpetually puzzled that Hitler had favoured numerous pieces of music with Jewish conductors, composers or leading musicians. The old officer felt guilty about taking the collection and kept quiet about it until his death, when his son revealed it to the world.
I had also heard that Hitler favoured the work of Bruckner, one of my favourite composers and in whose music one can find calm and depth. Like the Red Army officer, I am puzzled.