Foreseeing death...

[flynn 0]

My nephew dropped his homework in my house last night and it struck a chord when I found it later. For those who haven't read it before or read it recently....

 

 

An Irish Airman Foresees His Death

 

 

I know that I shall meet my fate

Somewhere among the clouds above;

Those that I fight I do not hate,

Those that I guard I do not love;

My country is Kiltartan Cross,

My countrymen Kiltartan's poor,

No likely end could bring them loss

Or leave them happier than before.

Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,

Nor public men, nor cheering crowds,

A lonely impulse of delight

Drove to this tumult in the clouds;

I balanced all, brought all to mind,

The years to come seemed waste of breath,

A waste of breath the years behind

In balance with this life, this death.

 

 

W. B. Yeats. 1919.

[Olham 164]

Wow! Goose skin now!

[Hauksbee 103]

Wow! indeed. I've heard references to this poem, heard two-line snippets quoted in films, but never read the whole.

 

Another poignant line, by John McPhee, also in reference to pilots, "These were't men who danced on the lips of danger for the thrill of not being swallowed." The situations described were not analogous, but catches the sense of hovering on the razor's edge, and when it all goes bad, it's fast and final. Thanks, flynn. It's good to know that the iPod generation still reads this stuff.

[Olham 164]

What touched me most, is his view on the soldiers around him.

He doesn't hate his opponents (whom he doesn't know at all).

He doesn't love the men on his side either (cause he doesn't know them, as well).

He understands, that there is no enemy - only other men from similarly poor roots,

being also sent and ordered to battle him.

And reading, that a lonely moment of delight in the air might have been more to him

than anything before and after, makes a knot in my throat.

[Bullethead 12]

Those that I fight I do not hate,

Those that I guard I do not love;

Remember, this is an Irishman writing when Ireland was occupied, so anybody killing Englishmen is technically a friend . Why do you think us Scots were always in bed with the French?

 

Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,

Nor public men, nor cheering crowds,

A lonely impulse of delight

Drove to this tumult in the clouds;

 

It's the fight that matters, not the cause. It's a Celtic thing.....

[RAF_Louvert 101]

Thanks for posting that flynn. Goose skin indeed Olham. Yeats is on my short list of poets and writers, and that piece is one of my favorites of his. Here is another:

 

 

To Some I Have Talked With by the Fire

 

While I wrought out these fitful Danaan rhymes,

My heart would brim with dreams about the times

When we bent down above the fading coals

And talked of the dark folk who live in souls

Of passionate men, like bats in the dead trees;

And of the wayward twilight companies

Who sigh with mingled sorrow and content,

Because their blossoming dreams have never bent

Under the fruit of evil and of good:

And of the embattled flaming multitude

Who rise, wing above wing, flame above flame,

And, like a storm, cry the Ineffable Name,

And with the clashing of their sword-blades make

A rapturous music, till the morning break

And the white hush end all but the loud beat

Of their long wings, the flash of their white feet.

 

Bullethead, I would think that last one might appeal to you as well Sir.

 

And Hauksbee, it is a very good thing that the iPod generation is still reading his stuff.

 

.

[Hellshade 110]

My nephew dropped his homework in my house last night and it struck a chord when I found it later. For those who haven't read it before or read it recently....

 

 

An Irish Airman Foresees His Death

 

 

I know that I shall meet my fate

Somewhere among the clouds above;

Those that I fight I do not hate,

Those that I guard I do not love;

My country is Kiltartan Cross,

My countrymen Kiltartan's poor,

No likely end could bring them loss

Or leave them happier than before.

Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,

Nor public men, nor cheering crowds,

A lonely impulse of delight

Drove to this tumult in the clouds;

I balanced all, brought all to mind,

The years to come seemed waste of breath,

A waste of breath the years behind

In balance with this life, this death.

 

 

W. B. Yeats. 1919.

 

 

Interesting. 1919? In the movie "Mephis Belle" (a WWII flick) one of the crew was supposed to be a poet and before their last flight..which was repeatedly delayed...he claimed to have written a poem and his crewmates badgered him into reading it. It was the same exact poem, word for word. I swear it. Anyone else have a copy of the movie that can verify this? I forget his name but the guy in the movie was Irish. Danny something.

 

Hellshade

Edited September 28, 2009 by Hellshade

[RAF_Louvert 101]

Yuppers, you are correct Hellshade. And later on in the movie Danny admits he did not write it but that Yeats did.

 

Cheers!

 

Lou

 

.

 

Oh, and I just checked. It was "Danny Boy" Daly.

 

.

[Bullethead 12]

When we bent down above the fading coals

And talked of the dark folk who live in souls

Bullethead, I would think that last one might appeal to you as well Sir.

 

Oh, it does. I well remember being cold, wet, hungry, and miserable, standing guard with the enemy just over there and it so utterly black and rainy that I couldn't see my hand in front of my face, let alone my sights (no night vision for the troopies then). It was at such times that the ghosts of my ancestors liked to visit, several at a time and all from different wars going back to Tudor days (I suppose only those who could speak passable Middle-Modern English bothered to attend). They'd sit on the edge of my foxhole, berate me for being a wuss, and say how much harder it had been in their day.

 

But pretty soon, they'd start arguing amongst each other about who'd had it the worst. While I thus got to hear some pretty good war stories, I'd have to tell them to STFU so as not to draw fire. I admit to being pretty crazy in those days .

