Bertold Brecht: Questions from a Worker who Reads

Who built Thebes of the 7 gates?
In the books you will read the names of kings.
Did the kings haul up the lumps of rock?

And Babylon, many times demolished,
Who raised it up so many times?

In what houses of gold glittering Lima did its builders live?
Where, the evening that the Great Wall of China was finished, did the masons go?

Great Rome is full of triumphal arches.
Who erected them?

Over whom did the Caesars triumph?
Had Byzantium, much praised in song, only palaces for its inhabitants?

Even in fabled Atlantis, the night that the ocean engulfed it,
The drowning still cried out for their slaves.

The young Alexander conquered India.
Was he alone?

Caesar defeated the Gauls.
Did he not even have a cook with him?

Philip of Spain wept when his armada went down.
Was he the only one to weep?

Frederick the 2nd won the 7 Years War.
Who else won it?

Every page a victory.
Who cooked the feast for the victors?

Every 10 years a great man.
Who paid the bill?

So many reports.
So many questions.

Bertold Brecht: on the terms of exile

No need to drive a nail into the wall
To hang your hat on;
When you come in, just drop it on the chair
No guest has sat on.

Don’t worry about watering the flowers—
In fact, don’t plant them.
You will have gone back home before they bloom,
And who will want them?

If mastering the language is too hard,
Only be patient;
The telegram imploring your return
Won’t need translation.

Remember, when the ceiling sheds itself
In flakes of plaster,
The wall that keeps you out is crumbling too,
As fast or faster.

-- translated from the german by Adam Kirsch

Bertold Brecht

No, no aceptes lo habitual como natural. Porque en tiempos de desorden, de confusión organizada, de humanidad deshumanizada, nada debe parecer natural, nada debe parecer imposible de cambiar.

Bertold Brecht

Denn nichts werde natürlich genannt in solcher Zeit blutiger Verwirrung, verordneter Unordnung, planmässiger Willkür, entmenschter Menschlichkeit, damit nichts Unveränderlich gelte.

Bertold Brecht: Die Bücherverbrennung

Als das Regime befahl, Bücher mit schädlichem Wissen öffentlich zu verbrennen, und allenthalben Ochsen gezwungen, Karren mit Büchern zu den Scheiterhaufen zu ziehen, entdeckte ein verjagter Dichter, einer der besten, die Liste der Verbrannten studierend, entsetzt, dass seine Bücher vergessen waren. Er eilte zum Schreibtisch zornbeflügelt, und schrieb einen Brief an die Machthaber. Verbrennt mich! Schrieb er mit fliegender Feder, verbrennt mich! Tut mir das nicht an! Lasst mich nicht übrig! Habe ich nicht immer die Wahrheit berichtet in meinen Büchern? Und jetzt Werd” ich von euch wie ein Lügner behandelt! Ich befehle euch: Verbrennt mich!

Bertold Brecht: The Burning of the Books

When the Regime commanded that books with harmful knowledge
Should be publicly burned on all sides
Oxen were forced to drag cart loads of books
To the bonfires, a banished
Writer, one of the best, scanning the list of the
Burned, was shocked to find that his
Books had been passed over. He rushed to his desk
On wings of wrath, and wrote a letter to those in power.
Burn me! he wrote with flying pen,

 burn me. Haven’t my books
Always reported the truth? And here you are
Treating me like a liar! I command you:
Burn me!