war poems

[rogaleo]

A Song of the Soldiers of Westerplatte

And when their time has come at last
to die in summer weather,
they marched to heaven four abreast,
the soldiers of Westerplatte.

(and the summer was lovely that year)

And thus they sang: it’s no big thing
all these our wounds and pain,
how sweet it is to enter in
the heaven’s verdant plain.

(and on earth that year there was
so much heather for bouquets)

In Gdansk we stood firm as a wall,
the German guns - small matter,
above the clouds ascend we all
the soldiers of Westerplatte.

And we such singing hear, that we
exploiting the sunny weather,
shall bask in noonday’s gentle heat
on paradisial heather.

But when cold winter’s wind shall blow
and gloom the world embitter,
We into Warsaw’s heart shall float,
the soldiers of Westerplatte.

translated by:

Marcel Weyland


or, because I'm not sure if the translation is right, another version:




When their days had been filled
and it was time to die in the summer,
They went straight to heaven in a coach-and-four,
the soldiers of Westerplatte.

(Summer was beautiful that year.)

They sang: "Ah, ‘tis nothing
that our wounds were so painful,
for now it is sweet to walk
the heavenly fields."

(On earth that year there was plenty of heather for bouquets.)

In Gdansk we stood like a wall
in defiance of the German offensive,
now we soar among the clouds,
we soldiers of Westerplatte.
Those with keen sense of sight
and sound are said to have heard
in the clouds the measured step
of the Maratime Batallion.

This was the song they heard: "We'll
take advantage of the sunshine
and bask in the warm days
in the heather fields of paradise.

But when the cold wind blows
and sorrow courses the earth,
We'll float down to the center of Warsaw,
The soldiers of Westerplatte."




translated by Walter Whipple

 

[shoelessjoe]

Battle of Sedjenane, Tunisia 1943

Sedjenane

Death's swift flight, through the April rain,
Paused at a place called Sedjenane.
With a cold hand he marked his prey
And picked the ones who were to stay, forever
At a place called Sedjenane

In a brief moment, they gave their all,
Life, and all it meant, beyond recall.
Never to be bothered by the rain, they sleep
At a place called Sedjenane.

Wooden crosses mark each hallowed grave
Above the sleeping ranks, red poppies wave.
The fight is over, there in peace, they'll ever remain
The ones we left behind us at a place called Sedjenane.

John D. Day
60th Infantry Regiment, 9th Infantry Division

 

[doctor dan]

Viet nam Era

If you are able
Save a place inside of you, and save one backward glance when you are leaving, for the places they can no longer go.
Be not ashamed to say you loved them.
Though you may or may not have always.
Take what they have left, and what they have taught you with their dying, and keep it with your own.
And in that time, when men decide and feel safe to call war insane.
Take one moment to embrace those gentel heros, you left behind.