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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 - 3. "Abruptly raised over the sun and sand"

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3. In Sand und Sonne steil emporgerichtet,

Blitzen wir blank und blau. Ein Säbel schleift

Rauh klirrend vor der Reihe. Wie vernichtet

Ist unser Blick, der leer ins Weite greift.

 

Schwer unterm Mittag, der in Flammen reift,

Gerinnen wir, im Blut zu Blei verdichtet

Von unten her. Auf unsern Stirnen schichtet

Verstaubtes Rot sich auf, von Schweiß gestreift.

 

Dasein und Erde sind in Glut ertrunken.

Gekrampfte Muskeln würgen Kinn und Kehle.

Jäh taumelt einer hin unterm Gewehr.

 

Ahnung von Menschheit atmet längst nicht mehr.

Da . . . überfällt uns wie ein heißer Funken

Der schrille Schrei der heiseren Befehle.

 

                              ---

 

3. Abruptly raised over the sun and sand,

It flashes bright and blue. A saber drills

Roughly clacking before the rows. How sunk

Our empty gazes reach out to the distance.

 

Weighted down by noon, tempered under flames,

We coagulate, clotting like lead in blood

From below. Compacted on our foreheads,

Muddy rivulets show red, streaked with sweat.

 

Presence and earth have drowned in lit embers,

Cramping muscles strangle both chin and throat.

Under the heavy rifle, one staggers.

 

Humanity’s ideals no longer breathe.

There . . . Attacking us with fresh hellish sparks

Comes the shrill order to stand, hoarsely yelled.

 

                              ---

 

 

_

 

 

 

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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Humanity’s ideals no longer breathe -- Ahnung von Menschheit atmet längst nicht mehr. The reality and horror of this war can probably not be better described. The haunting pictures Ehrenbaum-Degele used, are perfectly translated and reaching deeply into my mind as in the German version.I imagine the young man, who went to war for all the wrong reasons (and sorry, but as German I can only see it as wrong reasons, following cruel ideas and traditions of obeying, grown up in a system, which puts obeying the order over everything and searching for a strange aspect of manhood), finding himself in this horror. What poet he could have become, what poems he could have written, if not following a mad, conceited king and this stupid ideals. Most saddening, if I read the poem is that nevertheless so many artists processed their experiences and horror from WW1 in their art and poetry the learning effect was nil as history showed us. Even more reason not to forget, to try to learn, to remember and make it hopefully better someday. In fact, that German Bundeswehr has no absolute obedience anymore is a great achievement in my eyes, every soldier is responsible for his or her decisions. But coming back to your translations, all of what I said with many side tracks is: I know first hand, how much hard work and effort you put into them. The results are outstanding. Your work is important and magnificent. I feel so thankful to read it. Muha

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And so to battle: how indeed the spirit empties, hollows out all but the most essential emotion in the heat and mud. The officers command and the company obeys, though flesh and humanity cries out against the order. You’ve rendered the description of being sent into battle in this war far too well. 

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Wonderful, this poem, so telling. Brutality affects us in terrible ways, especially if we are not that way inclined. It kills our spirit.

Parker is right, this is described far too well.  

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10 hours ago, Lyssa said:

Humanity’s ideals no longer breathe -- Ahnung von Menschheit atmet längst nicht mehr. The reality and horror of this war can probably not be better described. The haunting pictures Ehrenbaum-Degele used, are perfectly translated and reaching deeply into my mind as in the German version.I imagine the young man, who went to war for all the wrong reasons (and sorry, but as German I can only see it as wrong reasons, following cruel ideas and traditions of obeying, grown up in a system, which puts obeying the order over everything and searching for a strange aspect of manhood), finding himself in this horror. What poet he could have become, what poems he could have written, if not following a mad, conceited king and this stupid ideals. Most saddening, if I read the poem is that nevertheless so many artists processed their experiences and horror from WW1 in their art and poetry the learning effect was nil as history showed us. Even more reason not to forget, to try to learn, to remember and make it hopefully better someday. In fact, that German Bundeswehr has no absolute obedience anymore is a great achievement in my eyes, every soldier is responsible for his or her decisions. But coming back to your translations, all of what I said with many side tracks is: I know first hand, how much hard work and effort you put into them. The results are outstanding. Your work is important and magnificent. I feel so thankful to read it. Muha

