Radio Poem Poem by Bertolt Brecht

Radio Poem

Rating: 3.9


You little box, held to me escaping
So that your valves should not break
Carried from house to house to ship from sail to train,
So that my enemies might go on talking to me,
Near my bed, to my pain
The last thing at night, the first thing in the morning,
Of their victories and of my cares,
Promise me not to go silent all of a sudden.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
John King 10 February 2019

Great poem...how we have to be told the truth however bad.Written by the man who I believe said elsewhere that he who smiles has not yet been told the news.

1 0 Reply
Brian Jani 05 July 2014

nice story telling poem.i look forward to reading your poetry

2 2 Reply
Andrew Hoellering 03 December 2009

Exile from Germany WAS painful for Brecht, who was never happy in the States. Despite the lies broadcast by the Nazis, the radio remained his treasured link to his beloved native language.

6 3 Reply
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