The Collected Poems of Bertolt Brecht

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The Collected Poems of Bertolt Brecht Page 30

by Tom Kuhn


  Which of us will it be? Whose

  Lot is salvation?

  Whose to be marked?

  Where is the grid, the next?

  Unknown.

  Everything new is better than everything old

  Comrades, how do I know

  That a house built today

  Has a use and is needed?

  And how is it those structures

  The like of which we have never seen before

  That don’t fit the look of the street and

  Whose purpose I am ignorant of

  Seem so right to me?

  Because I know:

  Everything new

  Is better than everything old.

  Is it not true

  That a man putting on a clean shirt

  Is a new man?

  And a woman just bathed

  Is a new woman?

  And new likewise

  Is the man who in meetings lasting all night long

  In a smoky back room

  Begins a new speech.

  Everything new

  Is better than everything old.

  Incomplete statistics

  Uncut pages, brand-new machinery

  Give me a reason to get up in the morning.

  Men who on a map

  Enter a new line into a white space

  Comrades who cut the pages of a book

  Cheerful men

  Who put the first oil into a machine

  They are the ones who understand:

  Everything new

  Is better than everything old.

  The superficial rabble addicted to novelty

  Who never wear their boots out

  Never read a book to the end

  Forget the thoughts they have had

  They are the world’s

  Likeliest hope.

  And if they are not

  Then everything new

  Is better than everything old.

  I don’t know . . .

  I don’t know: I really do go to a lot of trouble

  I make a real effort with the gentlemen, I fall in with their wishes

  I choose my underwear carefully

  I stay sober when I want to drink

  I drink ten glasses of schnapps when the very sight of it makes me ill

  I am prepared to strip naked

  And to control myself when I’m quite carried away

  And then along comes somebody and lays one leg over the other

  And gets what she wants.

  The reason is: I’m not top class

  I’ve got the energy of Mussolini

  And the will to get on of a Polish Jew

  I’m pretty, so they tell me, I am even amusing

  But, as I say, I’m second class.

  After the tune of ‘Oh my Baby’

  Time and again

  When a tree’s in leaf somewhere

  There stands our old friend Joe and oh!

  This is it, says he, hooray! Yes indeed, oh yes indeed

  It’s spring, see that tree in bloom

  Your heart tells you the same

  Hold on to your hats, oh wow!

  There’s a new wind blowing now

  Comes spring and now’s the hour

  And we tell ourselves for sure

  What’s in store for us right now

  No doubt about it anymore

  Oh yes, siree!

  When you see that little Christmas tree

  It’ll take your breath away

  When that day comes, olé!

  And your little green dream comes true

  A little Christmas tree just for you

  Holy shite, you’ll be all right on Christmas Day

  Time and again

  If nobody kicks a man

  He buys himself a new hat

  And he says, Hooray, now I’ll build me a house, yes indeed

  My corn stands high, I knew it by your laughter

  I paid it no attention

  My calf goes to the slaughter

  For that friend of ours, old John

  For the whole human race, happy days!

  The night has upped and gone

  So lift up your hearts and praise

  Our cannot-do-without-him John.

  Oh yes, siree!

  It’ll take your breath away, Johnny

  When you see the golden calf in the pot

  And it’s in there cooking just for you

  Just wait for that little golden calf

  Oh let’s hope that the feast is all for you

  Oh let’s hope it won’t be you there in the pot

  Song: Nothing will come of nothing

  1

  See how he rises! He comes

  Unstoppably, with the sun in his hands

  Now he rises

  His name is: Caesar

  Hear what he says!

  Now he is saying: I will help you.

  In truth however

  He only helps himself, but you

  He oppresses, but you

  Fear him.

  Who is he?

  Don’t be afraid

  Look at him

  Bide your time

  He is nothing!

  He will not last long

  He is ignorant of how things are

  He is nothing alone

  He is nothing!

  2

  See how he rose! He came

  Unstoppably, with the sun in his hands

  Often he rose

  Always with a different name

  Often he said: I will help you.

  In truth however

  He only helped himself, but you

  He oppressed, but you

  Feared him.

