War Poems thread - please come in and comment!

[timnooner]

Cool website. I just kinda stumbled on it reading about Stalingrad. I'll submit a poem I know of. Written for Master Sergeant Gary Ivan Gordon bt his cousin. Gordon was one of the DELTA Operators killed in Somalia in 93 as part of Operation Gothic Serpent. You saw the story in Blackhawk Down. Ir's hard to wrap your mind around who people like this were and the courage they had so naturally.

Toy Soldiers

Gary, where did you go?
Weren't we playing
"G.I. Joe" dolls
On the knoll behind
Grampy Earl's barn?
King of the hill was I
You and brother were smaller -
But you never stopped
Trying to knock me
Off my feet.
Well, now I am -
My wind is gone
And so are you...
I've heard the news
Of battle fierce, lives lost

But wasn't it yesterday
I saw you grinning
Back-pack-jogging?
Clouds of vapor from your mouth
Dead of winter, I shivered to myself
And smiled
At your pure dedication
Now your determination
Has stolen away our chance
To share poetry
Together.

Footsteps falling -
Sorry sound.
Town holds it breath
As they bring
Your body home.
Not a whisper, not a cough
Pierces the cold, October night

Home, you are, fallen soldier
Not made of plastic, but flesh and bone
And all the cold medals and monuments
Will never bring you back
To the knoll behind
Grampy's farm.

So I'll open my childhood toy-box
Of toy soldiers, trains and "G.I. Joes"
And fill it up instead
With your memory.

In loving memory -

Roger Stevens

[timnooner]

Not a poem really but when we raised our glasses and bottles....



I have ridden the skies in great machines, hooked up and jumped with the best of men. I have fought long and hard, and when I felt I had no energy left, I have been fired by the fear that if I stopped fighting, my comrades would die. And when I was in danger, enemy all around, I heard the thunder from my left and my right, as my life was defended. I have never been alone. I live, jump, fight and battle to victory with the greatest assemblage of men on earth.
Gentlemen, to the BROTHERHOOD of the AIRBORNE.
To the AIRBORNE !!!

[sallyg]

Vergissmeinnicht (Forget-me-not)

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 dishonoured 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
1920-1944

Apologies if this has been posted previously.

[idgreenwood]

Old Pilot
1991

The Spitfire handled well - that was its strength.
I flew from Tangmere with the 607
Until in early June we were transferred
Up to Northallerton, and so missed out
On the Big Show. Some early sorties flown
As wingman to our 'Group', old Snobby Brown,
Ensured my medal, though. I've often thought
About the chaps who never made it back,
And asked myself, "Why me?" You know, this guilt
Of casual survival never goes.
Last year's reunion at Hendon went OK,
But what still stops me, standing there alone,
Is that long list, up on the wall, in stone.

[Michael Emrys]

Idgreenwood,

Nice poem. Could you please provide us with the author's name?

Michael

[idgreenwood]

Oh dear, Michael - given that incoming fire has the right of way, and that your avatar appears to be a fierce-looking tank, and that you are an official of the forum, I may stand little chance of survival here. The poem is my own. I await my fate.

[Michael Emrys]

Oh dear, Michael - given that incoming fire has the right of way, and that your avatar appears to be a fierce-looking tank, and that you are an official of the forum, I may stand little chance of survival here. The poem is my own. I await my fate.

Actually, my opinion is that it's pretty good. It's important on a board like this that credit should be given where credit is due.

Michael

[idgreenwood]

One of my favourite WW2 poems has long been 'Carentan O Carentan' by the American poet (and combat veteran) Louis Simpson. It consists of fourteen quatrains, which I hope is not too long to post here.

Carentan O Carentan

Trees in the old days used to stand
And shape a shady lane
Where lovers wandered hand in hand
Who came from Carentan.

This was the shining green canal
Where we came two by two
Walking at combat-interval.
Such trees we never knew.

The day was early June, the ground
Was soft and bright with dew.
Far away the guns did sound,
But here the sky was blue.

The sky was blue, but there a smoke
Hung still above the sea
Where the ships together spoke
To towns we could not see.

Could you have seen us through a glass
You would have said a walk
Of farmers out to turn the grass,
Each with his own hay-fork.

The watchers in their leopard suits
Waited till it was time,
And aimed between the belt and boot
And let the barrel climb.

I must lie down at once, there is
A hammer at my knee.
And call it death or cowardice,
Don't count again on me.

Everything's alright, Mother,
Everyone gets the same
At one time or another.
It's all in the game.

I never strolled, nor ever shall,
Down such a leafy lane.
I never drank in a canal,
Nor ever shall again.

There is a whistling in the leaves
And it is not the wind,
The twigs are falling from the knives
That cut men to the ground.

Tell me, Master-Sergeant,
The way to turn and shoot.
But the Sergeant's silent
That taught me how to do it.

O Captain, show us quickly
Our place upon the map.
But the Captain's sickly
And taking a long nap.

Lieutenant, what's my duty,
My place in the platoon?
He too's a sleeping beauty,
Charmed by that strange tune.

Carentan O Carentan
Before we met with you
We never yet had lost a man
Or known what death could do.

From A Dream of Governors, Connecticut 1959

[twinkle]

hello gort dont instigate fight and war but peace

This life we are told is indeed a test
so every nation with prophets was blessed
124 thousand we learn from Hadith
prophets came with the message of peace

They had the same message, Allah is one
he has no partners and has no son
Do good deeds and worship your Lord,
help the needy with what you can afford

David, Jesus, Abraham, Moses and more
are some of the prophets that came before
They were only men we mustn't confuse
selected by Allah to bring the good news

After these Prophets had passed away
people got mixed up and went astray
They changed the message to suit their needs
worshipped idols and start bad deeds

Another Prophet Allah would send
and their way of life he would amend
This pattern repeated again and again
until Muhammed the final messenger came

A madman, a poet, a magician or what
all of the above he was not
His honesty and character they had all seen
this pure noble soul they called Al-Amin

Muhammed the truthful, was indeed sincere
Allah's final messenger to many it was clear
He had been appointed to guide mankind
to illuminate ignorant hearts so blind

The message was beautiful and so pure
to the hearts of mankind the wisdom did lure
It filled their lives with love and compassion
Muhammed words? No it can only be revelation

The prophet himself could not read or write
yet Allah gave him this illuminating light
It entered their hearts purifying their souls
and the faithful scribes wrote it on scrolls

In Ramadan the whole Quran was recited and said
even today by millions of Muslims it is read
Every word was recorded like the prophet was told
the exact same message fourteen hundred years old

The Quran is now for all mankind a guide,
it can never be changed and will forever abide,
Its a promise of Allah - an undisputed fact
the message sent to Muhammed will remain intact

No more idols or lords we should erect
the oneness of Allah we should respect
Part of the first pillar known as Tawheed
recited la-illah ha illallah the Muslim creed

We should pray Salah like the prophet taught
and ask for Allah's help like the Prophet sought
To taqwah and unity this will indeed give rise
the second pillar of Islam, the spiritual exercise

We must fast in the whole month of Ramadan
and do good deeds as many as we can
This gift of life we begin to appreciate
by not drinking or eating not even a date

Ramadan is a month Muslims eagerly await
peace, unity and happiness it does create
removing the blinkers a fresh outlook we see
this wonderful month, pillar number three

Some of our wealth we give to those in need
the homeless and hungry we must try and feed
The poor are helped much by this gift so small
this is called Zakat the fourth pillar so tall

To visit the Kabaah, the house of Allah
every Muslim must travel from near and far
Once in a lifetime this great journey we make
the final pillar, a tough task we undertake

The rich, the poor, the black and the white
the male, the female equal in Allah's sight
From all walks of life to hajj they all came
standing before Allah they are all the same

To always be good and honest we must try
we need to remember one day we will die
Only a very small time we can spend here
then we must leave this world so dear

