This poem is taken from PN Review 36, Volume 10 Number 4, March - April 1984.
The Forger
When I sold my fake Vermeers to Goering
Nobody knew, nobody guessed
The agony, the fanaticism
Of working beyond criticism
And better than the best.
When they hauled me before the war-crimes tribunal
No one suspected, nobody knew
The agony of regrets
...
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