by Tom Kuhn
The Caledonian Market
There’s East and there’s West and “the twain shall never meet”
Your laureate bard was fond of declaiming
But I saw round Britannia’s back door where indeed
Bridges span the oceans and the traffic comes streaming
And from West to East it was heavy cannon
And men joked and sang as the gleaming guns rolled
And from East to West an endless procession
Of blood-dripping tea and cripples and gold.
And the Widow of Windsor in widow’s weeds
Stuffs the cash in her stocking and grins and bestows
Honours on the cripples for their noble deeds
And sends them off down the Caledonian Road
And if they can no longer walk
Then they’ll just have to hop instead
To buy themselves a second-hand wooden leg
To go with their miserable wooden heads.
And I saw a sign above the door; of the years
The hell of the disenchanters
Leaving behind the hell of the disenchanted
We came to the hell of the disenchanters.
In a grey city, filled with the cries of the market
We came upon people who had lost their faces.
Whoever we encountered, averted their eyes
Whoever we followed, quickened their step. But we saw them
All decked in their expensive or inexpensive clothes, old
And young, and of both sexes.
In many you could still discern
Traces of beauty that might once have seduced
Clever foreheads and—most devastating of all—the relic
Of an honest smile.
Those who had caved in in the face of the threats
Still had something in the way they held their heads
Of that which the unbowed have.
Those who had once said, “If I say I’m coming, then I’ll come”
Well, there’s no one awaits them now, but
They still move swiftly through the throng.
Now they consort only with their own kind, yet still entangled
In reckless enterprises. Peering from without into the trading offices
We saw them showing each other their bills of credit
Pointing to the many stamps and signatures
But covering with their thumbs the places
Where the year has been rubbed out.
Song of chaos
Sister, cover your head, brother, fetch your knife, the times are out of joint.
The fine folk are full of troubles and the lowly full of rejoicing. The city says:
Let us drive out the strong from our midst.
They are storming the ministries, they are destroying the lists of the bondsmen.
The masters have been put to the millstones. Those who never before saw day, now walk abroad.
The sacrificial chests of ebony are broken, the precious cedar wood is hacked up to make beds.
He who lacked bread, is now blessed with whole storehouses; he who once took alms of corn
Now distributes them himself.
What holds you back, General? Please, please, please, restore order.
The scion of noble parents goes unrecognized; the
Child of the mistress has become the son of her slave.
Ministers seek shelter in the haylofts; he who had scarcely a
Wall against which to sleep, now stretches out in a bed.
He who once rowed in the galley, now commands the ships; if their onetime owner
Comes looking for them, they are no longer accounted his.
Five men are sent out by their master. They say:
Run your own errands, for we have reached our destination.
Hammer and sickle song
So as to build ourselves a life
We’ve driven our masters out
Our banner is the red flag now
Where hammer and sickle stand proud.
Hammer and sickle are our tools.
USSR! See what we build:
A fortress that will stand
For the oppressed of all the world
Worker, Peasant, Soldier!
Brothers, come to us!
The Soviet State can hold you!
Brothers, come to us!
They’ll suffer a shock all right
At what happens when we discover
They’re poking their swinish snouts
In the Soviet garden.
Hammer and sickle are not just tools.
If they turn their guns around
The hammer will smash their skulls
The sickle mow them down.
Worker, Peasant, Soldier!
Brothers come to us!
The Soviet State can hold you!
Brothers, come to us!
The cattle march
Led by the drummer-boy
Here come the steers
The skins for the drums
Turn out to be theirs.
The butcher shouts: Heads down, all eyes tight shut
The steers march on. With firm and steady tread.
And with the herd the others who lie bleeding
March on in spirit though already dead.
They raise up their hands aloft
And show them abroad.
Their hands are all stained with blood
But empty of course.
The butcher shouts: Heads down, all eyes tight shut
The steers march on. With firm and steady tread.
And with the herd the others who lie bleeding
March on in spirit though already dead.
On blood-red flags in front
They carry their crosses
Twisted against the poor
And all for the bosses.
