# Please recommend some poetry re: war **URL:** \ **Category:** Cafe Society\ **Created:** [August 12, 2004, 4:18am UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/please-recommend-some-poetry-re-war/259488 "2004-08-12T04:18:35Z")\ **Posts on this page:** 7\ **Page:** 2
**Author:** ![Jurph](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/j/50afbb/32.png) [@Jurph](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/Jurph)\ **Post date:** [August 12, 2004, 6:27pm UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/please-recommend-some-poetry-re-war/259488/21 "2004-08-12T18:27:53Z")
If you want something that’s “in your face” then try **The Death of the Ball-Turret Gunner** by Randall Jarrell: _From my mother’s sleep I fell into the State, And I hunched in its belly till my wet fur froze. Six miles from earth, loosed from the dream of life, I woke to black flak and the nightmare fighters. When I died they washed me out of the turret with a hose._ But if you’re looking for something much more subtle, check out **Naming of Parts** by Henry Reed: \* Today we have naming of parts. Yesterday, We had daily cleaning. And tomorrow morning, We shall have what to do after firing. But today, Today we have naming of parts. Japonica Glistens like coral in all of the neighboring gardens, And today we have naming of parts. This is the lower sling swivel. And this Is the upper sling swivel, whose use you will see, When you are given your slings. And this is the piling swivel, Which in your case you have not got. The branches Hold in the gardens their silent, eloquent gestures, Which in our case we have not got. This is the safety-catch, which is always released With an easy flick of the thumb. And please do not let me See anyone using his finger. You can do it quite easy If you have any strength in your thumb. The blossoms Are fragile and motionless, never letting anyone see Any of them using their finger. And this you can see is the bolt. The purpose of this Is to open the breech, as you see. We can slide it Rapidly backwards and forwards: we call this Easing the spring. And rapidly backwards and forwards The early bees are assaulting and fumbling the flowers: They call it easing the Spring. They call it easing the Spring: it is perfectly easy If you have any strength in your thumb: like the bolt, And the breech, and the cocking-piece, and the point of balance, Which in our case we have not got; and the almond-blossom Silent in all of the gardens and the bees going backwards and forwards, For today we have naming of parts. \* ---
**Author:** ![furlibusea](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/f/aca169/32.png) [@furlibusea](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/furlibusea)\ **Post date:** [August 12, 2004, 6:43pm UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/please-recommend-some-poetry-re-war/259488/22 "2004-08-12T18:43:25Z")
Absolutely not glorifying war would be Wilfred Owen or Siegfried Sasson. Roberd Graves would be another one. You also may want to look in to many of Bernard Shaws one act plays. He was ardently anti war. It does seem that this is a period of intentionaly moving away from glorifying war. **Wilfed Owen** GREATER LOVE Red lips are not so red As the stained stones kissed by the English dead. Kindness of wooed and wooer Seems shame to their love pure. O Love, your eyes lose lure When I behold eyes blinded in my stead! Your slender attitude Trembles not exquisite like limbs knife-skewed, Rolling and rolling there Where God seems not to care; Till the fierce love they bear Cramps them in death’s extreme decrepitude. Your voice sings not so soft,– Though even as wind murmuring through raftered loft,– Your dear voice is not dear, Gentle, and evening clear, As theirs whom none now hear, Now earth has stopped their piteous mouths that coughed. Heart, you were never hot Nor large, nor full like hearts made great with shot; And though your hand be pale, Paler are all which trail Your cross through flame and hail: Weep, you may weep, for you may touch them not. **Siegfried Sasoon** ‘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 lead the last attack ‘On Anti-Christ; their comrades’ blood has bought '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!’ ---
**Author:** ![tisiphone](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/t/bbe5ce/32.png) [@tisiphone](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/tisiphone)\ **Post date:** [August 12, 2004, 9:48pm UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/please-recommend-some-poetry-re-war/259488/23 "2004-08-12T21:48:58Z")
The Call (France, August first, 1914) ``` Far and near, high and clear, Hark to the call of War! ``` Over the gorse and the golden dells, Ringing and swinging of clamorous bells, Praying and saying of wild farewells: War! War! War! ``` High and low, all must go: Hark to the shout of War! ``` Leave to the women the harvest yield; Gird ye, men, for the sinister field; A sabre instead of a scythe to wield: War! Red War! ``` Rich and poor, lord and boor, Hark to the blast of War! ``` Tinker and tailor and millionaire, Actor in triumph and priest in