Showing posts with label Brecht. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Brecht. Show all posts

Friday, January 08, 2021

The sawing goes on

Sie sägten die Äste ab, auf denen sie saßen
Und schrieen sich zu ihre Erfahrungen,
Wie man schneller sägen könnte, und fuhren
Mit Krachen in die Tiefe, und die ihnen zusahen,
Schüttelten die Köpfe beim Sägen und
Sägten weiter.
Humble attempt to translate as literally as possible.
Suggestions for improvement are welcome.


They sawed the branches on which they sat
and called out to eachother their experiences,
how one could saw faster, and fell
with crack into the depth, and those watching them
shook their heads while sawing and
went on sawing

 

Bertold Brecht (10 February 1898 – 14 August 1956)




 

Sunday, August 25, 2013

When it comes to marching . . .

. . . Many do not know
That their enemy is marching at their head.
The voice which gives them their orders
Is their enemy's voice and
The man who speaks of the enemy
Is the enemy himself.


Bertold Brecht

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

Well, not best but very much

Of all the works of man I like best
Those which have been used.
The copper pots with their dents and flattened edges
The knives and forks whose wooden handles
Have been worn away by many hands: such forms
Seemed to me the noblest. So too the flagstones round old houses
Trodden by many feet, ground down
And with tufts of grass growing between them: these
Are happy works.

Von allen Werken, die liebsten
Sind mir die gebrauchten.
Die Kupfergefäße mit den Beulen und den abgeplatteten Rändern
Die Messer und Gabeln, deren Holzgriffe
Abgegriffen sind von vielen Händen: solche Formen
Schienen mir die edelsten. So auch die Steinfliesen um alte Häuser
Welche niedergetreten sind von vielen Füßen, abgeschliffen
Und zwischen denen Grasbüschel wachsen, das
Sind glückliche Werke.
Bertolt Brecht

Thursday, June 17, 2010

The Solution

After the uprising of the 17th of June*
The Secretary of the Writers Union
Had leaflets distributed in the Stalinallee
Stating that the people

Had thrown away the confidence of the government

And could win it back only

By redoubled efforts.
Would it not be easier

In that case for the government

To dissolve the people

And elect another?

Bertold Brecht


* choose any date and location you wish

Thursday, March 18, 2010

And? Did those born after change anything?

Below the video you find the text, both in German (in case you wish to follow Bertold Brecht's reading), and in English.



An die Nachgeborenen

I

Wirklich, ich lebe in finsteren Zeiten!
Das arglose Wort ist töricht. Eine glatte Stirn
Deutet auf Unempfindlichkeit hin. Der Lachende
Hat die furchtbare Nachricht
Nur noch nicht empfangen.

Was sind das für Zeiten, wo
Ein Gespräch über Bäume fast ein Verbrechen ist
Weil es ein Schweigen über so viele Untaten einschließt!
Der dort ruhig über die Straße geht
Ist wohl nicht mehr erreichbar für seine Freunde
Die in Not sind?

Es ist wahr: Ich verdiene noch meinen Unterhalt
Aber glaubt mir: das ist nur ein Zufall. Nichts
Von dem, was ich tue, berechtigt mich dazu, mich sattzuessen.
Zufällig bin ich verschont. (Wenn mein Glück aussetzt, bin ich verloren.)

Man sagt mir: Iß und trink du! Sei froh, daß du hast!
Aber wie kann ich essen und trinken, wenn
Ich dem Hungernden entreiße, was ich esse, und
Mein Glas Wasser einem Verdurstenden fehlt?
Und doch esse und trinke ich.

Ich wäre gerne auch weise.
In den alten Büchern steht, was weise ist:
Sich aus dem Streit der Welt halten und die kurze Zeit
Ohne Furcht verbringen
Auch ohne Gewalt auskommen
Böses mit Gutem vergelten
Seine Wünsche nicht erfüllen, sondern vergessen
Gilt für weise.
Alles das kann ich nicht:
Wirklich, ich lebe in finsteren Zeiten!

II

In die Städte kam ich zur Zeit der Unordnung
Als da Hunger herrschte.
Unter die Menschen kam ich zu der Zeit des Aufruhrs
Und ich empörte mich mit ihnen.
So verging meine Zeit
Die auf Erden mir gegeben war.

Mein Essen aß ich zwischen den Schlachten
Schlafen legte ich mich unter die Mörder
Der Liebe pflegte ich achtlos
Und die Natur sah ich ohne Geduld.
So verging meine Zeit
Die auf Erden mir gegeben war.

Die Straßen führten in den Sumpf zu meiner Zeit.
Die Sprache verriet mich dem Schlächter.
Ich vermochte nur wenig. Aber die Herrschenden
Saßen ohne mich sicherer, das hoffte ich.
So verging meine Zeit
Die auf Erden mir gegeben war.

Die Kräfte waren gering. Das Ziel
Lag in großer Ferne
Es war deutlich sichtbar, wenn auch für mich
Kaum zu erreichen.
So verging meine Zeit
Die auf Erden mir gegeben war.

