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Dr. Bob is Robert Hsiung, MD,
bob@dr-bob.orgShown: posts 1 to 10 of 10. This is the beginning of the thread.
Posted by alexandra_k on November 3, 2005, at 4:26:10
Dulce Et Decorum Est
[It is sweet and fitting]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
[It is a sweet and fitting thing to die for your country]Wilfred Owen, October 1917- March 1918
Disabled.He sat in a wheeled chair, waiting for dark,
And shivered in his ghastly suit of grey,
Legless, sewn short at elbow. Through the park
Voices of boys rang saddening like a hymn,
Voices of play and pleasure after day,
Till gathering sleep had mothered them from him....
About this time Town used to swing so gay
When glow-lamps budded in the light blue trees,
And girls glanced lovelier as the air grew dim, -
In the old times, before he threw away his knees.
Now he will never feel again how slim
Girls' waists are, or how warm their subtle hands.
All of them touch him like some queer disease....
There was an artist silly for his face,
For it was younger then his youth, last year.
Now, he is old; his back will never brace;
He's lost his colour very far from here,
Poured it down shell-holes till the veins ran dry,
And half his lifetime lapsed in the hot race
And leap of purple spurted from his thigh....
One time he liked a blood-smear down his leg,
After the matches, carried shoulder-high.
It was after football, when he'd drunk a peg,
He thought he'd better join. - He wonders why.
Someone had said he'd look a god in kilts,
That's why; and maybe, too, to please his Meg,
Aye, that was it, to please the giddy jilts
He asked to join. He didn't have to beg.
Smiling they wrote his lie: aged nineteen years.
Germans he scarcely thought of; all their guilt,
And Austria's, did not move him. And no fears
Of Fear came yet. He thought of jewelled hilts
For daggers in plaid socks; of smart salutes;
And care of arms; and leave; and pay arrears;
Esprit de corps; and hints for young recruits.
And soon, he was drafted out with drums and cheers....
Some cheered him home, but not as crowds cheer Goal.
Only a solemn man who brought him fruits
*Thanked* him; and then enquired about his soul....
Now, he will spend a few sick years in institutes,
And do what things the rules consider wise,
And take whatever pity they may dole.
Tonight he noticed how the women's eyes
Passed from him to the strong men that were whole.
How cold and late it is! Why don't they come?
And put him into bed? Why don't they come?Wilfred Owen October 1917 - July 1918
The General
"Good-morning; good-morning!" the General said
When we met him last week on our way to the line.
Now the soldiers he smiled at are most of 'em dead,
And we're cursing his staff for incompetent swine.
"He's a cheery old card," grunted Harry to Jack
As they slogged up to Arras with rifle and pack....
But he did for them both by his plan of attack.
Siegfried Sassoon April 22, 1917
"They"The Bishop tells us: "When the boys come back
They will not be the same; for they'll have fought
In a just cause; they led the last attack
On Anti-Christ; their comrades' blood has brought
New right to breed an honourable race,
They have challenged Death and dared him face to face"."We're none of us the same!" the boys reply,
"For George lost both his legs; and Bill's stone blind;
Poor Jim's shot through the lungs and like to die;
And Bert's gone syphilitic; you'll not find
A chap who's served that hasn't found *some* change."
And the Bishop said: "The ways of God are strange!"Siegfried Sassoon October 31, 1916
Posted by alexandra_k on November 3, 2005, at 4:34:20
In reply to poetry of WWI, posted by alexandra_k on November 3, 2005, at 4:26:10
And of course there is Vietnam. Anybody read any... Lets see if I can remember... "Tim O'Brien"?
This is standard stuff...
Standard stuff that we learn in school.
About the brutal realities of war.Do you guys study this?
What the people in vietnam have to say in their poetry and literature?I read "the things they carried" (the last link should take you there). I should really read some of his other stuff. I really liked that one - I don't know that I can say I enjoyed it. But it is very powerful. Some stories from when he was there... Some stories about when they came back home... About trying to adjust back to their daily lives.
About the conflict between being a 'hero'
And knowledge of some of the atrocities that are permitted in a state of war...And rape...
Anybody hear about that?
Because thats what tends to happen...
The military invade and then you have a new generation...
