This the third installment of war poems by my talented son, Joseph Hugh Kitchens III. Last year, I challenged Joseph to take a break from his writing inspired by the legends of ancient Scandinavia and the British Isles and reflect instead on the Great War (1914-1919).
We are now ending the observance of the 100th anniversary of that war. The negotiations that ended World War I resulted in the redrafting of the map of much of Europe at Germany’s expense, and fostered new resentments while attempting to resolve old ones. And so it goes on forever, as endless proxy wars are waged and military occupations by European and American forces aim to stabilize or alter regimes. The price exacted is high, and the lives of soldiers and civilians in each new generation are churned and exhausted. In the end, the destruction is personal, individual, irrevocable.
Dedicated to John McCrea
You did so much,
Your tools were so few,
As a trained medic,
armed with a saw and a compassionate view,
You saved plenty of lives, as many as any man can as such,
And when it got hectic,
You turned ugliness to poetry.
“Exploded Man”
I didn’t see the bomb fall,
I didn’t hear it burst,
I just flew through a wall,
And shredded like a wurst,
I haven’t any arms,
I haven’t any legs,
I haven’t eyes to spy a lady’s charms,
I just have these cursed pegs,
Why didn’t they let me die?
Why? Why?
The callous doctors ignore my cry,
Stuck in a hospital bed like a pig in a sty,
Why, o why didn’t they let me die?
A Russian Sentry, Dead in the dark
Frozen solid like a grisly statue,
The sentry stood there,
Rifle in hand
The mist swallowed him,
And I never saw him again.
Oh, this hurts through its directness. One pain, brought right before you, multiplies and gives a sense of its wider scope. I have many such images, just not the words.
I’m trying in my own poetic way to speak of what the average no-one level soldier experienced, I do this not to de-glamorize them or lower their standing, no matter what side you are on, it takes courage to lay your life down for thousands of people you will never see or hear, and those who haven’t even been born yet. What I am trying to do is remove the illusions and sanitizing that was put about by those in authority on each side, and show people what the average soldier truly experienced. My main criticism of the leadership level people of the first world war (all of them on every side), is A, they got into this mess in the first place, and B, they were frequently lead by generals who simply didn’t understand how modern warfare worked, particularly with regard to things like machine guns and air planes, (which to be fair had only been invented a short time before). Aging generals, terrible average front conditions, and very new weapons made a perfect storm of disasters, Clemenceau, a French leader at the time, once said “War is a series of disasters you eventually win.” or something similar, when speaking of his ww1 experience.
Interesting that Joe wrote those and quite powerful.
Another powerful poetic presentation of WWI. Thanks!