My Sentiment For The Day
Apr. 28th, 2009 04:43 pmWritten long ago in a mental hospital, this poem has always spoken to me, especially after the Second Lebanon War.
In memory of those who dies for this country, now 61 years old. In a few hours the black melancholy that wraps itself around the population will lift and the Independence Day celebrations will commence.
I'll be avoiding the crowds and going to a late night Mangal (BBQ) with [Southern!Girl] at a friends house, in which we will eat, drink and be cynical about the whole thing.
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*.
Wilfred Owen, 1917 (Killed in the battle of the Sambre, November 4th 1918 - a week before Armistice)
*It is sweet and proper to die for one's country
It is said that Joseph Trumpledor, as he died, uttered "Never mind, it's good to die for ones country" ("en davar, tov lamut be-at artzenu"-אין דבר, טוב למות בעד ארצנו) which is very much a paraphrase of Horace's old adage, quoted in Owen's poem.
Personally, I think that like most soldiers who die in battle he probably swore an oath and cried for his mother.
In memory of those who dies for this country, now 61 years old. In a few hours the black melancholy that wraps itself around the population will lift and the Independence Day celebrations will commence.
I'll be avoiding the crowds and going to a late night Mangal (BBQ) with [Southern!Girl] at a friends house, in which we will eat, drink and be cynical about the whole thing.
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*.
Wilfred Owen, 1917 (Killed in the battle of the Sambre, November 4th 1918 - a week before Armistice)
*It is sweet and proper to die for one's country
It is said that Joseph Trumpledor, as he died, uttered "Never mind, it's good to die for ones country" ("en davar, tov lamut be-at artzenu"-אין דבר, טוב למות בעד ארצנו) which is very much a paraphrase of Horace's old adage, quoted in Owen's poem.
Personally, I think that like most soldiers who die in battle he probably swore an oath and cried for his mother.
no subject
Date: 2009-04-28 02:16 pm (UTC)Ah, the lies old men tell the young to make them go out and commit murder.
no subject
Date: 2009-04-28 03:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-04-29 04:57 pm (UTC)First of all, he did not die in battle. He was hit by a bullet (apparently he did say "Heck*, I've been hit") and died of his wounds while being brought to a medical facility. His doctor was the man who published his famous last words, which were very likely said with Horace in mind.
Deconstruction of myths is fun, but not always true.
* It was an idiosyncrasy of his that he did not swear. The only swear word which he used was עזאזל - Hell. His accent was such that "normal" Hebrew speakers couldn't tell if he was using a euphemism or not, which is why I used Heck.
no subject
Date: 2009-04-29 06:30 pm (UTC)Though it remains true that the majority of wounded soldiers do wind up crying for their mothers.
no subject
Date: 2009-04-29 07:16 pm (UTC)BTW - I'm aware of research which says that many wounded people call for their mothers, I wonder if it has been updated for modern, 21st century warfare or if this is something which has been bandied forth since WW2.
no subject
Date: 2009-04-30 10:27 am (UTC)Plus they tend to be evacuated faster, to better equipped hospitals, and the survival rates are much higher.
no subject
Date: 2009-04-30 11:59 am (UTC)The point of this post was to try and not take at face value the glorification of death and readily accept dying for ones country as the most heroic thing that a soldier (and citizen) can do.
I think glorifying death for the nation isn't a good thing.
Trumpledor was a hero not because he said what he said at the time of his death, but because of what he did in his life. I think it would behoove us as a culture to remember the lives of those who died and not continue the discourse in which soldiers are especially more valuable because they are dead soldiers.