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Harry Potter and the Magic Mountain
If only all the characters in my books
Could meet and talk about their plotted lives.
Especially when they're so close it looks
Like one's arc from the other one derives.
When into Hogsmeade, Harry's train arrives
Do German readers think of Hans' train?
And do they see Swiss snow in Scotland's rain?
If only these two orphan boys could speak
With one another, I would love to hear.
Hans Castorp might think Harry is a freak
And Harry be repelled by Hans' despair.
And what a way to spend those seven years
Confronting one's inevitable death
Where everyone is fighting for his breath.
I guess that's both of them--for seven years
They each confronted their mortality
More active, Harry also faced his fears
Pursuing magical normality
While Hans evaded sexuality
And grown-up life with daily stress and work.
He lay there, watching time go by, the jerk.
Joachim, now, he was Harry's man,
He wanted to return to real life
To face one's fate--that, Harry understands.
To want a job, a home, some kids, a wife--
But why is Hans avoiding the Flatlands?
Is he afraid of all that life demands?
He loves a woman, says that he's her slave,
And she is married--tell me, is that brave?
No, Harry doesn't get it, doesn't see
The point of talking politics all day
With Settembrini, no, that's not what he
Would want to do, to waste his time that way.
The rest cure's even worse, he would have to say.
All right, so it was kind of Hans to help the sick,
But for a man of action, that gets old right quick.
Though Harry's younger, he would never tell
Someone he loved them because they would die
Not just unkind, it is untrue as well
He wants to live, to make things grow, to fly--
He won't tell things to girls to make them cry.
Hans says, "Harry, we had not zis good rule
Because there were no mädchen in my school."
"Your English," Harry tells him, "It's not fair."
Hans smiles and shrugs. "I know it's not so good."
"You know so much, and you don't even care,
"You could have stopped that war, you know you could."
"What, World War I? Have I misunderstood?
"You blame me for the war? Are you insane?
"Because I know poor English, I'm to blame?"
"Because you all love death so very much,"
Harry says, sulking. "We let them...do harm,
"Do you blame me? Why?" Now Hans tries to touch
The boy, who shivers, though his head is very warm.
"You have a fever," Hans says shyly, in good form.
"What? No I don't," says Harry, "I'm not sick,
"I wouldn't fall for such a shabby trick."
"You speak French, too," our Harry says to Hans
"You're even licensed as an engineer."
"And you do magic, so we may be friends,"
"I would please to invite you for a beer."
Now, Harry is disarmed. Hans is sincere,
He is not Draco, though his hair is blond
His eyes are gentle and his smile is fond.
"I meant you had the power to understand,"
Harry persists, as Hans pours out the drinks,
"I meant you could have protested, joined hands
With other Europeans. Did you think
That organ-grinder man was right? That stinks!"
He bangs the glass down on the tabletop.
"You're very good, but Harry, you must stop--
"Did you oppose the war you fought, yourself?
Indeed, you let yourself be killed, nicht wahr?
You sacrificed yourself, like that house elf."
He shrugs, "I had to die, I didn't care."
Hans looks into his eyes, whose greenish stare
We all recall, but he sees that their shape
Is like an almond, slanted, like young Hippe.
"We both resolved to die and we both lived,
We each wanted to learn a magic spell.
To unlock love. Now, please, dear friend, forgive
Hans Castorp for the whole Great War as well."
As they forgive their own dear friends who fell
In fighting purest evil, for a cause
Or for whatever reason that there was.
So let them sit awhile and raise a glass
To all the teachers who died before their eyes
What object lessons for a tiny class
Oh Naphta, what a horrible surprise
Oh Dumbledore, could you not compromise
And let poor Harry get away from you
Before you made Snape do what he must do--
Oh all dead people, magic ones or no
Thank you for your many kindly acts
To orphans who were in the world alone
To problem children of the spooled train tracks
Of endless journeys and white-plumed smokestacks.
The nightmare of real life has been enough
I think the young men deserve real love.
Though they are fictional, give them this fate
To sit and drink and laugh, and become friends
Perhaps one of them will initiate
A sexual liason, in the end
And not ask for a pencil, or depend
On someone else to always start the kiss.
Oh problem children, oblige me in this.