prayer, Comrades now in the hell out there, Sweep to the fire of War! ``` Prince and page, sot and sage, Hark to the roar of War! ``` Poet, professor and circus clown, Chimney-sweeper and fop o’ the town, Into the pot and be melted down: Into the pot of War! ``` Women all, hear the call, The pitiless call of War! ``` Look your last on your dearest ones, Brothers and husbands, fathers, sons: Swift they go to the ravenous guns, The gluttonous guns of War. ``` Everywhere thrill the air The maniac bells of War. ``` There will be little of sleeping to-night; There will be wailing and weeping to-night; Death’s red sickle is reaping to-night: War! War! War! [Robert Service](http://www.mochinet.com/poets/service/index.cgi), _Rhymes of a Red Cross Man_ and _Ballads of a Bohemian Book 4_. Robert Service was in the ambulance corps, so there is precious little of glory. “On the Wire” is one of the more powerful depictions of the horrors of trench warfare I’ve run across. ---
**Author:** ![Malinalda](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/m/aca169/32.png) [@Malinalda](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/Malinalda)\ **Post date:** [August 12, 2004, 11:34pm UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/please-recommend-some-poetry-re-war/259488/24 "2004-08-12T23:34:58Z")
Villanelle Violets from Plug Street Wood, Sweet, I send you oversea. (It is strange they should be blue, Blue, when his soaked blood was red, For they grew around his head; It is strange they should be blue.) Violets from Plug Street Wood- Think what they have meant to me- Life and Hope and Love and You (And you did not see them grow Where his mangled body lay Hiding horror from the day; Sweetest it was better so.) Violets from oversea, To your dear, far, forgetting land These I send in memory, Knowing You will understand. (3) Roland Leighton ---
**Author:** ![MacSpon](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/m/34f0e0/32.png) [@MacSpon](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/MacSpon)\ **Post date:** [August 12, 2004, 11:52pm UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/please-recommend-some-poetry-re-war/259488/25 "2004-08-12T23:52:11Z")
Kipling’s [Epitaphs of the War](http://whitewolf.newcastle.edu.au/words/authors/K/KiplingRudyard/verse/p2/epitaphs.html). One of the few poems which has made me cry. ---
**Author:** ![robinc308](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/r/b782af/32.png) [@robinc308](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/robinc308)\ **Post date:** [August 13, 2004, 12:16am UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/please-recommend-some-poetry-re-war/259488/26 "2004-08-13T00:16:42Z")
My favourite war poem has got to be In Memoriam by Ewart Alan Mackintosh (killed in action, November 1917, aged 24) **In Memoriam** _(Private D. Sutherland killed in action in the German trenches, 16 May 1916, and the others who died)_ So you were David’s father, And he was your only son, And the new-cut peats are rotting And the work is left undone, Because of an old man weeping, Just an old man in pain, For David, his son David, That will not come again. Oh, the letters he wrote you, And I can see them still, Not a word of the fighting, But just the sheep on the hill And how you should get the crops in Ere the year get stormier, And the Bosches have got his body, And I was his officer. You were only David’s father, But I had fifty sons When we went up in the morning Under the arch of the guns, And we came back at twilight - O God! I heard them call To me for help and pity That could not help at all. Oh, never will I forget you, My men that trusted me, More my sons than your fathers’, For they could only see The little helpless babies And the young men in their pride. They could not see you dying, And hold you while you died. Happy and young and gallant, They saw their first-born go, But not the strong limbs broken And the beautiful men brought low, The piteous writhing bodies, They screamed ‘Don’t leave me, sir’, For they were only your fathers But I was your officer. ---
**Author:** ![Sternvogel](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/s/bc79bd/32.png) [@Sternvogel](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/Sternvogel)\ **Post date:** [August 13, 2004, 2:55am UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/please-recommend-some-poetry-re-war/259488/27 "2004-08-13T02:55:34Z")
William Butler Yeats _An Irish Airman foresees his Death_ I KNOW that I shall meet my fate Somewhere among the clouds above; Those that I fight I do not hate Those that I guard I do not love; My country is Kiltartan Cross, My countrymen Kiltartan’s poor, No likely end could bring them loss Or leave them happier than before. Nor law, nor duty bade me fight, Nor public man, nor cheering crowds, A lonely impulse of delight Drove to this tumult in the clouds; I balanced all, brought all to mind, The years to come seemed waste of breath, A waste of breath the years behind In balance with this life, this death. [Previous page](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/please-recommend-some-poetry-re-war/259488.md?page=1)