[Vision2020] Poetry for Jeremy, by Poets who Actually Fought

[Don Kaag]

--Apple-Mail-8--63815953
Content-Transfer-Encoding: quoted-printable
Content-Type: text/plain;
	charset=ISO-8859-1;
	format=flowed

Melynda:

Here's a real short poem written on a piece of cardboard C-Rat box by a=20=

Marine grunt at Khe Sahn, Central Highlands, former Republic of=20
Vietnam, in 1968:

"For those who serve/Freedom has a taste/The protected will never know"

You can have Ezra Pound... he was a pretentious, expatriate, snob.

As for Wilfred Owen... at least he knew what he was writing about.  He=20=

had "been there and done that".  And that means for all of your English=20=

degree, you will never truly understand his poetry.  You don't have the=20=

referents.

Here's another one, from Lord Macauley:

..."And how can man die better/Than facing fearful odds/For the ashes=20
of their fathers/And the temples of their Gods?"

Hey, this is fun.  I bet we could quote pacifist/war poetry back and=20
forth for weeks...

I could even post some of mine.  But you wouldn't understand them,=20
either.

Regards,

Don Kaag

On Wednesday, March 5, 2003, at 10:24 PM, Melynda Huskey wrote:

> There died a myriad,
> And of the best, among them,
> For an old bitch gone in the teeth,
> For a botched civilization,
> Charm, smiling at the good mouth,
> Quick eyes gone under earth's lid,
>
> For two gross of broken statues,
> For a few thousand battered books.
>
> =A0=A0 ~Ezra Pound
>
> =A0
>
> =A0
>
> 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
> 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, Wilfred Owen.
>
>
>
> I knew a simple soldier boy
> Who grinned at life in empty joy,
> Slept soundly through the lonesome dark,
> And whistled early with the lark.
>
> =A0
>
> In winter trenches, cowed and glum,
> With crumps and lice and lack of rum,
> He put a bullet through his brain.
> No one spoke of him again.
>
> =A0
>
> You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye
> Who cheer when soldier lads march by,
> Sneak home and pray you'll never know
> The hell where youth and laughter go.
>
> ~Suicide in the Trenches, Siegfried Sassoon
>
> =A0
>
> Melynda Huskey (once an English professor, always an English =
professor)
>
> =A0
>
> P.S.=A0 I could also produce a splendid and varied set of poetry in=20
> celebration of adultery--but I hesitate to conclude from that evidence=20=

> that sexual dalliance is the destiny of all humans.
>
> =A0
>

--Apple-Mail-8--63815953
Content-Transfer-Encoding: quoted-printable
Content-Type: text/enriched;
	charset=ISO-8859-1

Melynda:


Here's a real short poem written on a piece of cardboard C-Rat box by
a Marine grunt at Khe Sahn, Central Highlands, former Republic of
Vietnam, in 1968:


"For those who serve/Freedom has a taste/The protected will never know"


You can have Ezra Pound... he was a pretentious, expatriate, snob.


As for Wilfred Owen... at least he knew what he was writing about.  He
had "been there and done that".  And that means for all of your
English degree, you will never truly understand his poetry.  You don't
have the referents.


Here's another one, from Lord Macauley:


..."And how can man die better/Than facing fearful odds/For the ashes
of their fathers/And the temples of their Gods?"


Hey, this is fun.  I bet we could quote pacifist/war poetry back and
forth for weeks...


I could even post some of mine.  But you wouldn't understand them,
either.


Regards,


Don Kaag


On Wednesday, March 5, 2003, at 10:24 PM, Melynda Huskey wrote:


<excerpt><fontfamily><param>Times New Roman</param>There died a myriad,

And of the best, among them,

For an old bitch gone in the teeth,

For a botched civilization,

Charm, smiling at the good mouth,

Quick eyes gone under earth's lid,


For two gross of broken statues,

For a few thousand battered books.</fontfamily>


<fontfamily><param>Times New Roman</param>=A0=A0 ~Ezra =
Pound</fontfamily>


=A0


=A0


<fontfamily><param>Times New Roman</param>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

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.</fontfamily>


<fontfamily><param>Times New Roman</param>~Dulce et Decorum Est,
Wilfred Owen.</fontfamily>




<fontfamily><param>Times New Roman</param>I knew a simple soldier boy

Who grinned at life in empty joy,

Slept soundly through the lonesome dark,

And whistled early with the lark.</fontfamily>


=A0


<fontfamily><param>Times New Roman</param>In winter trenches, cowed
and glum,

With crumps and lice and lack of rum,

He put a bullet through his brain.

No one spoke of him again.</fontfamily>


=A0


<fontfamily><param>Times New Roman</param>You smug-faced crowds with
kindling eye

Who cheer when soldier lads march by,

Sneak home and pray you'll never know

The hell where youth and laughter go.</fontfamily>


<fontfamily><param>Times New Roman</param>~Suicide in the Trenches,
Siegfried Sassoon</fontfamily>


=A0


Melynda Huskey (once an English professor, always an English professor)


=A0


P.S.=A0 I could also produce a splendid and varied set of poetry in
celebration of adultery--but I hesitate to conclude from that evidence
that sexual dalliance is the destiny of all humans.


=A0


</excerpt>=

--Apple-Mail-8--63815953--