  Who was he?

  He did not last long

  He was ignorant of how things are

  He was nothing alone

  He was nothing!

  3

  See how he sinks! He goes

  Unstoppably down, with emptiness in his hands

  Now he sinks

  Hear what he says!

  Now he is saying: who will help me?

  4

  Soon you will hear again: he is coming

  Unstoppably, with the sun in his hands

  Soon he will rise

  Soon his name will be: who knows?

  Soon he will say: I will help you.

  Don’t be afraid

  Look at him

  Bide your time

  He is nothing!

  He will not last long

  He is ignorant of the way of things

  He is nothing alone

  He is nothing!

  And that is good

  Those born don’t wish to die

  And that is good

  They eat and they want more

  And they eat again

  And that is good

  But when their time comes they die, drop down a hole

  And the others take

  Their places, sleep in their sheets and

  Eat with relish from their platters

  And that is good

  What happens has to happen, why

  Else would it happen?

  Don’t clamour about

  A man, he gets

  Born and must

  Begone and hasn’t reached far

  And do not waste

  Your breath for you also

  Must soon begone.

  Clamour about a man

  Must he begone?

  That’s bad!

  What happens does not have to happen

  Change it

  Do not give up your plate

  Oh why should you?

  It’s bad!

  Nothing is good without man makes

  It good.

  There is injustice as

  There is water

  Misery

  Rises like the sun

  And man tears apart his fellow man

  As fish eats fish

  That is ho
w it is and therefore

  That is good

  We are as used to injustice

  As we are to water here

  And that is bad

  And the sun rises over us no more certainly

  Than does our misery

  And that is bad

  Man tears his fellow man apart

  And that is bad, bad, bad, bad!

  Here stood the ancient Moors . . .

  Here stood the ancient Moors

  Stood looking out to sea

  And said, before much longer now

  We shall have ceased to be.

  How right they were, the ancient Moors

  For they have ceased to be

  And where they stood, Brecht’s standing now

  And looking out to sea.

  Wait till the tree is mighty . . .

  Wait till the tree is mighty: then chop it down.

  Turn it to paper and distribute

  That paper among the people for them

  To write on and so bring

  Order into their affairs. The mightier the tree

  The more people it reaches.

  When the tree is strong enough

  Fell it.

  Advice to Tretyakov to get well

  The arguments of a sick man

  Will be laughed at.

  Eat an extra meal and eat it slowly

  Being mindful of your enemies

  Sleep late into the day:

  They will be sleepless.

  For the good of the soviet

  Drink a glass of milk in the morning

  So that your advice to us

  Will not be the advice of a sick man.

  Swim in the lake for pleasure. The water

  That could drown you

  Will bear you up.

  What you part as you swim, behind you

  It comes together again.

  Willingly take . . .

  1

  Willingly take

  Your bread from our hands

  Here is your blanket, friend, here your place to lie.

  But don’t live wholly and only

  Through us, do not from any particular hands alone

  Live.

  The fact that you need us

  Strengthens your claim.

  2

  Willingly take

  Your bread from human hands

  Blanket, bed, clothing

  In a finished state. At your place

  Continue working with our tools

  On the piece we have worked on already.

  Before it is finished, deliver it

  Take over

  Our opinions, add new ones, we

  Shall complete them, friend.

  Let him have no excuse . . .

  1

  Let him have no excuse

  Who does not arrive. The stone

  Does not excuse the man it trips. And let not even the man who arrives

  Bore us with an account of his achievement

  But without a word

  Deliver himself or what he was entrusted with.

  2

  What use is the bridge

  Which you can’t say was built in the coldest season

  Of the hardest steel to the best designs

  And sacrificing the builders in their free time

  If it is a yard short?

  3

  Where there is waiting

  There must be arrival.

  4

  Spare us your story!

  Your smashed knee

  Won’t fill our bellies.

  You have

  —As always—

  Damaged the implement we work with.

  Do not too readily fall for the plan . . .

