Monday, July 23, 2007

"Murder Machine" by Kurt Schwitters

How does power itself become its own justification? How does property itself become a will to violence?

"Murder Machine" by Kurt Schwitters

Welcome, 260 thousand cubic centimeters.
I yours.
You mine,
We me.
And sun eternity glitter stars.
Suffering suffers dew.
Oh, woe you me !
5,000 mark reward !
A crate is crooked, especially your crate.
There is no more property, only communism still
acknowledges property.
I wilt the reed, for there is no more reed.
I left the clock, for there is no more clock.
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, seven.
Sunday greens warmth.
The elephant.
The fat elephant.
In case more than one person should lay claim to the
reward, we shall retain the rights of distribution
admitting of no appeal.
The magistrate of the royal capital and residence.

I. V. Weber

--Kurt Schwitters

tr. Harriet Watts

in Three Painter-Poets: Arp/Schwitters/Klee
[Baltimore: Penguin Books, 1974]

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