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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required 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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