The OFF Poetry Corner

[Dej 17]

Methinks 'twoud be the psyche prior to WW1 that informs yon poem... can you shed any light on that Olham. Here is my second pass:

 

Midnight

 

For a long time we have been more than thrice denied.

In our efforts coincided all our dreams, those of our fathers and our mothers,

Now we stand before our graves, drinking up Deaths, to bring our End.

 

Our reason is thus:

We are children of a breed without a child’s rebellion ‘gainst its breeding. Soulless.

Our eyes muckrake in our own minds, grubbing out pain.

Long time more than thrice denied... and more than one God to benumb.

 

For us there is no blessed return, no ‘Amen’ for our lamentation

In tender mouths that once were ripe with sweetness...

Our mothers failed us, that bewailed us,

Their ‘maternal path’ astounds us.

 

And that shall never leave us.

Maybe if we just acknowledge we are the children of Error

The Unforgiven of our time,

Maybe then... WHAT? ... Soulless ...

 

A country blanches away,

And many fell, and we long for its pillow.

 

Reasoning:

 

Line 5: Stäuben – balk at, buck against (as in ‘buck the trend’) so I use ‘rebellion’ to convey that;

Line 6: More sordid now, I think, which I hope the author wanted;

Line 16: ‘blanches’ as in blood leaving the face, because Germany bled.

 

Hope that works for you, Olham.

[Olham 164]

 

Midnight

 

For a long time we have been more than thrice denied.

In our efforts coincided all our dreams, those of our fathers and our mothers,

Now we stand before our graves, absorbing Deaths, to come to our End.

 

Our reason is thus:

We are children of a breed without a child’s rebellion ‘gainst its breeding. Soulless.

Our eyes muckrake in our own minds, grubbing out pain.

Long time more than thrice denied... and more than one God to benumb.

 

For us there is no blessed return, no ‘Amen’ for our lamentation

In tender mouths that once were ripe with sweetness...

Our mothers failed us, that bewailed us,

Their ‘maternal path’ astounds us.

 

And that shall never leave us.

Maybe if we just acknowledge we are the children of Error

The Unforgiven of our time,

Maybe then... WHAT? ... Soulless ...

 

A country blanches away,

And many fell, and we long for its pillow.

 

 

Very good, Dej. There were only those two small changes in black.

They are not "drinking deaths". His "auffangen" is like either to catch a ball or a person,

who is fainting; or to absorb.

And they do this, to come to / to become finished in their own ends.

 

All the rest sounds perfectly right compared to the German lines.

When my black bits can be said this way, we should be finished?

[Dej 17]

Final version (of course, it's poetry... so actually just MY final version)

Midnight

 

For a long time we have been more than thrice denied.

In our efforts coincided all our dreams, those of our fathers and our mothers,

Now we stand before our graves, fielding Deaths, to come to our End.

 

Our reason is thus:

We are children of a breed without a child’s rebellion ‘gainst its breeding. Soulless.

Our eyes muckrake in our own minds, grubbing out pain.

Long time more than thrice denied... and more than one God to benumb.

 

For us there is no blessed return, no ‘Amen’ for our lamentation

In tender mouths that once were ripe with sweetness...

Our mothers failed us, that bewailed us,

We are stunned by their ‘maternal ways’.

 

And that shall never leave us.

Maybe if we just acknowledge we are the children of Error

The 'Unforgiven' of our time,

Maybe then... WHAT? ... Soulless ...

 

A country blanches away,

And many fell, and we long for its pillow.

[Herr Prop-Wasche 7]

This is an excellent thread, and I hate to intrude with my own crude and uninformed observation.

 

HOWEVER, my suggestion for the word you may be looking for in line 3 might be thus: "Now we stand before our graves, cradling Death, to come to our End."

 

To me, cradling catches the idea of holding or caressing something dear, or something longed for. Fielding sounds a little too sterile to me.

 

Otherwise, a most excellent effort by both of you. The translated words indeed convey a very dark, sad, and troubled man.

[Dej 17]

Almost works for me, HPW, except I think it might be too warm a word. I'll be guided by Olham's viewpoint. If 'auffangen' carries that implication then 'cradling' will do rather well.

[Olham 164]

HPW, the line is "...fangen Tode auf..." ; the verb is "auffangen"

 

That means "to catch up deaths", but it can also mean, "to receive deaths" like you receive bullets, that hit you.

In fact, the English word you would best use for "receiving" bullets or hits, would be the perfect word,

cause that is, what it sounds like most - they receive the deaths of others like bullet impacts on their own bodies.

[Herr Prop-Wasche 7]

Receiving works for me, and sounds better to my American-English ears. Another possibility (just throwing out some alternatives) might be "absorbing" or perhaps "sucking in."

 

It's fascinating how different languages have so many words that cannot be directly translated into other languages, for example, zeitgeist or gestalt.

[Olham 164]

Yes, it must be "to receive" or "to absorb", I would say. All other proposals went too far away from the German meaning.

 

Everything else is good, as Dej translated it. I would only change "fielding" into "absorbing", as Lou said already earlier.

