Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae: In Flanders Fields

In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row,

That mark our place; and in the sky

The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

Loved and were loved, and now we lie

In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from failing hands we throw

The torch; be yours to hold it high.

If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

In Flanders fields.

Hey, guess who's back? I'm returning to 3BPoetryThoughts to finish the last 3 posts I never got around to 1) because poetry's important and 2) I need to warm up for NaNoWriMo in July and although I saw 642 Things to Write About in Urban Outfitters the other day, I was too cheap to buy it.

This, in case you didn't know, is the poem that inspires the Veterans of Foreign Wars to give you red poppies when you donate, and many countries around the world to use red poppies on their various Remembrance/Memorial Days. I first read this poem/made a poppy at Empire Girl's State when I went summer after my junior year, and I now have a red poppy living on my purse after donating to the VFW ladies at the local Farmer's Market on Saturday. They were very pleasant, and said, "Oh look, we've got a brain over here!" when I mentioned I went to RIT (I had my Imagine RIT Volunteer shirt on, which they asked about).

Memorial Day was also this past Monday. Both of my Grandfathers served in the military; on my mother's side her father was a veteran of the Korean War, although I never met him and she barely knew him at all (he died when she was 9) and my paternal grandfather didn't specifically serve in any wars but was a Green Beret Paratrooper and toured as a sharp shooter with the military afterwards. He died, what, five years ago now? Maybe 6. Given my stats with Left 4 Dead 2 I clearly did not inherit any of his sharpshooting ability.

In regards to the poem I guess the overwhelming feeling it emanates is legacy. The people in the poem are the Dead, yet part of them remains 1) in the poppies that have spouted up where they are buried (the author John McCrae had to personally bury one of his best friends shortly before he wrote the poem) 2) their spirit, previously very alive as described in the second stanza and 3) their cause, which their comrades must take up after them. And not to mention John Green again (spoiler alert, I only have two posts after this one, but he's gonna come up again) but An Abundance of Katherines, which Adam is reading now, is partially about whether or not we create something that lasts forever, and The Fault in Our Stars likewise deals with the impact we have after death. Having read both of those and, well, just living, it's obvious that not everyone will make the kind of impact that will be remembered centuries onward. I'm almost done reading Don Quixote at the moment, and part of me wonders if Cervantes actually knew that people would be reading his stories for ages to come, because Cervantes was extremely meta and does mention at numerous points that Don Quixote will live throughout history. An Abundance of Katherines reaches the previous conclusion and decides it's ok, and that living your life beholden to making an impact to be remembered for times to come is not a fulfilling way to live your life. Living life the way you want to, doing what makes you passionate, and positively affecting those around you is the fulfilling way to live your life. If you manage to create something powerful enough to live on after you by doing this, all the better.

That being said, I think those who are put through the perils of war and make the kinds of sacrifices that war requires deserve the kind of legacy this poem resonates. It's rumored that McCrae tried to throw this poem away but his colleagues saved it and made him publish it, and I'm glad they did so. Veterans deserve some way to continue to live on, even if it's through a small red flower. McCrae's simple poem, written probably out of his grief, is a very good memorial not only to the soldiers he fought with in WWI, but all soldiers before and after as well. Once again, poetry's important.

Happy belated Memorial Day everybody.
-Val

William Carlos Williams: The Red Wheelbarrow

so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens.

I know. Late again. Bahhh. Was busy multivariabling last night, but I probably could've done this at some other point in the day.



So in my late desperation this morning (in which I should be studying for that same multivariable) I flipped open John Green's The Fault in Our Stars with the intention of finding this poem, but ending up going too far and just reading the ending which was making me extremely sad. For those of you have read it (I think you should if you haven't, although I disagree with Isaac's sentiments on love, and his opinions annoy me a bit now) I'd say it was one of the sad parts with Hazel and her parents. Bad idea to read, I haven't seen my mother in months and I'm not sure I'm going to be able to see her this summer. (My folks moved to Arizona, I'm going back to my hometown outside of Buffalo. This stupid summer coming up.) This is a poem the Hazel says at one point to try and distract Gus, because it is a poem she remembers, although all she says on it is, "Williams was a doctor. It seemed to me like a doctor's poem." She's a little bit busy at this point in the book, so I'll excuse her for not going on a long rambling spiel about it. When I was looking it up I thought it had been an ee cummings poem, but I guess not.



I think it's simplicity that really makes this poem stand out. In trying to remove the formatting after copy/pasting it in this post it all turned into one singular line of text, yet it doesn't feel any less than a full poem.


That, and it's really vibrant, I think. A weird word to use on a poem, but the red wheelbarrow and the white chickens really stand out. Those two lines really contribute to the imagery, but I think it's the "glazed with rain water" that really seals the deal. Now that it's raining here a lot, I'm used to that thin layer of water that covers the benches and things after it's rained. "Glazed" is a good way for Williams to put it.

Why does so much depend on this red wheelbarrow? A lot depends on all the little things in our lives. Sam left his laptop in the lounge late at night a couple of days ago, so I took it and returned it to him on academic side the next day. He hadn't even noticed it was missing which surprised me, because my laptop takes up the dead center of my desk, which, at the end of the room by the window, is kind of unavoidable. If it weren't there and it should be I'd be freaking out. I'm stupid enough to have gotten myself locked out of the room a few times this year, except by now Emily is smart enough to not lock the door even when she's leaving if my keys are sitting on my desk. During our CS Midterm Adam was just starting to get sick and was dying with his nose running, sitting next to me during the exam, but I was able to help him out a little bit with some of the tissues in my purse. Adam, in his own right, can use his phone to access his desktop, submit our CS project, and code in C. (He has an iPhone though... Android all the way haha).

So while I think being materialistic is pretty bad, we have to acknowledge that sometimes it's the little objects in our lives that get us through. The red rain soaked wheelbarrow, so that we may feed our white chickens. I think I'll wear one of my flower hair berets today. They're pretty, and they kind of make me happy to wear. I've been complimented on them, so I guess other people do too.

It's always the little things.

I'm going to be late to Spanish,

-Val