 

Looking back at it now, however, I regard it as just initiation hazing, and look forward to similarly taunting my descendants in future wars.

 

Interesting. 1919? In the movie "Mephis Belle" (a WWII flick) one of the crew was supposed to be a poet and before their last flight..which was repeatedly delayed...he claimed to have written a poem and his crewmates badgered him into reading it. It was the same exact poem, word for word. I swear it. Anyone else have a copy of the movie that can verify this? I forget his name but the guy in the movie was Irish. Danny something.

 

What always got me about that movie wasn't the over-the-top air combat but the fact that after they landed, they all lit up smokes in the shadow of their plane. Which happened to be gushing gasoline out of innumerable flak holes. If I'd been directing the film, it would have had a Das Boot ending, with everybody being incinerated at their moment of triumph .

[zoomzoom 2]

Remember, this is an Irishman writing when Ireland was occupied, so anybody killing Englishmen is technically a friend . Why do you think us Scots were always in bed with the French?

 

Quote

 

 

 

It's the fight that matters, not the cause. It's a Celtic thing.....

 

 

For Bullet:

 

Keep your Sgian Dubh handy brother Scot....if'n you ken what I'm saying.

 

ZZ.

 

[flynn 0]

Well yes, it was a fraught relationship between Ireland and Britain alright during WWI. It is still very much a live piece of history today whether many realise it or not, so we should tread a little carefully discussing the political subtext of this poem.

 

However, 350000 Irish men did sign up to fight for the British, joining 50000 already serving. This is a very substantial chunk of the adult male population. There is a good, dispassionate (and short) explanation of the background environment that explains that fact here. You can skip the opening and look for 'Irish Recruitment in WWI'. So, Yeats' viewpoint is very much post the 1916 sea-change in opinion, and possibly even more poignant because of it.

 

What I think is really amazing about the poem is the way that he captures a kind of nihilistic nobility in the airmans' fatalistic outlook. That may be pure romance, or it might tap into some insight Yeats gleened into the true character of his young friend who died.

[zoomzoom 2]

It's ok Flynn...Bullet and I are expatriated Scotts, a few generations back. Its a bit easier for us to be light hearted about such matters. Over here we're just given to hanging out in the back woods, whiskey makin, and shooting at strangers.....of any persuasion.

 

ZZ.

Edited September 28, 2009 by zoomzoom

[flynn 0]

:drinks:Excellent. Do you really put a burnt stick in the whisky to make it brown??

[zoomzoom 2]

Funny you should ask, thats actually what the oak barrels, charred inside, are for. All whiskey/alcohol/spirits, are clear as water when first produced. Its ageing them in oak barrels that gives them the color. And the charcoal also helps filter out some minor poisons. The oak gives it flavor and color when its been in there long enough. Otherwise...you've just got white lightning.....or as I refer to it....rocket fuel.

 

ZZ.

[Bullethead 12]

Funny you should ask, thats actually what the oak barrels, charred inside, are for. All whiskey/alcohol/spirits, are clear as water when first produced. Its ageing them in oak barrels that gives them the color.

 

It's not just the charred inside but also what was aged in the barrel beforehand. Almost all whiskeys and whiskies are aged in 2nd-hand barrels that have previously been used to age wine. Different distillers use different types of wine barrels, some red and some white, some sweet and some dry, which is one reason why different makes of whisk(e)y come out with different colors and flavors despite being made from the same stuff and aged for the same duration in oak barrels. And tequilas are usually aged (when they're aged at all) in 3rd-hand used whiskey barrels. I guess after that the barrels are so saturated with booze that they're ground up and compressed into easy-light charcoal briquettes . But the important thing is, the alcohol industry has been recycling since before that was cool .

 

Now, that's how the big boys do it. The small-time moonshiner usually ages his stuff (if he ages it at all) in semi-rusty 55-gallon drums that might originally have contained fuel for his tractor or weedkiller for his crops. Depending on how well he cleans it first and how rusty it is inside, this can provide some color and flavor, too. However, this is considered undesirable by most self-respecting moonshiners because most folks don't like those flavors. Most moonshiners rely on paying off the local law with a cut of the product, and this doesn't work if they make nasty stuff. Thus, they take pains to acquire clean, stainless steel drums. Then they do in fact sometimes toss in a few pieces of charred wood, picking the type based on what they like in the finished product. Sometimes instead they toss in a few apples, which results in something that looks, smells, and tastes like tequila.

 

The only good thing about the scientifically, economically, and environmentally unsound craze for ethanol is that you can now legally buy and operate a still. For vehicular consumption, of course. Nudge nudge, wink wink .

 

Otherwise...you've just got white lightning.....or as I refer to it....rocket fuel.

 

Around here, we call it "Confederate Popskull" and "Old Panther Sweat".

[zoomzoom 2]

Hehe, whatever it is, it'll put hair on your teeth!

 

Somewhat appropriate to be discussing in a thread titled "Forseeing Death"! I'd say.

 

ZZ.

[Von Paulus 8]

What I think is really amazing about the poem is the way that he captures a kind of nihilistic nobility in the airmans' fatalistic outlook. That may be pure romance, or it might tap into some insight Yeats gleened into the true character of his young friend who died.

Agree.

I love Yeats. For me it's one of the best poets of 20th century.