As The 100th Anniversary Of The Armistice Day 11/11/1918 at 11 AM Commences-Some Creative Artists Who Fought/Died/Lived Through The Nightmare That Destroyed The Flower Of European And American Youth -Bertolt Brecht-“To Those Born After”

As The 100^th Anniversary Of The Armistice Day 11/11/1918 at 11 AM Commences-Some Creative Artists Who Fought/Died/Lived Through The Nightmare That Destroyed The Flower Of European And American Youth -Bertolt Brecht-“To Those Born After”   

By Seth Garth

A few years ago, starting in August 2104 the 100^th anniversary of what would become World War I, I started a series about the cultural effects, some of them anyway, of the slaughter which mowed down the flower of the European youth including an amazing number of artists, poets, writers and other cultural figures. Those culturati left behind, those who survived the shellings, the trenches, the diseases, and what was then called “shell shock,” now more commonly Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) which is duly recognized, and compensated for at least in the United States by the Veterans Administration in proven cases reacted in many different ways. Mainly, the best of them, like the ordinary dog soldiers could not go back to the same old, same old, could not revive the certitudes of the pre-war Western world with it distorted sense of decorum and went to what even today seem quirky with moderns like Dada, Minimalism, the literary sparseness of Hemingway, and so on. I had my say there in a general sense but now as we are only a few months away from the 100^th anniversary of, mercifully, the armistice which effectively ended that bloodbath I want to do a retrospective of creative artistic works by those who survived the war and how those war visions got translated into their works with some commentary if the spirit moves me but this is their show-no question they earned a retrospective.

Almost everything the good German communist, and that is a worthy designation for him, the communist part, when that was  an important ideal reads almost as well and timely today. Here is one which those old time radicals who still are in the struggles should ponder: 

Bertolt Brecht                         To Those Born Later I Truly, I live in dark times! The guileless word is folly. A smooth forehead Suggests insensitivity. The man who laughs Has simply not yet had The terrible news. What kind of times are they, when A talk about trees is almost a crime Because it implies silence about so many horrors? That man there calmly crossing the street Is already perhaps beyond the reach of his friends Who are in need? It is true I still earn my keep But, believe me, that is only an accident. Nothing I do gives me the right to eat my fill. By chance I've been spared. (If my luck breaks, I am lost.) They say to me: Eat and drink! Be glad you have it! But how can I eat and drink if I snatch what I eat From the starving, and My glass of water belongs to one dying of thirst? And yet I eat and drink. I would also like to be wise. In the old books it says what wisdom is: To shun the strife of the world and to live out Your brief time without fear Also to get along without violence To return good for evil Not to fulfill your desires but to forget them Is accounted wise. All this I cannot do: Truly, I live in dark times. II I came to the cities in a time of disorder When hunger reigned there. I came among men in a time of revolt And I rebelled with them. So passed my time Which had been given to me on earth. My food I ate between battles To sleep I lay down among murderers Love I practised carelessly And nature I looked at without patience. So passed my time Which had been given to me on earth. All roads led into the mire in my time. My tongue betrayed me to the butchers. There was little I could do. But those in power Sat safer without me: that was my hope. So passed my time Which had been given to me on earth. Our forces were slight. Our goal Lay far in the distance It was clearly visible, though I myself Was unlikely to reach it. So passed my time Which had been given to me on earth. III You who will emerge from the flood In which we have gone under Remember When you speak of our failings The dark time too Which you have escaped.     German; trans. John Willett, Ralph Manheim & Erich Fried