General Chat

ELDORADO
by Edgar Allan Poe
(1849)

Gaily bedight,
A gallant knight,
In sunshine and in shadow,
Had journeyed long,
Singing a song,
In search of Eldorado.
But he grew old-
This knight so bold-
And o'er his heart a shadow
Fell as he found
No spot of ground
That looked like Eldorado.
And, as his strength
Failed him at length,
He met a pilgrim shadow-
"Shadow," said he,
"Where can it be-
This land of Eldorado?"
"Over the Mountains
Of the Moon,
Down the Valley of the Shadow,
Ride, boldly ride,"
The shade replied-
"If you seek for Eldorado!"


I have many more but this one sprang to mind.

For life is eternal,
And love is immortal,
And death is only a horizon,
And a horizon is nothing, save the limit of our sight.

My mother wrote this on the back of a photograph of my father, dated Oct 1942. He was killed two months later, five weeks before I was born.

Thank you Rollo :-D

The father of a school friend worked for some Authority or other who used to sail with decrepit coastal ships to check their seaworthiness and manoeuvrability - the family was always worried that one voyage would be his last.

Why are they selling poppies Mummy? selling poppies in town today,
The poppies are the flowers of love child for the men who have gone away.

Why have they chosen a poppy Mummy, why not a beautiful rose?
Because my child men fought and died in the fields where the poppies grow.

Why are the poppies so red Mummy, why are the poppies so red?
Red is the colour of blood my child, the blood that our soldiers shed.

The heart of the poppy is black Mummy, why does it have to be black?
Black my child is the colour of grief, for the men who ever came back.

But Mummy, why are you crying so? your tears are giving you pain,
My tears are my fears for you my child, for the world is forgetting again.

For ++detective++

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WSbQ0qwQwuk

Rollo – a person after my own heart. War is/was not ‘glorious’. The conscripts weren’t ‘heroes’. They and voluntarily enlisted men were caught up in the government propaganda of the time and turned into Canon Fodder. Meanwhile the Brass kept well back from the Front Line.

The poem which sticks in my memory, especially the last verse is

Cargoes

QUINQUIREME of Nineveh from distant Ophir,
Rowing home to haven in sunny Palestine,
With a cargo of ivory,
And apes and peacocks,
Sandalwood, cedarwood, and sweet white wine.

Stately Spanish galleon coming from the Isthmus,
Dipping through the Tropics by the palm-green shores,
With a cargo of diamonds,
Emeralds, amythysts,
Topazes, and cinnamon, and gold moidores.

Dirty British coaster with a salt-caked smoke stack,
Butting through the Channel in the mad March days,
With a cargo of Tyne coal,
Road-rails, pig-lead,
Firewood, iron-ware, and cheap tin trays.

John Masefield

Here's an extension to your poem McB.

One bright day in the middle of the night,
Two dead boys got up to fight.
Back to back they faced each other,
drew their swords and shot each other.
A deaf policeman heard the noise
and ran to save the two dead boys.
If you don't believe this lie is true,
ask the blind man, he saw it, too.

My favourite poem by my favourite poet

THE BOY WHO DANCED WITH A TANK
Adrian Mitchell

It was the same old story
Story of boy meets State
Yes the same old story
Story of boy meets State
The body is created by loving
But a tank’s made of fear and hate

Armoured cars and heads in helmets
Rank on rank on rank on rank
The hearts of the soldiers were trembling
But the eyes of the soldiers were blank
And then they saw him swaying
The boy who danced with a tank

The tank moved left
The boy stepped right
Paused like he was having fun
The tank moved right
The boy stepped left
Smiled at his partner down the barrel of a gun

You remember how we watched him
Dancing like a strong young tree
And we knew that for that moment
He was freer than we’ll ever be
A boy danced with a tank in China
Like the flower of liberty

My favourite poem by my favourite War Poet

The General - Siegfried Sassoon

'Good-morning; good-morning!' the General said
When we met him last week on our way to the line.
Now the soldiers he smiled at are most of 'em dead,
And we're cursing his staff for incompetent swine.
'He's a cheery old card,' grunted Harry and Jack
As they slogged up to Arras with rifle and pack.
* * * * *
But he did for them both by his plan of attack.

T'would ring the bells of heaven their loudest peal for years,
If the Parson lost his senses and the people came to theirs,
And he and they together knelt down in angry prayers,
For tamed and shabby tigers, for dancing dogs and bears,
for wretched blind pit ponies, and for little hunted hares.

Ralph Hodgson - 1917

Have deleted my comments as I would like to stick with poetry which is what this post is about, not the ins and outs of WW1. so apologies to the OP for deviation!

