O those bleak nocturnal scenes of junkies,
Winos and beggars still disturb my dreams.
This broken, bloodied nation is deeply
Divided. Things are not what they seem,
In England's fabled green and pleasant land.
They are so few that even understand
Brecht's belief that bread is more important
Than morals when living on a knife's edge.
All academic talk of reform is cant.
As are politicians' spurious pledges.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem