The Crisis of the OWC

I.
It sometimes occurs to me,
That I repeat myself,
And walk in an old path,
And mock myself,

They accuse me of being barren,
Of committing plagiarism
Of what you already saw
In the OWC.

I seem to be in the same circle
Continuously spinning around,
And find it annoying,
I would like to embellish things.

But even if I sometimes try,
It doesn’t and doesn’t want to succeed,
Everything I present to you now
Looks like old pieces.

Sometimes there is a new idea,
But that is extremely rare,
Yes indeed, the OWC
Is suffering from it now.

In the headquarters of the Duce. The German commander-in-chief in North Italy, Field Marshal Rommel, as a guest of Mussolini. After an exceptionally cordial greeting, a discussion on military issues took place in the headquarters of the Duce.

II.
Though I am now less original
Than a while ago,
Not much is happening today
That is the real reason.

For today when I read the newspaper
The meager reports,
I find them uninteresting
And nothing for my poems.

Because hardly anything happens
That can inspire me,
What happens is truly nothing
To benefit from.

III.
At the southern front, there’s no progress,
Italy seems to be idle,
It’s also still at Perekop,
The struggle goes step by step.

The Duce is getting really old,
Rommel seems to have a cold,
The photo shows him very worried:
It can no longer be contained.

15/12
“The Day of the German Railwaymen.” In the presence of Reich Minister Dr. Goebbels, the Reich Minister of Transport, Dr. Dorpmüller, the Reich Organization Leader, Dr. Ley, General Field Marshal Milch, etc., a large gathering took place in the Berlin Volkstheater on the occasion of “The Day of the German Railwaymen,” during which the railwaymen who distinguished themselves in the war were decorated with the Knight’s Cross of the War Merit Cross. Reich Minister Dr. Goebbels congratulates the men on their awards.

IV.
Even Goebbels doesn’t feel very well,
I have my thoughts on that:
He sees that it’s coming to an end
With men and the power.

He decorates with the Knight’s Cross,
Some Railwaymen,
His attitude says, it’s not right,
His fear can not be banished.

The soul of those men is unyielding,
They are somewhat elated,
They shake the hands of the reptile,
Pride is in their eyes.

The pillars of the regime,
The truly German oaks,
Feel intimate with Goebbels
And don’t think of backing down …

IV.
Friend Goebbels is at the moment
Annoyingly ruminating,
He feels lethargic and feels sick,
Doesn‘t move from the spot anymore.

The beautiful variety
Of always new speeches,
The good old times are over,
He seems to be excluded from it.

And he was such a grateful subject,
And seemed inexhaustible,
So much have I discovered with him,
And could put to good use.

Suddenly this source dried up,
And can’t offer anything more,
With him, however hard one tries,
Is nothing new to espy anymore.

What he still says now
Are the same words,
His old propaganda record,
That we have heard so often.

VI.
Thus, for the OWC
A time has come
Of a lack of material, it’s not easy,
Frankly speaking, between us.

When nothing happens in the world,
What should we write about?
Should we keep singing the same song
Over and over again?

We are a victim of the time,
Where nothing wants to happen,
We feel pain and feel regret,
That we can’t offer anything.

The more happens everywhere,
The more beautiful the poems,
The OWC is refreshed
By pleasant news.

VII.
We could suck many beautiful stories
Out of our thumb,
Our imagination is quite vast,
A reason to celebrate,

But are the Nazis really worth it
Wasting our imagination on them?
Thus grumbles Pegasus, my horse,
He doesn’t like fascists.

I am no longer planning
To play the warhorse,
I’m going on strike, dear man,
The matter bores me.

It seems that now politics
Is always the same song,
Yes, my friend, I feel really sick,
I suffer from Repetitis.

I am so light-hearted, free by nature,
And now I’m going to hell,
I feel like a mill horse,
That keeps going round and round.

I don’t care, Pegasus,
I‘m just sitting and waiting,
Looking at the Brits, looking at the Russians,
And just hope in my thoughts,

That something really happens
After years of promises,
I would like to sing a different song,
You better believe me.

VIII.
The Onderwater Cabaret
Reflects the events,
If nothing happens, it’s not fun,
Then it starts to whine.

Because the chronicler finds it heavy,
When there’s nothing to record,
But the chronicler is an optimist
And thinks, things will change.

This silence will soon be followed
Certainly by the reaction,
Yes, dear people, I trust
There will be a time of action.

Then I will again with ringing coin
Pay the time its toll
Forgotten is this dead point
Of constant repetition.

I ask you for a moment’s patience,
The suffering is quickly over,
That nothing happens is not my fault,
I am also discontented.