Crossed and bronzewreathed emblems on the Sportspalast
flew off the roof from carpet bombing. And so I had
to bring my squad of little boys out to the countryside.
By that time, all the oldest men had dropped,--
retired farmer, pharmacist, railway conductor--
all shared the single fact that no one procreated.
There was no rationed honey, artificial, poured
on strips of flimsy paper, no more sugar, no more bread,
no synthetic fuel to siphon. The tanks that used it all
were balanced on one muddy track like fallen horses.
We couldn't flee from Allied or Red Army. But at least
with the Amerikansker, we'll get a glimpse of opulence--
certainly there'll be more films.
The city has stopped burning, but there remains a trace
of naphtha fumes. And the smell threatens to spread
over villages in the outskirts. The sky light
is filtered through a canopy of ash. In this nether day
or night, everyone searches for belongings in the piles.
The churches are suneaten jawbones of bull's head.
While all seems over for us, it's hard to accustom
oneself to a future that hasn't really arrived yet.
I hope that when all is settled and rationing relaxed,
when we can use real cream in our coffee, and the trains
run on time again, that I can get a decent civil service job
and proper pension.
O, of that boy you mentioned, letting his grenade off
in a group of Allied soldiers--yes, it was a waste,
but no, I never ordered him to do it. That four-eyes
was a zealot anyway, participator
in all the Party games and outdoor festivals.
As for myself, I'm not an ideologue by nature.
I didn't like the riots during Weimar. I like peace.
When all of this is over, and there are no more inquisitions,
I hope to find a place between the city and the country --
but not too close to either.
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