We will be asked about the life we spent
if we did good to heaven we will be sent
this will be decided on the Judgment day
and in heaven or hell we will forever stay

No more guides or prophets will be sent again
instead we have the Quran so deep yet plain
If we get confused to the Quran we turn
a message from the most high from which to learn

For all mankind and forever more
wisdom and teachings it does store
To eternal life it opens the door
the words of our creator that we cant ignore

There are millions of Muslims in the world today
the fastest growing religion experts say
Together to the one true God Muslims Pray
by following the Quran, its only Allah we Obey

[finnjaeger]

I was just searching the Web for poems of Yrjö Jylhä, the most famous Finnish war poet. Unfortunately I could not find any, except this short sample in an article about his person:

http://www.kirjasto.sci.fi/yrjojylh.htm

Translating poetry is most demanding, especially since in Jylhä's poems part of the effect comes from the rhythm and the rhyme, but it would be challenging to give it a try.

Here is his famous poem "at the well", unfortunately I could not find translation for it.


Talvipäivä puolessa on vasta, hyökkäystä ei, vain tykkitulta: viuhuu sirpaleet ja roiskuu multa. Alla maan on tyyntä kodikasta; haavoissaan vain joku hiljaa huokaa: veljet, vesitilkka tuokaa-

Korsun yllä tykkien soi jyry, kaivotietä pyyhkii luotipyry päivin sekä öin, ja polun päässä kaivon partaalla on vettä jäässä-

kaivon luona luoti tapas monta liian janoista ja maltitonta. Janoos älä täällä vettä pyydä, sitäkään jos löydät enää maasta- niin sen peittää pirstat, savu, saasta. Iltaan kestä vain, niin lääkkeen saavat kurkut kuivat, vihlovaiset haavat.

Haavoissaan vaan joku huokaa: veljet vesi tilkka tuokaa-

Lähtee mies, kun kun vettä pyytää veikko, tuskissansa huokuva ja heikko, lähtee, koska veljellä on jano, enempää ei mieti eikä sano. Käteensä hän sieppaa vesikannun, juoksee yli myllerretyn mannun, häipyy sekaan viuhinan ja tuiskeen kuullen korvissaan vain avun kuiskeen.

Tykit jyskyttävät korsunsuuta, viipyy vesimies - ei muuta.Haavoissaan vain joku hiljaa huokaa: veljet vesitilkka tuokaa-

Päivä hämärtyy, ja vihdoin kuullaan, kaivon partaall että mies on suullaan, verta valunut on kaivoon , josta ykskään ei enää vettä nosta. Verta pulpahtavat suonet lähteen verta valuvaiseen iltatähteen.

Haavoissaan vain joku hiljaa huokaa: veljet vesitilkka tuokaa–

Hopefully a good translation can be found.

[idgreenwood]

Always fascinating to see a poem in a language of which one understands not a word!

The poem appears to be in rhyming couplets (octosyllabic? I can't tell), although printed without line breaks as extended quatrains. Is this how it would look in a Finnish book?

For English readers, a literal phrase-for-phrase translation would be the best starting point, after which one might try to follow the rhyme-scheme of the original (rhythm is harder unless you can hear it spoken) and achieve something like the effect the poet is aiming for.

I look forward to reading some form of translation.

[Vitesse]

I think almost all my favourite war poems are already here - Douglas, McCrae, Sassoon, Yeats and more. But I've always loved this one, written supposedly by a Captain Hamish Blair, serving at Scapa Flow. I suspect it could be applied to many garrison towns, or any place where military men had to wait for any time before going into action.

Bloody Orkney

This bloody town's a bloody cuss
No bloody trains, no bloody bus,
And no one cares for bloody us
In bloody Orkney.

The bloody roads are bloody bad,
The bloody folks are bloody mad,
They'd make the brightest bloody sad,
In bloody Orkney.

All bloody clouds, and bloody rains,
No bloody kerbs, no bloody drains,
The Council's got no bloody brains,
In bloody Orkney.

Everything's so bloody dear,
A bloody bob, for bloody beer,
And is it good? - no bloody fear,
In bloody Orkney.

