“Tired with dull grief, grown old before my day,
I sit in solitude and only hear
Long silent laughters, murmurings of dismay,
The lost intensities of hope and fear;In those old marshes yet the rifles lie,
On the thin breastwork flutter the grey rags,
The very books I read are there—and I
Dead as the men I loved, wait while life drags
Its wounded length from those sad streets of war
Into green places here, that were my own…”—Edmund Blunden, ”1916 seen from 1921”
(Blunden, according to a web site tribute, was “the longest serving First World War poet.” This British poet had a different experience of war from other soldiers because of his horrendous two years in the trenches, including a reconnaissance mission under constant shelling. But his vision of the “dull grief” that haunted him should be remembered by all on this day that, unfortunately in this country, has become an excuse for a beach weekend instead of solemn remembrance and honor for the fallen dead.)
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