To Those Born After
by Bertolt Brecht
1
Truly, I live in dark times! A guileless word
is foolish, as is an unfurrowed brow.
A laughing person simply has not heard
the horrors that make the rest of us weep now.
What times are these, when talking of one’s trees
is sinful in its failure to condemn
misdeeds? Does that calm man, crossing the street,
forget his friends who look for help to him?
It’s true, I work and earn a living still,
but that is accident. A few alms tossed
do not give. me the right to eat my fill.
If, somehow, my luck fails, then I am lost.
“Eat and drink,” they say, “and count each blessing!”
How can I steal the food of one in need,
or water from one thirsting, thus transgressing
most selfishly? Yet still I drink and feed.
I would embrace the wisdom of old books
that tell me how to spend my fleeting days,
keeping myself from being caught by hooks
of strife and fear, avoiding violent ways.
Repaying with good the evils that I suffer
is counted wise. I promote my own designs.
Suppressing them in favor of another
I cannot: Truly, I live in dark times!
2
I came to cities in chaos. Hunger ruled.
I came to desperate people who revolted.
With them my defiant spirit never cooled.
So was my time, given on earth, devoted.
I ate my food between the battles. I slept
with murderers. In hasty embraces I floated.
Nature could not help me to accept.
So was my time, given on earth, devoted.
The streets in my time led into the mires.
My speech betrayed me to the butchers, voted
to power. I hoped my efforts hurt the liars.
So was my time, given on earth, devoted.
Our forces were few. Our goal lay far away,
clearly seen, but hardly to be exploded
from the patch of dirt where we were forced to stay.
So was my time, given on earth, devoted.
3
You, who will appear from the awful flood
into which we have sunk, remember, too,
when you speak of the weakness in our blood,
the darkness of the times you never knew.
Changing lands more often than our shoes,
we roamed, making our way through the class wars,
empty of hope, defying the taboos,
we find injustice, yet no outrage roars.
We know that hate, even against the vile
distorts the features. Anger, even when just,
makes us hoarse. Oh, why is it such a trial
to give friendship to those we want to trust?
But when the time comes for us all to be
a help to others, remember us mercifully.
————————-
Edits:
P1S2L1: In times like these discussion of one’s trees > What times are these, when talking of one’s trees
P1S2L3: misdeeds. That man, peacefully crossing the street > misdeeds? Does that calm man crossing the street,
P1S2L4: forgets his friends who look for help to him. > forget his friends who look for help to him?
P1S3L2: but that is accidental, to my cost. > but that is accident. A few alms tossed
P1S3L3: Nothing gives me the right to eat my fill. > do not give me the right to eat my fill.
P1S3L4: By chance, if my luck fails, then I am lost. > If, somehow, my luck fails, then I am lost.
P1S4L3: or water from one thirsting, thus confessing > or water from one thirsting, thus transgressing
P1S4L4: my selfish acts? Yet still I drink and feed. > most selfishly? Yet still I drink and feed.
P1S5L2: that tell me how to spend my fleeting time, > that tell me how to spend my fleeting days,
P1S5L4: of strife and fear, avoiding violent crime. > of strife and fear, avoiding violent ways.
P1S6L2: is accounted wise. Though my desire climbs,> is counted wise. I promote my own designs.
P1S6L3: suppressing its favor of another > Suppressing them in favor of another
P2S3L2: My speech betrayed me to the butchers, noted > My speech betrayed me to the butchers voted
P2S3L3: by all, I hoped my efforts hurt the squires. > to power. I hoped my efforts hurt the liars.
P3S3L1: we know that hate, even against the vile, > we know that hate, even against the vile,
P3S3L3: makes us hoarse. Oh, why are we the lowest > makes us hoarse. Oh, why is it such a trial
P3S4L1: But when we’ll help each other in civilization, > But when the time comes for us all to be
P3S4L2: remember us with kind commiseration. > a help to others, remember us mercifully.
Original German
from
Svendborger Gedichte, 1939
Reprinted in “Antti Alanen: Film Diary”
An die Nachgeborenen
von Bertolt Brecht
1
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 Schwiegen 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, berichtigt mich dazu, mich satt zu essen.
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 es dem Hungernden entreiße, was ich esse, und
Mein Glas Wasser einem Verdurstenden fehlt?
Und doch esse und trink 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 Fürchten 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!
2
In die Städte kam ich zu der 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 legt 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 hoffe 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.
3
Ihr, die ihr austauschen 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 ja:
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 Mensch ein Helfer ist
Gedenkt unsrer
Mit Nachsicht.
Crib:
To Those Born After
by Bertolt Brecht
1
Truly, I live in dark times!
The unsuspicious word is foolish. A smooth forehead
suggests insensitivity. The laughing man
has simply not yet received
the terrible news.
What kind of times are these, where
a conversation about trees is almost a crime
because it considers silence appropriate for so many misdeeds.
Is that man there, peacefully crossing the street,
probably no longer available for his friends
who are in need?
It is true: I still earn my living
but believe me, that is only an accident. Nothing
of those things that I do give me the right to eat my fill.
By chance I have been spared. (If my luck gives out, I am lost.)
I’m told: eat and drink! Be glad for what you have!
But how can I eat and drink if
I rip what I eat from the starving and
a person dying of thirst is lacking my glass of water?
And still I eat and drink.
I would also gladly be wise.
In the old books it states what is wise:
to keep yourself out of the world’s strife and to spend your short time
without fear,
also to get along without violence,
to repay evils with good,
not to fulfill your own wishes, but rather to forget them
is valued as wise.
All of that I cannot do:
Truly, I live in dark times!
2
I came into the cities in a time of disorder
when hunger ruled there.
I came among people in a time of rebellion
and I rebelled with them.
So passed my time
that was given to me on earth.
I ate my food between battles,
I laid myself down to sleep among the murderers,
I attended to love carelessly
and saw nature without patience.
So passed my time
that was given to me on earth.
The streets led to the swamp in my time,
my speech betrayed me to the slaughterer.
I could only do little. But those ruling
Sat more safely without me. I hoped for that.
So passed my time
that was given to me on earth.
Our forces were few. The goal
lay very far away.
It was clearly visible, although for me,
hardly to be reached.
So passed my time
that was given to me on earth.
3
You, who will appear from the flood
in which we have sunk,
remember also,
when you speak of our weaknesses,
the dark times
that you have escaped.
But we went, changing countries more often than our shoes,
through the class wars, hopeless,
when there was only injustice and no outrage.
We know, indeed,
that hatred, even of lowliness,
distorts the features.
And anger, even about injustice
makes the voice hoarse. Oh, we
who wanted to prepare the ground for friendship
could not ourselves be friendly.
But you, when the time will come
that human is a helper to human,
remember us
with mercy.
Brecht, “To Those Born After”
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