Questions From a Worker Who Reads

Bertolt Brecht

Who built Thebes of the seven gates?
In the books you will find the names of kings.
Did the kings haul up the lumps of rock?
And Babylon, many times demolished
Who raised it up so many times? In what houses
Of gold-glittering Lima did the builders live?
Where, the evening that the Wall of China was finished
Did the masons go? Great Rome
Is full of triumphal arches. Who erected them? Over whom
Did the Caesars triumph? Had Byzantium, much praised in song
Only palaces for its inhabitants? Even in fabled Atlantis
The night the ocean engulfed it
The drowning still bawled for their slaves.

The young Alexander conquered India.
Was he alone?
Caesar beat the Gauls.
Did he not have even a cook with him?

Philip of Spain wept when his armada
Went down. Was he the only one to weep?
Frederick the Second won the Seven Year's War. Who
Else won it?

Every page a victory.
Who cooked the feast for the victors?
Every ten years a great man?
Who paid the bill?

So many reports.
So many questions.

("Fragen eines lesenden Arbeiters" - translated by M. Hamburger in Bertolt Brecht, Poems 1913-1956, Methuen, N.Y., London, 1976)

Silent Questions from the Wife of a Worker Who Reads

Manali Chakrabarti

Comments (1) | Quote this article on your site | Print | E-mail

My enemy has sent message for me,
That his army-men have laid siege around me.
On every tower and minaret of the city-wall,
His army-men are standing with bows in their hands.

The lightening-wave has been extinguished
Whose fervor awoke volcanoes from the soil.
Landmines are laid in the waters
Of the streamlet that came flowing to my street.
All people—outspoken and bold, are now bodily torn.
And all the rebels are sent to gallows.

All the mystics and mystic-initiates, all the guides and leaders
Have gathered in the high-towered palace, hoping favours.
All the honourable judges, ready to take oath,
Are sitting on the way, like adamant beggars.

You have been an admirer of poets’ dignity,
Those stars of the art’s sky are now before you.
At the wink of a ruler’s buddy,
A number of begging poets would gather before him.
Weigh the footing of these dauntless and the faithful
Look around you; see yourself, who is with you.

If you want to protect your life, the condition is this:
Put your pen and paper in the killing-yard.
Otherwise, you are the only aim of archers this time.
Therefore, shun off your sense of honour in the street.

Seeing these conditions, I told the emissary:
He doesn’t know what the History teaches us.
When a night murders a sun,
A new morning carves out a new sun.
Therefore, this is my reply to my enemy:
I am neither greedy for favour, nor afraid of revenge.
He takes immense pride in his sword’s power,
But he can’t judge the grandeur of a pen.

My pen is not the character of that protector
Who takes pride in besieging his own city.
My pen is not the bowl of that debased,
Who bestows praises upon the usurper.
My pen is not the tool of that burglar
Who breaks the roof his own house.
My pen is not the companion of that night-thief
Who throws up a lasso on the unlit houses.
My pen is not the rosary of that preacher,
Who keeps counting the moments of his prayer.
My pen is not the scale of that arbiter,
Who keeps two masks for his face to cover.

My pen is the safekeeping of my people.
My pen is the law-court of my conscience.
That’s why, whatever I wrote, I wrote with passion of life.
That gave to my poems the supple of bow, and the tongue of arrow.
Whether I lay cut here, or be spared, I believe,
Somebody will wreck this wall of oppression.
I swear for my torment-stricken life,
The voyage of my pen will not be futile.

The passion of love did not get a nature that weakens the lover.
Instead of seeing the height of the cypress, you are gauging its shadow!

Be first to comment this article | Quote this article on your site | Print | E-mail

You sprinkled gold-dust on the forehead of the Earth
But lived yourself in the gloomy expanses.
You wove an Eden of dreams for others,   
But burnt yourself in the inferno of misery.
You listened to the heartbeat of humanity,
But spat blood for all your life.

Whenever the world burnt in the fire of war,
You sang lullabies of peace.
Whenever blew the storm of destruction
You showed the beacons of light.
The human civilization owes its blooming to you,
But you had to face the arrow-dart of tyranny.

You adorned your masterpieces with your heart-blood,
But your hands were chopped off, as reward.
You led the world to the springs of nectar,
As reward, you had to drink the bowls of poison.
Alas! You had to die at the hands of the world,
Though you lived all your life to serve the world.

You were not a messenger, a claimant of heavens.
You talked about earth, with the earthly people.
You gave to the dust the spark of stars,
Though you were deprived of your eyes.
You healed the wounded hearts of people,
But in return the world crucified you.

From the castle and court to the street of gallows,
The chain is the same, as it used to be in the past.
You were denied the fragrance of a garden, while alive,
But after death, you have a grave with flowers covered.
O the saviors! How long this suicide!
There are vast distances between earth and heavens!

Be first to comment this article | Quote this article on your site | Print | E-mail

If not Frontier, read Tribune

If not Calcutta, talk about Dacca

Bring the clippings from

Organiser and Punjab Kesari

And tell me

Where are these eagles  flying?

Who has died?

Time is not any dog

That can be chained and driven wherever you like

You tell us

Mao says this and Mao says that

I ask you, who is Mao to say anything?

Words cannot be pawned away

Time itself can speak

Moments are not speechless.

You sit in the Ramble

Or drink a cup of tea from a side stall

Speak truth or lie -

It doesn't matter,

You may even jump over the corpse of silence

-------

And O rulers, ask

Your police and tell me

Whether I am imprisoned behind the bars

Or this policeman standing across?

Truth is not a whore of AIR

Time is not any dog.

Be first to comment this article | Quote this article on your site | Print | E-mail