So my final version of Dej's translation now would be this:

 

Midnight

 

For a long time we have been more than thrice denied.

In our efforts coincided all our dreams, those of our fathers and our mothers,

Now we stand before our graves, absorbing Deaths, to come to our End.

 

Our reason is thus:

We are children of a breed without a child’s rebellion ‘gainst its breeding. Soulless.

Our eyes muckrake in our own minds, grubbing out pain.

Long time more than thrice denied... and more than one God to benumb.

 

For us there is no blessed return, no ‘Amen’ for our lamentation

In tender mouths that once were ripe with sweetness...

Our mothers failed us, that bewailed us,

We are stunned by their ‘maternal ways’.

 

And that shall never leave us.

Maybe if we just acknowledge we are the children of Error

The 'Unforgiven' of our time,

Maybe then... WHAT? ... Soulless ...

 

A country blanches away,

And many fell, and we long for its pillow.

[33LIMA 972]

This thread is getting a bit too high-brow for those of us with less appreciation of the finer points of lyrical writings, so in a determined effort to lower the tone, here's some contemporary customer feedback on the Royal Aircraft Factory's most famous products, not quite poetry but worthy enough of repetition, for all that:

 

Oh they found a bit of iron wot some bloke had thrown away

 

And the Factory said "This is just the thing we've sought for many a day!"

 

And so they built the weirdest thing

 

Strangest engine ever seen

 

And they put it in a flying machine

 

And sent them out to fight.

 

When the blokes who had to fly them swore

 

The Factory said "They'll be all right!

 

The bus is as stable as can be

 

We thought of every bit of it ourselves, you see!"

 

They were so darn slow, they wouldn't go

 

And they called them RAF2c's.

 

 

 

...and an RFC variation of the Pilot's Psalm...

 

 

The B.E.2c is my bus; therefore shall I want.

 

He maketh me to come down in green pastures

 

He leadeth me where I do not wish to go.

 

He maketh me to be sick;

 

He leadeth me astray on all cross country flights.

 

Yea, though I fly o'er No-man-'s Land

 

Where mine enemies would compass me about,

 

I do fear much evil, for thou art with me,

 

Thy joystick and thy prop discomfort me.

 

Thou preparest a crash for me in the presence of mine enemies;

 

Thy RAF annointeth my hair with oil, thy tank leaketh badly.

 

Surely to goodness thou shalt not follow me all the days of my life,

 

Else I shall dwell in the House of Colney Hatch for ever.

 

 

[RAF_Louvert 101]

.

 

hee, hee...Lima, I have read both of these before, and they make me chuckle still. Thanks for sharing.

 

Cheers!

 

Lou

 

.

[Olham 164]

I had just read it in "No Parachute", and it's great, how the British compensate for almost everything with their humour.

Thanks for posting, 33LIMA!

 

Are you an OFF flyer?

[33LIMA 972]

Yes Olham, but so far just Phase 2 - Phase 3 will be ordered when I replace my budget card in a few weeks. Phase 3 looks a lot better.

 

I expect to continue playing FE too, which I also like a lot - tho at the moment, while the enemy's Cambrai offensive is reported pushed back, Jasta 5 is losing a lot of pilots and the replacements have still not arrived, so things are looking pretty bleak. I had to make a dead-stick landing last mission when an SE got me as I was trying to shoot another one off a wingman's tail. We lost 4 out of 6 Albatros DV's in that fight with 1xKIA and 1x wounded. One moment the sky is full of whirling planes and you're fighting just to stay alive, the next moment it's all gone quiet and you're on your own. I was lucky the chap who killed my engine left me to glide down.

 

Looking forward to experiencing the OFF equivalent soon!

[Olham 164]

Phase 3 looks a lot better.

It does not only look so much better, LIMA - the AI is totally new. The fights and survival are much harder.

 

May I add you to the OFF Pilots Maps? I'll do, if you give me your town and country.

[33LIMA 972]

It does not only look so much better, LIMA - the AI is totally new. The fights and survival are much harder.

 

May I add you to the OFF Pilots Maps? I'll do, if you give me your town and country.

 

 

Yes thank you - town Belfast, country UK.

[Olham 164]

You're in the map now. See "Sticky Threads" above.

[themightysrc 5]

"For a long time we have been more than thrice denied.

In our efforts came together all our dreams, our fathers’, our mothers’,

And fell.

Now we stand before our graves, sucking up Death, to bring our End.

 

Our reason is thus:

We are children of a race without resistance to its own breeding. Soulless.

With eyes that probe mind-inward, extracting pain.

Long time more than thrice denied... and more than one God must we sate.

 

For us there is no blessed return, no ‘Amen’ for our lamentation

In mouths that once were ripe with sweetness...

Our mothers failed us, that bewailed us,

Thus we mistrust their ‘motherhood’.

 

And that shall never leave us.

Maybe if we just acknowledge we are the children of a mistake

And therefore unforgivable by these days,

Maybe then... WHAT? ... Soulless ...

 

A country fades away,

And many fell, and we long for their pillow."

 

An amazing lamentation regarding mortality, but so much more powerful if you know it relates to WWI.

