Future Generations
I confess this:
I have no hope.
The blind talk about an escape.
I see.
When the errors are consumed
The nothing will sit next to us
as our last companion.
poem by Bertolt Brecht
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Send Me a Leaf
Send me a leaf, but from a bush
That grows at least one half hour
Away from your house, then
You must go and will be strong, and I
Thank you for the pretty leaf.
poem by Bertolt Brecht
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The Tattered Cord
The tattered cord
can again become knotted.
It holds
but it is torn.
Perhaps we'll face
each other again
but there,
where you left me,
you'll not meet me
again.
poem by Bertolt Brecht
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The Mask Of Evil
On my wall hangs a Japanese carving,
The mask of an evil demon, decorated with gold lacquer.
Sympathetically I observe
The swollen veins of the forehead, indicating
What a strain it is to be evil.
poem by Bertolt Brecht
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On Reading a Recent Greek Poet
After the wailing had already begun
along the walls, their ruin certain,
the Trojans fidgeted with bits of wood
in the three-ply doors, itsy-bitsy
pieces of wood, fussing with them.
And began to get their nerve back and feel hopeful.
poem by Bertolt Brecht
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Parting
We embrace.
Rich cloth under my fingers
While yours touch poor fabric.
A quick embrace
You were invited for dinner
While the minions of law are after me.
We talk about the weather and our
Lasting friendship. Anything else
Would be too bitter.
poem by Bertolt Brecht
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Pleasures
First look from morning's window
The rediscovered book
Fascinated faces
Snow, the change of the seasons
The newspaper
The dog
Dialectics
Showering, swimming
Old music
Comfortable shoes
Comprehension
New music
Writing, planting
Traveling
Singing
Being friendly
poem by Bertolt Brecht
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The Solution
After the uprising of the 17th June
The Secretary of the Writers Union
Had leaflets distributed in the Stalinallee
Stating that the people
Had forfeited 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?
poem by Bertolt Brecht
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Radio Poem
You little box, held to me escaping
So that your valves should not break
Carried from house to house to ship from sail to train,
So that my enemies might go on talking to me,
Near my bed, to my pain
The last thing at night, the first thing in the morning,
Of their victories and of my cares,
Promise me not to go silent all of a sudden.
poem by Bertolt Brecht
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To Be Read in the Morning and at Night
[Original]
Morgens und abends zu lesen
Der, den ich liebe
Hat mir gesagt
Daß er mich braucht.
Darum
Gebe ich auf mich acht
Sehe auf meinen Weg und
Fürchte von jedem Regentropfen
Daß er mich erschlagen könnte.
[Translation]
To read in the morning and at night
My love
Has told me
That he needs me.
[...] Read more
poem by Bertolt Brecht
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