Ah yes. Our new Poet Laureate, an honour that doesn't always result in memorable poetry thereafter. The poem appeared a few days ago in either The Guardian or The Observer (the latter is in fact the Sunday edition of the former) and I read it with appreciation. A deserved smack in the face for those who weren't in favour of a woman getting the job (she's the first) and/or those who are put out by her gayness. It seems almost impossible to write about WW1 without uncovering a deep vein of poignancy.
Thanks for filling me in, BB; didn't know all this.
I liked the way she wrote Last Post. Young men I knew from home and a couple who were in my hospital training class at Great Lakes Naval Hospital died in VietNam. The boys from Hospital Corps School were non-combatants, corpsmen, who died while trying to assist wounded comrades. I like to think, after reading Last Post, that something of their spirits came home before their bodies arrived.
I hope you don't mind. I thought of this verse by Eric Bogle. Talk about poignant WW1 stuff. We will never learn, or, will we ever learn? Great site, Thanks!
Waltzing Matilda Eric Bogle's lyrics
When I was a young man I carried me pack And I lived the free life of a rover From the Murray's green basin to the dusty Outback I waltzed my Matilda all over
Then in 1915 me country said, "Son, It's time you stopped rambling, there's work to be done" So they gave me a tin hat, and they gave me a gun And they sent me away to the war
And the band played Waltzing Matilda When the ship pulled away from the quay And amidst all the tears, flag waving and cheers We sailed off for Gallipoli
And how well I remember that terrible day When our blood stained the sand and the water And how in that hell that they call Suvla Bay We were butchered like lambs at the slaughter
Johnny Turk he was ready, he'd primed himself well He rained us with bullets, and he showered us with shells And in five minutes flat he'd blown us all to hell Nearly blew us back home to Australia
And the band played Waltzing Matilda When we stopped to bury our slain We buried ours, and the Turks buried theirs Then we started all over again
And those that were left, well, we tried to survive In that mad world of blood, death and fire And for ten weary weeks I kept myself alive While around me the corpses piled higher
Then a big Turkish shell knocked me arse over head And when I awoke in me hospital bed And saw what it had done, well, I wished I was dead Never knew there was worse things than dying
So no more I'll go Waltzing Matilda All around the green bush far and near To hump tent and pegs a man needs both legs No more waltzing Matilda for me
So they gathered the wounded, the crippled, the maimed And they shipped us back home to Australia The armless, the legless, the blind, the insane Those proud wounded heroes of Suvla
And when the ship pulled into Circular Quay I looked at the place where me legs used to be And thanked Christ there was no one there waiting for me To grieve, and to mourn, and to pity
And the band played Waltzing Matilda When they carried us down the gangway But nobody cheered, they just stood there and stared Then they turned all their faces away
So now every April I sit on my porch And I watch the parade pass before me I see my old comrades how proudly they march Renewing old dreams of past glory
And the old men march slowly, all bones stiff and sore They're tired old heroes from a forgotten war And the young people ask, "What are they marching for?" And I ask meself the same question
And the band plays Waltzing Matilda, And the old men still answer the call But year after year the numbers get fewer Some day no one will march there at all.
Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda, Who'll come a-Waltzing Matilda with me And their ghosts may be heard as they march by the Billabong Who'll come a-Waltzing Matilda with me
Well, I'm overwhelmed by the beauty of that poem. I spent years reading every bit of literature I could find about World War I. Pat Barker wrote the most compelling series of novels about the war using real people and one of the characters was a young poet who dies in the war after becoming slightly famous. I've read his poems. At the moment I can't think of his name.
That was lovely to read. Thank you for posting it alone with the painting. I once had a black and white photograph that looked much like that painting.
Spadoman: Glad to meet another enthusiast for this marvellous anti-war song. But please don't be tempted to listen to the version by Joan Baez. It is horribly bowdlerised (to protect US sensitivities I suppose) and much of The Pogues' bitterness has been excised. Also JB sings it with a pure, tuneful, uninflected voice as if it were the Twenty-Third Psalm. Up til now I've always thought JB's liberal credentials were impeccable, but on this occasions she sounds irrevocably middle-class.
