Wednesday, September 13, 2006

War

the human spirit
lives, nomatter which fence side
it finds itself on

2 comments:

Carol said...

Hi,

You said it well.

I remember this war poem by Thomas Hardy from when I was in junior high:

The Man He Killed

Had he and I but met
By some old ancient inn,
We should have set us down to wet
Right many a nipperkin!


But ranged as infantry,
And staring face to face,
I shot at him as he at me,
And killed him in his place.


I shot him dead because--
Because he was my foe,
Just so: my foe of course he was;
That's clear enough; although


He thought he'd 'list, perhaps,
Off-hand like--just as I--
Was out of work--had sold his traps--
No other reason why.


Yes; quaint and curious war is!
You shoot a fellow down
You'd treat, if met where any bar is,
Or help to half a crown.


Thomas Hardy


I always found this poem rueful, and it makes me feel a kinship with the English.

H. W. Alexy said...

Thanks Carol,

I sort of remember that poem, it's very true. Yeah, we're all human. Calling us by another name doesn't change that.

Helm.