The product of rape.That happened in India with... The british forces? Australian? Something like that. I met someone who was studying that... Studying how prevalent etc it was. I think... Thats how she was born. Because things like that... Well... They seem to be permitted in time of war.
Because all the rules change
All the social norms
All hell breaks loose...
I guess.
Posted by alexandra_k on November 3, 2005, at 4:42:05
In reply to Re: poetry of WWI, posted by alexandra_k on November 3, 2005, at 4:34:20
LOL!!!
Of course people study it, it has cliff notes!
Hmph. Couldn't get those when I was a kid...
;-)
Posted by Damos on November 3, 2005, at 14:58:36
In reply to poetry of WWI, posted by alexandra_k on November 3, 2005, at 4:26:10
Thanks Alex,
Sassoon, Owen, Brooke and Graves are some of my most favourite poets.
Sassoon a decorated hero (Military Cross) I'm pretty sure ended up in a military hospital for supposed shell shock after his anti-war writings rasied the ire of the army and govt of the time.
Thanks again :-)
Posted by zeugma on November 3, 2005, at 18:54:31
In reply to Re: poetry of WWI » alexandra_k, posted by Damos on November 3, 2005, at 14:58:36
ohhh, please, please don't get me started on the subject of WWI poetry.
______________________________________
Downhill I came, hungry, and yet not starved;
Cold, yet had heat within me that was proof
Against the north wind; tired, yet so that rest
Had seemed the sweetest thing under a roof.Then at the inn I had food, fire, and rest,
Knowing how hungry, cold, and tired was I.
All of the night was quite barred out except
An owl's cry, a most melancholy cryShaken out long and clear upon the hill,
No merry note, nor cause of merriment,
But one telling me plain what I escaped
And others could not, that night, as in I went.And salted was my food, and my repose,
salted and sobered too, by the bird's voice
Speaking for all who lay under the stars,
Soldiers and poor, unable to rejoice.-Edward Thomas (1878-1917)
A worm fed on the heart of Corinth,
Babylon and Rome;
Not Paris raped tall Helen,
But this incestuous worm,
Who lured her vivid beauty
To his amorphous sleep.
England! famous as Helen
Is thy betrothal sung
To him the shadowless,
More amorous than Solomon.-Isaac Rosenberg (1890-1918)
-z
Posted by zeugma on November 3, 2005, at 18:58:22
In reply to Re: poetry of WWI, posted by alexandra_k on November 3, 2005, at 4:42:05
Of course people study it, it has cliff notes!
Hmph. Couldn't get those when I was a kid...>>
It shows, alexandra.
Believe me, it shows.
-z
Posted by Tamar on November 4, 2005, at 23:47:48
In reply to poetry of WWI, posted by alexandra_k on November 3, 2005, at 4:26:10
I don't think I'd read Owen's 'Disabled' before. What powerful imagery! Thanks for broadening my horizons.
Tamar
Posted by Declan on November 6, 2005, at 13:49:00
In reply to poetry of WWI, posted by alexandra_k on November 3, 2005, at 4:26:10
Thankyou alex, I loved Dulce Et Decorum Est at school, have't read it forever, left out of the anthologies I have. You know what's a really good series of books concerning Wilfred Owen, Siegfried Sassoon and everything else? Pat Barker's "The Regeneration Trilogy". Brilliant.
Declan
Posted by Declan on November 6, 2005, at 13:50:12
In reply to Re: poetry of WWI, posted by Declan on November 6, 2005, at 13:49:00
3 and a half stars? Those people have rocks in their heads.
Posted by cricket on November 7, 2005, at 8:48:18
In reply to Re: poetry of WWI, posted by alexandra_k on November 3, 2005, at 4:34:20
Thanks Alex. It's been years since I've read any Owen or Sassoon. Last night my son was reading "The Great Gatsby". He asked what the Great War was. Strange how it was called that. I mean of course it couldn't be called WWI. But why not The Terrible War or something?
Sometimes it's hard though. Sometimes I dissociate when I read some of this stuff. Did you ever read Ian McEwan's "Atonement"? Some of the war stuff in that had me in a fog for days.
Not that I've ever been in a war. But in my dreams I have. Endless endless war dreams.
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