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The Burning of the Books
by Bertolt Brecht
loose translation by Michael R. Burch

When the Regime
commanded the unlawful books to be burned,
teams of dull oxen hauled huge cartloads to the bonfires.

Then a banished writer, one of the best,
scanning the list of excommunicated texts,
became enraged: he’d been excluded! 

He rushed to his desk, full of contemptuous wrath,
to write fiery letters to the morons in power — 
Burn me! he wrote with his blazing pen — 
Haven’t I always reported the truth?
Now here you are, treating me like a liar!
Burn me! 

Parting
by Bertolt Brecht
loose translation by Michael R. Burch

We embrace;
my fingers trace
rich cloth;
yours only threadbare fabric.
A quick hug:
you were invited to the gay soiree
while the law’s minions relentlessly pursue me.
We talk about the weather
and our eternal friendship. 
Anything else would be too bitter.

Radio Poem
by Bertolt Brecht
loose translation by Michael R. Burch

You, little box, held tightly 
to me,
escaping,
so that your delicate tubes do not break;
carried from house to house, from ship to train, 
so that my enemies may continue communicating with me
on land and at sea
and even in my bed, to my pain;
the last thing I hear at night, the first thing when I awake,
recounting their many conquests and my litany of cares, 
promise me not to go silent all of a sudden,
unawares.

The Mask of Evil
by Bertolt Brecht
loose translation by Michael R. Burch

A Japanese carving hangs on my wall – 
the mask of an ancient demon, limned with golden lacquer. 
Not altogether unsympathetically, I observe 
the bulging veins of its forehead, noting
the great effort it takes to be evil.

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