War Primer. Bertolt Brecht
>
Bertolt Brecht
WAR PRIMER
Translated and edited with an afterword and notes by John Willett
This edition published by Verso 2017
English-language edition first published by Libris 1998
Originally published in German as Kriegsfibel by Eulenspiegel Verlag 1955
Translation © Stefan S. Brecht 1998, 2017
Afterword, notes and chronology © John Willett 1998, 2017
All rights reserved
The moral rights of the authors have been asserted
1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2
Verso
UK: 6 Meard Street, London W1F 0EG
US: 20 Jay Street, Suite 1010, Brooklyn, NY 11201
Verso is the imprint of New Left Books
ISBN-13: 978-1-78478-208-5
ISBN-13: 978-1-78478-209-2 (UK EBK)
ISBN-13: 978-1-78478-210-8 (US EBK)
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
A catalog record for this book is available from the Library of Congress
Typeset by MJ&N Gavan, Truro, Cornwall
Printed and bound by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY
WAR PRIMER
Afterword
Brecht’s War: A Chronology
Notes
Concordance
Like one who dreams the road ahead is steep
I know the way Fate has prescribed for us
That narrow way towards a precipice.
Just follow. I can find it in my sleep.
‘What’s that you’re making, brothers?’ ‘Iron waggons.’
‘And what about those great steel plates you’re lifting?’
‘They’re for the guns that blast the iron to pieces.’
‘And what’s it all for, brothers?’ ‘It’s our living.’
Women are bathing on the Spanish coast.
They climb up from the seashore to the cliffs
And often find black oil on arm and breast:
The only traces left of sunken ships.
The conqueror, General Juan Yagüe, kneels before his throne-chair at an open-air mass in Barcelona’s Plaza de Catalunya. In background is the Hotel Colon, whose tower is seen again in the picture below, at lower right. Behind Yagüe are Generals Martín Alonso, Barrón, Vega. Yagüe and Solchaga moved off to chase Loyalists to the border.
The bells are pealing and the guns saluting.
Now thank we God who told us to enlist
And gave us rifles to be used for shooting.
The mob is vulgar. God is a Fascist.
Suppose you hear someone proclaim that he
Invaded and destroyed a mighty state
In eighteen days, ask what became of me:
For I was there, and lasted only eight.
Great fires are blazing in the Arctic regions
In lonely fjords the clamour’s at its height.
‘Say, fishermen: who launched those deadly legions?’
‘Our great Protector, protected by the night.’
Eight thousand strong we lie in the Skagerrak.
Packed into cattleboats we crossed the sea.
Fisherman, when fish have filled your net
Remember us, and let just one swim free.
German assault troops, here emerging from beneath railroad cars to attack the Albert Canal line, were young, tough and disciplined. In all, there were 240 divisions of them. But despite the world’s idea that the conquest was merely by planes and tanks, it actually depended on the old-fashioned tactic of a superior mass of firepower at the decisive point.
Before you join the great assault I see
You peer around to spot the enemy.
Was that the French? Or your own sergeant who
Was lurking there to keep his eye on you?
Unblock the streets to clear the invader’s way!
This city’s dead, there’s nothing left to loot.
There’s never been such order in Roubaix.
Now order reigns. Its reign is absolute.
May he die like a dog. That’s my last wish.
He was the archenemy. Believe me, I speak true.
And I am free to speak: where I am now
Only the Loire and one lone cricket know.
Spring has come to Paris. Here we see one of its most typical signs – fishing along the quays of the Seine has begun in earnest. This year there are more fishermen than ever – a direct sign of the food shortage.
Here in the heart of Paris you can see us
Trying to outwit a sneaky little fish
From which we hope to make a meagre dish –
Victims of Hitler and of our own leaders.