I write to you beneath this tent
While summer day becomes a shade
I have been thinking about The Great War
the vultures/are gathering now and famished hawks are poised!
my great grandfather left Germany for good in 1911, just before the war, of course, and though relatives in Germany must have fought, there are no family stories, that I know of, about that particular war.
what is the glorious fruit of our land
We have stories about the Civil War, WWII, Vietnam
the fruit is deformed children
But not WWI. To the United States as a country WWI is distant and far away.
(Not one man has
In time in space
not one woman has
but not in being
revealed the secrets
of this world
I hope France will not become nervous
I wonder if I am caught in a Romantic daze
The Germans are dangerous but they are not maniacs
but really, I think not. There is something icy cold in learning what I did not know about The Great War and in her aftermath. Looking back, in our rear-view vision in the wind from the wings of Walter Benjamin’s angel, we see the turning and the reckoning that must have been unheeded.
My inquietude increased from hour to hour
For were whatever might have been learned from the war been learned, been taken to Paris, or to heart, would we be where we are now? Or would there have been a different world to rise out of the ashes of Amiens, Verdun, the Marne, Ypres, the Somme, Gallipoli?
on battle ship hill I hear the wind sing
Shouldn’t we all be listening to the ghosts? Are there ghosts? Or is that just the sound of my own breath?
The human heart is the start of all matters pertaining to war
Am I only reflecting back and forth upon my own self the ideas of the trenches and the wires and the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.
I have this feeling, reinforced by consistent and regular references in various places to the The Great War (most recently, PJ Harvey’s most excellent Let England Shake), that there are real answers in the study of The Great War to my current unrelenting sense of unease.
But the more I dig, the more I read, the more photographs I pour over, the fewer answers I find.
Do you see him looking back? He is looking backward and what makes you think he ever returned. Even if he did, carrying this with him in his head, he is dead by now and this, his turning, has died with him
For Death was young again
The longer I look, the greater my obsession, the more I think that the glass I am looking into for some sort of truth as darkly and cracked as are all the mirrors of the world.
quotes are by Kaiser Wilhelm II, PJ Harvey, Maréchal de Saxe, Barbara Tuchman, Robert Graves, Gottfried Benn, Charles Lanrezac, Guillaume Apollinaire