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A Message to the Troops
By Noah Cohen

Our good friend and colleague, Noah Cohen, translated and adapted this poem from Brecht's,
"An die Deutschen Soldaten im Osten" ("To the German Soldiers in the East").

Noah explains the background for the poem and how Brecht might have written it today:

"The original was written in 1941. Germany had invaded Russia, and after an initial campaign
of rapid conquest and little resistance, summer turned winter, and the Russians rallied at
Moscow. Brecht had his poem read over Moscow radio so that the German soldiers would
hear it.
"I've turned winter to summer, ice-fields to deserts etc. Of course there are differences in
relative situation (thousands of German soldiers died just from the winter itself and the
long march to Moscow), but the parallel is mostly here: that the resistance of the people
of Fallujah now,like the resistance then, is what stands between the world and a fascist
military empire bent on global dominion. Perhaps I should stay closer to the original title
and make it "To the American Soldiers in the East."

1.
Brothers, if I were among you
On the eastern deserts, were one of you
One of the thousands
I'd be saying what you're saying: Surely
There must be a road leading home.
But, brothers, dear brothers
Under my helmet, under my skull
I would know what you know:
There is no more road leading home.
On the map on the wall of the schoolroom
The road to Fallujah is short
Like the pinky of the Commander-in-Chief.
But in the desert it's longer,
very long, too long.
The sandstorms won't last forever, only till the turn of the season.
But man too won't last forever. Till the turn of season
He will not last.
And so I must die, I know that.
In the coat of a robber I must die.
Must die in the shirt of an arsonist.
As one of the many, as one of the thousands
Hunted as robbers, beaten as arsonists.
2.
Brothers, if I were among you
If I marched with you over the desert
I'd be asking what you're asking: Why
Did I come to this place
Where there is no more road leading home?
Why did I put on the coat of a robber?
Why did I put on the shirt of an arsonist?
After all, it wasn't from hunger
And it wasn't from bloodlust.
Only because I was a henchman
And these were my orders
Did I set off for murder and arson.
And now must be hunted
And now must be beaten to death.
3.
Because I invaded a peaceful country
Of farmers and workers
Bulldozing their crops and their orchards
To plunder their shops and their oil-fields
Stopping the lessons in schools
And the sittings of councils
Now I must die like a rat
That the farmer has trapped.
4.
So that I will be cleansed from the face of the earth
Like leprosy. That an example be made for all time
Of what must be done with robbers and arsonists
And the henchmen of robbers and arsonists.
5.
So that our mothers will say they have no children.
So that our children will say they have no fathers.
So that there be mounds of earth that carry no markers.
6.
And I will never again
See the land that I came from
Not the forests or mountains
Not the oceans or prairies
Not the pine-woods or the vineyards.
Not in dawn-light, not at midday,
not at sunset.
Nor the cities
Or the city where I was born.
Not my workplace, or my room
Or my bed.
All this I will not see again.
And none who went with me
Will ever see this again.
I won't and you won't
Ever again
Hear the voices of wives and of mothers
Or the wind over the chimneys of our homeland
Or the joyful sounds of the city, or the bitter ones.
7.
Instead I will die
In the middle of my brief time
Unloved, unmissed
A tank's reckless driver.
Unlearned, save through the final lesson
Untried, save in murder
Unmissed, save from the slaughter.
And I will lie in the land I destroyed.
Men will breathe a sigh of relief
Over the ditch where I'm buried.
And what will be left of me?
A few pounds of meat, soon to be rotten.
A charred side of pork, hung from a bridge.
A stink that the wind carried off.
8.
Brothers, if I were among you
On the road back to Baghdad
From Baghdad back to nowhere
I'd be feeling what you're feeling:
I always knew
Under my helmet, under my skull
That bad is not good
That two times two is four
And that he will die
Who follows the blood-drenched bully
The blustering idiot in the Whitehouse
Who didn't know
That the road to Fallujah is long
Very long, too long
That summer in the desert is hot
Very hot, too hot
That the farmers and workers of an ancient civilization
Would defend their land and their cities
And we will all be wiped out:
9.
In the desert, behind our tank-turrets
In the streets and the houses
Along the pipelines, on the roadsides
By men, by women, by children
In the heat, in the night, in hunger.
We will all be wiped out
Today or tomorrow or the next day
You and I and the general, all
Who came to lay waste
To the work of men's hands.
10.
Because working the land isn't easy
Because it costs so much sweat to build a house
To fell the beams, to draw the plan
To stack the walls, to cover the roof.
Because it made one so tired