Ubique (Royal Artillery)

There is a word you often see, pronounce it as you may -
'You bike,' 'you bikwe,' 'ubbikwe' - alludin' to R.A.
It serves 'Orse, Field, an' Garrison as motto for a crest,
An' when you've found out all it means I'll tell you 'alf the rest.

Ubique means the long-range Krupp be'ind the low-range 'ill -
Ubique means you'll pick it up an', while you do stand, still.
Ubique means you've caught the flash an' timed it by the sound.
Ubique means five gunners' 'ash before you've loosed a round.

Ubique means Blue Fuse1, an' make the 'ole to sink the trail. 1extreme range
Ubique means stand up an' take the Mauser's 'alf-mile 'ail.
Ubique means the crazy team not God nor man can 'old.
Ubique means that 'orse's scream which turns your innards cold.

Ubique means 'Bank, 'Olborn, Bank - a penny all the way -
The soothin' jingle-bump-an'-clank from day to peaceful day.
Ubique means 'They've caught De Wet, an' now we sha'n't be long.'
Ubique means 'I much regret, the beggar's going strong!'

Ubique means the tearin' drift where, breech-blocks jammed with mud,
The khaki muzzles duck an' lift across the khaki flood.
Ubique means the dancing plain that changes rocks to Boers.
Ubique means the mirage again an' shellin' all outdoors.

Ubique means 'Entrain at once for Grootdefeatfontein'!
Ubique means 'Off-load your guns' - at midnight in the rain!
Ubique means 'More mounted men. Return all guns to store.'
Ubique means the R.A.M.R. Infantillery Corps!

Ubique means the warnin' grunt the perished linesman knows,
When o'er 'is strung an' sufferin' front the shrapnel sprays 'is foes,
An' as their firin' dies away the 'usky whisper runs
From lips that 'aven't drunk all day: 'The Guns! Thank Gawd, the Guns!'

Extreme, depressed, point-blank or short, end-first or any'ow,
From Colesberg Kop to Quagga's Poort - from Ninety-Nine till now -


My grandfather was a regular soldier and fought all the way through the great war and went on to complete over 20 years service. My father had a fairly tough ww2 in the navy.

The two men rarely agreed on anything but one thing they could not stand was the idea that there was any wonderful glamorous or heroic in war. Men do what they have to do for their brothers-in-arms nothing else.

"I learned our Government must be strong;
It's always right and never wrong;
Our leaders are the finest men
And we elect them again and again.

What did you learn in school today,
Dear little boy of mine?
What did you learn in school today,
Dear little boy of mine?

I learned that war is not so bad;
I learned about the great ones we have had;
We fought in Germany and in France
And someday I might get my chance.
"
Pete Seeger

The Great War was just about the worst thing that ever happened to the United Kingdom and France. I am really sorry that we are going to have 4 years of schmaltz, trite programs from Paxman, Kipling and God Save the King when many people alive today knew people who fought and suffered. The hurt loss and suffering will never wholly heal, how can it ?

Three of my granny's four brothers were killed. The other one emigrated to the USA in 1912 and ended up drafted to the US Army and sent to France ...

How brilliant to have a poetry thread again. Bearing in mind the centenary of the outbreak of WW1 I thought I would share this poem with you.

Young Fella me lad.

Where are you going young fella me lad on this glittering morn of May,
I'm going to join the colours dad, they're looking for men they say.
But you're only a boy young fella me lad, you aren't obliged to go,
I am 171/4 dad and ever so strong you know.

So you are off to France young fella me lad, you're looking so fit and bright,
I'm terribly sorry to leave you dad, but I feel that I'm doing right.
God bless you and keep you young fella me lad, you are all of my life you know,
Don't worry, I'll soon be back dear dad, and I'm awfully proud to go.

Why don't you write young fella me lad, I watch for the post each day,
And I miss you so and I'm awfully sad, and it's months since you went away.
And I've had the fire in the parlour lit and I'm keeping it burning bright,
Till my boy comes home, here I sit into the quiet of the night.

What is the matter Young fella me lad, no letter again today.
Why did the postman look so sad and sigh as he turned away.
I heard them tell that we've gained more ground, but a terrible price was paid,
God grant my boy you're safe and sound, but oh I'm afraid, afraid.

They've told me the truth young fella me lad, you'll never come back again.
Oh god the dreams the dreams I had, and the hopes I've nursed in vain.
For you passed in the night young fella me lad, and you proved in the cruel test,
of the screaming shell and the battle hell, that my boy was one of the best.

So you'll live you'll live young fella me lad, in the gleam of the evening star,
In the woods and the wild, in the laugh of a child, and all things sweet that are,
and you'll never die my wonderful boy while life is noble and true,
For all our beauty, hopes and joy, we will owe to lads like you.