The bloody 'flicks' are bloody old,
The bloody seats are bloody cold,
You can't get in for bloody gold
In bloody Orkney.

The bloody dances make you smile,
The bloody band is bloody vile,
It only cramps your bloody style,
In bloody Orkney.

No bloody sport, no bloody games,
No bloody fun, the bloody dames
Won't even give their bloody names
In bloody Orkney.

Best bloody place is bloody bed,
With bloody ice on bloody head,
You might as well be bloody dead,
In bloody Orkney.

In response, the Orcadians added a stanza:

Captain Hamish "Bloody" Blair
Isna posted here nae mare
But no-one seems to bloody care
In bloody Orkney.

[finnjaeger]

Always fascinating to see a poem in a language of which one understands not a word!

The poem appears to be in rhyming couplets (octosyllabic? I can't tell), although printed without line breaks as extended quatrains. Is this how it would look in a Finnish book?

For English readers, a literal phrase-for-phrase translation would be the best starting point, after which one might try to follow the rhyme-scheme of the original (rhythm is harder unless you can hear it spoken) and achieve something like the effect the poet is aiming for.

I look forward to reading some form of translation.

Unfortunately I do not possess the ability to do the translation. I could just translate the words directly but it will not do justice for the poem. Maybe someone else could do this?

[Graeme Sydney]

Beach Burial

by Kenneth Slessor

Softly and humbly to the Gulf of Arabs
The convoys of dead sailors come;
At night they sway and wander in the waters far under,
But morning rolls them in the foam.

Between the sob and clubbing of the gunfire
Someone, it seems, has time for this,
To pluck them from the shallows and bury them in burrows
And tread the sand upon their nakedness;

And each cross, the driven stake of tidewood,
Bears the last signature of men,
Written with such perplexity, with such bewildered pity,
The words choke as they begin -

'Unknown seaman' - the ghostly pencil
Wavers and fades, the purple drips,
The breath of wet season has washed their inscriptions
As blue as drowned men's lips,

Dead seamen, gone in search of the same landfall,
Whether as enemies they fought,
Or fought with us, or neither; the sand joins them together,
Enlisted on the other front.
_____________________________________________
German Translation

Strandbegräbnis

Ergeben und sanft zum Golf der Araber
Kommen die Konvois der toten Matrosen;
Nachts irren sie schwankend im Wasser tief unten,
Doch der Morgen läßt sie im Schaum rollen.

Zwischen dem Schluchzen und Knüppeln von Geschützen
Hat jemand, so scheint es, die Zeit gefunden,
Sie an seichten Stellen aufzusammeln und in Reihen zu begraben
Und den Sand über ihrer Nacktheit festzutreten;

Und jedes Kreuz, ein getriebener Pfahl aus Treibholz,
Trägt die letzte Unterschrift eines Mannes,
Geschrieben mit solcher Bestürzung, mit solch verwirrtem Mitleid,
Die Worte ersticken, sobald sie beginnen -

“Unbekannter Seemann“ - der gespenstische Stift
Zittert und verblaßt, das Purpur tropft,
Der Atem der nassen Jahreszeit hat jede Inschrift
Blau wie die Lippen der Ertrunkenen gefärbt,

Tote Seemänner, fort, denselben Landfall zu suchen,
Wo sie sich als Feinde bekämpft,
Oder mit uns kämpften, oder keines davon, im Sand jetzt zusammen,
Angeworben an der anderen Front.

http://oldpoetry.com/opoem/46383-Kennet ... ach-Burial

I take it that it was published in English and German to give it added piquancy. Works for me. And makes it singularly appropriate for this forum methinks .

[idgreenwood]

Slessor was an Australian poet (1901-1971) - not sure why this is also in German, though. A little emotional for my own taste (why do the floating corpses come 'humbly', how do you know that the inscriptions were written with 'bewildered pity', and why do the words 'choke'?), but it is clearly a deeply felt poem and, as you say, appropriate to the forum.