όχι ότι μας περισσεύει το πάθος και η όρεξη
όχι πως τη ζωή μας θα θυσιάζαμε
μα δεν είναι κρίμα
που δεν ζούμε
σε επαναστατικούς καιρούς
για τίποτα σήμερα δε μπορείς να φωνάξεις
όχι πως απαγορεύεται
αλλά είναι
πως να το πω
αντιαισθητικό
και όλα είναι
τόσο κοινά και προβλέψιμα
δεν υπάρχουν ήρωες
να μας οδηγήσουν
και το να χορεύεις στο δρόμο φαντάζει
τόσο γραφικό
δεν είναι κρίμα
τον τόσο νεανικό ενθουσιασμό μας
να χαραμίζουμε
πόσο τυχεροί οι νέοι του 1968
που είχαν σε κάτι να πιστεύουν
και ας τους σκότωσε
σήμερα η πίστη είναι ντεμοντέ
δεν είναι κρίμα να μην έχουμε τίποτα
ούτε καν το γλυκό ψέμα του 1968
μπορεί να μην τα καταφέρναμε
δε μας περισσεύει δα και η φλόγα
όμως δεν είναι κρίμα
που τα χρόνια της νιότης μας φεύγουν
χωρίς την τραγικότητα της εξέγερσης;
2 σχόλια:
To Posterity
by Bertold Brecht
(translated from German by H. R. Hays)
1.
Indeed I live in the dark ages!
A guileless word is an absurdity. A smooth forehead betokens
A hard heart. He who laughs
Has not yet heard
The terrible tidings.
Ah, what an age it is
When to speak of trees is almost a crime
For it is a kind of silence about injustice!
And he who walks calmly across the street,
Is he not out of reach of his friends
In trouble?
It is true: I earn my living
But, believe me, it is only an accident.
Nothing that I do entitles me to eat my fill.
By chance I was spared. (If my luck leaves me
I am lost.)
They tell me: eat and drink. Be glad you have it!
But how can I eat and drink
When my food is snatched from the hungry
And my glass of water belongs to the thirsty?
And yet I eat and drink.
I would gladly be wise.
The old books tell us what wisdom is:
Avoid the strife of the world
Live out your little time
Fearing no one
Using no violence
Returning good for evil --
Not fulfillment of desire but forgetfulness
Passes for wisdom.
I can do none of this:
Indeed I live in the dark ages!
2.
I came to the cities in a time of disorder
When hunger ruled.
I came among men in a time of uprising
And I revolted with them.
So the time passed away
Which on earth was given me.
I ate my food between massacres.
The shadow of murder lay upon my sleep.
And when I loved, I loved with indifference.
I looked upon nature with impatience.
So the time passed away
Which on earth was given me.
In my time streets led to the quicksand.
Speech betrayed me to the slaughterer.
There was little I could do. But without me
The rulers would have been more secure. This was my hope.
So the time passed away
Which on earth was given me.
3.
You, who shall emerge from the flood
In which we are sinking,
Think --
When you speak of our weaknesses,
Also of the dark time
That brought them forth.
For we went,changing our country more often than our shoes.
In the class war, despairing
When there was only injustice and no resistance.
For we knew only too well:
Even the hatred of squalor
Makes the brow grow stern.
Even anger against injustice
Makes the voice grow harsh. Alas, we
Who wished to lay the foundations of kindness
Could not ourselves be kind.
But you, when at last it comes to pass
That man can help his fellow man,
Do no judge us
Too harshly.
Νοσταλγικός αλλά ωραίος (και) σήμερα. Ξέρω, δεν κάνει και πολύ για σχόλιο αυτό που αφήνω, αλλά μου άρεσαν τόσο το post όσο και το "σχόλιο". Τους δικούς μου -σαφώς λιγότερο ποιητικούς και νοσταλγικούς- προβληματισμούς μου για το Μάη του 68 και τις επαναστατικές μας "ευκαιρίες" του σήμερα, θα τους διαβάσεις -αν θέλεις- εδώ: http://darkly-noon.spaces.live.com/blog/cns!FA4D6087E027367B!1669.entry
http://darkly-noon.spaces.live.com
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