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BreakABone
01-27-2002, 11:19 AM
Here are the two poems I recommended....

Naming of Parts
by Henry Reed

Today we have naming of parts. Yesterday,
We had daily cleaning. And tomorrow morning,
We shall have what to do after firing. But today,
Today we have naming of parts. Japonica
Glistens like coral in all of the neighboring gardens,
And today we have naming of parts.


This is the lower sling swivel. And this
Is the upper sling swivel, whose use you will see,
When you are given your slings. And this is the piling swivel,
Which in your case you have not got. The branches
Hold in the gardens their silent, eloquent gestures,
Which in our case we have not got.


This is the safety-catch, which is always released
With an easy flick of the thumb. And please do not let me
See anyone using his finger. You can do it quite easy
If you have any strength in your thumb. The blossoms
Are fragile and motionless, never letting anyone see
Any of them using their finger.


And this you can see is the bolt. The purpose of this
Is to open the breech, as you see. We can slide it
Rapidly backwards and forwards: we call this
Easing the spring. And rapidly backwards and forwards
The early bees are assaulting and fumbling the flowers:
They call it easing the Spring.


They call it easing the Spring: it is perfectly easy
If you have any strength in your thumb: like the bolt,
And the breech, and the cocking-piece, and the point of balance,
Which in our case we have not got; and the almond-blossom
Silent in all of the gardens and the bees going backwards and forwards,
For today we have naming of parts.



The Man He Killed ~Thomas Hardy

******* "Had he and I but met
******* By some old ancient inn,
We should have sat us down to wet
******* Right many a nipperkin!*
******* "But ranged as infantry,
******* And staring face to face,
I shot at him and 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."

Shadow_Link
01-27-2002, 11:30 AM
THE SOLDIER

by Rupert Brooke
1914

If I should die, think only this of me:
That there's some corner of a foreign field
That is for ever England. There shall be
In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;
A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,
Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,
A body of England's, breathing English air,
Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.

And think, this heart, all evil shed away,
A pulse in the eternal mind, no less
Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;
Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;
And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,
In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.

THE END


DULCE ET DECORUM EST

by Wilfred Owen
8 October 1917 - March, 1918

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 tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped 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.

BreakABone
01-27-2002, 11:38 AM
Well since I've read 3 out of those 4 poems... in case I have never complained before.. My damn teacher is a poem frantic and believes that it will be important for the AP exam in May.. which is true looking and some of the examples of the test he showed us.. anyhow..... a breif review on each I guess...

Naming of Parts Is a poem about new recruits in the army. It shows the effect of war just throwing in soldiers even without proper training... As the drill sergeant is talking to the new recruits the other is juxtaposing them with the garden outside.. The garden is a bit more organized and a bit better off for it.. well the soldiers are being taught to do all these things but as they keep bringing up they have a lack of skill for it... the other also enforces yet a 3rd meaning into this poem as it deals with the effect war has one's personal and sex live.. As not only are they teaching the recruits how to operate a gun but also how to get along with a partner of the opposite sex.. and for those of you dumb enough not to know what I mean.. they are teaching them how to masturbate.....Sick but when you have no one else I guess that is what they are left with...

I'll write more if anyone replies