[Marxism] Bertolt Brecht: Poet and Communist

Louis Proyect lnp3 at panix.com
Sun Dec 16 12:39:41 MST 2018


NY Times Sunday Book Review, Dec. 16, 2018
Bertolt Brecht: Poet and Communist
By Corinna da Fonseca-Wollheim

THE COLLECTED POEMS OF BERTOLT BRECHT
Translated and edited by Tom Kuhn and David Constantine
1,286 pp. Liveright Publishing. $49.95.

Bertolt Brecht spent the summer of 1953 in his holiday home by a lake 
halfway between Berlin and the Polish border. In this “not 
unaristocratic” villa with its tea pavilion and private pontoon he 
worked on poems that would enter his final collection, the “Buckow 
Elegies.” Stalin had died earlier that year. In June an uprising of 
about one million East Germans had been brutally suppressed by a regime 
Brecht had fought for, and continued to defend publicly.

But the “Buckow Elegies” are needled by Brecht’s bad conscience. “Would 
it not be simpler,” he asks in “The solution,” if instead of punishing 
the populace, the government “Dissolved the people and / Elected another 
one?” In “The Muses” he likens pro-Stalin intellectuals to codependent 
prostitutes adoring their abuser.

But where did that leave him? The Roman poet Horace had said that poetry 
outlives anything cast in bronze. Would his, Brecht wondered in one of 
his last contributions to the genre?

Not even the Deluge
Lasted forever.
Came a day when its
Black waters subsided.
True, though, not many
Lived to outlast it.

For many, the aspects of Brecht (1898-1956) that have outlasted the 
black waters of time are his plays and his politics. With “The Collected 
Poems of Bertolt Brecht,” the translators Tom Kuhn and David Constantine 
invite English-speaking readers to discover Brecht the poet. The more 
than 1,000 entries — some published for the first time in English — are 
only about half of Brecht’s lyric output. But they give a sense of the 
fertility of his pristine, unsentimental language and the breadth of 
subject and form.

A collection this size is often said to contain something for everybody. 
In this one, every reader is sure to find something to take offense at. 
There’s Brecht’s politics for starters, the unblinking zeal with which 
he defended Communist violence and Communist rule. There are 
pornographic exercises inspired by a procession of women, many of whose 
brains he exploited along with their bodies.

And yet. “Brecht is a great poet,” the translators write in their 
introduction, “one of the three or four best in the whole of German 
literature.” This volume holds enough evidence to support that claim, 
from the Rabelaisian brilliance of the “Domestic Breviary” (1927) and 
the bitter clarity of the poems written in exile from the Third Reich to 
the meditative grace of late poems that is found in between — or 
sometimes within — odes to machines and Marxist dialectic.

Translating Brecht is no easy task, especially in the early rhyming 
poems that borrow their form from Dante and Shakespeare. The “Domestic 
Breviary” is full of ballads that are meant to be read out loud, 
preferably while smoking, to lute or guitar.

The lurid palette of Expressionism colors these works and their 
obsession with death and decay. A newspaper item inspired “Apfelböck or 
the lily of the field,” about a young man who kills his parents, shoves 
them into a cupboard and continues to live in the house until the stench 
forces him to sleep on the balcony. In “The ship,” told in the first 
person, an empty vessel disintegrates and fills with parasitic creatures 
as it glides “Mute and fat towards the ghastly heavens.”

In the “Ballad of Mazeppa” a condemned man is tied to the back of his 
horse with ropes that cut into his flesh with every movement of the 
fleeing animal. Over the course of 11 stanzas the reader becomes 
complicit in the sadistic ride, propelled by the lilting meter and roped 
in, as it were, by the simple rhyme scheme.

The translation retains much of that power as well as the archaic 
boldness of the language.

Three days till the ropes that bound him revolted
The heavens were green and the grass was dun!
Oh the crows and the vultures above his head
Were brawling already over this live carrion.

The title of the “Domestic Breviary” is borrowed from Lutheran and 
Catholic manuals, with Brecht’s didactic energy turned toward exposing a 
world in which human suffering is man-made and unredeemed. “The 
Infanticide Marie Farrar” tells the true story of a teenage domestic who 
had tried to abort her pregnancy “with two injections, allegedly 
painful,” but was forced to carry to term. It works all the way through 
her contractions.

After Marie has given birth in an outhouse she is “quite at a loss by 
then and barely / Able to hold him, being half stiff with cold / Because 
the snow blows in the servants’ privy.” When the child cries, she beats 
it to death.

In the original German the interlocking rhymes have the simple mnemonic 
power of devotional verses for the layman; each stanza ends with a 
rhyming couplet exhorting the reader to compassion. In this translation 
the rhymes are often approximate and the refrain wan: “I beg of you, 
contain your wrath for all / God’s creatures need the help of all.”

The translators’ work becomes easier after this initial period in 
Brecht’s life. By the time he writes from exile — by his own estimate, 
he changed country more often than shoes during the Nazi years — he 
begins to develop a style devoid, as the Bauhaus aesthetic would have 
it, of the crime of ornament.

“The thought bobbed on the waves” of rhyme and meter, Brecht later said 
of his early output. Now the thought was the form.

Meanwhile the bard became a teacher and guide offering encouragement, 
advice and warning to fellow political travelers. Poems like “A Lesson 
in Sabotage” now seem dated. But the prescience of “Questions of a 
worker who reads,” from 1935, is borne out on every college campus:

“Who built the seven gates of Thebes? / In books you will read the names 
of kings. / Was it the kings who dragged the stones into place?” it 
begins, deflating the historiography of powerful men. Even in Atlantis, 
he writes, “That night when the ocean engulfed it, the drowning / Roared 
out for their slaves.”

For all its dry precision Brecht’s language in works like this retains 
poetic dignity. The poet speaks in unadorned verses like an orator with 
a soapbox under his feet. These lines demand to be recited slowly, with 
clear enunciation as in an echoing space.

That sense of resonance also gives lingering power to the miniatures 
that Brecht penned throughout his career. Many of these speak of simple 
pleasures — a garden, birdsong, the splash of cold water on a 
work-grimed face — and the best have an enigmatic stillness that is far 
removed from the ideological din of the political poems.

Take, for instance, “Smoke,” from after Brecht had returned to what was 
then the German Democratic Republic:

The little house among trees by the lake
 From the chimney smoke is rising
If it weren’t
How sad would be
House, trees and lake.

And in “Changing the wheel,” part of those late “Buckow Elegies,” Brecht 
seems to question to what extent his lifelong drive for social change is 
an expression of a much deeper and personal restlessness:

I am sitting by the side of the road.
The driver is changing the wheel.
I don’t like where I was.
I don’t like where I am going to.
Why do I watch the changing of the wheel
With impatience?

Corinna da Fonseca-Wollheim is a contributing classical music critic for 
The Times.


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