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The Swamp
BY Bertolt Brecht 1947
I beheld many friends,
And the friend I held the most,
Helplessly sink into the swamp
I pass by daily
And a drowning was not over in a single morning.
Often it took
many weeks; this made it more terrible
And the memory of our long
agreeing talks about the swamp, which already held so many
Powerless now I saw him leaning back
covered with leeches
in the shimmering
softly moving slime. Upon the sinking face
the ghastly blissful smile.
Translated by Naomi Replansky
About the author
Hailing from Bavaria. Eugen Berthold Friedrich Brecht also goes by the name Bertolt Brecht was a known laywright, theatre director, poet of his time. He built his career during the time of East Germany and was a known anti nazi during the second world war. He was known for incorporating his poems on his play and made numerous collaborations with other well known actors,poets as he always had a huge cast in his ensemble.
Source
Commentary
Hi Folks! Its me again. I've been away for a work endeavor and have not had the chance to do my passion, but don't fret here I am now with another look at an old poem from the lost chapters of time.
As you may have noticed I've also added a new section about the author and truly I should have done this from the beginning. If I introduce a poem should I not introduce the poet as as well?
This poem shook me as dark and gloomy poem about a swamp and came particularly familliar with my own experience as a child. The poem was deep and vague and thrice i've read it with varying interpretations. I have mine and I should probably leave you to yours as there is no concensus to what truly the meaning is neither were there any interviews for the poem to be scrutinized and examined by experts
This poem however trikes familliar to me as I've mentioned earlier because when i was barely ten we lived in a riverlike swamp and me and my friends play tag and lots of games on a bridge on top of it. However, there were bestfriends who always played there a young 8 year old boy and his friend with big ears no more than 10. One night his father went looking for the younger boy and had asked everywhere but he was nowhere to be found. The day after his body was found floating plumped and bloated. The older boy who was close friends with him who was last seen playing with him denied knowing of the unfortunate event.
Creepy right? Sounds eeriely familliar with the poem? Yes, I believe so and truth be told it sent chills down my spine reliving that old childhood memory.
Disclaimer
I own no rights to the poem nor the picture and have stated my sources.
Please support the arts, especially poetry as I fear it may be a dying breed in our culture.
-Sir. Picsalot