 

I take my hat off to the writer, and more so to the interpreter how did such a marvellous job.

[Slartibartfast 153]

After the last one I decided on opening up my notebook that I carry with me and transcribing some of my musings and ramblings here...

 

As a long distance motorcyclist of years gone by and beginning again I have found a notebook an invaluble friend on the road. It allows you to write when at rest as sometimes its moments like these that awaken something inside...

 

From the ground to the skies

 

From the ground we watch

As from up on high

A deadly dance is started

The brightly coloured Hun

Versus the Drab Crumpet above

As we stand here in the mud

Watching the deadly piroutte

Which seems so clean to us

Down here standing transfixed with the above

 

And then a Spark from nothing

An Airplane does fall

shooting across the sky

A star in the bright of day

Whoever it is a pray we over up

To those who dance above

 

Then when it is all done

The silence falls upon the ground

And we find the fallen

Bury him with honours

And let the other side know

That their brother

Is interred below

 

Eternally hidden in the mud

From the sky above

But worry ye not

As he is flying the skies

In his chariot Drab or Bright

To his comrades delight

 

May their engines never falter

As they cavort up in the yonder

And may they land at last

To be amongst their own

Until the very last

[RAF_Louvert 101]

.

 

Quite evocative Slarti, glad you keep your notebook handy. Well done Sir, and a fan of free verse I see. We'll have to tip a few in the club bar and discuss free verse v classic forms, (there's one that's led to fisticuffs on more than one ocassion).

 

Lewie, I apologize for missing that snippet you posted quite some time ago here. Very good Sir, I want to read that WWI pilot's fiction piece when you've completed it.

 

.

[Slartibartfast 153]

.

 

Quite evocative Slarti, glad you keep your notebook handy. Well done Sir, and a fan of free verse I see. We'll have to tip a few in the club bar and discuss free verse v classic forms, (there's one that's led to fisticuffs on more than one ocassion).

 

Lewie, I apologize for missing that snippet you posted quite some time ago here. Very good Sir, I want to read that WWI pilot's fiction piece when you've completed it.

 

.

Thank you Lou... as to Classical vs Free Verse I never study poetry so Free Verse it is for me and the way I ramble it makes it easier sometimes to write a few lines and then pick up further on as to Classical from what I have seen it would be difficult to do that... So lets agree to disagree and be happy that we know that... Fisticuffs is a disreputable idea now if we could settle this in the Sky in our trusty crates then it would be a gentlemans agreement...

[RAF_Louvert 101]

.

 

 

Slarti and Lou, they met in the bar

To talk of poems and prose.

And as they drank they argued both

Til they stood there nose to nose.

 

“Tis classic form”, Lou did expound,

“That t’was ever fit to write.

And if you think free verse is fine

Then you’re looking for a fight!”

 

“Classic form…bah!” Slarti quipped.

“What of classic form.

It’s staid and predictable

and rigid

and is stuck in the 19^th century.

Free verse is the true

expression

of

art”

 

And that was that, the brawl began,

And blows the two did trade.

Black eyes, loose teeth, and bruise’d fists

Til on the floor they laid.

 

“Alright,” said Slart, “I see your point.

You’ve argued your case strong.

I accept the classic’s also art,

And I perhaps was wrong.”

 

“I have also been enlightened,”

Lou claimed,

“and free verse

is art as well...

let me buy you a pinta’

on

this

one

 

my friend”

 

 

.

[Olham 164]

OMG!!!!

[Slartibartfast 153]

Hey I wanted Spandau's vs Vickers... but I will settle for the pint...

[Dej 17]

This poem was referred to in 'Brief Glory' Alex Revell's biography of Arthur Rhys Davids. It was seemingly one of Arthur's favourites and an inspiration to him... quite poignant in the circumstances:

 

What Is to Come

 

WHAT is to come we know not. But we know

That what has been was good--was good to show,

Better to hide, and best of all to bear.

We are the masters of the days that were;

We have lived, we have loved, we have suffered...even so.

 

Shall we not take the ebb who had the flow?

Life was our friend? Now, if it be our foe--

Dear, though it spoil and break us! --need we care

What is to come?

 

Let the great winds their worst and wildest blow,

Or the gold weather round us mellow slow;

We have fulfilled ourselves, and we can dare

And we can conquer, though we may not share

In the rich quiet of the afterglow

What is to come.

 

William Ernest Henley

[Olham 164]

That is a good one, Dej!

[Slartibartfast 153]

I posted this alone... so I am moving it to it's correct place now I know where it is...

 

Here we stand before the dawn

Another flight for freedom

Our foes await across the field

In these skies of blue we live

Blazing out of the sun they came

Spandau's stuttering as they dived

And a friend fell

To his fiery death below

Avenged him we did

And sent him a flyer to drink with

In these skies of blue where we die

May we be remembered not for our courage

But for what we did over those Flanders Fields

In the time of war we flew

In these Skies of Blue where we eternally fly

Now altogether beneath the sky

We are brothers no matter race or creed

For we all flew those skies of Blue

 

Thanks to the guys for their support you know who you are...

 

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