In Flanders Field
A poem taught to schoolchildren, to enlist their interest in the barbarities of war. A poem of great thrust and anguish, written by a Canadian war-time surgeon during the First Great War, 1914 - 1918. Inspired in the field of battle as he witnessed the death of a close friend. He was thought to have written the first draft of the poem on the battlefield, stricken by the death of his friend, aghast at the carnage around him, determined to let the world know.How could we not know? Do we want to know? What have we learned since that immortal poem of personal loss but no diminished faith in humanity? It reminds us of the brutal atrocity that is war. It encourages us to think of the courage and bravery demonstrated by those whom we send off to war. And we do think of them, and we do admire their constancy, their determination, their pledge to duty and to country.
And, just as the poem exhorts us to do, we take up the quarrel with the foe. Why must there be a foe? Why must we quarrel with that foe? History has taught us the answers. But we are still not completely clear on why we are so utterly lacking in humanity, in conscience, in benevolence, in civility and social character. Until we become otherwise, however, it is clear that John McRae's urgent plea not be forgotten.
For wars will be waged and they must be fought, much as we hate the very thought of them, let alone having to enlist ourselves in the struggle for freedom. For the simple fact is, freedom must be protected, it must be valued enough so that we are willing to risk much for its sake. In the two world wars the world saw take place in the last century much was at stake. The vibrant reality of the alternative to beating back fascism could not be countenanced.
Since then, we have been singularly fortunate to have been able to avoid conflicts on such disastrous scales. Since then, however, conflicts throughout the world have taken place, will continue to take place, and they make of this world a miserable, desolate and almost-hopeless place for too many people. Surely we can do better...?
In Flanders Fields
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
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Labels: Heroes and Villains, Human Fallibility, World Crises
posted by Pieface @ Sunday, November 11, 2007
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