The butcher shouts: Heads down, all eyes tight shut
The steers march on. With firm and steady tread.
And with the herd the others who lie bleeding
March on in spirit though already dead.
I thought your home . . .
2
I thought your home was underneath my covers
And now I find that it’s not anywhere.
A man may think he feeds, but he devours
Another that he comforts, doesn’t scare.
I thought your home was underneath my covers.
3
And when I read, to yearn for home was what you wanted
But thought you didn’t have a home to sicken for
I thought: is this the pit that thinks itself a mountain?
Is this the calm that thinks that it’s the storm?
You who are so much . . .
1
You who are so much can become very little
2
Here’s a place where you were never known
Not merely that you aren’t: you never were.
A book which bore your name for all to see
I choose to call a book by nobody.
When Comrade Dimitrov stood before the court . . .
1
When Comrade Dimitrov stood before the court
Accused of many wrongdoings and
Convicted of none, he confessed
That he was accustomed, when reading books
To mark individual passages, and he added:
I am always studying! At this very moment, for example
I am studying the German judicial process.
2
Comrades: this study
Was of a very particular nature.
Let us imagine a whole squad of crazed engineers
Had split the land apart from Constance to Breslau
And torn the country in two halves, even that
Could not have been more striking than
The studying of our Comrade Dimitrov.
3
What a student, what a giant of a student! He demonstrates how properly t
o study
What a lesson for 60 million!
His teachers tremble at every question
From such a student. The proposals
Supposed to serve the discovery of the truth
Spread alarm—what remains of the syllabus after
He has studied it? And he is insatiable.
When this student leafs the pages of the great book of their laws
A whirlwind rises up and whips the caps from the judges’ heads.
That he did not set their Reichstag ablaze, that is certain
But now, before their very eyes and without their being able to
Hold him back, he
Sets their whole judicial process alight.
4
Their witnesses begin to tell
Of the thefts and deceits
Which they have already committed and
That they are no lovers of the truth.
Their experts
Concede that only they and their employers
Know the chemicals that are needed
To set fire to a building in this way.
Their generals
Threaten murder, should the court’s
Attempted murder fail.
Songs from Round Heads and Pointed Heads
The song of the sickle
Peasants arise!
Open your eyes!
Don’t let life pass you by
One day you all must die.
Your chains will only be broken
When you yourselves have spoken.
Open your eyes!
Peasants arise!
Nanna’s song
1
There I was, just seventeen,
Selling love out on the streets.
Isn’t much I haven’t seen:
Pretty nasty stuff
When the going’s tough—
Fit to turn you off the game for keeps.
(After all, I’m not an animal, you know.)
Just thank Christ the whole thing’s quickly over
All the loving, the worry and fear.
Where are the tears that flowed so freely?
Where are the snows of yesteryear?
2
With the years there’s no mistaking
It gets easier to do—
Up the numbers you are taking:
It’s no life of ease
Your emotions freeze
If you never grant them what they’re due.
(After all, stocks won’t last forever.)
Just thank Christ the whole thing’s quickly over
All the loving, the worry and fear.
Where are the tears that flowed so freely?
Where are the snows of yesteryear?
3
Even if you learn quite quickly
How to sell yourself and smile
Selling sex for cash is strictly
Not a lot of fun,
But you get it done
Though you’re getting older all the while.
(After all, you can’t be seventeen forever.)
Just thank Christ the whole thing’s quickly over
All the loving, the worry and fear.
Where are the tears that flowed so freely?
Where are the snows of yesteryear?
Ballad of the button
1
If a bent old man comes by
Dares to ask, although he’s shy
If my prettiest girl could love him well
I reply, how can we ever tell?
Then I tear a button from his coat, and cry
Let’s ask fortune, fortune cannot lie!
We’ll soon know:
If this button comes up heads you
May be sure she never weds you
All you’ll get is grief and woe.
So let’s see if luck is on your side!
Then I toss it up, and say: ’fraid not dear.
If they get upset and say: these holes
Go right through! Say I: they’re all you’ve got dear.
