R: [SEELANGS] R: [SEELANGS] Mr. Mayakovsky too died in the gulag,

[Luciano Di Cocco]

> Not the bible, but with the subject God, from the Hebrew daily
> prayerbook,
> perhaps familiar to Rosa L. from childhood.
> Jules Levin
> Los Angeles

I've done a bit of homework.

According to Luciano Amodio (Rosa Luxemburg - Scritti scelti, Einaudi 1975)
Rosa L. is citing a poem.

The note says (page 682):

"I was, I am, I will be"
Citation from the poem, dated 1851, Die Revolution by F. Freiligrath. On
dec. 27 1851 Marx asked by letter to Freligrath a "neujahrgedicht" for "Die
Revolution", the new revue by Joseph Weydemeyer (Marx Engels - Werke vol
VIII p. 673). The verse follows Revelation I.8.

I don't know the poem, but I found a transaltion here:

http://www.archive.org/stream/poemsfromgerman00freigoog/poemsfromgerman00fre
igoog_djvu.txt

In some points it reminds me of the poem by Mayakovsky, but it's only a
rough first impression.

I have no idea of the quality of the translation:



REVOLUTION. 
(1850.) 



And tho' ye caught your noble prey within your hangman's sordid 

thrall, 
And tho' your captive was led forth beneath your city's rampart 

wall; 
And tho* the grass lies o'er her green, where at the morning's early 

red 
The peasant girl brings funeral wreaths - I tell you still, she is not 

dead! 



And tho' from off the lofly brow ye cut the ringlets flowing long, 
And tho' ye mated her amid the thieves and murderers' hideous 

throng, 
And tho' ye gave her felon fare - ^bade felon garb her livery be. 
And tho' ye set the oakum-task - I tell you all, she still is free! 



And tho' compelled to banishment, ye hunt her down thro' endless 

lands; 
And tho' she seeks a foreign hearth, and silent 'mid its ashes 

stands; 



And tho* she bathes her wounded feet, where foreign streams seek 

foreign seas, 
Yet - ^yet - she never more will hang her harp on BabePs willow 

trees! 



Ah no! she strikes its every string, and bids their loud defiance 

swell, 
And as she mocked your scaffold erst, she mocks your banishment 

as well. 
She sings a song that starts you up astounded from your slumbrous 

seats, 
Until your heart - ^your craven heart - ^your traitor heart - ^with 

terror beats! 



No song of plaint, no song of sighs for those who perished unsub- 
dued. 
Nor yet a song of irony at wrong's fantastic interlude - 
The beggar's opera that ye try to drag out thro' its lingering scenes, 
Tho' moth-eaten the purple be that decks your tinsel kings and 

queens. 



Oh, no ! the song those waters hear is not of sorrow, nor dismay - 
'Tis triumph-song - ^victorious song - ^the paean of the future's 

day - 
The future - distant now no more - ^her prophet voice is sounding 

free. 
As well as once your Godhead spake. - I was, I am, and I will be! 




Will be - and lead the nations on the last of all your hosts to meet, 
And on your necks, your heads, your crowns, 1*11 plant my strong, 

resistless feet! 
Avenger, Liberator, Judge, - ^red battles on my pathway hurled, 
I stretch forth my almighty arm, till it revivifies the world. 



Ye see me only in your cells; ye see me only in the grave; 

Ye see me only wandering lone, beside the exile's sullen wave: - 

Ye fools! Do I not also live where you have tried to pierce in 

vain? 
Rests not a nook for me to dwell in every heart and every brain ?^ 



In every brow that boldly thinks, erect with manhood's honest 

pride- 
Does not each bosom shelter me that beats with honour's generous 

tide? 
Not every workshop, brooding woe? not every hut that harbours 

grief? 
Ha! Am I not the Breath of Life, that pants and struggles for 

relief? 



Tis therefore I will be - and lead the peoples yet your hosts to 

meet, 
And on your necks - ^your heads- your crowns- will plant my 

strong, resistless feet! 
It is no boast - ^it is no threat - thus History's iron law decrees - 
The day grows hot - oh Babylon! 'Tis cool beneath thy willow trees! 

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