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Thread: Armistice Day 11th November

  1. #16
    Bibliophile JBI's Avatar
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    Tommy by Rudyard Kipling
    I went into a public-'ouse to get a pint o' beer,
    The publican 'e up an' sez, "We serve no red-coats here."
    The girls be'ind the bar they laughed an' giggled fit to die,
    I outs into the street again an' to myself sez I:
    O it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, go away";
    But it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins", when the band begins to play,
    The band begins to play, my boys, the band begins to play,
    O it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins", when the band begins to play.

    I went into a theatre as sober as could be,
    They gave a drunk civilian room, but 'adn't none for me;
    They sent me to the gallery or round the music-'alls,
    But when it comes to fightin', Lord! they'll shove me in the stalls!
    For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, wait outside";
    But it's "Special train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide,
    The troopship's on the tide, my boys, the troopship's on the tide,
    O it's "Special train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide.

    Yes, makin' mock o' uniforms that guard you while you sleep
    Is cheaper than them uniforms, an' they're starvation cheap;
    An' hustlin' drunken soldiers when they're goin' large a bit
    Is five times better business than paradin' in full kit.
    Then it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, 'ow's yer soul?"
    But it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll,
    The drums begin to roll, my boys, the drums begin to roll,
    O it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll.

    We aren't no thin red 'eroes, nor we aren't no blackguards too,
    But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you;
    An' if sometimes our conduck isn't all your fancy paints,
    Why, single men in barricks don't grow into plaster saints;
    While it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, fall be'ind",
    But it's "Please to walk in front, sir", when there's trouble in the wind,
    There's trouble in the wind, my boys, there's trouble in the wind,
    O it's "Please to walk in front, sir", when there's trouble in the wind.

    You talk o' better food for us, an' schools, an' fires, an' all:
    We'll wait for extry rations if you treat us rational.
    Don't mess about the cook-room slops, but prove it to our face
    The Widow's Uniform is not the soldier-man's disgrace.
    For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Chuck him out, the brute!"
    But it's "Saviour of 'is country" when the guns begin to shoot;
    An' it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' anything you please;
    An' Tommy ain't a bloomin' fool -- you bet that Tommy sees!

  2. #17
    Hardback Copy! RG57's Avatar
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    Futility by Wilfred Owen

    Move him into the sun-
    Gently its touch awoke him once,
    At, whispering of fields half-sown
    Always it woke him, even in France,
    Until this morning and this snow.
    If anything might rouse him now
    This kind old sun will know.

    Think how it wakes the seeds-
    Woke once the clays of a cold star.
    Are limbs, so dear achieved, are sides
    Full-nerved, still warm, too hard to stir?
    Was it for this the clay grew tall?
    - O what made fatuous sunbeams toil
    To break earth's sleep at all?

    I have always like many enjoyed war poems, In Flander's Field being a particular favourite, but that has been quoted twice already.
    Here were we wretched creatures of men making for each other's throats, and outraging the good earth which God had made so fair a habitation [Prester John - John Buchan].

  3. #18
    Cellar Door Cellar Door's Avatar
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    Vergissmeinnicht ('Forget-me-not')
    Elegy for an 88 Gunner

    Three weeks gone and the combatants gone
    returning over the nightmare ground
    we found the place again, and found
    the soldier sprawling in the sun.

    The frowning barrel of his gun
    overshadowing. As we came on
    that day, he hit my tank with one
    like the entry of a demon.

    Look. Here in the gunpit spoil
    the dishonoured picture of his girl
    who has put: Steffi. Vergissmeinnicht
    in a copybook gothic script.

    We see him almost with content,
    abased, and seeming to have paid
    and mocked at by his own equipment
    that's hard and good when he's decayed.

    But she would weep to see today
    how on his skin the swart flies move;
    the dust upon the paper eye
    and the burst stomach like a cave.

