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Descriptions of War
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Message 1.Â
Posted by Parti-NG-ton Blue (U13898629) on Friday, 17th April 2009
Since I was at school I have always been an fan of war poems. Having to study them at school was a chore for most but a pleasure for me.
Do you have any favourites? Or any song lyrics of a similar ilk that stand out?
My Favourite is a popular one and is below
Dulce Et Decorum Est - Wilfred Owen
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our 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 tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped 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
Obscene as cancer, 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 -
Message 2
Posted by Mani (U1821129) on Friday, 17th April 2009
'Boom Boom Boom'
By Private Baldrick is a classic in anyone's eyes! -
Message 3
Posted by stalteriisok (U3212540) on Friday, 17th April 2009
hark - the rooinek is returning
i can hear the steady tramp
after twenty years of waiting lulled to sleep
since rank and file at Pochestroom we hemmed them in their camp
and cut them down at Bronkers Spruit like sheep
they shelled us at Ingogo but we galloped into range
and shot the British gunners where they showed
I knew they would return to us
I knew the chance would change
hark the Roo Batje singing on the road
=================================================
an anonymous boer writing of his thoughts re the 2nd Boer war (another 3 verses exist)
st -
Message 4
Posted by U3280211 (U3280211) on Friday, 17th April 2009
Re: Stalt's offering, above.
Now that is a fine poem, it tells the story of a brave fight, lost. It reminds us of what the Boer did well, shooting straight.
All those supposedly 'heroic' verses from Brooke and Sassoon (which we had to learn in school) lack the authenticity of Mani's entry.
"Boom, boom, boom...boom, boom boom" is probably how most would remember it, if we could cut away the 'spin-doctor's' message.
Owen's work is almost too poignant to countenance, given that he died barely a week before war's end.
(To 'revpetero' (OP), do you just do the starters or do you follow-up with the canapes and wine?) -
Message 5
Posted by Spruggles (U13892773) on Saturday, 18th April 2009
No 4,
I think your school must have done you a grave disservice. Sassoon's poetry may well have embraced the romantic edge to begin with but later he developed a style which reflected his bitterness at the conduct of the conflict.
Might I request that you read 'The working party' again, or 'Prelude'... Dim gradual thinning of the shapeless dawn ... and the last line .. 'The legions that have suffered and are dust', surely one of the most evocative lines ever.
And Edmund Blunden should also be there with the masters too and Rosenberg and Robert Graves ..... -
Message 6
Posted by U3280211 (U3280211) on Sunday, 19th April 2009
5
Might I request that you read 'The working party' again, or 'Prelude'... Dim gradual thinning of the shapeless dawn ... and the last line .. 'The legions that have suffered and are dust', surely one of the most evocative lines ever. Â
I did as you suggested and you are quite right, the later Sassoon stuff is 'real' and de-romanticised. (Although the start of verse three of 'Prelude' is a bit OTT:-
"O my brave brown companions, when your souls
Flock silently away, and the eyeless dead
Shame the wild beast of battle on the ridge"..)
You mention Graves. 'Goodbye to all That' is one of the best books to emerge from the FWW but I don't think his poetry is a match for Owen's.
Graves defended Sassoon at Graiglockhart after the latter became anti-war and tore up the ribbon to his MC. Graves's timely action might actually have saved him from 'serious trouble'.
While the still 'twitchy' officers were being given tea and psycho-analysis by WHR Rivers, many NCO's and privates were having their vocal cords electrocuted to counteract the common syndrome of 'elective mutism' so that they might be repaired for return to the front. -
Message 7
Posted by Spruggles (U13892773) on Monday, 20th April 2009
No 5,
And shot for desertion, don't forget that! -
Message 8
Posted by JB on a slippery slope to the thin end ofdabiscuit (U13805036) on Monday, 20th April 2009
"Forward!" he cried, from the rear, and the front rank died.
The general sat, and the lines on the map moved from side to side. -
Message 9
Posted by sunshineandshowers (U13926964) on Tuesday, 21st April 2009
I believe the works of the 1st world war poets is the best antidote to war there could be.
Sadly, it didnt change mankind into lovers of peace.
No war film or history lesson can bring alive the horrors of this 'war to end all wars' such as these poems, and they stand as true today in every theatre of war that rage around our beautiful planet as l write. -
Message 10
Posted by George1507 (U2607963) on Tuesday, 21st April 2009
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!
Tommy by Rudyard Kipling -
Message 11
Posted by Vizzer aka U_numbers (U2011621) on Tuesday, 21st April 2009
Good one 1507George.
Kipling's 'Tommy' certainly gives the lie to the popular misconception that the Victorian UK was all so much jingoism.
I heard some contemporary soldiers poetry in the mid-1990s coming out of the Bosnian civil war. One particular poem which was doing the rounds sticks in the memory. I can't post it on the boards but you can read it here:
(it's the poem about Bosnia on page 78) -
Message 12
Posted by Parti-NG-ton Blue (U13898629) on Monday, 20th April 2009
Canapes and Wine always welcome ; another for you to look over. I like this and would imagine that the views expressed were pretty commonplace.
Reflections
What were your thoughts, my comrades
On the eventful September the third
When to the World was broadcast
The grimmest news our generation had heard
Did you throw out your chest, my comrades
Did your heart increase its pace
At the chance of treading the footsteps
Of our fathers who gave us our place
Did you think of the adventures, my comrades
That by joining the ranks would be yours
Of the wonderful tales you would be able to tell
Bringing laughter and rounds of applause
Did you dream of the medals, my comrades
That one day may adorn your chest
And of those little white wooden crosses
That shows where fathers-brothers rest
Did you hear in the distances, my comrades
The booming of guns and fires all aglow
The roaring of planes and crashing of tanks
As you would meet the militant foe
Yes, these were my thoughts, my comrades
So I almost welcomed the news
That meant terror and pandemonium to some
But to others to kneel in their pews
But one thought was missing, my comrades
One thing the mind’s eye never saw
That these experiences should be surpassed
By becoming a prisoner of war
Here is a picture, my comrades
One that no artist could paint
Of hunger, pain, weariness and lice
Of working all weathers ready to faint
‘Tis from behind the barbed wire, my comrades
Of some ‘laager’ camp in the wild
That one’s mind sadly retraces its steps
And wonder – is it all worthwhile
The real truth then strikes you, my comrade
Like a lightning bolt from the blue
NO – wars are not fought for what we are told
But to bring wealth and fame to the few
So let’s pass this on, my comrade
To our children that they may care
To be always careful and watchful
Of the warmongering leaders’ snare
Now let’s to our knees, my comrades
And pray to Him above
That all people may learn the mistake of wars
And so live in concord and love
P.W. Mason -
Message 13
Posted by sunshineandshowers (U13926964) on Wednesday, 22nd April 2009
WASTE
Waste of muscle, Waste of Brain
Waste of Patience, Waste of Pain,
Waste of Manhood, Waste of Health,
Waste of Beauty, Waste of Wealth,
Waste of Blood and Waste of Tears,
Waste of Youth's Most Precious
Years,
Waste of Ways the Saints Have Trod,
Waste of Glory,
Waste of God.
WAR!
G.A Studdert-Kennedy
'Woodbine Willy'
1st World War Chaplain.
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