France:
When the world knew its darkest hours
men climbed
out from the filth of their slit-trenches
scarred into Mother Earth
like joined up graves
and played kick-ball –
shots
and saves
in no-man’s land
like it had all been some terrible dream
so it seemed their mothers might stand calling
from kitchen doors
and the dead would arise and go home for their tea
and maybe the children would not play
war
any more
Ireland:
Four years later and not so very far away
men were playing kick-ball in their own back yard
on a Sunday afternoon
when soldiers came spilling out of barracks
that nestled in their city like a tumor
come to do killing on the playing field
for a lost cause
and the bullets flew
as families looked on from fear-filled terraces
at a new and terrifying spectacle
praying to Jesusmaryanjoseph
it wasn’t really happening
though they knew
it was
Croke Park:
that blood-soaked turf became a hallowed place
a symbol of resistance to imperialism and the foreign race
whose shocking desecration had so disgraced
their nation
and its unjust occupation of our own.
united
in grief and outrage we saw that enemy
overthrown
and lived to see
the free
Republic Of Ireland
where
today:
another light will be shone
across the darkness
as the gates of Croke Park – that hallowed ground -
are thrown open to the world
the flag of peace- but not surrender- being unfurled
and the foreigner welcomed to our heartland
closed for so long
nor did the yielding say we had forgot
the injustices
or our fallen
submission nor triumphal was it
not
but an act of common courtesy
performed for a friend
for good and not for wrong
magnanimous and strong
as all yielding should be
the act of free men rejoicing in that freedom
and wishing it for others
the human solidarity of sporting brothers
no bullets
but a bullet-shaped ball
‘The Soldiers Song’ and ‘Ireland’s Call’
will soar oe’r battled turf this day
and one and all
may feel pride in an nation come of age
its sense of self grown greater than outrage
its youth about to turn another page of History
standing tall
a page that they shall write – not just recall.
Author notes
In 1920 Occupying British troops entered Croke Park, the principal sports stadium and National Headquarters of the G.A.A.(Gaelic Athletic Association - sponsoring the traditional Irish sports of 'Hurling' and 'Gaelic Football' and also fostering nationalist -and therefore 'rebel' traditions and activity) behind an armoured car, which opened fire indiscriminately on the players and the crowd. Shortly afterwards, England's 600 year occupation of its weaker neighbour ended for all but the northermost six of the thirty-two counties of Ireland, those six having elected to remain within the Empire.
The G.A.A. has remained staunchly isolationist ever since refusing to allow 'foreign' games to be played on its grounds or its members to play 'foreign' games (most notably rugby and soccer)
On Sunday the 11th of Feb. 2007, for the first time ever, rugby was played at Croke Park, the controversial 'rule 41' banning 'foreign' games having been lifted by a substantial majority vote, to facilitate the national soccer and rugby teams whose home stadium was being demolished for refurbishment.
This apparently trivial gesture marks a huge leap forward in tearing down the walls of outdated and incredibly damaging sectarian thinking in a small nation which currently reaps the benefits of the greatest peacemaker of all - shared prosperity.
'The Soldier's Song' is the Irish National Anthem
'Ireland's Call' is a rousing anthem much more recently penned for the international rugby team, as, uniquely, it includes players from ALL the 32 counties, North and South (Northern Ireland remains under British Rule)
In a list
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 10 of 10
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Epic Indeed
Your concise yet emotive poetry/prose structure and content has rarely if ever been brought to bear in such an evocative sense of history surpassing our fickle transient sense of zeitgeist, Windhover. Here you combine to my opinion, the barbed historicity of Prefab, the bittersweet melancholy of Alan´s hopeless (though not) cause in It´s Just Poetry and the stirring-stoking-of-fury-beneath-the-surface-with-a-smile
-on-its-face Ski Nazi (was that the title?).
Particular qualititive moments were:
# when soldiers came spilling out of barracks
# that nestled in their city like a tumor
Spilling blood.
# so it seemed their mothers might stand calling
# from kitchen doors
# and the dead would arise and go home for their tea
I can hear them calling.
Line 54. "closed" unneccessary.
Line 59 evokes a double negative does it not?
