[POET’s NOTE : This is the first of five poems on Revolutionary Poet, Bertolt Brecht, who had a profound impact on South African revolutionaries during the transition into a National Democratic state from an Apartheid one. We often read from his works during mass meetings for change.
Brecht worked in hexameters, rhyming quatrains, sonnets, ballads, unrhyming verse in regular meters, as well as shapes, as occasion demanded. For Brecht, technique & form mattered less than content, except that it held content stable. ]
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Bertolt Brecht, his revolutionary vivid poems are etched into spinal nerves deep
his dramatic language caused awakenings from ignorant sleep
poetic outpourings against war flashed bleep bleep
he had to flee home country with human consciousness to sweep
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“Do not fear death so much but rather the inadequate life.” Bertolt Brecht
They gathered around the table to a game of bingo
at tables decorated with pink flamingos
Blank stares and forced smiles on some faces
Some lost in their own thoughts from other places
A shout out of” Bingo” brings them back for a moment
Eagerly awaiting that coin prize as a bestowment
Soon it’s time to go back to their lonely rooms
As they are slowly wheeled back amongst the putrid fumes
Their halls are haunted daily by cries of pain and despair
As most would not have chosen to be there
Their happiness lost in memories of a past life
When they lived with family, or had a husband or wife
As night falls they're settled in their hospital beds
Praying for sleep as they are taking their nighttime meds
Some stay awake as they hope for that silent kiss
The kiss of death would be welcomed by many with bliss
There are loves that happen one day,
And they are good ...
others who live a year
And they are better ...
There are others who survive many years
And they are very good ...
But there are others who perpetuate themselves
For all lives ...
These are the eternal,
The indispensable ...
This is truly mine!
O my passenger, companion
From infinity ...!
you !
The lines are well rehearsed
The blocking to perfection
No curtain yet to elevate
Audience anticipation
A gentle mist wafts across
The scene is set and ready
Our actors find a mark
Low voices slow and steady
We witness fighting
Friendship, love, a tangle of emotion
The heart it lifts or falls in time
Betrayal and devotion
Death and life parade before
A story twisty-turny
The hero has to test his heart
Through convoluted journey
All characters are woven
The plot line slowly thickens
A tribute to the tellers
Whether Shakespeare, Brecht or Dickens
An interval, a time to breathe
Reset the scene and go
Refresh, review, reconnect
Then on we must; This Show
Jinjagoliath
23rd September
Eugene Bertolt Brecht
with mkral realism had much effect
A poet/composer the real.mccoy
with an intellect to enjoy
We all desire to be poets
we were born to write wanting this
be the Poe that we find so strange
be Emile with her enchantment
Being Brecht in definitive elucubrations
Being romantic realistic as Rousseau
or even internet literati,
minor court drama writers from our districts...
Well-known, consecrated poets
award winners...
We discovered that we are simple, mortal... not all dreams
take place...
But don't be discouraged
life is not just here and in this world...!
When you say you're coming,
I don't wait for you...
when you say
"I am Just arriving", dear,
hopelessly
I am sure you never come!
Saw Brecht rolling in his grave
And Weill gasping for air.
And the masterful Brecht rave,
And rant and try to be fair.
(if that is possible for his rage,)
that audience-tested Happy endings
by TV and Hollywood rule the age
and color rosy, these times' being
With gorge rising say, we all love
Those Happy Endings, so addicted
And far into labored joy they shove
Thus, the truth of our lives we ignore
With plenty of joy and sorrow sure,
And lead so willingly by the "corps."
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