Resentment is the key word of our time. While watching the footage of Naomi Wolf being arrested around Wall Street, I try to imagine how the local police arrest one of the Montenegrin intellectuals at some similar protests. And I'm not doing very well. Unfortunately, here, as things stand now, it would be easier to imagine intellectuals arresting dissenters. They are so dedicated (in) service.
After all, when you read some of the texts of the patriotic intellectuals here, it seems to you that the indictment has been written, and that they will immediately go out into the streets to make arrests. And where are they outraged? They hang out in cafes. After all, I have noticed that many domestic writers and intellectuals happily accept the idea of engagement when the target of criticism is, for example, politicians from Serbia or Croatia, but when they move to the domestic field, that energy suddenly sizzles, turns into something like the singing of poodles...
Indeed, I live in a dark time!, with that verse Brecht begins his great, anthological poem (and he mostly wrote just such poems), which today in the Anthology column we present to the readers of Art. If they also have the feeling that they are "living in dark times", let that just tell them how timeless poetry is, but another angle of view might be interesting: Brecht lived a long time ago - and today's poets don't write such verses anymore? Or, simply, we don't know about them? In both cases, it is a devastating diagnosis. And for poetry, and for our (dark) time.
A harmless word is stupid. A carefree forehead / It is a sign of insensitivity. The one who laughs / He just hasn't received it yet / The terrible news, continues the writer of Three Groschen Opera and Galileo.
Can today's reader be disturbed by the lines: What a time it is when / Talking about trees is almost a crime / Because it implies silence about so many crimes! / Is he who calmly crosses the street there / Really not at home for his friends / Who are in trouble?
I don't know if the "indignant" around the world read poetry at their gatherings - it used to be both normal and very effective - but this poem by Brecht would please the indignant ear. In the end - since most of the anger is directed towards the banks and the international banking fraternity, don't those words of Brecht sound more true today than ever that the thief is not the one who robs, but the one who founds a bank?
Today, even the death of a dictator does not seem like the end of a dictatorship. In a symbolic dimension - the Libyans killed their dictator like a dog. But their joy seems extremely naive. In the dimension of the real - they will never be able to get rid of their next and probably longer-lived dictator that way. An oil consortium or a multinational company cannot be killed like a dog.
Montenegrin students intend to intensify their protests. (Il, I succumb to vain hopes, as another genius poet, K. Cavafy, would say.) Just let them "occupy" the squares instead of the halls - the halls are essentially so harmless that you can even see university pillars of the regime among the students. What will mentor Bob Rocca do? Perhaps he was tasked by the master to water down the rhetoric of the protest. When your voice echoes in the squares, gentlemen students, it will be harder for them to turn you into hot water fighters.
Since, in principle, it is much more difficult to get freedom than hot water - call a spade a spade. When you read this poem by Brecht, you will realize that you can at least do that.
The roads in my time led to swamps. / My speech betrayed me to the executioner. / There was little I could do. But the rulers, / I hoped, would sit more safely without me. / That's how my time passed / Which was given to me on earth, says Brecht.
And how is your time given to you on earth going?
Bonus video:
