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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 - 26. "Out front, a fire lashed like a wild mane in flight"

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25. Vorn, aufgepeitscht in wilden Feuermähnen,

Wälzt sich die Schlacht über den Hügelrand.

Wie weiße Arme, die sich endlos sehnen,

Greifen die Wege weit in Nacht und Land.

 

Hin zu der Gräben heißen Totenkammern,

Wo die Granate giftig niederschlägt,

Und hart und schweigend bis zum letzten Jammern

Das viele Volk des Sterbens Krone trägt.

 

Bald kommen nun die Träger mit den Bahren,

Die purpurn triefen von zerrißnem Leben.

Schwer stapft es durch den aufgewühlten Grund.

 

Und durch die Schatten, die sich düster scharen,

Glänzt wieder still der Leuchtrakete Schweben

Und taumelt langsam in der dunklen Schlund

 

                              ---

 

25. Out front, a fire lashed like a wild mane in flight

Drives fighting over the ridge of the hill.

Like colorless arms, yearning for ever more,

Their ways enmesh far into night and land,

 

And on to the trenches known as death chambers,

Where bombs fall precipitously toxic,

So cruel and taciturn to the ultimate wheeze

That many take unto them as Death's crown.

 

Presently come the bearers with the stretchers,

Which drip magenta from the lives torn apart.

It's stomped heavily in the cracked-up ground.

 

And amid the shadows, gathering sadly,

Still gloats the rocket flare from high overhead

To rattle slowly in the darkest throat.

 

                              ---

 

 

 

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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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The Face of Battle was John Keegan’s great book, examining battle and war, looking at long cherished views of several key historical battles.Hans does this, line by line and sonnet by sonnet. In this, he details the wholesale destruction of soldiers’ lives and the pitiless machinery of modern warfare. Here indeed is the face of battle, and it is gruesome. 

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5 hours ago, Parker Owens said:

The Face of Battle was John Keegan’s great book, examining battle and war, looking at long cherished views of several key historical battles.Hans does this, line by line and sonnet by sonnet. In this, he details the wholesale destruction of soldiers’ lives and the pitiless machinery of modern warfare. Here indeed is the face of battle, and it is gruesome. 

Thank you, Parker. I don't know Mr. Keegan's book, although of late I have been reading a lot about WW1. This poem, like the one about aerial warfare, introduces the bystander to another innovative horror: toxic gas. But sadly, it's not a bygone topic. I happened to read today how the leaders in Syria just deployed it on a civilian city, killing a thousand people at least, and displacing the rest. Talk about grim...

But again I offer my thanks to you for reading and leaving me your support. It means a lot to me

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Your translation is magnificent work. And I send you a heartfelt hug, because translating those pictures must be hard for the soul. Like a horror picture book, Hans describes scene after scene. This poem is so utterly hopeless. He does not say, he expects his death. But circumstances make it clear. Thinking about my plans of next weeks trip to Dresden, I really hope, I find answers about the place of his grave.

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On 9/27/2019 at 4:38 PM, Lyssa said:

Your translation is magnificent work. And I send you a heartfelt hug, because translating those pictures must be hard for the soul. Like a horror picture book, Hans describes scene after scene. This poem is so utterly hopeless. He does not say, he expects his death. But circumstances make it clear. Thinking about my plans of next weeks trip to Dresden, I really hope, I find answers about the place of his grave.

Thank you for your support, Lyssa. You have done great research to try and locate Hans' final resting place. I think you have done it, and the setting fits the description Hans prophetically provides in the final poem of the Regiment series. I'm very much looking forward to hearing what you've found on Friday :)

Thanks again   

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23 hours ago, Mikiesboy said:

a hellish scene .. gruesome and horrible and there is no feeling of hope here.  only death.  i think he knows in his bones his days are numbered.

Thanks you, Tim. There is a sense of waiting conveyed, I think, in this poem. The "they" who are doing this are just over the hill; will they be coming to finish everybody off? It is a bleak scenario. No one was exempt later on in the conflict, not even the wounded. I have recently read eye-witness reports of how snipers (British) were ordered on pain of execution to shoot the stretcher-bearers. Germans too, showing off their artillery's accuracy, sometimes shelled a road just in front of a wagon ambulance, only to shell the road behind the ambulance thirty seconds later, stranding the vehicle. 

This war was base. I suppose the killing in every war is base, but this protracted killing just for killing's sake has left a horrible scar on humanity. 

As always, thanks for reading and sharing your thoughts on how these poems affect you. I know it is not easy, and I appreciate your support   

 

Edited by AC Benus
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