TO OTTO BAUER
Go Bauer praise their patience now
Walk in the ruined gardens of the Karl Marx Hof
Speak to these dead speak to them now
N ext year this court may blossom iron trees
Flowers of steel spnng up to trim the future lawns
Old corpses underground the Heimwehr plants
Next Spring may rise as shrubberies of bone.
But Spring can wait.
These dead belong to February alone.
Listen. Beyond the waltztime river the city glows
Ascend your ministerial balcony again
Apologize to all these gentlemen
The shopkeepers forced to shut their shops four days
The ruined business in the street cafes
Her ladyship disturbed the maid in tears
Assure her she can wear her jewelery tonight
Then right the chairs and calm the chandeliers.
Behind the last of windows the last sniper falls
The trolleys run the provinces subdued new order reigns
Except for that routine the dark night hides-
The quick and muffied hangings in the prison yards
And here-the burials with black holes through their brains.
Yes, Bauer, Austria has need of you
The speculator businessman the summer bride
The daughter in the private school the dancing master
The lovers in the drawing rooms the cupids carved in plaster
The president of banks the little Richelieu
Who juggles class and state-have need of you.
But not these dead, not Florisdorf, not Linz, not Steyr,
Not the women with drawn faces, not the men with nre
In their unbeaten eyes, not these,
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