“They saw their injured country's woe;
The flaming town, the wasted field;
Then rushed to meet the insulting foe;
They took the spear, - but left the shield.”
―Philip Freneau
Saturday, January 27, 2018
Once more unto the Abyss, Dear Friends!
Once more unto the abyss, dear friends, once more;
Or close the wall up with our English dead.
In peace there's nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility:
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage;
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect;
Let pry through the portage of the head
Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it
As fearfully as doth a galled rock
O'erhang and jutty his confounded base,
Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean.
Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide,
Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit
To his full height. On, on, you noblest English.
Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof!
Fathers that, like so many Alexanders,
Have in these parts from morn till even fought
And sheathed their swords for lack of argument:
Dishonour not your mothers; now attest
That those whom you call'd fathers did beget you.
Be copy now to men of grosser blood,
And teach them how to war. And you, good yeoman,
Whose limbs were made in England, show us here
The mettle of your pasture; let us swear
That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not;
For there is none of you so mean and base,
That hath not noble lustre in your eyes.
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,
Straining upon the start. The game's afoot:
Follow your spirit, and upon this charge
Cry 'The Abyss for Harry, England, and Saint George!'
Cheerleading meant to stir the troops to fight With all their might for purpose deemed illustrious By their Superiors in Command. To leave All thoughts of Self behind, abandon Hearth and Home and Love for the great glory Of honoring the ambition of the King, Who may be vain and selfish more than all. Stirring ancient patterns of bloodlust Demands reversion to our roots –– Savage, brutal, sexually sadistic –– Dark, unseemly pasisons glorified Urging ignorant pawns to commit suicide.
______ DULCE ET DECORUM EST _______ . Bent double, like old beggars under sacks, Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge, Till on the haunting flares we turned out backs, And towards our distant rest began to trudge. Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots, But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame, all blind; Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.
Gas! GAS! Quick, boys! –– An ecstasy of fumbling Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time, But someone still was yelling out and stumbling And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime. –– Dim through the misty panes and thick green light, As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams before my helpless sight He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace Behind the wagon that we flung him in, And watch the white eyes writhing in his face, His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin, If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs Bitter as the cud Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,-- My friend, you would not tell with such high zest To children ardent for some desperate glory, The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est Pro patria mori.
~ Wilfred Owen (1893-1918)
Wilfred Edward Salter Owen MC (18 March 1893 – 4 November 1918) was an English poet and soldier, one of the leading poets of the First World War.
His shocking, realistic war poetry on the horrors of trenches and gas warfare was heavily influenced by his friend and mentor Siegfried Sassoon, and stood in stark contrast both to the public perception of war at the time and to the confidently patriotic verse written earlier.
Among his best-known works – most of which were published posthumously – are "Dulce et Decorum est", "Insensibility", "Anthem for Doomed Youth", "Futility" and "Strange Meeting". ...
Owen is regarded by many as the greatest poet of the First World War.
If I should die, think only this of me: ___ That there’s some corner of a foreign field That is for ever England. There shall be ___ In that rich earth a richer dust concealed; A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware, ___ Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam, A body of England’s, breathing English air, ___ Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.
And think, this heart, all evil shed away, ___ A pulse in the eternal mind, no less ______ Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given; Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day; ___ And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness, ______ In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.
How does it feel to be cut in half _____ by a sudden burst of machine gun bullets?
What does it feel like at the precise moment _____ when a bullet enters your eye, and pierces your brain?
Can you imagine having your lower jaw smashed by bullets _____ and then see its bloody, splintered fragments __________ drop to the ground ?
What is it like to take a direct hit to the skull? _____ Would you know that you were dead?
What sensations must a person feel _____ as his body is being consumed by fire?
What would be the thoughts of someone _____ just thrown to the ground and kicked, __________ whose hands have been tied behind his back, who then gets chained by his heels _____ to the rear end of a vehicle __________ about to drag his still-healthy, still-unbroken _______________ young body over stones, gravel, _______________ dirt and thorny stubble?
How does it feel to have the flesh ripped off your cheeks? _____ To have all the flesh on your hands torn off __________ exposing bones and tendons?
How does it feel to have grit and gravel _____ embed themselves in your eyes?
How does it feel to be torn _____ limb from limb by a jeering mob?
Exactly how does it feel to have your head _____ stomped to jelly by hobnailed boots? Or your genitalia ripped out by the roots _____ and stuffed into your screaming mouth?
How does it feel to be smart enough to realize _____ you are suffering and dying for the sole purpose __________ of lining the pockets of international bankers, _______________ global industrialists and the suppliers _______________ of war materiel with gold?
Exactly how would you react to being held down _____ and having your teeth kicked down your throat, __________ your eyes gouged out, _______________ your ears and your nose sliced off, _______________ or a glass rod inserted in your urethra ____________________ and then broken?
How would you feel when you are forced to eat _____ ground glass or drink hydrochloric acid?
