The Last Enchantment
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Dulce Et Decorum Est.
Patriots are a bit nuts in the head
Because they wear
red, white and blue-
tinted spectacles
(red for blood
white for glory
and blue...
for a boy)
and are in effervescent danger
of losing their lives
lives are good for you
when you are alive
you can eat and drink a lot
and go out with girls
(sometimes if you are lucky
you can even go to bed with them)
but you can’t do this
if you have your belly shot away
and your seeds
spread over some corner of a foreign field
to facilitate
in later years
the growing of oats by some peasant yobbo
when you are posthumous it is cold and dark
and that is why patriots are a bit nuts in the head.
Because they wear
red, white and blue-
tinted spectacles
(red for blood
white for glory
and blue...
for a boy)
and are in effervescent danger
of losing their lives
lives are good for you
when you are alive
you can eat and drink a lot
and go out with girls
(sometimes if you are lucky
you can even go to bed with them)
but you can’t do this
if you have your belly shot away
and your seeds
spread over some corner of a foreign field
to facilitate
in later years
the growing of oats by some peasant yobbo
when you are posthumous it is cold and dark
and that is why patriots are a bit nuts in the head.
posted by EL PADRONE at 11:04 am
6 Comments:
W. Owens
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 tired, outstripped Five-Nines 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 flound'ring 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.
Exactly right : that's where I took the title of the post from.
The Roger McGough version is much funnier though ( and I didn't want to get too heavy).
It's (sort of) my response to the discussion about nuking Iran on The Cage the other night. A good natured bit of "Ferfe-baiting" if you like!
M.
"A good natured bit of "Ferfe-baiting" if you like!"
ehrm...you're assuming she drops by more than 1x every 3 months ... she has me on her frequently visited blogs list, and best I can tell, "frequent" equals about 1x every 2 months
was reading a bit that said owens died a week before armistice day and notification being what it was at that time, it was on armistice day (church bells ringing in celebration) that his mother got the news he'd died.
think he would have been houseman's successor (another fave of mine) in many ways had he lived longer rather than a bit of an unknown and an english lit footnote. :-(
Good point about Ferfe - I'm guessing that the grapevine might do the job for me.
Yes - you're right about Wilfred Owen's death.
Over her though he is very well loved and this particular poem is required reading for virtually all English Literature courses from GCE level (15 years old) and upwards.
He is far from a footnote.
M.
You need to dangle the fish in the cage.
Eva,
I think Ferfe's probably had enough of me for this week.
Besides which, it's isn't particularly aimed at her : I found an old copy of Roger McGough's poetry the other night when I was re-arranging a few things in my bedroom and suddenly remembered this from my distant and idealistic youth.
It seemed appropriate.
** smooches **
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