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Thanks for clarifying my point, this is exactly what I meant.
I'd never met that Uncle but vaguely heard about him through my relatives. I am 46 and being French, I've heard stories about the war, mainly the second world war, I recently learnt that my mother had a lucky escape from the German bullets at one time. I guess such escapes were rarely mentioned because they were all so common. It always amazes me to think that every single French or other European family has been affected by the War, and they all lost at least one relative or loved one in the war. We live in relative peace and it is somewhat hard to imagine how other people suffered so much in such a short time. The only thing young people could relate to is road casualties that occur on a regular basis, it is probably one of the biggest killer in modern times. To go back to the War casualties, those sepia and black and white photographs had a big impact on my life, as a kid, those pictures were always staring at me hanging on the wall. They still haunt me today, to the point that I have difficulty putting pictures in my own house, because the photos on the wall were mainly of dead people. Odd really to think that way, but if it was not for those photos, I would not really have realized who they were. It put a human face on all those soldiers, to us they are just names and crosses. The unknown soldier might as well have been called anonymous. It just seems so impersonal and meaningless. I think the younger generation is blasé about all the crosses on open fields, and poppies are just that poppies, they don't known what bones are lying under those pretty flowers. I now understand why war veterans refuse to recount stories about the war, I do know a bit about post-traumatic disorders, having witnessed some pretty horrendous myself. I respect the need for people to remain silent about their experience. It's not that they don't want to speak about it, it is because they simply cannot. It is so incredibly painful, that the only way to cope is to put the lid on it. Somehow it seeps through the crack though and affect how people function in life. I think only God can soften the raw edge when people's lives have been shattered. It is cruel to judge people on their silence and seeming lack of cooperation, (not willing to talk), it is harsh to force people to talk, they do no need that sort of pressure put on them they have enough to contend with. Just let them know that you understand or at least try and even admitting that you do not understand is better than nothing. I was discussing with one of my students who comes from Israel and has now left her country, how the whole population is suffering from some trauma, they all suffer from post-traumatic disorder. Imagine what that does to a whole nation! They are all on edge, armed to the eyeball in a constant state of alert, stressed to the max. We live in a crazy screwed up world, I tell you. The best we can do, is show some understanding and compassion and appreciate that some people put their lives on the line for us, may be not always by choice, but they did it nonetheless regardless of their motives. I might be too chicken to go to war myself. I tend to let someone else do the dirty work for me, or I might call myself a pacifist, that sounds a bit better. But then again being is a pacifist is not necessarily an easy option either, you can risk your life for that too. In Israel, you are an outcast if you do not join the Army, in the States I gather, the debates are raging as to whether we should leave Iraq alone. I prefer to keep out of politics, I am an ignoramus anyway. I prefer to look at things from a humanitarian point of view. So yea, it started with talking about my uncle, I don't even know his name, I don't remember even asking at the time. How sad.! I do remember thinking at the time, it was kind of sad, but it did not really register, I was too young. It is impossible to imagine how much those people suffered in the war, and to think it is still happening today. Well, what can we do? At least not add to other people's misery or our own for that matter, I am not about to change the world, at least I could change my world, the world inside my head, and the words that come out of my mouth. Words are pretty powerful weapons too, they kill you softly with overbearing kindness, well meaning advice and criticisms, all those poison words dressed up in kindness. Words, weapons of destructions or blessing to others? I do ask myself, have I said anything nice today? May be may be not, depends what time of the morning it happens to be.But that sounds like a pretty good excuse, don't you think?
posted by
marieclaire66
on June 19, 2006 at 10:28 PM
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Marie Clair, wonderful poem! Very well written and great theme.
An excellent memorial to your late uncle. In response to Justi's comment, if I am not mistaken, Marie intended for the word "inhumane" to refer to the manner in which her uncle died. His sacrifice was unfortuneately necessary and noble, yet it was the manner of his sacrifice that was inhumane. I don't believe any war -related death could ever be known as "humane". Hope that helps, hope I was correct! lol
posted by
swftfox
on June 19, 2006 at 6:43 AM
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marieclaire again
http://www.icce.rug.nl/~soundscapes/VOLUME09/Documentary_photography_in_the_1930s.shtml
I had a senior moment there! LOL
Forgot to say that I've always loved old sepia photos, 'cos they're so much more dramatic than coloured ones.
Above is a link to a site about photography during the Great depression. So powerful and moving that it's worth exploring others.
posted by
ariel70
on June 19, 2006 at 3:57 AM
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marieclaire
Very good, extremely powerful and terse. I liked it very much.
I was born in 1931, and the memory of the First World War ( The Great War, as it was known then ) was still very fresh in people's minds. Indeed, many of those who fought in that war went on to fight in the next.
Blind or limbless ( sometimes both ) men, and those suffering from " Shell Shock" , what we'd call Post Traumatic Stress Disorder today, were a common sight in the streets, pubs and cinemas in those days.
Three in ten British soldiers were wounded in WW1, and one in 10 killed, and my father was a typical casualty of the war ; having had malaria and other diseases in Salonika, and been gassed in Flanders. His health was wrecked, and he was a semi-invalid for the rest of his life. He died in 1945. My brother was killed in 1941.
I am highly impressed that one as young as you ( I guess! ) can capture so beautifully the poignancy of old photos of warriors. Every now and again one comes across a poem/story, whatever, which makes one say " Hell! I wish I'd written that!" Your poem is just such a piece. Thank you very much.
posted by
ariel70
on June 19, 2006 at 3:46 AM
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marie clair
That is an awesome poem. It was not an inhumane sacrafice though those who died to save the greater number saved some countrys from total destruction. All people die sometime, those were the brave and the honorable who gave their lives. Wonderful work.
posted by
Justi
on June 19, 2006 at 2:50 AM
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