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The Nuremberg Executions

The Nuremberg Executions THE NUREMBERG EXECUTIONS / Nicholas Samaras Scraps of phrases, scraping of boots, reverberating footsteps slowly fading away . . . --Albert Speer, Spandau Diary You can imagine the resonance of the mute. You can imagine a gold razor of last Ught pressed under a metal door, a door so absolute that it must always be closed for the tight sUver of Ught to exist. You can imagine each man at the end a dark Ught lastly defined by what pressed around him. What interests me is the cell of the Uving: Speer, newly aUve, flushed in darkness, lying dressed on the bunk's coarse blanket, hearing his own heart's gavel, the sweat dropping on the irony of their Reich's egress. Weighted arms at his side, he Ues beUeving that, in one thousand years, only the redress of historians wiU know they aU should have Uved. Every night in his cell, Speer has heard redundancy of it. All day there had been distant hammering. As orderly as their crimes, he lies still ceU history trampling. He hears what he is saved from. Scapegoats for War Atrocities, the absurd now and hears a name being caUed, the grate of a door http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png The Missouri Review University of Missouri

The Nuremberg Executions

The Missouri Review , Volume 13 (2) – Oct 5, 1990

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Publisher
University of Missouri
Copyright
Copyright © The Curators of the University of Missouri.
ISSN
1548-9930
Publisher site
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Abstract

THE NUREMBERG EXECUTIONS / Nicholas Samaras Scraps of phrases, scraping of boots, reverberating footsteps slowly fading away . . . --Albert Speer, Spandau Diary You can imagine the resonance of the mute. You can imagine a gold razor of last Ught pressed under a metal door, a door so absolute that it must always be closed for the tight sUver of Ught to exist. You can imagine each man at the end a dark Ught lastly defined by what pressed around him. What interests me is the cell of the Uving: Speer, newly aUve, flushed in darkness, lying dressed on the bunk's coarse blanket, hearing his own heart's gavel, the sweat dropping on the irony of their Reich's egress. Weighted arms at his side, he Ues beUeving that, in one thousand years, only the redress of historians wiU know they aU should have Uved. Every night in his cell, Speer has heard redundancy of it. All day there had been distant hammering. As orderly as their crimes, he lies still ceU history trampling. He hears what he is saved from. Scapegoats for War Atrocities, the absurd now and hears a name being caUed, the grate of a door

Journal

The Missouri ReviewUniversity of Missouri

Published: Oct 5, 1990

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