Kingfisher
 a Journal of Northwest Art and Literature

Charles Wing Krafft Page

Charles Krafft, "Mihaela Forgiveness," One of a Series of Two, 1996, Inkjet Print, reproduced on velvet

EISERNE ROSE/

THE STORY OF THE LEGION OF THE ARCHANGEL MIHAELA


INTRODUCTION
("A WORD FOR MY LEGIONARIES")

The Legion of the Archangel Michael
 was a Romanian mystical fascist
 movement started by Corneliu Z. Codreanu in 1927 in
 Jassey, the capital of Moldavia.
 
       A herd of foreign bastards
       Hard-hearted heathen band
       Have come to be our masters
       There's wailing in the land.
 
 Russia was at the backdoor and they were worried
 about Communism.
 In 1938 Codreanu and 13 Legionaries
 were garroted and buried in
 an unmarked mass grave by agents of King Carol.
 In l940 Horia Sima took over
 the Legion, which had been, renamed the Iron Guard (Eiserne Garde).
 King Carol fled the country and in 1941
 General Antonescu, with the help of
 Hitler, assumed a military dictatorship of Romania.
 Sima and 400 legionaries
 took refuge in Germany, sitting out the war in
 special sections of
 the Buchenwald, Dachau and Oranienburg camps.
 Two of Romania's most gifted intellectuals,
 E.M. Cioran and Mircea Eliade
 were young members of the Legion, but
 eschewed their involvement after
 achieving world renown as philosophers after the
 war, in Paris and Chicago respectively.
 I admire them both immensely and
 forgive them their naivete and amnesia.
 Codreanu was called "The Captain"
 even after his death.
 When Legionary "nests"
 met for roll call, "Capitanul Present!" became a
 refrain indicating he was
 always there in spirit.

 Now, the name Mihaela
 is the Slovene feminine of Michael.
 Slovenia is a Catholic country and so there are many
 Michaels and Mihaelas
 named in honor of St. Michael.
 Mihaela told me this was the origin of her
 name in 1995, but I didn't
 think much about it until she brought a rose to my
 opening at the Defense Ministry HQ  last
 November in Ljubljana.
 I learned later that Slovenian blacksmith's are
 famous for their iron roses. 
 As I was leaving the country,
 I wrote her a note
 confessing that I'd had a big crush on her
 since the day we met
 and suggesting we exchange iron roses
 to commemorate the real one she'd given me.
 When I got home I sent her a nice one
 made by an American blacksmith friend 
 named Louie Raffloeur.
 It was a long stemmed thornless, budding rose.
 I also sent a note with it that said
 she could have as many lovers and/or husbands as
 dictated by destiny, but that
 no one except myself would ever be "The Captain of
 The Legion of the Archangel Mihaela,"
 her Eiserne Rose Kommando.
 Maybe the question then is: Who would want to be?
 Why me, of course!
 I can think of nothing more provocative
 and gallant.
 I understand the union of the martial and the
 mystical.
 Afterall, this is the essence of the Bhagavad Gita.
 I understand Corneliu Z. Codreanu.
 His heart was a mystery.
 My heart is a mystery.
 Two mysteries make one belief.
 
 Faith Forward.
 
 "The Captain"

Charles Kraft, "Mihaela Forgiveness," Second in  a Series of Two, 1996


 
PART 1
("BRUSH ME WITH YOUR KNEE BENEATH THE TABLE")


One time a man was walking on Gornji Trg.
He saw a woman through a window showing some children
how to make animals out of clay.
The woman saw him standing on the street looking and waved to him.
So he went inside to meet her.
"What's your name?" He asked her.
"Mihaela," She said.
"What?" He said.
He only spoke English and
didn't understand how to say any Slovenian names.
"Me-hi-ay-la," She repeated.
"What is your name?" She asked him.
My name is Charles Wing Krafft," He told her.
"I am named after the Archangel Michael," She said.
"I am named after his wings." He replied.
Charles thought Mihaela was very nice,
like a hot bowl of goveji golaz.
"Miss Mihaela, I think you are the most
vergangenheitbewältigung
girl I have ever met! If you have a boyfriend, please leave him,
sell your car,
move out of your parent's house
and come and live with me in America.
I don't have much money, but I have lots of polka music
to dance to."  He told her.
"Sorry Charlie" She said.
"I must stay here and teach these children
how to make animals out of clay.
Besides, I hate stupid polka music!"


