Dulce et Decorum; the Suffering of Soldiers
And a poem by Wilfred Owen
It is well to honor the nobility and sacrifice of those who serve. Memorial Day is a powerful reminder of what those men and women did over the centuries.
We remember their honor, their courage, their persistence in trial. We remember the devotion to country, to cause; or simply to one another.
We remember the way they were torn from families and friends, never to return in this life.
But amidst flags, bugles and lines of white markers, we do well to remember that they endured all too much misery along the way.
I have seen death of various flavors over and over, from car crash and cardiac event, from infection and overdose, from knife and gun. But I have never been to war. So I have never seen it wholesale the way war brings it.
So I offer my deepest regards to all of those who lost loved ones in war. And to those who suffered its miseries and died. And also, to all those who witnessed it, who tried to stop it, who stood at the side of the wounded trying in vain to keep them in the land of the living a bit longer.
This poem by Wilfred Owen, one of the great war poets of WWI, is a powerful reminder that suffering stands in stark contrast to the way we often sanitize death in combat.
(Substack doesn’t seem to respect the lines of poetry, so if you want to see it proper, follow the link to Poetry Foundation. Which is a wonderful resource for those who are poem afflicted, like me.)
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/46560/dulce-et-decorum-est
Dulce et Decorum Est
By Wilfred Owen
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.
Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime.—
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
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,
Obscene as cancer, 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.
Au contraire, mon ami, but you have been at war, and remain so on a daily basis. A war, not as described by Owens, perhaps, but one fighting ignorance, poverty, substance abuse, bad choices, a sick environment, genetics, bad luck, misfortune, all on a daily basis. We are conductors on the train of life, a one way journey for us all, and our role is to prevent passengers from disembarking prematurely. We are not always successful, however. Like in Dover Beach, “where ignorant armies clash by night”, we are facing odds stacked against us, but we needn’t give up the fight.
My husband's father was enlisted in the Navy at an early age by his mother, who was trying to raise a family after the death of her husband. Hugh was stationed in Japan pre- Pearl Harbor. By the time of that attack, he had already served 3 years and been discharged. A month after that he reenlisted and was stationed in the Pacific. He wrote letters but really didn't speak of what atrocities he was seeing. He battled alcoholism and died when my husband was 10 or 11; my mother in law said she was sure he had flashbacks and drinking was his way of trying to drown those nightmares.
My mother in law remarried and her second husband Burl had also served in WWII. He was in the Army--real "boots on the ground". He was part of the second wave to land on Omaha Beach the day after D Day. He never talked about it until a couple years before he passed away in 2000. Even then, the only comment he made was "we saw things no man should ever have to see." He never drank. At all.
Two men, same war, different responses. They paid a huge price for our freedom.
Profound poem, thank you for sharing.