About the Seduction of an Angel

  ringl+pit, Bertolt Brecht, 1931

About the Seduction of an Angel 
Bertolt Brecht, 1948

Angels can not be seduced at all or quickly.
Pull him into the entryway,
stick your tongue in his mouth and reach

under his robe, til he gets wet; put
his face to the wall, lift his robe
and fuck him.  If he stares in anguish
then hold him tightly and let him come two times;
otherwise, by the end, he'll be in shock.

Admonish him so he sways his butt;
let him know he's free to grab your balls.
Tell him he can fall without fear
while he is hanging between earth and heaven -

but don't look him in the face while you are fucking him
and, for heaven's sake, don't crush his wings.

 

Kees van Dongen, Tango of the Archangel, 1922

 

Über die Verführung von Engeln
Bertolt Brecht, 1948

Engel verführt man gar nicht oder schnell.
Verzieh ihn einfach in den Hauseingang
Steck ihm die Zunge in den Hals und lang

Ihm untern Rock, bis er sich nass macht, stell
Ihn, das Gesicht zur Wand, heb ihm den Rock
Und fick ihn.
Stöhnt er irgendwie beklommen
Dann halt ihn fest und lass ihn zweimal kommen
Sonst hat er dir am Ende einen Schock.

Ermahn ihn, dass er gut den Hintern schwenkt
Heiß ihn dir ruhig an die Hoden zu fassen
Sag ihm, er darf sich furchtlos fallen lassen
Dieweil er zwischen Erd und Himmel hängt -

Doch schau ihm nicht beim Ficken ins Gesicht
Und seine Flügel, Mensch, zerdrück sie nicht.

Walter Rheiner - Cocain

 Conrad Felixmüller, Death of the Poet Walter Rheiner, 1925

Walter Rheiner (1895-1925) was born in Cologne. He began a training as a businessman in Liege, Paris and London which gave but little success. Already at the age of sixteen, he was active as a writer. When Rheiner was called up for military service in 1914, he admitted to take drugs, thus trying to escape the draft. Despite this, he was sent with the start of World War I to the Russian front. After a rehabilitation failed and his earlier deception attempt came to light, he was suspended from duty in 1917 and moved to Berlin. There, constantly plagued by money worries, Rheine lived like a literary nomad staying with friends or seeking shelter in cheap flophouses. He spent much time begging in the legendary Romanischen Café where he met with well-known artists such as Claire and Ivan Goll, Else Lasker-Schüler, Ludwig Meidner and Theodor Däubler.

 Heinrich-Maria Davringhausen, The Poet Däubler, 1917

 Theodor Däubler, Giganten (1919, First Stanza)

Träume fassen langsam meine Hand
Oder nehmen etwas flugleicht von den Schläfen.
Sie geben mir den Teppichschritt zu andern Häfen.
Durch das Geträume hüpft, verknüpft sich blau ein Band.

 

Some of Rheiner's lyric works were illustrated by his friend Conrad Felixmüller. He also wrote some articles for Franz Pfemfert's radical magazin Die Aktion. His addiction to cocaine and morphine worsened, and, temporarily declared incapacitated, he was sent to a closed mental institution in Bonn. At this point, his wife left him, his artistic creativity was dwindling, and, impoverished and isolated, he spent his final years in a nomadic existence. In 1925 Rheiner committed suicide in a flophouse in Berlin's Kantstraße by taking an overdose of morphine. His friend Conrad Felixmüller later dedicated to him his famous painting "The Death of the Poet Walter Rheiner" (shown above).

Frieda Riess, Gottfried Benn, 1924

 Gottfried Benn, Kokain (1917)

Den Ich-zerfall, den süßen, tiefersehnten,
Den gibst Du mir: schon ist die Kehle rauh,
Schon ist der fremde Klang an unerwähnten
Gebilden meines Ichs am Unterbau.

Nicht mehr am Schwerte, das der Mutter Scheide
Entsprang, um da und dort ein Werk zu tun
Und stählern schlägt --: gesunken in die Heide,
Wo Hügel kaum enthüllter Formen ruhn!

Ein laues Glatt, ein kleines Etwas, eben -
Und nun entsteigt für Hauche eines Wehns
Das Ur, geballt, Nicht-seine beben
Hirnschauer mürbesten Vorübergehns.

Zersprengtes Ich - o aufgetrunkene Schwäre -
Verwehte Fieber - süß zerborstene Wehr -:
Verströme, o verströme Du - gebäre
Blutbäuchig das Entformte her.

Rheiner's only work ever reprinted is the 1918 short novel "Cocain". In this insightful study of a cocaine psychosis he described the misery of a drug addict, his life of hallucinations, and the increasingly strong urge for injections. In the end, the protagonist sees no way out of his misery and commits suicide. "Cocain" has recently been published as an eBook (in German language only); you can download it free of charge here. 

Questions From a Worker Who Reads

Rudolf Schlichter, Portrait Bert Brecht, 1926

Questions From a Worker Who Reads  

by Bertolt Brecht (1928)

Who built Thebes of the seven gates?
In the books you will find the names of kings.
Did the kings haul up the lumps of rock?
And Babylon, many times demolished
Who raised it up so many times? In what houses
of gold-glittering Lima did the builders live?
Where, the evening that the Wall of China was finished
Did the masons go? Great Rome
Is full of triumphal arches. Who erected them? Over whom
Did the Caesars triumph? Had Byzantium, much praised in song
Only palaces for its inhabitants? Even in fabled Atlantis
The night the ocean engulfed it
The drowning still bawled for their slaves.

The young Alexander conquered India.
Was he alone?
Caesar beat the Gauls.
Did he not have even a cook with him?

Philip of Spain wept when his armada
Went down. Was he the only one to weep?
Frederick the Second won the Seven Year's War. Who
Else won it?

Every page a victory.
Who cooked the feast for the victors?
Every ten years a great man?
Who paid the bill?

So many reports.
So many questions. 

Heinrich Hoerle, The Worker, 1922

Learn your History!

My young son asks me...

by Bertold Brecht  (1940)

My young son asks me: Must I learn mathematics?
What is the use, I feel like saying. That two pieces
Of bread are more than one's about all you'll end up with.
My young son asks me: Must I learn French?
What is the use, I feel like saying. This State's collapsing.

And if you just rub your belly with your hand and
Groan, you'll be understood with little trouble.
My young son asks me: Must I learn history?
What is the use, I feel like saying. Learn to stick
Your head in the earth, and maybe you'll still survive.

Yes, learn mathematics, I tell him.
Learn your French, learn your history!

Karl Hubbuch, Children in School, 1925