"The Old Lie: Dulce et Decorum est Pro Patria Mori..."

*clears throat*

e. e. cummings' war poetry.

i sing of olaf. This one always makes me start crying, because it's so horrible.

Look at what a pretty boy he was.

There was one I read a long time ago that I can't find anywhere, and all I remember was communists being killed in the street and how sad it was, and there was one about a boy coming home in a coffin, and why is none of this available on the internet? It's very important, and I want to find it; the book I had it from is at the library now.

There's this one.

I cannot find any more. But where is it?

Here is an essay, instead.

Thursday I'll go to the library and take out that book, I'll type some of them up. And now I am going to read Wilfred Owen, life be damned.

My own war poetry is not as powerful, because it is not as ugly, is not horrible. I can't do that. I want to find his, because his hurt. His made you stop.

Also, Spoon River Anthology:

Knowlt Hoheimer

I WAS the first fruits of the battle of Missionary Ridge.
When I felt the bullet enter my heart
I wished I had staid at home and gone to jail
For stealing the hogs of Curl Trenary,
Instead of running away and joining the army.
Rather a thousand times the county jail
Than to lie under this marble figure with wings,
And this granite pedestal Bearing the words, "Pro Patria."
What do they mean, anyway?

"It's Been So Long Since I Have Felt Fine..."

Work was lovely again to-day, in some respects, although several rather terrifying things happened.

I got Tom to play ball with me to-day, and usually he just stays in his room and reads his postcards from France and doesn't come out much or look up when I go in; but to-day he played with me, and he smiled. I was so scared that he would stop smiling--well, not scared, exactly, but I just didn't want him to stop, and I felt so peculiar and fragile, as though I would break if he stopped, if I couldn't keep him smiling--but he didn't stop, he smiled, and he threw the ball in such a funny way, leaning forward for a long time almost until he was close to me and then letting go so that I could catch it. It was beautiful and fluid and meant so much moving. I was so happy. I wanted Linda or Lisa to be happy, too, but when I mentioned it, they just documented. Perhaps, I think, I am very silly about things.

Luther fell. I was taking Henry back to his room when Florence came to the door of Luther's room and said, "Help--help, my husband's fallen--" I'd never heard her talk like that, and she was frightened, and I ran down the hall, really ran, and burst into the Nurses' Station and told them Luther had fallen--and they just looked at me for a moment, and then got up and went down. It must've been important--there were five nurses down--but they acted as though it weren't, and I felt ridiculous for having been frightened too. Sometimes the nurses are very nice, and other times I think I must be a terrible nuisance to them.

I helped Stewart drink. He was lying down because of his back, and I brought his water to him, and because I can't help people sit up, I'm not qualified not being a nurse, I put the cup to his mouth and helped him drink, and afterwards promised to find a nurse so that he could sit up... but he thanked me, and his roommate, Henry, did, too. It was a little nice. It felt as though I'd done something very useful.

And since I've, er, talked about the gentlemen only this time--Jennie was very well to-day, and Anna's getting a visit from one of her sons to-morrow. I think also that I pleased Bertha, which is nice because Bertha is not usually so pleased: she is not very well, either, so of course I don't expect her to be glad all the time, but it is nice to have made her feel better, perhaps.

And I don't care if I've only talked about the gentlemen! Daniel wasn't able to breathe properly to-day, so he excused himself from joining in my activities in the morning, but by the afternoon he was doing them and teasing me horridly, so I expect he was recovered. Dick was in a very good temper and did both my morning and my afternoon activities. Bill got a cat! ^____^

Ken's getting better and better on his prosthesis. He walked twice to-day, long walks, and says he'll go home soon. I'm so glad. Bobby did very well to-day with activities. Harvey smiled at me a lot. Al was happy all day long, and joined in everything, and looked so shy and smiling and excited, you'd never believe how angry he was with me last Monday. ^___^ Such a sweet man. He isn't angry about my hair at all, although he doesn't say I'm like his mother any more.

Oh, and Bobby! Bobby kissed my hand twice and told me he liked me. ^_______________^ Bobby's only about twenty, of course, and so sweet when he isn't teasing. Me = happy. Bobby likes me!

Lastly, the gentleman at the end of the hall, in Rose-Marie's old room, told me that he used to have a pansy on his windowsill and he misses it terribly, so on Wednesday I'll bring him one of ours. I gave him a geranium from the sunroom until then, but it isn't the same. I think I'll give him one of the lovely orange ones. ^__^ I hope he'll like it.