The river sings praises. . .
The river sings praises. Stars in the trees.
The smell of thyme and peppermint,
Our brows are freshened by a little breeze
We are the children, this is God's present.
The grass is soft: the woman without bitterness
The lovely willows make everything rejoice:
Pleasure's a certainty for those who will say yes.
Never again would you want to leave this place.
I am absolutely certain. . .
I am absolutely certain that tomorrow will be fine
That after rain comes sun
That my neighbour loves his daughter
My enemy is a bad man.
Also I have no doubt
That I'm doing better than almost everyone else.
Also I've never been heard to say
Things have got worse
The race is degenerating
Or that there are no women who are happy with just one man.
In all those matters
I am more generous, more trusting, more polite than the discontented
For all those matters
Seem to me of little consequence.
Yes, friends, now the grass is all eaten up. . .
Yes, friends, now the grass is all eaten up
And word is going round the continents that life
Is no longer worth living
The races are old, expect nothing more of them
The little planet is nimble and picked to the bone
It's all over and done with, for a while there was some chatter about it
Nothing more. We are
Merely a rare little generation of eyewitnesses
And the age will be called
The Age of Rubber
___________________________
The Collected Poems of
Bertolt Brecht
translated by Tom Kuhn & David Constantine
Liveright 2018
