11/11

[altariel]

For by my glee might many men have laughed,
And of my weeping something had been left,
Which must die now. I mean the truth untold,
The pity of war, the pity war distilled.
Now men will go content with what we spoiled,
Or, discontent, boil bloody, and be spilled.
They will be swift with swiftness of the tigress.
None will break ranks, though nations trek from progress.

From Strange Meeting by Wilfred Owen

And do read the poems posted by the_wild_iris.

Comments

[aervir.livejournal.com]

Is it okay to add our own favourite poetry/quotes from war poets here? Or would you rather let the worbs above stand on their own and let them only speak for themselves? If so, then please accept my apologies and delete my post.

Parable of the Old Men and the Young (W.Owen)

So Abram rose, and clave the wood, and went,
And took the fire with him, and a knife.
And as they sojourned both of them together,
Isaac the first-born spake and said, My Father,
Behold the preparations, fire and iron,
But where the lamb for this burnt-offering?
Then Abram bound the youth with belts and straps,
And builded parapets and trenches there,
And stretched forth the knife to slay his son.
When lo! an angel called him out of heaven,
Saying, Lay not thy hand upon the lad,
Neither do anything to him. Behold,
A ram caught in a thicket by its horns;
Offer the Ram of Pride instead of him.
But the old man would not so, but slew his son. . . .

[the-wild-iris.livejournal.com]

None will break ranks, though nations trek from progress.

It's interesting how these lines are ambiguous - I can't decide whether it's valour or militant stubbornness that Owen is predicting here. Isolated, as in your icon, it seems wholly positive; in context, more puzzling. Definitely a hugely rich and thought-provoking poems. Thanks for posting.

[aesc.livejournal.com]

Owen is one of my most favorite poets ever; I can remember reading his "Dulce et Decorum Est" as a high school student and being overcome by it.

[hardrada.livejournal.com]

I saw his round mouth's crimson deepen as it fell
Like a Sun, in his last deep hour.
Watched the magnificent recession of farewell,
Clouding, half gleam, half glower,
And a last splendour burn the Heaven of his cheek,
And in his eyes
The cold stars lighting, very old and bleak
In different skies.

[hardrada.livejournal.com]

When I'm asleep, dreaming and lulled and warm,
They come, the homeless ones, the noiseless dead.
While the dim charging breakers of the storm
Bellow and drone and rumble overhead.
Out of the gloom they gather about my bed.
They whisper to my heart; their thoughts are mine.
"Why are you here with all your watches ended?
From Ypres to Frise we have sought you in the Line."
In bitter safety I awake unfriended.
And, while the dawn begins with slashing rain
I think of the Battalion in the mud.
"When are you going out to them again?
Are they not still your brothers through our blood?"

[glitterboy1.livejournal.com]

Thank you, A.