by Tom Kuhn
Which of us will it be? Whose
Lot is salvation?
Whose to be marked?
Where is the grid, the next?
Unknown.
Everything new is better than everything old
Comrades, how do I know
That a house built today
Has a use and is needed?
And how is it those structures
The like of which we have never seen before
That don’t fit the look of the street and
Whose purpose I am ignorant of
Seem so right to me?
Because I know:
Everything new
Is better than everything old.
Is it not true
That a man putting on a clean shirt
Is a new man?
And a woman just bathed
Is a new woman?
And new likewise
Is the man who in meetings lasting all night long
In a smoky back room
Begins a new speech.
Everything new
Is better than everything old.
Incomplete statistics
Uncut pages, brand-new machinery
Give me a reason to get up in the morning.
Men who on a map
Enter a new line into a white space
Comrades who cut the pages of a book
Cheerful men
Who put the first oil into a machine
They are the ones who understand:
Everything new
Is better than everything old.
The superficial rabble addicted to novelty
Who never wear their boots out
Never read a book to the end
Forget the thoughts they have had
They are the world’s
Likeliest hope.
And if they are not
Then everything new
Is better than everything old.
I don’t know . . .
I don’t know: I really do go to a lot of trouble
I make a real effort with the gentlemen, I fall in with their wishes
I choose my underwear carefully
I stay sober when I want to drink
I drink ten glasses of schnapps when the very sight of it makes me ill
I am prepared to strip naked
And to control myself when I’m quite carried away
And then along comes somebody and lays one leg over the other
And gets what she wants.
The reason is: I’m not top class
I’ve got the energy of Mussolini
And the will to get on of a Polish Jew
I’m pretty, so they tell me, I am even amusing
But, as I say, I’m second class.
After the tune of ‘Oh my Baby’
Time and again
When a tree’s in leaf somewhere
There stands our old friend Joe and oh!
This is it, says he, hooray! Yes indeed, oh yes indeed
It’s spring, see that tree in bloom
Your heart tells you the same
Hold on to your hats, oh wow!
There’s a new wind blowing now
Comes spring and now’s the hour
And we tell ourselves for sure
What’s in store for us right now
No doubt about it anymore
Oh yes, siree!
When you see that little Christmas tree
It’ll take your breath away
When that day comes, olé!
And your little green dream comes true
A little Christmas tree just for you
Holy shite, you’ll be all right on Christmas Day
Time and again
If nobody kicks a man
He buys himself a new hat
And he says, Hooray, now I’ll build me a house, yes indeed
My corn stands high, I knew it by your laughter
I paid it no attention
My calf goes to the slaughter
For that friend of ours, old John
For the whole human race, happy days!
The night has upped and gone
So lift up your hearts and praise
Our cannot-do-without-him John.
Oh yes, siree!
It’ll take your breath away, Johnny
When you see the golden calf in the pot
And it’s in there cooking just for you
Just wait for that little golden calf
Oh let’s hope that the feast is all for you
Oh let’s hope it won’t be you there in the pot
Song: Nothing will come of nothing
1
See how he rises! He comes
Unstoppably, with the sun in his hands
Now he rises
His name is: Caesar
Hear what he says!
Now he is saying: I will help you.
In truth however
He only helps himself, but you
He oppresses, but you
Fear him.
Who is he?
Don’t be afraid
Look at him
Bide your time
He is nothing!
He will not last long
He is ignorant of how things are
He is nothing alone
He is nothing!
2
See how he rose! He came
Unstoppably, with the sun in his hands
Often he rose
Always with a different name
Often he said: I will help you.
In truth however
He only helped himself, but you
He oppressed, but you
Feared him.
Who was he?
He did not last long
He was ignorant of how things are
He was nothing alone
He was nothing!
3
See how he sinks! He goes
Unstoppably down, with emptiness in his hands
Now he sinks
Hear what he says!
Now he is saying: who will help me?
4
Soon you will hear again: he is coming
Unstoppably, with the sun in his hands
Soon he will rise
Soon his name will be: who knows?
Soon he will say: I will help you.
Don’t be afraid
Look at him
Bide your time
He is nothing!
He will not last long
He is ignorant of the way of things
He is nothing alone
He is nothing!
And that is good
Those born don’t wish to die
And that is good
They eat and they want more
And they eat again
And that is good
But when their time comes they die, drop down a hole
And the others take
Their places, sleep in their sheets and
Eat with relish from their platters
And that is good
What happens has to happen, why
Else would it happen?
Don’t clamour about
A man, he gets
Born and must
Begone and hasn’t reached far
And do not waste
Your breath for you also
Must soon begone.
Clamour about a man
Must he begone?
That’s bad!
What happens does not have to happen
Change it
Do not give up your plate
Oh why should you?
It’s bad!
Nothing is good without man makes
It good.
There is injustice as
There is water
Misery
Rises like the sun
And man tears apart his fellow man
As fish eats fish
That is ho
w it is and therefore
That is good
We are as used to injustice
As we are to water here
And that is bad
And the sun rises over us no more certainly
Than does our misery
And that is bad
Man tears his fellow man apart
And that is bad, bad, bad, bad!
Here stood the ancient Moors . . .
Here stood the ancient Moors
Stood looking out to sea
And said, before much longer now
We shall have ceased to be.
How right they were, the ancient Moors
For they have ceased to be
And where they stood, Brecht’s standing now
And looking out to sea.
Wait till the tree is mighty . . .
