Quote of the Week

"Which is the greater crime, to rob a bank or to own one?''
- Bertolt Brecht

Back by popular demand!

After a short absence, our "quote of the week" feature returns with this gem from Bertolt Brecht's satire of decaying & rotting capitalism, The Three-Penny Opera, sent to us by one Mrs EH Jones of Treharris Street, Roath.

As our many readers and correspondents know our site aims to be the 'voice of the streets'.

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A Worker Reads History

Who built the seven gates of Thebes?
The books are filled with names of kings.
Was it the kings who hauled the craggy blocks of stone?
And Babylon, so many times destroyed.
Who built the city up each time? In which of Lima's houses,
That city glittering with gold, lived those who built it?
In the evening when the Chinese wall was finished
Where did the masons go? Imperial Rome
Is full of arcs of triumph. Who reared them up? Over whom
Did the Caesars triumph? Byzantium lives in song.
Were all her dwellings palaces? And even in Atlantis of the legend
The night the seas rushed in,
The drowning men still bellowed for their slaves.
Young Alexander conquered India.
He alone?
Caesar beat the Gauls.
Was there not even a cook in his army?
Phillip of Spain wept as his fleet
was sunk and destroyed. Were there no other tears?
Frederick the Greek triumphed in the Seven Years War.
Who triumphed with him?
Each page a victory
At whose expense the victory ball?
Every ten years a great man,
Who paid the piper?

So many particulars.
So many questions.

- Bertold Brecht

I came to the cities in a time of disorder . . .

Respect member, Adam Johannes, sent us this short extract from a poem by socialist playwright and poet Bertolt Brecht, that speaks eloquently about these scoundrel times that we are living through . . .

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.

Bertold Brecht, from "To Posterity"

Full poem here: http://www.eecg.toronto.edu/~flouris/docs/brecht1.html