Post photo: Enjoying coffee | © Pixabay
Political stalling tactics and discussions about fundamental programs that do not yet exist, which only end in one thing here, namely that pensions will continue to be secure, still do not make me despair, but they do make me look for suitable poems.
Some clever fellow once said that anyone who philosophizes is not happy with the state of the world, which is clearly much better than throwing Molotov cocktails and stones, sabotaging the railway with strikes or simply being an administrative employee and bullying the little people.
My poetry find today comes from Albrecht Haushofer, who was assassinated by his fellow citizens in 1945. His poem “Downfall” is one of them Moabite sonnets, which he wrote in prison after his arrest in 1944.
The Fall (XLVI)
How easy it is to hear of other people's downfalls,
How one bears the heavy fall of one's own people!
From the stranger it is a distant echo,
In its own right it is a loud urge to die.A death urge born of hatred,
Conceived in spite of revenge and arrogance -
Now it is destroyed, broken and bowed down,
And even the best is lost in the fall.That this people could not endure the victories -
The mills of God have been grinding quickly,
How terribly it now has to pay for the intoxication.It was so hard when it hit the others
Albrecht Haushofer
So deaf to his victims' death wails -
How can one bear being a victim now...
In the meantime, we will continue to suppress and forget, slapping each other on the thighs for our supposed greatness, hard work, intelligence and successes, until the first Russian tanks appear in the east of Heilbronn - after which we will greet them as liberators and simply continue to suppress and forget …
