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Revising Strauss
It’s 1941 and Goebbels broods.
It may take years for Germany to win
Its Aryan war of European conquest.
As Minister of Propaganda he
Must keep up spirits all throughout the Reich.
And what are Germans better at than music?
Good, wholesome music—Wagner, Schubert, Bach.
And those enchanting melodies by Strauss!
Such polkas, overtures, Die Fledermaus,
And, naturlich, the great Blue Danube Waltz.
Vienna’s spritely music charms Berlin.
Then Goebbels checks on Strauss’s lineage
And finds that he had Jewish ancestry.
The Waltz King and his father and his brother—
Three great composers but with tainted blood.
The Aryan laws are clear: Goebbels is forced
To ban the Strausses’ music evermore.
Ach, what a shame! The Führer loves those waltzes!
And so the Minister of Propaganda
Goes to the parish church in Austria
To see the marriage records. Yes, it’s clear:
Though baptized, Strauss’s grandparents were Jews.
The Third Reich’s racial laws must be upheld.
The Waltz King and his works must be erased.
Then he conceives an elegant solution!
Herr Goebbels confiscates the register
And gives it to his aids whose skills are such
That forgery for them is now an art.
The page with Juden on it is removed
(but only after it is microfilmed)
And then replaced with documented proof
The Strausses were good Aryan Viennese.
The forgery is done and certified.
The book is then restored to the Church parish.
The Strauss tunes that Der Stürmer deems “so German”
Are safe now for the Third Reich to enjoy.
Epilogue
When Allied forces liberated Austria
The parish church recovered the original
Microfilm of what Goebbels destroyed—
The archive records rescued from Berlin
Which proved the manner of the forgery:
Erasure of the Strausses’ Jewish past.
This microfilm bears witness to the fraud
Of those who ran the Thousand Year Third Reich,
Who thought that history could be revised
To shore up evil ideology.
But truth cannot be altered by decree.
And though it may take years for some to see,
Such falsehoods can’t survive reality.
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Poet’s Note: For more information about the Nazi “revision” of the Strauss family history, see here. https://www.johann-strauss.at/en/forschung/forschungssplitter/faelschungsgeschichte/
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I Wrote Shakespeare
—London, 1623
I’m not a lunatic! I’m no imposter!
Please hear me out for just one Pater Noster.
You must believe me, though my words sound mad:
Those plays are not his plays! Friend, you’ve been had!
Love’s Labour’s Lost, Midsummer, Shrew, Twelfth Night…?
You cannot truly think the Avonite
Wrote such great plays (in fact, there’s thirty-six)
When he was just an actor from the sticks!
He’s dead, it’s true, and can’t defend his claim,
But I’m the one who should enjoy his fame—
Acclaimed and cheered for this dramatic work
From London beyond Stratford up to York!
Although some claim my sanity may teeter,
I’m perfectly adept at writing meter!
My skill with language heightens people’s senses.
The Avonite? My paid amanuensis.
You say you never saw us interact?
We kept our distance for the sake of tact.
Now this you surely see! My players speak
So beautifully because I studied Greek
A smattering of French and some Italian
While he was merely an upstart rapscallion.
He never really grasped Suetonius
Or how to coin a phrase euphonious.
I had the right schools and the finest mentors;
I read my Ovid, learned of Pan and centaurs.
He knew some Homer but could never find
Its import. His was just an actor’s mind.
The Avonite was poor and poorly skilled
Whereas I went to Cambridge which is filled
With elegance and wit among its tutors;
Thus was I suited to depict the Tudors.
I have certificates of higher learning!
Low-brow, he was, unschooled in true-love’s yearning,
Philosophy and war! To learn for pleasure?
‘Tis nobles only who enjoy such leisure!
In fact, all hail my wisdom, words profound;
My characters with moral strength abound
But also mirror sordid human nature
(And offer clever tips on nomenclature.)
And still the Avonite receives your vote?
Despite my claim that I’m the one who wrote
Macbeth, Othello, Caesar and King Lear?
Ods bodkins, I should think it all quite clear!
The Avonite could write no princely speech
When aristocracy was out of reach.
Now look at me! Respectable! No jugglers,
No roustabouts, or nancies, tars or smugglers.
You claim it simply takes imagination
To write of characters above one’s station?
Then breeding, per your attitude, means nought!
For shame! ‘Tis central to the work I’ve wrought!
You bring up witnesses… Why waste your time
When clearly I’m the more adept at rhyme?
Dick Burbage? His lead player? What said him?
It’s clear he lied! He’d long been rather dim.
Though Burbage acted Prospero and Lear,
He could not note my authorship for fear
Of causing scandal. I’m a well-known earl
Whose stagework might misbrand me as a churl,
Yet author of such words as all enjoy.
Still you—a member of the hoi polloi—
Remain convinced ‘tis I who boast and bluff?
You think I’d plagiarize? Enough, enough!
Don’t look at me with eyes as wide as saucers
When you can see my talent exceeds Chaucer’s.
Don’t wish me in the Tower’s gallery
When I’m more skilled by far than Malory!
None can surpass my work! Not one! That’s clear!
That shaking Avonite of blunted spear?
Not possible! And so I grrrr and rave on!
No good could come from Stratford Upon Avon…
But soft! They’ve found me! Who gave the alarm?
Gads! Now they’ll lead me hence tied wrist to arm.
Friend, fare thee well. They hate it when I roam.
Yes, look me up in Bedlam. That’s my home.
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Poet’s Note
The First Folio of Shakespeare published in 1623—the year of this poem—contained 36 plays. Later editions add Pericles, the Prince of Tyre and The Two Noble Kinsman to the list, making a total of 38 plays.
Richard Burbage (1567–1619) was an English stage actor, widely considered to have been one of the most famous actors of the Globe Theater and of his time. Burbage was a business associate, friend and lead actor for William Shakespeare. He played the title or lead role in the first performances of many of Shakespeare’s plays, including Hamlet, Othello, Richard III, Romeo and Juliet, Macbeth, King Lear and The Tempest.
Bedlam was the informal name for Bethlehem Royal Hospital, founded in 1247 and, by Shakespeare’s time, a notorious asylum for the insane. The word “bedlam” (which means chaos and madness) is derived from the name of this hospital.
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Brian Yapko is a retired lawyer whose poetry has appeared in over fifty journals. He is the winner of the 2023 SCP International Poetry Competition. Brian is also the author of several short stories, the science fiction novel El Nuevo Mundo and the gothic archaeological novel Bleeding Stone. He lives in Wimauma, Florida.
