by Tom Kuhn
Ensured the healthy absorption of glucose and prevented
The onset of the appalling disease.
Along with many others
In the following decades Zuelzer and Reuter
Worked in Berlin at developing a preparation
From the juices of the pancreas.
When the Thinker had asked the question . . .
22
When the Thinker had asked the question whether
In sufficient numbers they would be prepared
To bring the works to a standstill and on
The idle machines to paint the sign
Of the drooping fist, he learned
That even among the oppressed and exploited
Those not working were despised.
23
I understand, said the Thinker. They are despised.
They lounge around, don’t want to work,
A burden on everyone else. And they expect us to feed them?
I work, and you work, and he is too idle to work?
I lie twisted under the machine, I wipe
The sweat out of my eyes and I see him
Hands in his pockets, standing by the machine
Like an exploiter! All he needs is the hat.
And I’m feeding him! Yes, like an exploiter
That’s how he should be treated, if he won’t work
Like an exploiter.
24
Yes, we are all
Fighting as he is against low wages and to have
Our share of the fruits of our labour but
We do this as honest workers. Yes
The contract is unjust that we entered into
Before we came here to work. But the work itself is not.
Therefore after we have done our work we shall
Protest very strongly against the contract but do the work well
Like good workers about whom there can be
No complaint. We are the ones who complain
And, precisely, that the contract is unjust. For we ask:
25
Do we not need to work?
26
The Thinker gave much thought to this. Then he made up his mind.
Hesitantly he made up his mind to ask the question
Do we not need to work? Like one who is not yet
Wholly sure of the answer, though it seems to him plausible
That of course we must work for how else
If no work is done should human beings
Eat and drink and have shelter and all be clothed?
And he stood up and asked, as though not knowing the answer
Why must we work?
27
For a living! came the answer.
28
Do you have a living? I see that you work
Said the Thinker mildly. Do you have a living?
29
And when in astonishment they answered no, he said
Quickly: if then you work to get a living
And when you work do not have enough to live off
Why do you not examine whether
You might not be able to live
If you did not work?
When the Thinker became fearful . . .
When the Thinker became fearful
He might lose a person
He was attached to—
He got into difficulties with himself
Did not know
How to deal with himself in his doubt
And unwisdom.
The world darkened for him
(The bad world, so in need of improving)
He lost sight of his goals
(So hard to attain)
Food lost its taste
(And people were still going hungry)
The conversations of his friends became empty
(And the questions had still not been answered).
The changes of the light from day
To night and again to the day, early morning
(Often dependable) now failed him
And the changing of the seasons
Took too long
And could not refresh him.
Of course, he knew:
What you hold tight will be torn from you
What is torn from you, you hold tight
But his clenched grip
Did not loosen and it hurt.
Then he said to himself:
Shall she not help me, so that I learn?
The cause of my trouble
Lies outside me.
When it became necessary to ask the question . . .
When it became necessary to ask the question
Would they have dry bread or starve
Some screamed for bread and jam!
Let us assume you are weak like one . . .
11
Let us assume you are weak like one
Who has not enough to eat, said the Thinker
Would your foot not often trip? Your hand
Not fumble at the lever? Only slowly
Would you cross the factory floor to fetch your tools, rather more slowly
Than you would if you had eaten well would you
Cross the factory floor if you were weak.
Are you not weak?
12
I am weak, said the Learner.
13
Well then, walk like a man who is weak. Stumble. Now and then
Work the lever wrongly. You who are hungry
Work like a man who is hungry. And another thing.
14
Let us assume you are ignorant like one
Who has not learned enough, said the Thinker
Would you not then do a deal of damage? Only think
How complicated the machinery is! A man
Who is not an expert, who has learned nothing
Does he know what might happen if in his tiredness
(Not having eaten enough), in his ignorance
(Not having learned much), if now and then, here or there
He makes a move that brings everything to a standstill?
Clumsier surely than you would be if you had learned a lot
You’d be if you were ignorant.
Are you ignorant?
15
I am ignorant, said the Learner.
16
Well then, do a deal of damage as an ignorant man would!
Say you know nothing, you who know nothing. Know nothing at all
Not knowing everything. And another thing.
17
Let us assume you take no pleasure in it like one
Not knowing the good of what’s made there and from whom
They take away everything he makes and he never learns
Where it goes, would anything, that being so
Be produced at all? Would not everything
Mysteriously go wrong as if there were a curse on it? Very much less
Than would be produced if you took pleasure in it would be produced
If you took no pleasure in it.
You take no pleasure in it?
18
I take no pleasure in it, the Learner said.
19
Well then, work like a man who takes no pleasure in it. Make sure
Nothing more is produced when you don’t know where it goes.
And now the most important thing.
20
Let us assume they will use force against you
If they saw you are not a willing worker. They would
Thrust you out into the cold and give you nothing to eat.
Would they not use force?
21
They would, said the Learner wearily.
22
Well then, show willing like one
Against whom they will use force if you don’t. Show willing.
There was a voice close by you . . .
There was a voice close by you
So you were not alone.
Somebody
Fished yo
u out of a trench. In your aeroplane
You looked at the face of your mechanic as at an instrument
To know was there oil in the engine.
There was oil in the engine.
Among many
You were loaded into trucks like cattle.
They did not know you, they went to the slaughter like you
But
You were many.
Communism is the middle way
To call for the total overthrow of the present order
Seems a terrible thing.
But the present order is no sort of order.
To have recourse to violence
Seems wicked.
But since what is constantly practised is violence
It is nothing special.
Communism is not the extreme
Which can only be very partially realized, but
Until it is realized in its entirety
No condition of life will be bearable
Even by the unfeeling.
