David Selzer is a writer of poetry, prose fiction, screenplays and stage plays. He embraces digital platforms to share his work of more than fifty years… READ MORE


  • WHEN THE TIMES DARKEN

    After the Anschluss and Sudetenland,

    before the invasion of Poland,

    Bertholt Brecht, in exile from the Third Reich

    in a thatched cottage on a Danish island,

    posed a question in a short poem –

    ‘When the dark times arrive will there still be songs?’

    As poets tend to do Brecht answered himself.

    ‘Yes, there will even then be singing – about

    the dark times that have come’.

     

    After the arms manufacturer’s profits

    have returned to normal, and democratic

    politicians’ have devised new distractions

    for their electorates, and cheerleaders

    who would send other people’s sons and daughters

    to war have found new enthusiasms,

    and the defeated have been punished,

    the pacifists admonished, the victors

    exonerated, and much of Africa

    and the so-called Middle East has been unpeopled

    by famine, and the world continues

    to be consumed by fire, drought and flood,

    will there still be singing?

     

     

    Note: For a translation rather than an imitation of Brecht’s ‘In den finsteren Zeiten…’ see Edwin Morgan’s: https://www.scottishpoetrylibrary.org.uk/poem/when-times-darken/.

     


    2 responses to “WHEN THE TIMES DARKEN”


    1. Mary Clark Avatar

      In the dark times we need singing more. Think of the slaves in the U.S. and the Caribbean singing as they worked and in their brief times of rest. Famine and illness, though, can silence people. As long as we can find a bite to eat and keep walking or crawling, some will be singing about the end of the dark times. Even when it seems insane to hope for that end.

    2. Harvey Lillywhite Avatar

      You could
      Say the Big Bang was the first
      Song and all the spiral
      Galaxies further
      Tunes spinning on the cosmic
      Turntable: the individual planets’
      Voices, call-and-response
      Moons, even tiny
      Eddies in a meadow
      Brook where nearby
      Legions of
      Warblers sing up the
      Sun and some crazy
      Birds warble in the darkest
      Night. Never will any of
      Us stop our
      Throats, our souls
      From singing.

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