Great thanks to
дискурсивный рейвтрибунал for reminding me that today is the birthday of the great Bertolt Brecht, one of my personal favorites and one of the greatest proletarian poets of all time. For those who do not know, this channel owes its name to Brecht's wonderfully optimistic (and I optimistically hope, still prophetic) poem "Ulm 1592," written in exile in 1934, after the Nazis had just come to power, defeated Europe's largest communist party outside the Soviet Union, and destroyed all hopes for a working-class revolution in Germany. In what was one of the most tragic moments of human history, Brecht remembered a pioneer of human flight, a simple tailor from the German town of Ulm, who constructed a rudimentary (and ultimately unsuccessful) flying machine. He flew too early, but he showed us the way, and humanity eventually flew.
Ulm 1592
Said the Tailor to the Bishop:
Believe me, I can fly.
Watch me while I try.
And he stood with things
That looked like wings
On the great church roof-
That is quite absurd
A wicked, foolish lie,
For man will never fly,
A man is not a bird,
Said the Bishop to the Tailor.
Said the People to the Bishop:
The Tailor is quite dead,
He was a stupid head.
His wings are rumpled
And he lies all crumpled
On the hard church square.
The bells ring out in praise
That man is not a bird
It was a wicked, foolish lie,
Mankind will never fly,
Said the Bishop to the People.