procession
“We are citizens of the world. The tragedy of our times is that we do not know this.”
President Woodrow Wilson
The public sculpture is placed at the entrance of Piccadilly Station in Manchester I came across a week ago and thought it was rather moving.
I thought I would include the powerful poem by Wilfred Owen 1893-1918 the best in my opinion of the English war poets. Owen was killed in action on 4 November 1918 during the crossing of the Sambre–Oise Canal, exactly one week (almost to the hour) before the signing of the Armistice which ended the war, and was promoted to the rank of Lieutenant the day after his death. His mother received the telegram informing her of his death on Armistice Day, as the church bells in Shrewsbury were ringing out in celebration. The poem was published after his death and it addresses powerfully what he called, “ The old lie “.
A hundred years on we should rightly remember but remembrance by itself is of little value unless we learn and there is little evidence that we do. Europe has had three major wars in a century WW1, WW2 and the recent Balkan war all directly the result of nationalism.
Yet in 2018 the nationalists are at it again and the solutions are the old ones, rally round the flag, put your own country first, keep the country pure from the others e.g anyone a different colour religion or ethnic group to you , distrust internationalist institutions and there is usually a good conspiracy theory or two of your country being controlled by an unnamed international cabal . Mix these together with sufficient ignorance and hate and it should all combust nicely .
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 gas-shells dropping softly 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.
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.
Dulce et Decorum est by Wilfred Owen 1918
THANKS FOR YOUR VISITING BUT CAN I ASK YOU NOT TO FAVE AN IMAGE WITHOUT ALSO MAKING A COMMENT. MANY THANKS KEITH
procession
“We are citizens of the world. The tragedy of our times is that we do not know this.”
President Woodrow Wilson
The public sculpture is placed at the entrance of Piccadilly Station in Manchester I came across a week ago and thought it was rather moving.
I thought I would include the powerful poem by Wilfred Owen 1893-1918 the best in my opinion of the English war poets. Owen was killed in action on 4 November 1918 during the crossing of the Sambre–Oise Canal, exactly one week (almost to the hour) before the signing of the Armistice which ended the war, and was promoted to the rank of Lieutenant the day after his death. His mother received the telegram informing her of his death on Armistice Day, as the church bells in Shrewsbury were ringing out in celebration. The poem was published after his death and it addresses powerfully what he called, “ The old lie “.
A hundred years on we should rightly remember but remembrance by itself is of little value unless we learn and there is little evidence that we do. Europe has had three major wars in a century WW1, WW2 and the recent Balkan war all directly the result of nationalism.
Yet in 2018 the nationalists are at it again and the solutions are the old ones, rally round the flag, put your own country first, keep the country pure from the others e.g anyone a different colour religion or ethnic group to you , distrust internationalist institutions and there is usually a good conspiracy theory or two of your country being controlled by an unnamed international cabal . Mix these together with sufficient ignorance and hate and it should all combust nicely .
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 gas-shells dropping softly 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.
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.
Dulce et Decorum est by Wilfred Owen 1918
THANKS FOR YOUR VISITING BUT CAN I ASK YOU NOT TO FAVE AN IMAGE WITHOUT ALSO MAKING A COMMENT. MANY THANKS KEITH