Re: Joan Baez - I've found the opposite effect to be true for me. It is the contrast of that pure voice singing the hateful, tragedy-filled words that drives home the liberalism, whether she was singing about prisoners or soldiers or the Irish patriots or the duped citizens of Bangladesh whose blood was drained from their bodies when they only volunteered to give a pint.
Having heard Eric Bogle sing his "And the Band Played Waltzing Matilda." though, I don't know that I would want to hear anyone else sing it, no matter what their voices sound like. There is a bitterness in his voice that I'm not certain I would believe coming out of anyone else.
BB got there first. Well quoted. The poem coincided with or was written specially to commemorate the death of the last English soldier who fought in the trenches in World War I, one, Harry Patch, at the age of 111. He didn't speak about his experiences until, when he was 100, he was prevailed upon to reminisce which he did with modesty and never concealed his hatred of war, or his grief at the loss of his comarades all those years ago.
I had the pleasure of hearing Eric Bogle sing Waltzing Matilda at the 2008 Veterans For Peace National Convention when they were in Minneapolis, MN, a week before the Republican National Convention. That's the first time I heard it and it impressed me to the point of remembering most of the lyrics and having a strong effect on me and my thoughts of war. As a warrior and survivor of the American war in Vietnam, an action that has taken an extreme toll on me and other vets, not much stirs our souls. We seem to have "hardened" our outlooks and accepted war by this time of our lives. The lyrics stir me like no others and bring back the horrors along with the tears, ands reminds me why I must continue a quest for peace above all else. As for Baez, she can be heard here at Spadoville often. She is right there along with modern day peaceniks like Emma's Revolution, Anna Stange and all those from the 60's. Has she soldout? Maybe so, or maybe she is just getting too old to fight very hard any longer.
The poet in the Pat Barker trio of novels (First-rate, I agree) is I think Wilfred Owen, killed about three days short of November 11 1918. In Benjamin Britten's War Requiem Owen's poems are interspersed with the Latin words of the Mass to great effect. Just to turn the poignancy screw further, when the work was premiered the soloists were German, Russian and English.
Just a PS to Spadoman. I cannot conceive of the emotional turmoil hearing ATBPWM must have generated to a Vietnam vet. Bitter words for a bitter war. I was living in the USA during that terrible period and felt endlessly disturbed by the moral confusion. And, of course, the suffering.
BB is right. The young poet in the Pat Barker Trlilogy is Wilfred Owen. The other poet feature and receiving treatment is of course, Seigfried Sassoon.
I remember, from my early childhood, someone reading to me about a brother and sister who set sail for the moon in a boat very similar to the ones above. The illustration of the kids in the boat with the tiger-head prow and reed basket sides, against a deep blue sky peppered with stars with the pale full moon in the background, has stayed with me all these years.
23 comments:
Ah yes. Our new Poet Laureate, an honour that doesn't always result in memorable poetry thereafter. The poem appeared a few days ago in either The Guardian or The Observer (the latter is in fact the Sunday edition of the former) and I read it with appreciation. A deserved smack in the face for those who weren't in favour of a woman getting the job (she's the first) and/or those who are put out by her gayness. It seems almost impossible to write about WW1 without uncovering a deep vein of poignancy.
Thanks for filling me in, BB; didn't know all this.
I liked the way she wrote Last Post. Young men I knew from home and a couple who were in my hospital training class at Great Lakes Naval Hospital died in VietNam. The boys from Hospital Corps School were non-combatants, corpsmen, who died while trying to assist wounded comrades. I like to think, after reading Last Post, that something of their spirits came home before their bodies arrived.
:)
I hope you don't mind. I thought of this verse by Eric Bogle. Talk about poignant WW1 stuff. We will never learn, or, will we ever learn?
Great site, Thanks!