# magnanimous and strong
# as all yielding should be
# the act of free men rejoicing in that freedom
# and wishing it for others
Kofi Annan eat your heart out.
# but a bullet-shaped ball
So tis so tis!
# its sense of self grown greater than outrage
I wish mine would.
I thought your notes complimented your fine piece, Windhover. I often miss succinct notes that aid in the depth of a portrayal.
Once when arrested for A.L.F. terrorism (funnily enough I was innocent at the time) I found myself compared to the IRA in a Norwegian newspaper. Though inappropriate I´m sure,(being neither Irish nor so IRAte) it gave me a tickle of pride somewhere between my Baader-Meinhof and my Robin Hood.
Aye tis easy to identify with the struggle for an independant Ireland since the crimes of Cromwell.
And equally heartwarming to see understandable prejudice dissipate in the warm glow of violent sports.
gGradually thawing from cryogenically induced hibernation
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Welcome Back!
What a great pleasure to see your face in my place once more, the more so since you seem to like this unusual venture of mine. have to say I smiled broadly, but without surprise, at the idea of you being a terrorist!
Thanks for the terrific comment Si, yours are always so astute and very welcome, the more so after your 'hibernation'. I took your suggestions on board, dropping 'frozen' rather than 'closed' because I wanted to suggest the image of closed gates more than the hurt feelings. As for the double negative, I would argue ( though the placing of the 'not' is pedantic and deliberately forces the rhyme with 'forgot') that it is just a rearrangement of 'we had 'not' forgotten the injustices nor our fallen'. I did agonize about it but somehow wanted that rhyme.
Apologied for my remove at the minute, major upheaval at work makes it difficult for me to do this stuff. But I had to say 'hi' to my old friend so you sneaked in with my Morning Pages. Looking forward to doing this some more! >W<
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This works.....
...with or without the notes. I can understand your indecision as on first view, it is a long poem. But it is an epic bro'.
The manner in which you link past and present ; the manner in which you link war and sport, brutality with national pride, blood and guts with sporting spectacle - all joined in poetic prose - is triumphant itself. The poem does the subject matter justice; not the other way around and that is a real success for what must have been a difficult and emotional write.
And for a subject so difficult to capture, it reads so easily and flows so well. I find some of the wordplay and descriptions very clever indeed; not wanting to undermine the key messages here, but I think it is only fair to praise excellence where deserved and this poem deserves praise.
The references to "kick-ball", "playing field" and "fear-filled terraces" early on, capture the sporting theme yet more the sport of (P)political (with both a small and large P) battles, where trial and retribution were metered out via a single bullet to so many.
I like that the poem transforms, having delivered enough history to set a scene, into the present where the world has changed; moved on in recognition of the way that the world should be. The world is far from perfect but the little battles won all contribute toward winning the war (no pun intended) and Croke Park reflects a small battle won in my opinion.
No bullets but a bullet-shaped ball. Perfect. That last stanza ends the poem on a high without descending into hubris. And that deserves more applause than anything given the strong theme throughout.
Great job.
Mart
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Brit Scum!....
..ha ha! I knew there was a reason I missed you around here! You always give me great reviews!
I had doubts about this one as you know, so its nice to know you felt it wasn't clunky. I'm actually British myself so the 'National Pride ' thing is in no way anti-Brit. Just anti- bullshit.
Your comment and the others here have given me confidence it this one and I intend to submit it to the Francis Ledwidge' poetry competition later this year. It recognizes all sorts of poetry but has a particular soft spot for war poems, as Ledwidge was often described, (wrongly) as a war-poet.
Great to see you back Mart. >W<
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hey windover
thanks for the read it was very informative and put into poetry form it flowed in nice easy to digest bytes rather than the difficult to swallow text book.
but the most important thing was not only standing up to aggression, but allowing the games to be played againg, and therefore transcending it.
dave -
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Hey Dave
Thanks for 'getting' that its about transcending nationalism and not glorifying it. I was going to say I wouldn't have pegged you as a transcendental sort of guy, but on second thoughts, there's something so laid-back and left field about you I suppose there could well be a bit of hippie hiding in there somewhere.
