Announcement

Collapse
No announcement yet.

Happy 120th Birthday Bert Brecht!

Collapse
X
 
  • Filter
  • Time
  • Show
Clear All
new posts

    Happy 120th Birthday Bert Brecht!

    Many great poems. This was his last.


    When in my white room at the Charité
    I woke towards morning
    And heard the blackbird, I understood
    Better. Already for some time
    I had lost all fear of death. For nothing
    Can be wrong with me if I myself
    Am nothing. Now
    I managed to enjoy
    The song of every blackbird after me too.

    #2
    "In the dark times
    Will there also be singing?
    Yes, there will also be singing.
    About the dark times."

    Comment


      #3
      I sit by the side of the road
      The driver's changing a wheel.
      I don't like where I've come from.
      I don't like where I'm going.
      Why do I watch him change the wheel
      impatiently?

      Comment


        #4
        "Greif nach dem Buch
        Es ist eine Waffe!"

        Comment


          #5
          "Art is not a mirror to reflect reality, but a hammer with which to shape it."

          Comment


            #6

            Comment


              #7

              Comment


                #8

                Comment


                  #9

                  Comment


                    #10
                    Victim of the Hollywood witchhunt.

                    Comment


                      #11
                      "Every day, to earn my daily bread
                      I go to the market where lies are bought
                      Hopefully
                      I take up my place among the sellers."

                      Comment


                        #12
                        thinking about hell, I gather
                        My brother Shelley found it was a place
                        Much like the city of London. I
                        Who live in Los Angeles and not in London
                        Find, on thinking about Hell, that it must be
                        Still more like Los Angeles.

                        In Hell too
                        There are, I've no doubt, these luxuriant gardens
                        With flowers as big as trees, which of course wither
                        Unhesitantly if not nourished with very expensive water. And fruit markets
                        With great heaps of fruit, albeit having
                        Neither smell nor taste. And endless processions of cars
                        Lighter than their own shadows, faster than
                        Mad thoughts, gleaming vehicles in which
                        Jolly-looking people come from nowhere and are nowhere bound.
                        And houses, built for happy people, therefore standing empty
                        Even when lived in.

                        The houses in Hell, too, are not all ugly.
                        But the fear of being thrown on the street
                        Wears down the inhabitants of the villas no less than
                        The inhabitants of the shanty towns.

                        Comment


                          #13
                          sorry about playing music in here

                          Comment

                          Working...
                          X