1936

the experiences i am having at the moment are not without value. i thought i could learn to write for films, but i see that it would take more than just a morning's work; the technique is at a quite primitive stage. however i am learning something different. although kortner treats me as an absolute equal, the nature of the work means that i am beginning to feel like an employee. i have not chosen the subject i am working on for myself, i can't relate to it and i don't know what will happen to my work when it comes on the market. i only have my labour to sell, and what is done with it afterwards has nothing to do with me. my interest are quire opposed to those of my employer. since i am on a weekly wage, it is not good for me if the work progresses quickly, quite the contrary. already i even catch myself taking out my watch as evening approaches; i want to get away, it's time for real life to begin. real life is quite separate, and incidentally quite unappealing. but in 'my own time' i don't waste a single thought on my daily work. i leave with the little englishman who works alongside me as translator and we strictly avoid touching anything that might remind us of work. i feel a sense of total solidarity with him when he refuses to work on sundays. kortner seems to have noticed this incipient class consciousness, for he often says on the phone, when he is canceling an appointment, that with his job he has work to do—just as any boss might. whenever he can, he makes mock of his employers, points out their inferiority and laziness, whereupon we are both silent.

at lunch—i eat at his place and hanna kortner is very nice—it all stops and i am the great poet once more. i have the privilege of being able to take a nap, but then, after coffee, the situation changes once more. the paper i am using to write this is from work: i pinched it.

—Bertolt Brecht, Journals, 1934–1955