Waltzing Matilda
Eric Bogle's lyrics
When I was a young man I carried me pack
And I lived the free life of a rover
From the Murray's green basin to the dusty Outback
I waltzed my Matilda all over
Then in 1915 me country said, "Son,
It's time you stopped rambling, there's work to be done"
So they gave me a tin hat, and they gave me a gun
And they sent me away to the war
And the band played Waltzing Matilda
When the ship pulled away from the quay
And amidst all the tears, flag waving and cheers
We sailed off for Gallipoli
And how well I remember that terrible day
When our blood stained the sand and the water
And how in that hell that they call Suvla Bay
We were butchered like lambs at the slaughter
Johnny Turk he was ready, he'd primed himself well
He rained us with bullets, and he showered us with shells
And in five minutes flat he'd blown us all to hell
Nearly blew us back home to Australia
And the band played Waltzing Matilda
When we stopped to bury our slain
We buried ours, and the Turks buried theirs
Then we started all over again
And those that were left, well, we tried to survive
In that mad world of blood, death and fire
And for ten weary weeks I kept myself alive
While around me the corpses piled higher
Then a big Turkish shell knocked me arse over head
And when I awoke in me hospital bed
And saw what it had done, well, I wished I was dead
Never knew there was worse things than dying
So no more I'll go Waltzing Matilda
All around the green bush far and near
To hump tent and pegs a man needs both legs
No more waltzing Matilda for me
So they gathered the wounded, the crippled, the maimed
And they shipped us back home to Australia
The armless, the legless, the blind, the insane
Those proud wounded heroes of Suvla
And when the ship pulled into Circular Quay
I looked at the place where me legs used to be
And thanked Christ there was no one there waiting for me
To grieve, and to mourn, and to pity
And the band played Waltzing Matilda
When they carried us down the gangway
But nobody cheered, they just stood there and stared
Then they turned all their faces away
So now every April I sit on my porch
And I watch the parade pass before me
I see my old comrades how proudly they march
Renewing old dreams of past glory
And the old men march slowly, all bones stiff and sore
They're tired old heroes from a forgotten war
And the young people ask, "What are they marching for?"
And I ask meself the same question
And the band plays Waltzing Matilda,
And the old men still answer the call
But year after year the numbers get fewer
Some day no one will march there at all.
Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda,
Who'll come a-Waltzing Matilda with me
And their ghosts may be heard as they march by the Billabong
Who'll come a-Waltzing Matilda with me
Well, I'm overwhelmed by the beauty of that poem. I spent years reading every bit of literature I could find about World War I. Pat Barker wrote the most compelling series of novels about the war using real people and one of the characters was a young poet who dies in the war after becoming slightly famous. I've read his poems. At the moment I can't think of his name.
That was lovely to read. Thank you for posting it alone with the painting. I once had a black and white photograph that looked much like that painting.
Hello, Joe/Spadoman:
It's interesting that you sent the lyrics to Eric Bogle's song, and quoted BB's comment, for it was BB who introduced me to the song.
Here is a link to an audio file of Bogle singing his song with the Franklin B. Paverty Bush Band, an Australian folk music group:
www.malcom.screensound.gov.au/olcmedia/audio/00009089.mp3
It is long, but well worth the listen.
:)
I liked the poem too.
I'm not an afficionado of poetry but that took me on a little journey the way poetry rarely does for me.
Spadoman: Glad to meet another enthusiast for this marvellous anti-war song. But please don't be tempted to listen to the version by Joan Baez. It is horribly bowdlerised (to protect US sensitivities I suppose) and much of The Pogues' bitterness has been excised. Also JB sings it with a pure, tuneful, uninflected voice as if it were the Twenty-Third Psalm. Up til now I've always thought JB's liberal credentials were impeccable, but on this occasions she sounds irrevocably middle-class.
Utah: That little boat is at Lake Titicaca. Found the image through Google (naturally.)
Were you thinking of American poet Joyce Kilmer?
