Naming of Parts...

[fajrdrako]

This year, I have been feeling unusually moved by Remembrance Day. Perhaps it is because someone told me about the custom of people putting their poppies on the monument to the Unknown Soldier at Confederation Square. Or maybe it's because I saw Passchendaele a while ago, and was thinking about it. Or because I was wondering about a great-uncle of mine who died in World War I - I don't know anything else about him, not even his first name.

So I was thinking also of war stories I have liked (Sgt. Fury, Enemy Ace, the Torchwood episode "Captain Jack Harkness"), and I started thinking about my favourite war poems. I have several favourites, but this is the one I decided to put on my LJ: Naming of Parts by British poet Henry Reed, which he had called "Lessons of the War".

I. NAMING OF PARTS

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

Comments

[isagel.livejournal.com]

I've always loved this poem.

[fajrdrako.livejournal.com]

Me too. It just... appeals on so many levels.

[jonquil.livejournal.com]

That's one of my favorites, too.

[fajrdrako.livejournal.com]

The Legion of secret Henry Reed fans unite!

[walkingowl.livejournal.com]

Ah. Lovely. Fitting.

I'd been quietly wondering if you might let the day move you to more thought, this year, than you seemed usually to do. I remember two years ago (or was it three?) when my visit coincided with November 11, and I was absorbed in the evening news coverage of the day's events... which provoked you to comment. Me, I take this holiday as something always important to me; you, I realized that day, may never have given it any thought at all. And this is me the descendant of people who begged out of the War Between the States by claiming to have "rheumatism" (the dodge of the day, I found out in later research on that horrendous time), and whose grandfather was a medic in Franch during World War I, and may have been there because he refused to carry a rifle (Evangelical United Brethren are not as pacifist as either Mennonites or Quakers, but close).

This day always makes me thoughtful. Today at work, I wore a t-shirt put out by my union's Human Relations department, proceeds going to various veteran-support groups. On the back is a list of 13 names, all of the USPS employees who have died in the current ridiculous "war" in Iraq. This is the 2007 shirt. I also have the 2008 shirt... it has 17 names.

There was a nice item in the Ligonier Echo this past week about a gentleman who turned 90 today, at precisely 11:11 AM (so it said). His name: Victor Peace Smith. He was the youngest of nine children, and at the time, his parents wanted to mark the passing of The War to End All Wars. Victory, and Peace. Well... maybe someday.

My favorite poem in this genre is the one that somehow ended up on a Canadian banknote (which I loved)... "In Flander's fields, the poppies blow, Between the crosses row on row...." It never fails to move me.

Here's to remembrance, and honor, and ultimate peace.

[fajrdrako.livejournal.com]

you, I realized that day, may never have given it any thought at all.

Why did you think that? I'd given it a lot of thought, particularly as a teen, and my feelings are and were bound up with my disgust of anything militaristic. To what extent is honouring the war dead the same as honouring war? To a far, far greater extent than I am comfortable with, especially since most people seem unaware of the irony.

And both concepts are tied up with concepts of nationalism or (even worse) patriotism, both of which leave me with a very bad taste, usually.

Yet I seem to be becoming more nationalistic as I age (and as times change internationally), though I am still an internationalist. And part of this nationalism is a pride in my country's past - we avoid war, but when we feel the moral right to war, we can be heroic victims a well as warriors.

So I think my mixed feelings are because I have always thought about this way, way too much.

USPS employees died in Iraq? Had they left the USPS to be soldiers, or were they there as couriers?

Victor Peace Smith: the name makes me think of Heinlein.

We were talking a lot about "In Flanders Fields" on one of my mailing lists over the past few days. I realized I can still recite the whole poem without even trying, though I haven't read it since I was in grade 3. Which was when we memorized it. Did you study it in school?

Ultimate peace. I can't imagine it. Except on a personal, individual basis.

[walkingowl.livejournal.com]

Never mind. Expressing myself badly with words. I didn't mean most of what you took from what I wrote.

[raissad.livejournal.com]

Wonderful!

[fajrdrako.livejournal.com]

I've always thought so.

I'll have to think of another poem to post next year.