This week: War Poems Edited by: eyestar~* More Newsletters By This Editor
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Happy Remembrance Day everyone. I am happy to be your guest editor for this week. Let's have a look at some poetry honouring veteransI
"A hero is someone who has given his or her life to something bigger than oneself." Joseph Campbell |
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November 11 brings back to mind one of the first Remembrance Day poems I learned: In Flanders Fields, penned on a notepaper by a Canadian doctor John McCrae on the WW 1 battlefield as he watched comrades fall amidst the gunfire, poppy fields and lark song! What a vivid contrast in short verses that struck a chord in many hearts as it soon became quite popular.
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.
Since that first November 11 and during the wars, poems have expressed the emotions, memories, stories, of the times and to honour those who fought, came back disabled or never returned. Poetry continues to be a medium for sharing the depth and meaning of such experiences.
In Arlington, Virginia in 1961 this small poem was in a speech by John F. Kennedy to honour all the dead in the wars in the US:
"They are the race -
they are the race immortal,
Whose beams make broad
the common light of day!
Though Time may dim,
though Death has barred their portal,
These we salute,
which nameless passed away."
Did you know that over 2000 poems were written by soldiers during WW1? According to Briana Fabian, these poet soldiers needed a way to let out their emotions, ... describe the horrors of the war when others could not, and poetry served as a way to pass the time when there was nothing to do," especially in the trenches, waiting.
Two books "Some Desperate Glory" by Max Egremont, and "Poetry of the First world War" by Marcus Clapham are anthologies and commentaries on some of the known and not known WW 1 Poets, including Wilfred Owen, Rupert Brookes and even sweethearts, nurses and friends who all share differing perspectives.
The Soldier
Rupert Brooke
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.
Other names you may be familiar with who are considered war poets: serving or volunteering at the time
Rilke, Appolonaire, Robert Service, ee cummings, who was a volunteer ambulence driver, and even
Ella wheeler Wilcox is considered a forgotten war poet. She travelled to France to write and read poems to the troops at age 67 when America entered the war. One famous poem of hers is War Mothers
There is something in the sound of drum and fife
That stirs all the savage instincts into life.
continued here ▼
In the old times of peace we went our ways,
Through proper days
Of little joys and tasks. Lonely at times,
When from the steeple sounded wedding chimes,
Telling to all the world some maid was wife—
But taking patiently our part in life
As it was portioned us by Church and State,
Believing it our fate.
Our thoughts all chaste
Held yet a secret wish to love and mate
Ere youth and virtue should go quite to waste.
But men we criticised for lack of strength,
And kept them at arm's length.
Then the war came—
The world was all aflame!
The men we had thought dull and void of power
Were heroes in an hour.
He who had seemed a slave to petty greed
Showed masterful in that great time of need.
He who had plotted for his neighbour's pelf,
Now for his fellows offers up himself.
And we were only women, forced by war
To sacrifice the things worth living for.
Something within us broke,
Something within us woke,
The wild cave-woman spoke.
When we heard the sound of drumming,
As our soldiers went to camp,
Heard them tramp, tramp, tramp;
As we watched to see them coming,
And they looked at us and smiled
(Yes, looked back at us and smiled),
As they filed along by hillock and by hollow,
Then our hearts were so beguiled
That, for many and many a day,
We dreamed we heard them say,
'Oh, follow, follow, follow!'
And the distant, rolling drum
Called us 'Come, come, come!'
Till our virtue seemed a thing to give away.
War had swept ten thousand years away from earth.
We were primal once again.
There were males, not modern men;
We were females meant to bring their sons to birth.
And we could not wait for any formal rite,
We could hear them calling to us, 'Come to-night;
For to-morrow, at the dawn,
We move on!'
And the drum
Bellowed, 'Come, come, come!'
And the fife
Whistled, 'Life, life, life!'
So they moved on and fought and bled and died;
Honoured and mourned, they are the nation's pride.
We fought our battles, too, but with the tide
Of our red blood, we gave the world new lives.
Because we were not wives
We are dishonoured. Is it noble, then,
To break God's laws only by killing men
To save one's country from destruction?
We took no man's life but gave our chastity,
And sinned the ancient sin
To plant young trees and fill felled forests in.
Oh, clergy of the land,
Bible in hand,
All reverently you stand,
On holy thoughts intent
While barren wives receive the sacrament!
Had you the open visions you could see
Phantoms of infants murdered in the womb,
Who never knew a cradle or a tomb,
Hovering about these wives accusingly.
Bestow the sacrament! Their sins are not well known—
Ours to the four winds of the earth are blown.
Today we write to honour the heroes who stood for something bigger than themselves.
What would you express in a poetic form?
Do you have a favourite war poet or tribute poem?
Have you ever written a poem with that theme?
You might like to do so in honour of this day at
Or perhaps you have entered one on the theme in a contest and did not win. You could post here:
Today let's just pause to reflect and remember....
eyestar
A few sources:
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/articles/70139/the-poetry-of-world-war-i
https://www.panmacmillan.com/blogs/literary/the-poetry-of-the-first-world-war
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/articles/91440/world-war-ii-poets |
Some of our WDC authors pay tribute:
| | Company B (E) Dedicated to Sergeant Frederick W. Mausert III, USMC Company B, 1st Battalion, 7th Marines #2236371 by Master Om |
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| | Flypast (13+) A Flypast to honour 10 U.S. Airmen who died avoiding some English boys in a park in 1944 #2203001 by Brenpoet |
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