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    AC Benus
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Poetry posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

The Thousandth Regiment - 22. "A graying army we, lodged in the trenches"

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22. Wir graues Heer, das in den Gräben haust,

Aus denen Qual von Wunden dunkel schwärt,

Vom Wirbel der Geschosse überbraust,

Wenn fahles Rot den Wintertag gebärt;

 

Dumm wie Maschinen ins Geschick geschmissen,

Erstarrt in Härten, drohend und verdammt,

Und doch so oft von Größe hingerissen,

Wenn Sieg und Glorie um die Fahnen flammt!

 

Wir, in der Eisenglut der Schlacht Erprobte,

Um die das Grinsen der Gefahren tobte,

Schwarz überstäubt, von Pulverschleim verbrannt,

 

Können, wenn nachts die Sterne silbern singen,

Den wilden Durst der Sehnsucht kaum bezwingen

Nach dem geliebten mütterlichen Land.

 

                              ---

 

22. A graying army we, lodged in the trenches,

From which the suffering of wounds turns black,

Overshadowed by the whirl of projectiles,

See sallow red birth the next winter day;

 

Dumb as machines finely tuned and plonked down here,

Stiffened through hardship, threatened and then damned,

And yet often carried away to the heights,

When wins and glory flame 'round our banners.

 

Tired and tested we, in metal slaughter,

With the grimace of danger raging 'round,

Black with dirt, seared by chemical mucus,

 

Can, if the stars sing silvery at night,

Barely defeat this surging thirst of longing

For that dearly beloved motherly land.

 

                              ---

 

 

 

_

Copyright © 2019 AC Benus; All Rights Reserved.
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Poetry posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
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"Dumm wie Maschinen ins Geschick geschmissen," / "Dumb as machines finely tuned and plonked down here,", those words of Hans are very direct. An observation but also a criticism of the system, which treats people like machines. The images before and after this line, prove the mistake, the system made. It shows the suffering, the pain, the failure and the longing for home, simply the human.

Thank you for your translation. 🙂

 

Edited by Lyssa
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This is bleak and in your face ... he is tired, physically and mentally. Tired of the 'war machine', and his part as a cog in it; of the pain, noise, suffering of all. Chemical mucus... gas? And he does what anyone of us would ... he longs for home.  i have been trapped in an unwanted life and i know the pain of that longing only too well. sometimes these poems are hard to bear. but i must.

Thank you, AC xo

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On 9/18/2019 at 1:19 PM, Parker Owens said:

This so aptly and succinctly describes the hellish, eternal purgatory of the trenches. Those lucky enough to survive random shelling, probing enemy attacks, disease and filth were lucky enough to find the faded glory in battle of flesh against bullet. Small wonder Hans yearns for the motherland. 

Thank you, Parker. The scenarios you describe are revisited a few more times in these Regiment poems. As a poet, I understand the process of writing on a topic and wondering if you have lived up to the full potential of the theme. This leads one to try again, and perhaps again, and each time will be successful in its own way to a reader because it illustrates differing facets. 

Thanks as always for reading and sharing your thoughts  

On 9/19/2019 at 2:27 AM, Lyssa said:

"Dumm wie Maschinen ins Geschick geschmissen," / "Dumb as machines finely tuned and plonked down here,", those words of Hans are very direct. An observation but also a criticism of the system, which treats people like machines. The images before and after this line, prove the mistake, the system made. It shows the suffering, the pain, the failure and the longing for home, simply the human.

Thank you for your translation. 🙂

 

Thank you, Lyssa. Yes, Hans' language is almost electric. One can think of it literally like a current, moving energy created by cycling back and forth between blunt unambiguous language (like the line you quote) and more Expressionist terms meant to only show images (like the wing-flap of the next poem). This is exciting. It makes for poetry that resonates with a vitality of importance. 

Of course, I get immediately sad to wonder about all the great works of art this man could not go on to create in his life. We have to be content with the legacy we have. 

Thanks again

Edited by AC Benus
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On 9/19/2019 at 2:41 AM, Mikiesboy said:

This is bleak and in your face ... he is tired, physically and mentally. Tired of the 'war machine', and his part as a cog in it; of the pain, noise, suffering of all. Chemical mucus... gas? And he does what anyone of us would ... he longs for home.  i have been trapped in an unwanted life and i know the pain of that longing only too well. sometimes these poems are hard to bear. but i must.

Thank you, AC xo

Thank you, Tim, as always. Hans provides the perfectly awful portrait for the life his "we" led. He shows its inhumanity pitted against their souls in ways that make one not able to look away.

Thank you again for your support

 

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