6 February 2022 21HISTORY
Laura Hackett
The Stasi Poetry Circle
The Creative Writing Class
That Tried to Win the Cold
War by Philip Oltermann
Faber £14.99 pp201It sounds like a movie script
— ruthless Stasi spies who
spent their days interrogating
suspects and their evenings
penning sonnets — but
somehow it was true. Philip
Oltermann’s warm, vivid and
touching The Stasi Poetry
Circle tells the story of the
Writing Chekists, a group of
East German secret police
who were also poets. What’s
more, he has made the rise
and fall of the group into a
hilarious, page-turning yarn.
In the GDR, all workplaces
had to provide opportunities
for their employees to flex
their literary muscles — large
factories with more than
5,000 workers needed to have
a library of 18,000 books. It
was only natural that the Stasi
would have a literary group
too. But then they realised it
could be so much more. “Art
is a weapon,” the GDR writer
Friedrich Wolf said, so why
couldn’t the Stasi poets make
swords of their pens?
Thus began a new battle in
the culture war between East
and West. If the West was
extolling freedom and
individualism in their art, the
East would lift up unity and
equality. If Britain had James
Bond, the GDR would invent
an equally suave Werner
Bredebusch (who was much
less easily distracted by
women and cars). And Stasi
poets would remake the
sonnet form in their own
socialist image.
It wasn’t all Shakespeare,
of course. One poem
describes conducting
“Precise research
through/ Accurately
filed matter./
Information/ To the
comrades.” But at
least that was
ideologicallykosher. Some of the younger
members forgot all about
political debates and got
carried away with love poetry.
“Want you/ to be mine/ just
mine/ and hope never/ to be
nationalised,” one man wrote.
Oltermann notes that this
ardour was “awkwardly at
odds with a state that valued
collective ownership over
private property”.
In tone, then, The Stasi
Poetry Circle is less The Lives of
Others and more The Death of
Stalin. The group’s leader and
instructor, Uwe Berger, was a
particularly ridiculous figure.
In reports to his superiors, he
deemed any criticism of his
poems part of a conspiracy,
a “co-ordinated approach”.
Not that he refrained from
criticism himself. The lyrics of
one singer he was monitoring,
Bettina Wegner, were
potentially dangerous, he said,
as they created “a general
feeling of unease”. He even
offered suggestions on how to
limit her popularity. Why not
spread a catchy insult? Would
“tampon poetry” suffice?
Where Oltermann’s book
does follow The Lives of Others
is in the story of Alexander
Ruika, a young officer initially
hailed as a great literary
talent, but who became
increasingly disillusioned.
During a tense dinner with
Oltermann and Gert
Neumann, a poet he had once
been sent to spy on, Ruika
reveals that he had withheld
information in his report
to protect Neumann. It’s a
touching conclusion to a
brilliantly told tale. cCrick says, it’s hard to think of
any other British politician
who has “left so many enemies
and casualties among his party
colleagues”. And then there’s
Farage the Brussels lounge
lizard, a string of bitterly
aggrieved wives, lovers and
female aides in his wake.
Annabelle Fuller, Laure
Ferrari, Alexandra Phillips...
I have to confess they all rather
blur into one. But perhaps
that’s because Farage has a
type. He “has a penchant for
the Rubensesque woman,
amply bottomed”, explains
one old City pal. “We always
said he would choose Hattie
Jacques over Kate Moss.”
Although biographies of
modern politicians are usually
pretty dreadful, Crick’s is
excellent, weaving together
Ukip records, news clippings
and countless interviews to
splendidly gossipy effect. He’s
not blind to Farage’s cynicism,
exemplified by his attempt to
fire up his base in 2015 by
linking immigration and HIV.
And he relishes the seedier
aspects: the boozy expense-
account lunches, the tear-
drenched screaming matches
between wives and mistresses,
such as a horrendous public
row between his German wife,
Kirsten, and his lover
Annabelle at a Ukip party in- But he pays Farage the
compliment of taking him
seriously, and clearly respects
his heartfelt ideological
commitment and enthusiasm
for the unglamorous hard work
of political campaigning. As for
his legacy, Crick’s answer is
simple: Brexit.
For Farage, the great regret
is that he has never held
national office, and has never
Stasi by day,
bards by night
The East German spies and their bizarre
mission to spread socialism in a sonnet
come close to winning the
Westminster seat he craves.
But Crick is right that he will
be remembered long after
almost every other politician
of his generation has been
forgotten. Whether you find
him likeable or loathsome, he
is a remarkable character,
almost Dickensian in his
energy and egotism. In some
ways he reminds me of the
Georgian rabble-rouser John
Wilkes: divisive, aggressive
but infuriatingly charismatic,
adored by the crowds, loathed
by the establishment and
propelled by an unquenchable
thirst for attention. “Nigel, I
have a feeling you will go far
in life, but whether in fame or
infamy, I don’t really know,”
one teacher told him on the
day he left school. Farage’s
reply said it all. “Sir, as long as
it’s far, I don’t care which.” cFilm focus
Ulrich Mühe
as a Stasi
officer in
The Lives of
Others
ALAMY