Two Sonnets for Memorial Day

May 26th, 2015

This is a syndicated post, originally from Rad Geek People's Daily » Dulce Et Decorum Est.

(To Jessie Pope,[1] etc.)

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge
Till on the haunting fires 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 in lime.—
Dim, through 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 distant glory
The old lie: DULCE ET DECORUM EST
PRO PATRIA MORI
.[2]

—Wilfred Owen (Oct. 1917).

The poet, Wilfred Owen began work on this poem in October 1917 while on leave in England. This is his best known poem. He never completed it for publication, because a year later he was dead. On November 4, 1918 he was killed on the front in a meaningless battle for the Sambre–Oise Canal seven days before the warring governments finalized the Armistice.

[Read the original at Rad Geek People's Daily » Dulce Et Decorum Est (2015-05-26)...]

In The Warhead, by OTEP

April 2nd, 2007

Thanks to Victoria Marinelli (2005-07-09) for the link.

Here is a music video of In The Warhead by OTEP.

In The Warhead

Why?
The king of lies
Is alive
Look around
Look inside
Infidel [x3]

It begins here, it ends now
The prince must pay
His head or the crown
Rob the poor, slaughter the weak
Distort the law, perfect deceit

Do I need a gas mask?
Should I get inoculated?
Will this war last?
Will we be incincerated?

False gods
Death squads
Blind

This is a catastrophe
Weapon systems activated
Puritans have invaded
This is a catastrohpe
To protect against the threat
Order must be kept [x3]

Do I need a gas mask?
Should I get inoculated?
Will this war last?
Will we be incincerated?
False gods
Death squads
Blind

The elephants march to war
Concede
Conform
Concede
Conform
Deny the big lie
My tribe
Join me
An alliance of defiance, in the warhead [x3]
An alliance of defiance
All are welcome here
Give me your tired, give me your sick, give me your indulgence and decadence [x3]
He lied, they died, keep the peasants terrified [x2]
This is a catastrophe
You must lead if they get me
On my command
Break free
Break free
Break free
Break free.

Stormtroopers Advancing Under Gas

August 12th, 2006

Here is a drawing of five troops marching forward in white gas masks, looking for all the world like distorted versions of dead men's skulls.

Otto Dix, from War (1924)

Read the rest of this entry »

DULCE ET DECORUM EST

July 19th, 2006

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 (1917–1918)

Read the rest of this entry »