 PART 2
 (BIG POLKA POW WOW)


So Charles returned home.
But he often thought about Mihaela.
He wished she would come and visit him because
America was so big that he often felt lost in it.
He thought if she would walk to the store with him,
Maybe the Indians would leave him alone.
They lived somewhere behind the supermarket under a tree
And whenever they saw him coming they said,
"Hello Mr. Turtle Egg! Do you have any money for us today?"
Indians can grow hair on their heads, but none on their faces.
Charles could grow hair on his face, but none on his head.
So the Indians laughed at him.
But he gave them money anyway,
And told them someday there would be a big "Polka Pow Wow"
in the parking lot
When his friend came from Slovenia.
"Where is Skookum wawa?" They asked him.
He looked at the rain running down the gutter like a river
Then he saw two blue tears tattooed on one Indian's face
And decided it would take forever to explain to anyone
where this place was and how his heart had gotten there.
"Forget about it!" He said as he put his hands back into his pockets
And walked past them into the store
To buy some lard and paprika.



PART 3
(SIGN OF A DESIRE TO KNOW SOMETHING THAT CAN NOT BE UNDERSTOOD)

Because we are not born with them,                     
We must build our own souls.
Charles began building his as a boy.
Now that he had grown out of it, 
He was adding on an extra room
With a silver mirror   
To bend moonlight
Into the form of a cross
Baited with hooks
That shimmers like a sea of sardines
On the floor.
"Look, Mihaela,"
He wanted to tell her while he
Cut the pier glass,
"For most men life is a just a habit,
But for me it's a holiday.
I want to share some of it with you,
What man wouldn't!
Time is busy drawing everything on
Towards the source of itself.
We aren't here forever.
If you can't go any of the distance
With me now,
Then meet me along the way later. 
We'll step out of our weary reflections  
Into the quickening light
Of this looking glass  
And rest a moment in my room."


Part 4
(OATH OF THE LEGION)
 
Our way is honesty,
Our force is work,
Our weapon is sacrifice,
Our hearth is faith,
Our gold is home,
Our purpose is victory:
Victory through respect for Man,
Mihaela Belak,
Justice and the Law.


Part 5
(LAST YEAR IN LIPICA)

Last year in Lipica
my desire for you
was so strong the
forest caught on fire.

I had to ride all the horses
into the lake to save them
from the flames.

That night in our room
with separate beds,
the temperature dropped
below zero
and the lake froze over.

When we woke up
we discovered only
the heads of the horses
sticking out of the ice needles
like pieces on a polar chess board.

You grabbed my hand
and walked me out
to sit on them.
We talked about ourselves
all afternoon
then went our
separate ways.

When Spring arrived
the lake thawed and
the horses started
to stink.

They said the smell
was like the fragrance of
forgiveness,
the scent left on a boot-heel
after you've crushed
a flower.

Part 6
(I CRIED INTO THIS CLOTH)

I cried into this cloth
When she told me
I was stupid.

Because I loved Her
I believed her.

Surely I am stupid,
But my kisses don't taste
Like ashes.

And even when a whore
Holds me,
The final hug is never
As utterly deserted as
The empty mercury mine in Idrija
She sent me home from
The airport with. 


_
[Editor's note: Charlie Krafft is a talented man, with one of the finest fried minds around. He is a poet and an artist, who works in several mediums; he lived at Fishtown on the Skagit River for ten year and now, when he is not traveling in Europe— Slovenia, especially—may be found on Beacon Hill in Seattle. His recent work in porcelain is specially notable. His humor is sly and eccentric. In other words, if he is worth reading, he is worth rereading. I can't say this about many others.

He writes, "I'm extremely busy preparing for a Friday 13th of June exhibition/performance in Seattle at the Butterworth Columbarium in the Mt. Pleasant Cemetery atop Queen Anne Hill."

I'm not sure I am invited, but it sound most interesting. rca]