    For here the lover and killer are mingled
    who had one body and one heart.
    And death who had the soldier singled
    has done the lover mortal hurt.

    Keith Douglas



    and a modern, anti-war one by Joe Napora:


    No Poem to Stop This War

    There is no poem that will stop this war

    This is not the one. There is none. There is
    nothing to be done. We are not anything but
    the Hun the fierce images in old textbooks
    the Mongol horsemen rape and pillage
    villages burning and the laughter of old men.
    The radio and television prepare us
    for the Super Bowl. But already in Ohio
    we are number one. All of us better
    than all of the rest of the world. Admit it

    it was the perfect game. Allah praise Ohio State.
    And admit this all who listen to NPR
    the president is smarter than you.
    He is riding the armored car of history while you
    look for a refuge some safe place for your children.
    But there is no place to hide. We are the virus.
    Everything that cannot be bought and sold
    for a profit falls before us. He knows this
    even if you believe he is a fool. He lives and breathes
    Karl Marx while you hold up a sign that says
    Peace is Patriotic. The laughter of old men.

    There is no image to stop the war. No child
    with burned blacked skin like barbecued chicken.
    The children waste away from bad plumbing and no
    medicine. We pass along to each other the chips
    and organic carrots. Bottled water.

    ...

    I like both of these very much.
    Carving lucky charms out of these hard luck bones

  4. #19
    Registered User quasimodo1's Avatar
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    John Donne

    A Burnt Ship
    by John Donne


    Out of a fired ship, which by no way
    But drowning could be rescued from the flame,
    Some men leap'd forth, and ever as they came
    Near the foes' ships, did by their shot decay;
    So all were lost, which in the ship were found,
    They in the sea being burnt, they in the burnt ship drown'd.

  5. #20
    Hardback Copy! RG57's Avatar
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    Veglia
    Giuseppe Ungaretti (1888 - 1970)

    Unaintera nottata
    buttato vicino
    a un compagno
    massacrato
    con la sua bocca
    digrignata
    volta al plenilunio
    con la congestione
    delle sue mani
    penetrata
    nel mio silenzio
    bo scritto
    lettre piene d'amore

    Non somo mai stato
    tanto attsccato
    alla vita

    Cima 4. il 23 Dicembre 1915

    Watch

    An entire night
    pitched beside
    a mate
    butchered
    with his mouth
    a grin
    towards the full moon
    with the closing
    of his hands
    going right through me
    into my silence
    I have inscribed
    letters teeming with love

    Never have I
    held so fast
    to life

    Hill 4. 23rd december 1915
    Here were we wretched creatures of men making for each other's throats, and outraging the good earth which God had made so fair a habitation [Prester John - John Buchan].

  6. #21
    Registered User prendrelemick's Avatar
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    As someone has already posted "Futility"

    This is the first verse of a lesser known poem by Wilfred Owen. I read it years ago, but often think of that last line.

    Spring Offensive

    Halted against the shade of a last hill,
    They fed, and, lying easy, were at ease
    And, finding comfortable chests and knees,
    Carelessly slept. But many stood still
    To face the stark, blank sky beyond the ridge,
    Knowing their feet had come to the end of the world.

  7. #22
    TobeFrank Paulclem's Avatar
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    Armistice Day 11th November

    Hi.

    It's Armistice Day in the UK when the country stops for a minute's silence to remember WW1 and other wars since.

    So the question is what is your favourite World War 1 poem and why?

    I think Dulce Et Decoum Est is the consummate war poem whose imagery such as blood shod and His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
    shock even today.

    I also like the breaking with the former poetic traditions. Owen begins with a conventional 10 syllable line, but which then break down into a more erratic pattern as the attack and its effects are described.

    http://www.warpoetry.co.uk/owen1.html

    Link to the poem.
    Last edited by Paulclem; 11-11-2009 at 07:57 PM.