Truly Communism is the very least requirement
The nearest to hand, moderate, reasonable.
Whoever opposes it, is not someone thinking differently
But someone not thinking at all, someone only thinking of himself
An enemy of the human race
Terrible
Wicked
Unfeeling
Especially
In desiring the extreme which being even very partially realized
Would be the ruin of all humanity.
Beds for the night
I hear that in New York
On the corner of 26th Street and Broadway
A man stands every evening in the winter months
And begging passers-by
Gets a bed for the night for the homeless gathered there.
The world is not changed by this
Relations between human beings are not improved
The age of exploitation is not made any shorter.
But a few men have a bed for the night
For one night long they are out of the wind
The snow that was meant for them falls on the streets.
You reading this, do not put down the book.
A few men have a bed for the night
For one night long they are out of the wind
The snow that was meant for them falls on the streets.
But the world is not changed by this
Relations between human beings are not improved
The age of exploitation is not made any shorter.
Song Number 2
Have you heard? They are saying
Security has been abolished. They are leaving
Order behind them.
Have you heard, merchant: with your bearer
You are entering the desert?
How will you manage there? Are you on good terms with him?
Does he love you? Has he any reason to love you?
When the sands are against you, is your companion for you?
When the highroad ends, which way will you go?
Where the city ends
Order ends too.
Without violence
There is no security.
Only the rubber truncheon
Makes men behave.
In times of disorder
In the places where chaos rules
Man is a wolf to man.
In the cities of these times
There is no order.
The rubber truncheon
Upholds insecurity.
No desert
Is so unhomely as the cities are for us
No savage beast
Behaves towards you as that man does
Who is protected by a rubber truncheon.
I always thought . . .
3
I always thought: I can send
A cheerful man. A man who has studied.
Wherever there’s a need
I’ll send the best man I have.
For the sad thing is not to lose a good man but
One who is useless.
A lesson in sabotage
Modifying a machine
Alter the machine so that it won’t work without you
So far improve it that you alone are good enough for it
Give it a secret fault that you alone can repair
Yes, alter it so that any other man will destroy it
If he works it without you
That’s what we call: modifying a machine.
Modify your machine, saboteur!
A lesson in sabotage
Sabotage, mother of the factory
Just as a mother knows what she has given birth to
Wakes in the night at the baby’s slightest cry
Knows his needs and lays him whimpering on her breast
Just so sabotage knows the factory and its needs.
When you want bread she finds bread.
When you want rid of the overseer she rids you of him.
When you demand satisfaction she gets satisfaction.
The tall grey mother is here there and everywhere.
Without her agreement all goes amiss. The machines at a standstill.
Try as you will they can’t be got going again.
A thing’s done and nobody did it. Everyone looks for a fault
And nobody finds one. Loud regret and a secret glee.
War is no war unless the tall grey mother desires it.
She it is pushes the trucks onto tracks where they don’t belong.
The ships that she sails on never arrive.
After a couple of weeks—there are cracks in the roads she builds.
The shells she loads the guns with fail to explode.
Not being a loudmouth, she can’t be arrested.
Never refusing work, she can’t be dismissed.
By doing her job she achieves what she wants.
She is the paid wet nurse who does not deny her breast to a stranger’s child
But there is no milk in her breast.
She is the patient worker whose hand lets go of the shovel.
She is the innocent misfortune, the unavoidable mistake
The forgivable error, the subordinate doing her best and failing.
A lesson in sabotage
The destruction of the machine by sabotage:
just assembly work
A nightmare to the entrepreneur: the machine at a standstill.
It is to him like the dead horse that drew the cart with the milk-cans
But under the lash collapsed and will never
Get to its feet again: now who will drag the cans?
Like a sunken ship on the seabed
That the fish swim through and never pay for a ticket.
Like the ruins of a castle that nobody wants to visit.
A heap of old iron and in the account book
A hefty sum to the debit.
The worker, however, was only doing his job:
He makes, he unmakes, modifies, reassembles . . .
Oh Falada, hanging there!
(Hanging on a wall is a bloody horse’s head)
Horror story from the Frankfurter Allee:
A fallen horse set upon by human beings!
In less than ten minutes nothing left but its bones!
Is Berlin the Arctic? Have the barbarians come?
Oh Falada, hanging there!
If your mother knew
The very heart of her would break!
Be so kind as to tell us more about this frightful occurrence.
I felt very weak but I was doing my usual round.
I got as far as the Frankfurter Allee.
And there I thought to myself, Oh dear me
I am feeling so weak, if I give in to it
It could well be that I’ll fall down . . .
Ten minutes later there were only my bones on the street
So the round was too hard? And not enough to eat?
In these
desperate times who can view without pity
Humans and animals battling with unbearable misery?
Oh Falada, hanging there!
Ransacked—right—down—to—the—bones!
In the heart of our metropolis at eleven o’clock in the morning!
For no sooner had my poor legs given way
(The carter ran to the telephone)
Out of their houses hungry people came hurrying
For a pound of my flesh, with knives, oh they
Were hacking the flesh off my bones
Though I was still alive and had nowhere near done dying
Oh Falada hanging there!
But these are not human beings! These are beasts
They come out of their houses with knives and pots and get their meat
And you still alive! Cold-blooded criminals!
Be so good as to give us a description of them at once.
But I knew these people, knew them from my early days.
They brought me sacks to protect me against the flies
Gave my carter old bread for me, told him
Be sure to always go gently with me.
Such friends once and today such enemies! Suddenly
They weren’t the same people. Oh what had happened to them?
I ask myself: what kind of people are these?
Have they no feelings anymore? Bold as brass
They emerge and forget all morality
Coldly forget all discipline and self-control
And give in to their lowest urges. What can anyone do