  Do not too readily fall for the plan

  Of perfection and don’t, I say

  Praise beyond all recanting

  The unimprovable heavens at evening but

  Reserve yourselves the right always

  And at once to contradict.

  When winter comes . . .

  When winter comes and the winds blow

  You see many people frozen blue

  They wear too little and the wind is keen

  The cold wind cuts them to the bone

  There aren’t enough warm clothes, that’s why.

  They’re in big demand and short supply.

  But clothing the cold would be work for those

  Who stand in line for work, and freeze.

  And so little housing, nowhere near

  Enough for them all and wasted here

  Are brickies, roofers, all their kind

  Who seek for work and do not find.

  Article 1

  1

  The power of the state comes from the people

  —But where does it go to?

  Yes, where is it going to?

  It is going somewhere, so where to?

  The policeman goes out of the house.

  —But where is he going to?

  And so on . . .

  2

  Look there, on the march, the whole caboodle!

  —But where is it marching to?

  Yes, where is it marching to?

  It’s marching somewhere, so where to?

  Now it’s wheeling round the house.

  —But where is it wheeling to?

  And so on . . .

  3

  The power of the state makes a sudden halt.

  It sees something standing there.

  —What does it see standing there?

  It sees something standing there.

  And the power of the state gives a sudden shout

  It shouts: Disperse! Go home!

  —But why disperse, go home?

  It shouts: Disperse! Go home!

  4

  There’s a clump of something over there

  And that something is asking: Why?

  Now why does it ask why?

  A thing like that asks why!

  Naturally the power of the state opens fire

  And thereupon something drops.

  What is it drops like that?

  Why does it drop on the spot like that?

  5

  The power of the state sees: there in the dirt

  Something’s lying there flat in the dirt!

  But what’s lying there in the dirt?

  Something is lying in the dirt.

  Something for the mortuary.

  But it’s the people, can’t you see?

  Is it really and truly the people?

  Yes, really and truly, it’s the people.

  Article 115

  Even a German has a place he may call his

  For in our slave existence such a place is indispensable

  Indispensable.

  If we had and owned a dwelling place

  That dwelling place would be inviolable

  Inviolable.

  None would be allowed to invade our privacy

  At once he would be punished as the law decrees.

  That dwelling place would be our private property

  If in fact we owned that place, that is

  That is.

  But since no dwelling place is ever ours, alas

  Bridges and holes in the earth are indispensable

  Indispensable.

  But if we lie out on the streets, needless

  To say, we are not in the least inviolable

  Inviolable.

  Article 111

  1

  Run, worker, run, you have the right

  To acquire a plot of land

  Indeed you have that right.

  You have that right on the Wannsee

  You have that right on the Nikolassee.

  Your days of dying of hunger are at an end

  You have the right to inherit a plot of land.

  The law says so

  And good for you!

  To have and to hold is not forbidden you.

  2

  Halt,
worker, halt, somebody

  Has got that land already.

  And rightfully.

  He has the right on the Wannsee

  He has the right on the Nikolassee.

  So you must wait till he is dead and then

  His plot has passed to someone else again

  Who had the ready

  The land’s his rightfully

  Or else you might have been that somebody.

  Again and again . . .

  Again and again

  In struggles forever

  Renewing, never

  Fought to a finish, never decisive

  He stands, exhausted

  With no prospect

  Again and again

  The ground gives under him

  The friends fall away

  Many grounds, many a friend

  And thus he consumes

  His pittance of faith

  And who in a night without end

  Entangled in struggles

  Often checking

  Whose the blood was on his cheek

  Withstood

  He sees

  In the rising dawn

  Before him

  The numberless

  Youthful, scarcely diminished but

  Well-rested ranks

  Of his true opponent

  And

  So many of the means of struggle

  Are deserting him

  (He who set out with thousands now

  In vain will seek for a supper)

  That his best

  And only remaining hope

  Is to meet all this

  Once again and to add

  To his old defeats

  Yet another

  Oh they are the nicest people . . .

  Oh they are the nicest people

  If you don’t disturb them when

  They are tooth and nail disputing

  Things that don’t belong to them.

 

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