Wilfred Owen Dulce Et Decorum Est 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 disappointed shells 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 floundering 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. Although we play our game laughing "LOL" at our enemies slump over dead, as realism is what this mod is about how can we not remember those who inspired it? To me, this poem helps to fill the void FH leaves. Very rarely will you hear me "LOL".
Hey, don't make fun of my old signature...
*Digs up his GCSE War poetry book* A poem a little more relevent to FH:
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 dishonored 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
The poem certainly puts me in the right frame of mind. I have recorded myself and I play my tape back while on the Battleground. My mother thinks I'm crazy but I guess she's a typical woman- always after a heroic tale... If only FH was real, my war stories would make home life easier!
Very nice poem Silian. You know it's always those small personal anecdotes that really hit you. You can read about gigantic battles and terrible death tolls but it's these little things that hit you the hardest and makes you think about how terrible a war can be.
You seem troubled Cutis, i think you should really, at 48, have your own space. Perhaps you should think about moving out, even it its just a 1 bedroomed flat.
[color=black]You ask why dont I move out? Well I tried once, I moved into the local YMCA bedsit which I shared with 2 other men. I had to leave in the end though as I found out during the day when I would collect my fish and chip supper they would use my computer without permission to view explicit images. Here I have internet access and familiarity. If you assume I am troubled, you have read me wrong. Perhaps my mature attidue is too much for a few, but I'm suprised at a man of your age not understanding my plight!
EglaerinionVery nice poem Silian. You know it's always those small personal anecdotes that really hit you. You can read about gigantic battles and terrible death tolls but it's these little things that hit you the hardest and makes you think about how terrible a war can be.
I have to say, to avoid any further confusion, that i didn't personally write that poem, but it was from a school textbook (which i forgot to say).
Siegfried Sassoon and Wilfred Owen are the best war poets in my opinion. Dulce et Decorum est is probably the best poem I've ever read/analysed.