Now my translation of Brecht's poem, finally...
GERMANY 1933
"Let others speak of their misfortune
I am speaking of my own"
O Germany, pale mother
How you sit befouled
Among the Nations!
Among the blood-stained
You stand out!
Of your sons the poorest
Lays slain
When his hunger was great
You other sons
Raised their hand against him.
This has become notorious
With their hands thus raised
They rise against their brother
They stroll insolently in your midst
And laugh in your face.
That one knows...
In your house
Is lie, loudly bawled
But the truth
Must keep silent.
Is this so?
Why do the oppressors from every side praise you, but
The oppressed inculpate you?
The exploited
Point their fingers at you, but
The exploiters laud the system
Begot in your house!
And at the same time they all see you
Hiding the corner of your garment, which is bloody
From the blood of your
Best son.
O Germany
When one hears the speeches that ring from your house, one laughs.
But whoever sees you reaches out for his knife
As though seeing a murderer.
O Germany, pale mother!
What have your sons made out of you
That you sit among the Nations
Ridicule or awe!
1 comment:
Very much of it apply to Bahrain, like, exactly, everything.
Didn't know that poem from Bertold.
Do you have a link to the original? In German words sounds like a music.
Thank you.
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