Didn't think you'd like this one - it's very 'grand' and not really my style (whatever the hell that is these days) either. But then its a big Stadium and a big beef. Thanks for taking the time to read it and comment on it. >W<
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Cheers, John!
Wow. My first response to this piece is simply that. This is quite a departure for you, but it's really a great piece. I second Lad's suggestion, that you send this somewhere for publication.
There's so much to comment on in this poem, I'm just going to dig in:
The entire first stanza is intriguing, powerful, and perfectly captures the surreal aspect of war.
"slit trenches/scarred into Mother Earth"-- Freudian and dirty, and just right for the tone of the first stanza. It also ties in, in a dark Oedipal way, to the reference to mothers "calling from kitchen doors."
I also like "and maybe the children would not play war anymore"-- this struck me as Biblical, "neither shall they learn war anymore."
In the second stanza, "killing on the playing field" struck me as a play on the term, "killing fields." It is fitting, too, given soccer's origins.
I also particularly like the image, "fear-filled terraces." Again, you have perfectly conveyed the tone of terror and chaos in urban warfare.
I find the 3rd stanza to be the turning point, coming away from despair and fear, and assuming a tone of defiance, in seeing the enemy overthrown, which carries over, "the flag of peace-- but not surrender."
A truly rousing and fiery write. You do Ireland proud.
Lauren
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Thanks Lauren. Yes this this IS quite a departure for me and I geniunenly worried it may have been a bridge too far. It's a 'grand'sort of theme from someone who's anything but political or Nationalist. But I found I was genuinely more than pleased about this recent outbreak of sanity and dispensing with of petty rivalry, territoriality and bloody mindedness by my countrymen. I was proud of them.
I'm glad you picked out the first stanza because it was the one I liked best myself, even though it had least to do with the ultimate point. That overused image of the Germans and British troops playing soccer on the killing fields (I actually used the term in the first draft) is terrifically poignant and the presence of a ball as an instrument of peace too tempting to pass over. When I was a kid we played 'war' all the time. The second world war had just been won single-handedly by Britain if you listened to British people. Then 'mother' would stand at the back door and yell for you to come and get your 'tea' (supper). And there would be an armistice. I hoped readers would pick up on the biblical slant on 'children' so good catch and thanks.
The 'tarraces ' are what you might call the bleachers in the U.S. . But Croke Park is still to this day surrounded by small terraced housing. And the Irish Civil War that preceded independence was the most awful urban warfare.
I'm surprised and very flattered by your own and Lad's response to what I thought may have been far too grand and flowery a piece for all but the most sentimental and patriotic. I hope it reads more as homily to common sense than Nationalism - which is peculiar form of madness as far as I'm concerned. I'm very proud however, to have this comment. Thank You. >W<
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I just plain and simple love this.
Bird, this has a big heart, a grand generosity, a rightful pride rising up from a horror now pacified. The whole paean moves not like a march but a procession of valor and courage, loss, gain and forgiveness - but not just recalled but written always new by the young. This is what true patriotism should be, can be, a "never-again" impulse in the heart that's known such degrading sorrow.
ALL of it is skillfully narrated and reflected within, but my absolute favorite is this:
"...but an act of common courtesy
performed for a friend
for good and not for wrong
magnanimous and strong
as all yielding should be..." - stunning simplicity worded simply.
I think of Alexander Pope's famous "Hope springs eternal in the human breast" and, after reading your poem, want it to read: "The love of peace springs eternal in the human breast."
I love narrative-historical poems, and yours here is one of the finest I've ever seen, anywhere. Will you not send this to Dublin, whoever is in charge of "The Arts"? It ought to be KNOWN throughout your proud land.
Lad
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The Jury is still out.
I must confess I wasn't sure about this one but it kept nagging at me to be written. I don't often do 'Authors Notes' but I reckon the history lesson was needed here and having written it I wondered why bother with all this. Actually it probably IS for fairly national consumption and I have to say, a particular poetry competion was on my mind as I wrote it, not that that was the reason for writing it. I feared I had laid the rhyme on a little thick, but you picked a segment I most worried about in that regard as one of your favourites. Hmmm. Maybe we'll leave the jury out for a bit. Thanks as always Lad, for the tremendously supportive words.
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