Wait till the tree is mighty: then chop it down.
Turn it to paper and distribute
That paper among the people for them
To write on and so bring
Order into their affairs. The mightier the tree
The more people it reaches.
When the tree is strong enough
Fell it.
Advice to Tretyakov to get well
The arguments of a sick man
Will be laughed at.
Eat an extra meal and eat it slowly
Being mindful of your enemies
Sleep late into the day:
They will be sleepless.
For the good of the soviet
Drink a glass of milk in the morning
So that your advice to us
Will not be the advice of a sick man.
Swim in the lake for pleasure. The water
That could drown you
Will bear you up.
What you part as you swim, behind you
It comes together again.
Willingly take . . .
1
Willingly take
Your bread from our hands
Here is your blanket, friend, here your place to lie.
But don’t live wholly and only
Through us, do not from any particular hands alone
Live.
The fact that you need us
Strengthens your claim.
2
Willingly take
Your bread from human hands
Blanket, bed, clothing
In a finished state. At your place
Continue working with our tools
On the piece we have worked on already.
Before it is finished, deliver it
Take over
Our opinions, add new ones, we
Shall complete them, friend.
Let him have no excuse . . .
1
Let him have no excuse
Who does not arrive. The stone
Does not excuse the man it trips. And let not even the man who arrives
Bore us with an account of his achievement
But without a word
Deliver himself or what he was entrusted with.
2
What use is the bridge
Which you can’t say was built in the coldest season
Of the hardest steel to the best designs
And sacrificing the builders in their free time
If it is a yard short?
3
Where there is waiting
There must be arrival.
4
Spare us your story!
Your smashed knee
Won’t fill our bellies.
You have
—As always—
Damaged the implement we work with.
Do not too readily fall for the plan . . .
Do not too readily fall for the plan
Of perfection and don’t, I say
Praise beyond all recanting
The unimprovable heavens at evening but
Reserve yourselves the right always
And at once to contradict.
When winter comes . . .
When winter comes and the winds blow
You see many people frozen blue
They wear too little and the wind is keen
The cold wind cuts them to the bone
There aren’t enough warm clothes, that’s why.
They’re in big demand and short supply.
But clothing the cold would be work for those
Who stand in line for work, and freeze.
And so little housing, nowhere near
Enough for them all and wasted here
Are brickies, roofers, all their kind
Who seek for work and do not find.
Article 1
1
The power of the state comes from the people
—But where does it go to?
Yes, where is it going to?
It is going somewhere, so where to?
The policeman goes out of the house.
—But where is he going to?
And so on . . .
2
Look there, on the march, the whole caboodle!
—But where is it marching to?
Yes, where is it marching to?
It’s marching somewhere, so where to?
Now it’s wheeling round the house.
—But where is it wheeling to?
And so on . . .
3
The power of the state makes a sudden halt.
It sees something standing there.
—What does it see standing there?
It sees something standing there.
And the power of the state gives a sudden shout
It shouts: Disperse! Go home!
—But why disperse, go home?
It shouts: Disperse! Go home!
4
There’s a clump of something over there
And that something is asking: Why?
Now why does it ask why?
A thing like that asks why!
Naturally the power of the state opens fire
And thereupon something drops.
What is it drops like that?
Why does it drop on the spot like that?
5
The power of the state sees: there in the dirt
Something’s lying there flat in the dirt!
But what’s lying there in the dirt?
Something is lying in the dirt.
Something for the mortuary.
But it’s the people, can’t you see?
Is it really and truly the people?
Yes, really and truly, it’s the people.
Article 115
Even a German has a place he may call his
For in our slave existence such a place is indispensable
Indispensable.
If we had and owned a dwelling place
That dwelling place would be inviolable
Inviolable.
None would be allowed to invade our privacy
At once he would be punished as the law decrees.
That dwelling place would be our private property
If in fact we owned that place, that is
That is.
But since no dwelling place is ever ours, alas
Bridges and holes in the earth are indispensable
Indispensable.
But if we lie out on the streets, needless
To say, we are not in the least inviolable
Inviolable.
Article 111
1
Run, worker, run, you have the right
To acquire a plot of land
Indeed you have that right.
You have that right on the Wannsee
You have that right on the Nikolassee.
Your days of dying of hunger are at an end
You have the right to inherit a plot of land.
The law says so
And good for you!
To have and to hold is not forbidden you.
2
Halt,
worker, halt, somebody
Has got that land already.
And rightfully.
He has the right on the Wannsee
He has the right on the Nikolassee.
So you must wait till he is dead and then
His plot has passed to someone else again
Who had the ready
The land’s his rightfully
Or else you might have been that somebody.
Again and again . . .
Again and again
In struggles forever
Renewing, never
Fought to a finish, never decisive
He stands, exhausted
With no prospect
Again and again
The ground gives under him
The friends fall away
Many grounds, many a friend
And thus he consumes
His pittance of faith
And who in a night without end
Entangled in struggles
Often checking
Whose the blood was on his cheek
Withstood
He sees
In the rising dawn
Before him
The numberless
Youthful, scarcely diminished but
Well-rested ranks
Of his true opponent
And
So many of the means of struggle
Are deserting him
(He who set out with thousands now
In vain will seek for a supper)
That his best
And only remaining hope
Is to meet all this
Once again and to add
To his old defeats
Yet another
Oh they are the nicest people . . .
Oh they are the nicest people
If you don’t disturb them when
They are tooth and nail disputing
Things that don’t belong to them.