.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PmoHv8Mf_-o

If..... what I dreamed of at school.

:-D

One I've loved since I was about twelve - so atmospheric

The Listeners

"Is there anybody there?" said the Traveller,
Knocking on the moonlit door;
And his horse in the silence champed the grass
Of the forest's ferny floor;
And a bird flew up out of the turret,
Above the Traveller's head:
And he smote upon the door again a second time;
"Is there anybody there?" he said.
But no one descended to the Traveller;
No head from the leaf-fringed sill
Leaned over and looked into his grey eyes,
Where he stood perplexed and still.
But only a host of phantom listeners
That dwelt in the lone house then
Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight
To that voice from the world of men:
Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair,
That goes down to the empty hall,
Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken
By the lonely Traveller's call.
And he felt in his heart their strangeness,
Their stillness answering his cry,
While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf,
'Neath the starred and leafy sky;
For he suddenly smote on the door, even
Louder, and lifted his head:--
"Tell them I came, and no one answered,
That I kept my word," he said.
Never the least stir made the listeners,
Though every word he spake
Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house
From the one man left awake:
Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup,
And the sound of iron on stone,
And how the silence surged softly backward,
When the plunging hoofs were gone.

Walter de la Mare

And another by the same poet


SOFTLY along the road of evening,
In a twilight dim with rose,
Wrinkled with age, and drenched with dew
Old Nod, the shepherd, goes.

His drowsy flock streams on before him, 5
Their fleeces charged with gold,
To where the sun's last beam leans low
On Nod the shepherd's fold.

The hedge is quick and green with briar,
From their sand the conies creep; 10
And all the birds that fly in heaven
Flock singing home to sleep.

His lambs outnumber a noon's roses,
Yet, when night's shadows fall,
His blind old sheep-dog, Slumber-soon, 15
Misses not one of all.

His are the quiet steeps of dreamland,
The waters of no-more-pain;
His ram's bell rings 'neath an arch of stars,
"Rest, rest, and rest again."

Too many favourites to list but I love this one.

Christina Rossetti
Remember

REMEMBER me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go, yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day
You tell me of our future that you plann'd:
Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.

And one of those things you only find out by chance, she also wrote this.

In the Bleak Midwinter

Christina Rossetti (1872)

In the bleak mid-winter
Frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron,
Water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow,
Snow on snow,
In the bleak mid-winter
Long ago.

Our God, Heaven cannot hold Him
Nor earth sustain;
Heaven and earth shall flee away
When He comes to reign:
In the bleak mid-winter
A stable-place sufficed
The Lord God Almighty,
Jesus Christ.

Enough for Him, whom cherubim
Worship night and day,
A breastful of milk
And a mangerful of hay;
Enough for Him, whom angels
Fall down before,
The ox and ass and camel
Which adore.

Angels and archangels
May have gathered there,
Cherubim and seraphim
Thronged the air,
But only His mother
In her maiden bliss,
Worshipped the Beloved
With a kiss.

What can I give Him,
Poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd
I would bring a lamb,
If I were a wise man
I would do my part,
Yet what I can I give Him,
Give my heart.

"She stood on the bridge at midnight,
throwing pebbles at the moon,

oh! she said she was a good girl,
but she spoke too ????? ?soon......

Oh dad, I wish my child was born,
then all my troubles would be gorn........

Thank you for the link Gins - I've had a look at it and then checked out Kindle. It's on there so I think I'll get it when I've waded through the books I already have :-)

I have a son in law who is a bookseller - that can be a good and a bad thing :-S

Sue

Your last post reminded me of a book I read a couple of years ago........it's sort of, a rendezvous with death

....a beautiful book



http://www.booksattransworld.co.uk/thebookthief/

"I Have a Rendezvous with Death"

I HAVE a rendezvous with Death
At some disputed barricade,
When Spring comes back with rustling shade
And apple-blossoms fill the air—
I have a rendezvous with Death
When Spring brings back blue days and fair.

It may be he shall take my hand
And lead me into his dark land
And close my eyes and quench my breath—
It may be I shall pass him still.
I have a rendezvous with Death
On some scarred slope of battered hill,
When Spring comes round again this year
And the first meadow-flowers appear.

God knows 'twere better to be deep
Pillowed in silk and scented down,
Where love throbs out in blissful sleep,
Pulse nigh to pulse, and breath to breath,
Where hushed awakenings are dear...
But I've a rendezvous with Death
At midnight in some flaming town,
When Spring trips north again this year,
And I to my pledged word am true,
I shall not fail that rendezvous.

Alan Seeger. 1888–1916

Alan Seeger was a young American poet who joined the French Foreign Legion. He wrote this poem shortly before he died. He was the uncle of singer/songwriter Pete Seeger.