  8. #23
    Vincit Qui Se Vincit Virgil's Avatar
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    On the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month. Armistice Day evolved into Veterans Day in the US, a day to honor all those who served in the military.
    LET THERE BE LIGHT

    "Love follows knowledge." – St. Catherine of Siena

    My literature blog: http://ashesfromburntroses.blogspot.com/

  9. #24
    Registered User Chilly's Avatar
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    ...and into Remembrance Day in Canada.

    and about World War 1 poems...Dulce et Decorum est is the only I've ever read so i can't say much.

  10. #25
    Bibliophile JBI's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by Chilly View Post
    ...and into Remembrance Day in Canada.

    and about World War 1 poems...Dulce et Decorum est is the only I've ever read so i can't say much.
    Really, and you are from Vancouver! don't they give you guys a day off today?

    Not a very remarkable poem mind you, but one that virtually anybody (or supposedly anybody) educated in Canada, or who has lived in Canada should know (it is written on our money, after all):

    In Flanders fields the poppies blow
    Between the crosses, row on row,
    That mark our place; and in the sky
    The larks, still bravely singing, fly
    Scarce heard amid the guns below.

    We are the Dead. Short days ago
    We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
    Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
    In Flanders fields.

    Take up our quarrel with the foe:
    To you from failing hands we throw
    The torch; be yours to hold it high.
    If ye break faith with us who die
    We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
    In Flanders fields.
    — Lt.-Col. John McCrae (1872 - 1918)

  11. #26
    Registered User Chilly's Avatar
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    Yeah, I had a day off and I spent it on writing which is nice.

  12. #27
    Card-carrying Medievalist Lokasenna's Avatar
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    Day off!?!

    We Brits still have to work, apart from the period of silence!

    **cough** Anyway, I've not read much war poetry, but Dulce et Decorum Est certainly moved and horrified me. So did Anthem For Doomed Youth.

    Requiescant in pace.
    "I should only believe in a God that would know how to dance. And when I saw my devil, I found him serious, thorough, profound, solemn: he was the spirit of gravity- through him all things fall. Not by wrath, but by laughter, do we slay. Come, let us slay the spirit of gravity!" - Nietzsche

  13. #28
    TobeFrank Paulclem's Avatar
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    My wife was in the local shopping centre when they had the silence. They had poppies falling down the central atrium and a choir singing. She said it was quite moving, especially as there were recent casualties from Afghanistan from Coventry. There were lots of young people there - probably friends and relatives of the dead soldiers.

  14. #29
    TobeFrank Paulclem's Avatar
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    The two following poems typify the change in poetry that occurred due to WW1. Rupert Brooke's "The Soldier" was written before the slaughter of Flanders and Gallipoli, (where Brooke was heading).

    http://europeanhistory.about.com/lib...thesoldier.htm

    It is heroic and romantic in tone with no real sense of the realities of war. It is of the pre-war tradition and contrasts strongly with Sassoon's gory, gritty and realistic "Counter Attack".

    http://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Counter-Attack

    There is no whimsey in this poem, and the final stanza features a theme in many of the WW1 poems - the futility of war.

    It is qustionable as to whether Brooke could have followed up "The Soldier" with anythng similar.

  15. #30
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    Hi Paul. I thought I'd bring this thread up from last year. I couldn't copy the thread, so I posted on it to bring it back up. Perhaps one of the whiz kid mods could merge the threads, as there is an abundance of brilliant war poetry on here. I think what your wife saw in the shopping centre sounded very moving. When I was at school, poppy day was very important, and you could get them everywhere. But I think over the years that seemed to decline, and you didn't see as many sellers. I suppose that because of what's going on now, it's being noted more. Our school has done the 2 minutes silence over the last few years, but I'm not sure that it always has. I haven't seen many kids with poppies though, I had a few of them ask me where to get one from, but it sort of went without saying when I was a kid, that you all got one, as they were everywhere. Very moving though. Our school is near the hospital where the casualties are treated, and having a close relative who has served in Afghanistan a number of times, I pray he will never need it.

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