And I tell ’em: Luck deserted you at birth
Yet there is a way, if you’ll just try it:
Loving ain’t for free down here on earth
If you must have love, you’ll have to buy it.
2
If a foolish man comes by
Asks me, gazing at the sky
Will his brother ever pay his debt
I reply: I wouldn’t care to bet.
Then I tear a button from his coat, and cry
Let’s ask fortune, fortune cannot lie!
We’ll soon know:
If this button comes up heads you
May be certain he forgets you
And he’ll never pay what’s owed.
So let’s see if luck is on your side!
Then I toss it up, and say: ’fraid not dear.
If they get upset and say: these holes
Go right through! Say I: they’re all you’ve got dear.
And I tell ’em: Luck deserted you at birth
Still there is some hope of peace and quiet:
If your only want is peace on earth
Tell your brother you’re prepared to buy it.
3
If a poor man then comes by
Tells me, anger in his eye:
There’s this rich man driving me to ruin
What’s my chances if I try to sue him?
First I tear a button from his coat, then cry
Let’s ask fortune, fortune cannot lie!
We’ll soon know:
If this button comes up tails you
May be certain justice fails you
Better take your leave and go!
Well, let’s see if luck is on your side!
Then I toss it up, and say: ’fraid not dear.
If you get upset and say: But these holes
Go right through! Say I: they’re all you’ve got dear.
And I tell ’im: luck deserted you at birth
That’s the truth, whichever way you try it.
Friend, whatever you desire on earth
Right or wrong, you’re going to have to buy it!
The ballad of the waterwheel
1
All great men, the poets teach us
In their tales on starlit nights,
Though they soar aloft like meteors
Plummet down like meteorites.
That’s a comfort, sure, and well worth knowing
But: for us who toil to keep the great men going
There’s so precious little to be played for.
Rise or fall: they both needs must be paid for.
And the waterwheel just goes on turning
Fortunes come and go—you know the deal.
While the water down below must keep on churning
Its only business is to drive the wheel.
2
Oh, we’ve had so many masters
We’ve had tigers and hyenas
We’ve had heroes, we’ve had bastards
They all took us to the cleaners.
Soon the whole damned business starts to pall:
Once you’ve felt one boot you’ve felt them all
We’re the ones they like to kick. You see
We don’t want different masters, but to be free!
And the waterwheel just goes on turning
Fortunes come and go—you know the deal.
While the water down below must keep on churning
Its only business is to drive the wheel.
3
And they brawl and beat each other’s
Brains out, scrapping for the booty.
Gladly they denounce their brothers
Swear it’s just their simple duty.
Endless feuds are to our masters’ liking,
Only one thing gets them more excited:
If we dare to hint we might try striking
Suddenly they’re all of them united.
Then the waterwheel will cease
its turning
And the endless play begins to stall
When at last the water gives up merely yearning
And instead begins to take control.
Song of the stimulating effect of cash
1
Here on earth they call it filthy money,
Yet without it things seem pretty cold,
And the world’s all light and sunny
Where there’s cash, or so I’m told.
Misery used to have us in its hold,
Now our lives are bathed in golden light,
And the sun shines in surprise on
What we all believed was deepest night!
There’s a glow on the horizon,
And fire in the hearth: that’s quite a sight!
Now the world seems quite a different place again.
Hearts are beating fast with new-found passion,
Food’s aplenty and we follow fashion.
Suddenly we’ve all become new men.
2
There’s no question, people are mistaken
When they say, cash doesn’t count for much.
Even heaven above is godforsaken
When the good Lord’s lost his Midas touch.
Everybody grabs what they can clutch.
Things were going fine, we had no doubt,
Folk were getting on with one another
Now there’s so much violence about.
Even children feuding with their mothers!
Look at the hearth: the fire’s gone out!
Now there’s really quite a nasty atmosphere:
Jealousy and hate, it’s all disastrous.
No one wants to serve, they’d all be masters,
And the world is cold and full of fear.
3
It’s the same with all that’s good and decent.
It seems bound to end up with the trash:
If your own last meal wasn’t recent
Naked need and virtue simply clash.
