A poem by Henry Reed from World War Two captures the brutal absurdity of war as it depicts a new soldier listening to a field lecture on the various parts of a rifle and compares it to the beauty of the world around him. Unspoken is the need, from time to time, to fight for the freedom to enjoy that beauty.
Naming of Parts
By Henry Reed
Today we have naming of parts. Yesterday,
We had daily cleaning. And tomorrow morning,
We shall have what to do after firing. But today,
Today we have naming of parts. Japonica
Glistens like coral in all of the neighboring gardens,
And today we have naming of parts.
This is the lower sling swivel. And this
Is the upper sling swivel, whose use you will see,
When you are given your slings. And this is the piling swivel,
Which in your case you have not got. The branches
Hold in the gardens their silent, eloquent gestures,
Which in our case we have not got.
This is the safety-catch, which is always released
With an easy flick of the thumb. And please do not let me
See anyone using his finger. You can do it quite easy
If you have any strength in your thumb. The blossoms
Are fragile and motionless, never letting anyone see
Any of them using their finger.
And this you can see is the bolt. The purpose of this
Is to open the breech, as you see. We can slide it
Rapidly backwards and forwards: we call this
Easing the spring. And rapidly backwards and forwards
The early bees are assaulting and fumbling the flowers
They call it easing the Spring.
They call it easing the Spring: it is perfectly easy
If you have any strength in your thumb: like the bolt,
And the breech, and the cocking-piece, and the point of balance,
Which in our case we have not got; and the almond-blossom
Silent in all of the gardens and the bees going backwards and forwards,
For today we have naming of parts.
Editor's note: Henry Reed was a British poet and we should recall that WWII cemeteries
are filled with our British, Canadian, and Australian allies as well.
Thanks for this post Alan.
I have my father's carbine from D-Day. My step-father flew in a B-24--the "Texas Rattler"--from Henderson Field on Guadalcanal. I saw Manila in 1949 and had cousins who'd been interned in Santo Tomas. Korea in 1954/55; a good friend had never got feet-dry in the Inchon landing. My son did Desert Shield/Desert Storm.
Remember? How could I forget?
@Desertrat: That's an impressive record of service.
Thank you for posting this, Alan, I've included it in my Memorial Day tribute link-around here:
Thank you, Zilla.
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