III

Ihr, die ihr auftauchen werdet aus der Flut
In der wir untergegangen sind
Gedenkt
Wenn ihr von unseren Schwächen sprecht
Auch der finsteren Zeit
Der ihr entronnen seid.

Gingen wir doch, öfter als die Schuhe die Länder wechselnd
Durch die Kriege der Klassen, verzweifelt
Wenn da nur Unrecht war und keine Empörung.

Dabei wissen wir doch:
Auch der Hass gegen die Niedrigkeit
Verzerrt die Züge.
Auch der Zorn über das Unrecht
Macht die Stimme heiser. Ach, wir
Die wir den Boden bereiten wollten für Freundlichkeit
Konnten selber nicht freundlich sein.

Ihr aber, wenn es soweit sein wird
Dass der Mensch dem Menschen ein Helfer ist
Gedenkt unsrer
Mit Nachsicht.


To Those Born After

I

Truly, I live in dark times!
An artless word is foolish. A smooth forehead
Points to insensitivity. He who laughs
Has not yet received
The terrible news.

What times are these, in which
A conversation about trees is almost a crime
For in doing so we maintain our silence about so much wrongdoing!
And he who walks quietly across the street,
Passes out of the reach of his friends
Who are in danger?

It is true: I work for a living
But, believe me, that is a coincidence. Nothing
That I do gives me the right to eat my fill.
By chance I have been spared. (If my luck does not hold, I am lost.)

They tell me: eat and drink. Be glad to be among the haves!
But how can I eat and drink
When I take what I eat from the starving
And those who thirst do not have my glass of water?
And yet I eat and drink.

I would happily be wise.
The old books teach us what wisdom is:
To retreat from the strife of the world
To live out the brief time that is your lot
Without fear
To make your way without violence
To repay evil with good –
The wise do not seek to satisfy their desires,
But to forget them.
But I cannot heed this:
Truly I live in dark times!

II

I came into the cities in a time of disorder
As hunger reigned.
I came among men in a time of turmoil
And I rose up with them.
And so passed
The time given to me on earth.

I ate my food between slaughters.
I laid down to sleep among murderers.
I tended to love with abandon.
I looked upon nature with impatience.
And so passed
The time given to me on earth.

In my time streets led into a swamp.
My language betrayed me to the slaughterer.
There was little I could do. But without me
The rulers sat more securely, or so I hoped.
And so passed
The time given to me on earth.

The powers were so limited. The goal
Lay far in the distance
It could clearly be seen although even I
Could hardly hope to reach it.
And so passed
The time given to me on earth.

III

You, who shall resurface following the flood
In which we have perished,
Contemplate –
When you speak of our weaknesses,
Also the dark time
That you have escaped.

For we went forth, changing our country more frequently than our shoes
Through the class warfare, despairing
That there was only injustice and no outrage.

And yet we knew:
Even the hatred of squalor
Distorts one’s features.
Even anger against injustice
Makes the voice grow hoarse. We
Who wished to lay the foundation for gentleness
Could not ourselves be gentle.

But you, when at last the time comes
That man can aid his fellow man,
Should think upon us
With leniency.

Saturday, July 25, 2009

Just a thought 008

All the gang of those who rule us
Hope our quarrels never stop
Helping them to split and fool us
So they can remain on top.
Bertold Brecht

Monday, August 06, 2007

Baykal takes Brecht's advice

Recently Mr. Baykal has already been congratulated on his and his (sic!) Party's tremendous election triumph. But one can not often enough repeat it.

According to our absolutely honest and trustworthy source, for approximately 80 per cent of the Turkish people Deniz the Magnificent is the outstanding thinker and theoretican who has fully mastered Atatürk's revolutionary ideas; he is the sagacious leader of his Party and people who is possessed of brilliant wisdom, unusual insight and refined art of leadership; and he is the real leader of the people who has unboundedly lofty virtues.

TDN's Yusuf Kanli seems not able to accept Mr. Baykal's victory. Mr. Kanli is even mocking about Deniz the Magnificent.

But we know better.
Mr. Baykal and his (sic!) CHP won.
Not enough to drive Mr. Erdogan to Kars, where he could work as extra at the revolutionary local theatre, when it is next time snowing.

But - and nobody could deny: Only about 30 per cent more, and Mr. Baykal and his (sic!) Party would even have won the absolute majority.

Now, why did / COULD this not happen?
Officially one could hear all those arguments Mr. Kanli is mocking about.
One should not blame him, though. He does not know better. He CAN not know better.

Fortunately we can and DO.

According to my closest friend's either omnipresent and absolutely honest and trustworthy source, who's deep throat knows the büyükbaba - not to muddle up with Büyükanit - thus again: who knows the grandfather whose cousin's grandson's aunt knows the sister of a very very influential editor of Cumhurriyet, Deniz the Magnificent has told this extraordinary influential beacon of independant and unbribable Turkish journalism - sub rosa and off the records - the ultimate reason why him and his (sic!) Party would not get - at least - 98,9 per cent of the votes: "The stupid people did not vote for us. But at the next election WE shall turn the table. WE elect a new people."

The very very influential editor has not been seen, since. Influenza, it says.