Thank you, Lyssa. As we spoke about, the generation of North American writers and artists who survived the war are known as The Lost Generation. People like Hemingway writing about the war felt the weight of the world on their shoulders, arguably because they wondered why them. Why did they make it out alive when so many of the best and brightest did not...? It affected their psyches deeply, and it shows in their work. Erich Maria Remarque might arguably be the most successful of all the survivors who wrote about WW1. His 1929 novel Im Westen nichts Neues ("All Quiet on the Western Front") was an international success, being turned into a Hollywood movie in 1930 (and I read that a new version is currently being filmed with Daniel Radcliffe in the lead). This book is still required reading in most every high school in the United States. If I remember, the main character was a poet, but he was not the survivor who lived to write these 18-year-old boys' story.

I'm glad Hans' partner and friends published his final poems; they speak better than most others. Thank you for reading, commenting and supporting my efforts. Muah 

 

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10 hours ago, Parker Owens said:

And so to battle: how indeed the spirit empties, hollows out all but the most essential emotion in the heat and mud. The officers command and the company obeys, though flesh and humanity cries out against the order. You’ve rendered the description of being sent into battle in this war far too well. 

Thank you, Parker. As I am finding the further I go into the collection, Ehrenbaum-Degele comes back to the question of a moral imperative to maintain your own sense of right and wrong, no matter what comes from the upper ranks. That is always a dangerous tightrope to walk....

Thanks again for reading and commenting  

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1 hour ago, MichaelS36 said:

Wonderful, this poem, so telling. Brutality affects us in terrible ways, especially if we are not that way inclined. It kills our spirit.

Parker is right, this is described far too well.  

Thank you, Mike. Your comments are making me recall some stories I've read about power and spirit; chief among them might be D.H. Lawrence's The Prussian Officer. I might have to revisit that tale, even though it was written just before the war stated.

Thanks again for your comments and support  

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7 hours ago, AC Benus said:

maintain your own sense of right and wrong, no matter what comes from the upper ranks. That is always a dangerous tightrope to walk....

I know we are here to comment on the poem, which is another in this brilliant series ... well, it feels like a poetic diary really. It is how he feels and what he sees each step of the way.  But it is what you say in the quoted section that struck me this morning as i read.

This maintaining your sense of right and wrong ... it's what i kind of live by.. doing the right thing. I don't always i guess, but i try to. I remember Peter when he was little once saying something had happened to his lunch at school and he couldn't eat it. But no one offered him anything, yet when the same happened to another that he'd offered to share his. I said i'm sorry no one offered but you always need to do what is right for you inside, no matter what. 

This poet is not worried about lunch obviously, but he is saying the same thing, follow your heart, do what's right for you. How, you do that in such a place, in the army ... i don't know. I don't suppose the officers at the time were different from elsewhere .. if you didnt fight, you were shot.

Sorry for rambling ... thanks so much for what you are doing with these wonderful poems, these glimpses into this man, his life and thoughts.

Edited by Mikiesboy
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On 8/5/2019 at 4:05 AM, Mikiesboy said:

I know we are here to comment on the poem, which is another in this brilliant series ... well, it feels like a poetic diary really. It is how he feels and what he sees each step of the way.  But it is what you say in the quoted section that struck me this morning as i read.

This maintaining your sense of right and wrong ... it's what i kind of live by.. doing the right thing. I don't always i guess, but i try to. I remember Peter when he was little once saying something had happened to his lunch at school and he couldn't eat it. But no one offered him anything, yet when the same happened to another that he'd offered to share his. I said i'm sorry no one offered but you always need to do what is right for you inside, no matter what. 

This poet is not worried about lunch obviously, but he is saying the same thing, follow your heart, do what's right for you. How, you do that in such a place, in the army ... i don't know. I don't suppose the officers at the time were different from elsewhere .. if you didnt fight, you were shot.

Sorry for rambling ... thanks so much for what you are doing with these wonderful poems, these glimpses into this man, his life and thoughts.

Wonderful thoughts; thank you for sharing them, Tim. This internal indicator is all-important. When one is in the armed services, there is an imperative to follows orders, but as the trials at Nuremberg taught us, a "just following orders" excuse is not enough. As people we must all be responsible to others for our actions, both good and bad,  as I'm sure you agree. 

Thanks for reading theses. I love your input  

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