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A Belated D-Day Post
The D-Day anniversary has yet again made me confront my own ambivalence about such occasions. I have a deep respect for the men who fought in WW II and a fascination with military narratives and history, but an abhorrence of war in general and a particular distrust of certain battles being currently waged.
As a memoriam of the D-Day invasion, and the Canadians who died on Juno beach, and as a cautionary tale for our current times, this poem seemed apt:
Two Armies
Deep in the winter plain, two armies
Dig their machinery, to destroy each other.
Men freeze and hunger. No one is given leave
On either side, except the dead, and wounded.
These have their leave; while new battalions wait
On time at last to bring them violent peace.
All have become so nervous and so cold
That each man hates the cause and distant words
That brought him here, more terribly than bullets.
Once a boy hummed a popular marching song,
Once a novice hand flapped their salute;
The voice was choked, the lifted hand fell,
Shot through the wrist by those of his own side.
From their numb harvest, all would flee, except
For discipline drilled once in an iron school
Which holds them at the point of the revolver.
Yet when they sleep, the images of home
Ride wishing horses of escape
Which herd the plain in a mass unspoken poem.
Finally, they cease to hate: for although hate
Bursts from the air and whips the earth with hail
Or shoots it up in fountains to marvel at,
And although hundreds fall, who can connect
The inexhaustible anger of the guns
With the dumb patience of those tormented animals?
Clean silence drops at night, when a little walk
Divides the sleeping armies, each
Huddled in linen woven by remote hands.
When the machines are still, a common suffering
Whitens the air with breath and makes both one
As though these enemies slept in each other's arms.
Only the lucid friend to aerial raiders
The brilliant pilot moon, stares down
Upon this plain she makes a shining bone
Cut by the shadows of many thousand bones.
Where amber clouds scatter on No-Man's-Land
She regards death and time throw up
The furious words and minerals which destroy.
-Stephen Spender
As a memoriam of the D-Day invasion, and the Canadians who died on Juno beach, and as a cautionary tale for our current times, this poem seemed apt:
Two Armies
Deep in the winter plain, two armies
Dig their machinery, to destroy each other.
Men freeze and hunger. No one is given leave
On either side, except the dead, and wounded.
These have their leave; while new battalions wait
On time at last to bring them violent peace.
All have become so nervous and so cold
That each man hates the cause and distant words
That brought him here, more terribly than bullets.
Once a boy hummed a popular marching song,
Once a novice hand flapped their salute;
The voice was choked, the lifted hand fell,
Shot through the wrist by those of his own side.
From their numb harvest, all would flee, except
For discipline drilled once in an iron school
Which holds them at the point of the revolver.
Yet when they sleep, the images of home
Ride wishing horses of escape
Which herd the plain in a mass unspoken poem.
Finally, they cease to hate: for although hate
Bursts from the air and whips the earth with hail
Or shoots it up in fountains to marvel at,
And although hundreds fall, who can connect
The inexhaustible anger of the guns
With the dumb patience of those tormented animals?
Clean silence drops at night, when a little walk
Divides the sleeping armies, each
Huddled in linen woven by remote hands.
When the machines are still, a common suffering
Whitens the air with breath and makes both one
As though these enemies slept in each other's arms.
Only the lucid friend to aerial raiders
The brilliant pilot moon, stares down
Upon this plain she makes a shining bone
Cut by the shadows of many thousand bones.
Where amber clouds scatter on No-Man's-Land
She regards death and time throw up
The furious words and minerals which destroy.
-Stephen Spender
no subject
I watched a part of the ceremonies on TV on Sunday. I have longed desired to attend a Rememberance Day celebration in Ottawa or ever better visit some of the sites in France where Canadians fought and died in both World Wars.
I keep thinking there must be a way we can honour their memories and keep their stories alive as the last of those that served are rapidly fading away.
no subject
I hate wars and violence, but I do wish to honour those young men who fought for our freedom. sooguy - if you get a chance - go to Normandie. I've been there, and I don't usually tear up, but there, I cried. Some Norwegians also fought and died there in those June days, and it was a strong experience to see the flag and memorial things there. We also visited Omaha beach and the graveyard, which was indescribable. Some American relatives/vets were at the graveyard for the "taking down the flag for the day ceremony" and were allowed to do it. We cried with them. But I think we reacted to the meaningless horror of it all. So many dead, and for what?
(And sorry for this long comment in your LJ, just had to get it out!)
sensine
no subject
Thanks for the post.