:)
John/AWB: That's what I like about poetry, that it transport me away from the everyday.
:)
BB:
Re: Joan Baez - I've found the opposite effect to be true for me. It is the contrast of that pure voice singing the hateful, tragedy-filled words that drives home the liberalism, whether she was singing about prisoners or soldiers or the Irish patriots or the duped citizens of Bangladesh whose blood was drained from their bodies when they only volunteered to give a pint.
Having heard Eric Bogle sing his "And the Band Played Waltzing Matilda." though, I don't know that I would want to hear anyone else sing it, no matter what their voices sound like. There is a bitterness in his voice that I'm not certain I would believe coming out of anyone else.
:)
BB got there first. Well quoted. The poem coincided with or was written specially to commemorate the death of the last English soldier who fought in the trenches in World War I, one, Harry Patch, at the age of 111. He didn't speak about his experiences until, when he was 100, he was prevailed upon to reminisce which he did with modesty and never concealed his hatred of war, or his grief at the loss of his comarades all those years ago.
I had the pleasure of hearing Eric Bogle sing Waltzing Matilda at the 2008 Veterans For Peace National Convention when they were in Minneapolis, MN, a week before the Republican National Convention. That's the first time I heard it and it impressed me to the point of remembering most of the lyrics and having a strong effect on me and my thoughts of war. As a warrior and survivor of the American war in Vietnam, an action that has taken an extreme toll on me and other vets, not much stirs our souls. We seem to have "hardened" our outlooks and accepted war by this time of our lives. The lyrics stir me like no others and bring back the horrors along with the tears, ands reminds me why I must continue a quest for peace above all else.
As for Baez, she can be heard here at Spadoville often. She is right there along with modern day peaceniks like Emma's Revolution, Anna Stange and all those from the 60's. Has she soldout? Maybe so, or maybe she is just getting too old to fight very hard any longer.
thanks for this connection and for all the nice resonances it has made possible.
The poet in the Pat Barker trio of novels (First-rate, I agree) is I think Wilfred Owen, killed about three days short of November 11 1918. In Benjamin Britten's War Requiem Owen's poems are interspersed with the Latin words of the Mass to great effect. Just to turn the poignancy screw further, when the work was premiered the soloists were German, Russian and English.
Just a PS to Spadoman. I cannot conceive of the emotional turmoil hearing ATBPWM must have generated to a Vietnam vet. Bitter words for a bitter war. I was living in the USA during that terrible period and felt endlessly disturbed by the moral confusion. And, of course, the suffering.
Harlequin:
I'm glad to have stumbled across the site, which I found when I visited Whiskey River, another good site: http://whiskeyriver.blogspot.com/.
:)
BB is right. The young poet in the Pat Barker Trlilogy is Wilfred Owen. The other poet feature and receiving treatment is of course, Seigfried Sassoon.
Strange for me to see a wooden boat on Lake Titicaca surrounded by the very reeds the local inhabitants are famed for making boats from.
The poem was lovely.
Susan:
Let's hope the wooden boat is an anomaly, used by tourists who don't trust the reed boats.
Thor Hyerdahl certainly respected them and their builders, enough to set sail across an ocean in them.
:)
I'm going to try to find a reed boat for the picture above.
:)
She's good, isn't she?
Sorry to be late to wish you well with your great big wonderful heart. Keep well dear friend!
Oh, and the boats.
Terrific. I do like a blog that opens up something new, whatever it may be. Never seen them before.
Hello, Lucy:
I've just recently googled her name to find more of her work. I agree, she is quite good.
Thank you for your kind felicitations.
:)
John/AWB:
I remember, from my early childhood, someone reading to me about a brother and sister who set sail for the moon in a boat very similar to the ones above. The illustration of the kids in the boat with the tiger-head prow and reed basket sides, against a deep blue sky peppered with stars with the pale full moon in the background, has stayed with me all these years.
That's all I remember about the story, though.
I like the boats, too.
:)
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