Content provided in partnership with
Poetry and the pity of war
Contemporary Review, Nov, 1998 by Randle Manwaring
'Can there ever be an end to war?' asked John Keegan in his 1997 Reith Lecture and history would seem to answer 'No'. In short, the human race, whilst progressing in all kinds of scientific fields, remains a poor king over its own nature for, advancing in a few hundred years from cannon balls to the hydrogen bomb, it has not found adequate ways of preventing mutual annihilation. And alongside the enormous strides of human inventiveness must be placed the fact that an Oxford don of the twentieth century is no cleverer than, say, Aristotle, who lived over 2000 years ago. Although present weapons of destruction are too frightening to contemplate and there are, therefore, some inbuilt safeguards against a third world war, humanity wistfully looks forward, in some way, to a time when 'nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more' (Micah Ch. 4 verse 3).
- Most Popular Articles in News
- The Ten Best Laptop bags
- Tata plans cheapest-ever car for Indian market
- GLOBALIZATION AND THE DEVELOPMENT OF UNDERDEVELOPMENT OF THE THIRD WORLD
- Corn is good for you; Corn is not only a tasty treat, but also a cereal that ...
- THE 50 BEST STYLISH HANDBAGS TO CARRY
- More »
Wilfred Owen (1893-1918), in all probability the poet who most developed his art out of war, said in the preface to his Poems: 'The subject of it is War, and the Pity of War.' We think we know what he had in mind - the futility, inevitability and the wretchedness of mutual slaughter. General Sherman (1820-1891), knowing nothing of tanks, gas or aerial bombardment, once told the Michigan Military Academy 'War is hell'. He might well have been a contemporary of Owen but he was, as we know, a Federal General in the American Civil War and fought only with bullets and guns. Robert Burns summed it all up in his great lines:
Man's inhumanity to man Makes countless thousands mourn!
But he might have written of millions rather than thousands, for that has become the pattern of the twentieth century, covering the two world wars which engulfed almost all the Nations of the earth in one way or another. Even the somewhat restricted war of the 1980s, between Iran and Iraq, is reputed to have cost each nation a million dead.
War has been the subject of poetry since earliest times. Either the armies about to engage in conflict have been exhorted by their commanders to exploits of valour and to victory or else the celebrations of triumph have been led in poem, song and dance. On this point, the genius of William Shakespeare will suffice. Henry V speaks before Harfleur in quite blood curdling tones:
Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more; Or close the wall up with our English dead! In peace there's nothing so becomes a man As modest stillness and humility: But when the blast of war blows in our ears, Then imitate the action of the tiger; Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, Disguise fair nature with hard-favoure'd rage;
The English camped in Picardy (a place to become more famous as a battlefield in the First World War) and then at Agincourt (1415), the scene of one of the most important battles in history. Interestingly enough, the English won a decisive victory at Agincourt due to the outstanding skill of their archers and lost only 1,600 men, whilst the French lost 6,000. King Henry's speech in the English camp goes down in poetry as amongst the finest expressions of patriotism ever uttered:
This day is called the feast of Crispian: He that outlives this day, and comes safe home, Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd, And rouse him at the name of Crispian. He that shall live this day, and see old age, Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours, And say, 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian'.
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile, This day shall gentle his condition: And gentlemen in England, now a-bed Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here, And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.
The dramatisation of the King's leadership on the battlefield is immensely moving but strong patriotism is, we see, the only discernible clarion call. War was then mostly heroics, hand-to-hand combat and arrows swishing through the air. According to Shakespeare, Richard the Third was equally compelling in his exhortation before his fatal fall at Bosworth (1485).
Fight, gentlemen of England fight! bold yeomen! Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head! Spur your proud horses hard, and ride in blood; Amaze the welkin with your broken staves!
But soon his enemy Richmond could boast 'the bloody dog is dead'.
Battles were often celebrated in poetry, long after the event, for example The Battle of Ai, by Timothy Dwight (1752-1817) and Lament for Flodden by J. Elliott (1727-1805), but the Americans must take the prize for celebratory verse and flag waving. Jonathan Sewall (1748-1808) wrote in War and Washington:
Vain Britons, boast no longer with proud indignity, By land your conquering legions, your matchless strength at sea, Since we, your braver sons incensed, our swords have girded on, Huzza, huzza, huzza, huzza for war and Washington.
And it would be difficult, for rousing patriotism, to match The Star-Spangled Banner by Francis Scott Key (1779-1843):