How would you feel if you were sodomized by barbarians _____ then buried up to your neck in sand __________ and systematically stoned and kicked to death?
How does it feel to be held down _____ and deliberately blinded by acid?
How does it feel to be maimed by “Friendly Fire?
How does it feel to be flayed alive _____ and then slowly cut to ribands?
I'd rather dine on Havilland-Limoges Than hurl a javelin for a Doges. Delicate viands decorously consumed Beat being slashed, then crushed and doomed. Why is it more "manly" to yearn to die In blood soaked mud 'neath a pitiless sky?
Cheerleading meant to stir the troops to fight
ReplyDeleteWith all their might for purpose deemed illustrious
By their Superiors in Command. To leave
All thoughts of Self behind, abandon
Hearth and Home and Love for the great glory
Of honoring the ambition of the King,
Who may be vain and selfish more than all.
Stirring ancient patterns of bloodlust
Demands reversion to our roots ––
Savage, brutal, sexually sadistic ––
Dark, unseemly pasisons glorified
Urging ignorant pawns to commit suicide.
~ Miseremus, the Elder
______ DULCE ET DECORUM EST _______
ReplyDelete.
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned out backs,
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame, all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.
Gas! GAS! Quick, boys! –– An ecstasy of fumbling
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime. ––
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams before my helpless sight
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin,
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs
Bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,--
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
~ Wilfred Owen (1893-1918)
Wilfred Edward Salter Owen MC (18 March 1893 – 4 November 1918) was an English poet and soldier, one of the leading poets of the First World War.
His shocking, realistic war poetry on the horrors of trenches and gas warfare was heavily influenced by his friend and mentor Siegfried Sassoon, and stood in stark contrast both to the public perception of war at the time and to the confidently patriotic verse written earlier.
Among his best-known works – most of which were published posthumously – are "Dulce et Decorum est", "Insensibility", "Anthem for Doomed Youth", "Futility" and "Strange Meeting". ...
Owen is regarded by many as the greatest poet of the First World War.
A DIFFERENT VIEW OF WARFARE BY A yaiUNG IDEALIST
ReplyDelete___________ THE SOLDIER ___________
If I should die, think only this of me:
___ That there’s some corner of a foreign field
That is for ever England. There shall be
___ In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;
A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,
___ Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,
A body of England’s, breathing English air,
___ Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.
And think, this heart, all evil shed away,
___ A pulse in the eternal mind, no less
______ Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;
Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;
___ And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,
______ In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.
~ Rupert Brooke (1887-1915)
____________ QUESTIONS ____________
ReplyDeleteHow does it feel to be cut in half
_____ by a sudden burst of machine gun bullets?
What does it feel like at the precise moment
_____ when a bullet enters your eye, and pierces your brain?
Can you imagine having your lower jaw smashed by bullets
_____ and then see its bloody, splintered fragments
__________ drop to the ground ?
What is it like to take a direct hit to the skull?
_____ Would you know that you were dead?
What sensations must a person feel
_____ as his body is being consumed by fire?
What would be the thoughts of someone
_____ just thrown to the ground and kicked,
__________ whose hands have been tied behind his back,
who then gets chained by his heels
_____ to the rear end of a vehicle
__________ about to drag his still-healthy, still-unbroken
_______________ young body over stones, gravel,
_______________ dirt and thorny stubble?
How does it feel to have the flesh ripped off your cheeks?
_____ To have all the flesh on your hands torn off
__________ exposing bones and tendons?
How does it feel to have grit and gravel
_____ embed themselves in your eyes?
How does it feel to be torn
_____ limb from limb by a jeering mob?
Exactly how does it feel to have your head
_____ stomped to jelly by hobnailed boots?
Or your genitalia ripped out by the roots
_____ and stuffed into your screaming mouth?
How does it feel to be smart enough to realize
_____ you are suffering and dying for the sole purpose
__________ of lining the pockets of international bankers,
_______________ global industrialists and the suppliers
_______________ of war materiel with gold?
Exactly how would you react to being held down
_____ and having your teeth kicked down your throat,
__________ your eyes gouged out,
_______________ your ears and your nose sliced off,
_______________ or a glass rod inserted in your urethra
____________________ and then broken?
How would you feel when you are forced to eat
_____ ground glass or drink hydrochloric acid?
How would you feel if you were sodomized by barbarians
_____ then buried up to your neck in sand
__________ and systematically stoned and kicked to death?
How does it feel to be held down
_____ and deliberately blinded by acid?
How does it feel to be maimed by “Friendly Fire?
How does it feel to be flayed alive
_____ and then slowly cut to ribands?
How? How? How?
But much more important is
WHY?
__________ WHY?
__________________ WHY?
~ FreeThinke
I'd rather dine on Havilland-Limoges
ReplyDeleteThan hurl a javelin for a Doges.
Delicate viands decorously consumed
Beat being slashed, then crushed and doomed.
Why is it more "manly" to yearn to die
In blood soaked mud 'neath a pitiless sky?
~ FreeThinke