You little box, held to me escaping
So that your valves should not break
Carried from house to house to ship from sail to train,
So that my enemies might go on talking to me,
Near my bed, to my pain
The last thing at night, the first thing in the morning,
Of their victories and of my cares,
Promise me not to go silent all of a sudden.
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More on the Little Box
I thought I'd lost my radio when I moved to Germany. I tried buying a "World One" but the village I was living in was too remote to pick up much. I realized while I was reading this that I really only traded it for a computer.
I really like Brecht and am glad to read his bio here today which states, "However, because this language (German) is built upon a certain bold and direct simplicity..."
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