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In
the early hours of evening
We
bind ourselves with blood
And
stirring up the water
We
wade into the flood
And
we do not come in hatred
We
do not come in love
And
we do not ask forgiveness
We
come to kill the dove
And
do not ask our names now
For
we have none to give
We
come to crucify the dove
So
that she may live
And
do not speak of justice
Do
not ask for proof
We
come here to bear witness
But
we do not promise truth
For
there is no way of judging
Who
is right and who is wrong
And
there is no point in weeping
For
the victims of this song
Because
you make some kind of virtue
Out
of loneliness and pain
And
while the city crumbles
You
sit polishing your chains
And
you build yourselves a fortress
Out
of arguments of stone
But
on the stroke of midnight
You
find yourselves alone
And
you speak out for the children
And
you cry out to be loved
And
you signal your surrender
With
the feathers of your dove
And
you who raise your banners now
Will
they stand or will they fall
And
the ringing of the church bells
Do
they chime or do they toll
And
you beg us to be silent
But
you hold us back with words
Now
we’re tired of your appeasements
You’re
gonna get what you deserve
And
we do not come in hatred
We
do not come in love
And
we do not ask forgiveness
We
come to kill the dove
When I was living in Toronto, running a Jewish school there, the Toronto Star published several out-of-context poems and prose-fragments on their front page, wondering if this was the kind of material a school headmaster should be writing. One of the pieces was an excerpt from my novel "The Flaming Sword", from that moment in the story when Bernhard Aaronsohn, the central character, having trained with the French Resistance, was about to undertake his own first mission, and had to deal with the moral dilemma which, frankly, every soldier in war faces: how to accept the horrible necessity of killing, and do it. To help him, he wrote the poem which the Toronto Star published, though in the process of writing that passage, I also wrote this song, "The Partisans", which did not find a place in the novel:
A SONG OF SELF-OVERCOMING
The first
act of killing is the hardest
not because
human flesh
not because
human life
not because
fear of failing
The first
blow merely breaks the spirit
but the
letter of the Law is smashed
Forget
morality then - imagine -
imagine
diving into a swimming pool
If you
simply throw off your towel
walk resolutely
to the steps
climb the
ladder to the diving-board
put out your
arms and leap
if you do it
that way - why it’s easy -
it’s done
before you even know it
But if you
stop and think
put in a toe
to test the water
stand on the
edge and watch the distance grow
why you can
stand there till the blood runs cold
and never
get to swim
The first
act of killing is the hardest
yet the
bullet like a body
pierces the
pool of flesh
and blood is
much thicker than water
and the
second time is remarkably straightforward
You can find David Prashker at:
If
you would like to include "The Partisans" in your repertoire,
either for paid public performance or to record for commercial
purposes, or if you would like to re-use the recordings attached to this
blog-page for commercial purposes, contact
argaman@theargamanpress.com.
Use of this song, and/or these recordings, for
non-commercial purposes, is not simply permitted but invited.
Words and music by David Prashker
Copyright © 2014 David Prashker
All rights reserved
The Argaman Press
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