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Europe 1945

138 words

And now spring comes to the starved and blackened land
where the tailless abominable angel has spent his passion;
dead roots are twined through the bones of a broken hand;
now death, not Schiaparelli, sets the fashion.

In the twentieth century of the Christian era
the news-hawk camera man, no Botticelli,
walks on this stricken earth with Primavera,
and Europe cries from the heart of her hungry belly.

Ten flattened centuries are heaped with rubble,
ten thousand vultures wheel above the plain;
honour is lost and hope is like a bubble;
life is defeated, thought itself is pain.

But the bones of Charlemagne will rise and dance,
and the spark unquenched will kindle into flame.
And the voices heard by the small maid of France
will speak yet again, and give this void a Name.



This entry was posted in North American New Right and tagged , , , . Post a comment or leave a trackback: Trackback URL.


  1. Polish Noble
    Posted February 2, 2012 at 3:34 am | Permalink

    Thanks for sharing this. It’s a well-made and lovely poem.

  2. K R Bolton
    Posted February 2, 2012 at 3:51 am | Permalink

    Brilliant, from the great New Zealand poet!
    Thank you for digging this up.

  3. Leo Yankevich
    Posted February 3, 2012 at 5:35 pm | Permalink

    This is simply marvelous and masterful. I will certainly read more of Mr  Fairburn.

  4. Hurin
    Posted February 7, 2012 at 1:25 pm | Permalink

    I hijacked a few threads on a very popular MMA forum the other day (Sherdog). On each thread the subject was race based. Until I entered into the fray it was the same old predictable nonsense. From the first I showed absolutely no restraint. Since I’ve done this before, it didn’t come as much of a surprise that about half of the participants started opening up about their own unapologetically racist beliefs. There was one openly Jewish participator who quickly found himself sidelined. All holocaust references were squashed. I’ve carried out this exercise multiple times until I’m banned, which never takes very long. Funnily enough it wasn’t until after about a day when I commended the other participants on their adherence to the principle of free speech (was that a gesture of weakness?) that I could sense the “ban hammer” slowly approaching.

    The purpose of this post, I suppose, is to communicate that I’m almost convinced that the strategy of holding back, to pretend that we are other than we are, is profoundly mistaken. The breathtaking audacity of an honest White supremacist (not nationalist, mind you) gives courage to the millions who are on the fence. I’ve witnessed it. I challenge everyone here to find a holocaust themed video on youtube that doesn’t have a significant number of anti-Jewish comments beneath it.

    I believe we’re closer than we think. I think we are, at the least, at the critical 10% level.

    This is my usual parting message after I create a new account after a ban:

    I AM a troll. I am an ogre from the ancient world. Jews and their wretched Shabbos goyim thought they had destroyed me in 1945. WHAT ARROGANCE!

    I can not be destroyed only displaced.

    I am Clint Eastwood and Charles Bronson imposing order on a nigg*r infested city at the point of a gun. I am Gerard Butler humiliating a horde of grotesque Semites and other monsters with a token force. I am Bowden sweeping away the sorcery of lesser breeds with MAGIC OF THE OLD WORLD. I am Linder, the terrible vengeance prophesied by Ernst Zundel. I am Breivik threading the eye of the needle with cold Viking fury.

    I am of the demonic – but a mere imp of that order – yet I have the strength of 50 men.


    Just a positive story that might keep you psychic warriors going.

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