The Dying Poet’s Address to Young People - Bertolt Brecht

[Larry Robinson]

The Dying Poet’s Address to Young People
 
You young people of times to come
And of new dawns over cities which
Have yet to be built, also you
Who are still unborn, listen
To my voice, the voice of a man who died
And not gloriously.
 
But
Like a farmer who has not tended his land
And like a lazy carpenter who ran away
Leaving the rafters uncovered.
 
Thus did I
Waste my time, squander my days and now
I must ask you
To say everything that was not said
To do everything that was not done, and quickly
To forget me, please, so that
My bad example does not lead you astray.
 
Ah why did I
Sit down at table with those who produced nothing
And share the meal which they had not prepared?
 
And why did I mix
My best sayings with their
Idle chatter? While outside
Unschooled people were walking around
Thirsty for instruction.
 
Ah why
Do my songs not rise from the places where
The cities are nourished, where they build ships, why
Do they not rise from the fast moving
Locomotives like smoke which
Stays behind in the sky?
 
Because for people who create and are useful
My talk
Is like ashes in the mouth and a drunken mumbling. 
Not a single word
Can I offer you, you generations of time to come
Not one indication could I give, pointing
With my uncertain finger, for how could anyone
Show the way who has not
Traveled it himself?
 
So all I can do, who have thus
Wasted my life, is tell you
To obey not a single command that comes
>From our rotten mouths and to take
No advice from those
Who have failed so badly, but
To decide for yourselves what is good for you
And what will help you
To cultivate the land which we let go to ruin, and
To make the cities
Which we poisoned
Places for people to live in.
 
	- Bertolt Brecht