Either oppose capitalism in all its forms
Or settle down to a life of protests…
I know this is not November the 11th, however
For war protesters who protest at this war or that war
Read a socialist’s poem
THE MUTED MOCKERY OF POPPY (COCK) DAY
The ribbons arrayed the honours displayed
The medals jingling on parade
Echo of battles long ago
But they’re picking sides for another go.
The martial air, the vacant stare
The oft-repeated pointless prayer
“Peace oh’ Lord on earth below”
Yet they’re picking sides for another go.
The clasped hands, the pious stance
The hackneyed phrase “Somewhere in France”
The eyes downcast as bugles blow
Still they’re picking sides for another go.
Symbol of death the cross-shaped wreath
The sword is restless in the sheath
As children pluck where poppies grow
They’re picking sides for another go.
Have not the slain but died in vain?
The hoardings point, “Prepare again”
The former friend a future foe?
They’re picking sides for another go.
I hear Mars laugh at the cenotaph
Says he, as statesmen blow the gaff
“Let the Unknown Warriors flame still glow”
For they’re picking sides for another go.
A socialist plan the world would span
Then man would live in peace with man
Then wealth to all would freely flow
And want and war we would never know.
(J. Boyle 1971)
I know this is not November the 11th, however
For war protesters who protest at this war or that war
Read a socialist’s poem
THE MUTED MOCKERY OF POPPY (COCK) DAY
The ribbons arrayed the honours displayed
The medals jingling on parade
Echo of battles long ago
But they’re picking sides for another go.
The martial air, the vacant stare
The oft-repeated pointless prayer
“Peace oh’ Lord on earth below”
Yet they’re picking sides for another go.
The clasped hands, the pious stance
The hackneyed phrase “Somewhere in France”
The eyes downcast as bugles blow
Still they’re picking sides for another go.
Symbol of death the cross-shaped wreath
The sword is restless in the sheath
As children pluck where poppies grow
They’re picking sides for another go.
Have not the slain but died in vain?
The hoardings point, “Prepare again”
The former friend a future foe?
They’re picking sides for another go.
I hear Mars laugh at the cenotaph
Says he, as statesmen blow the gaff
“Let the Unknown Warriors flame still glow”
For they’re picking sides for another go.
A socialist plan the world would span
Then man would live in peace with man
Then wealth to all would freely flow
And want and war we would never know.
(J. Boyle 1971)
You'd never get Roger Mcgough reading that on Poetry Please on Radio 4
ReplyDeleteOh I don't know.It says it all.A very moving poem.I see a helluva lot when I read it, mainly memory flashbacks.
ReplyDeleteI remember my grandad,twice wounded,telling me never to put on a uniform,my grandmother talking about her brothers, who didnt come back,and of course my dear comrade who first let me read this poem.
Anyone I have ever shown it to was moved.I think someone like McGough wouldn't be able to help but feel the same.
It isn't just the fact of it's emotional potency,it is very disturbing,the conclusion looks to the future and reminds us of what we need to be doing presently.
What more could a poet do?
It should be sent all over the web,with the http://www.worldsocialism.org
link appended to it.
Not only does the poem remind us that war is not an 'incident' in capitalist society but an ongoing process; an inevitable by-product of commodity production and comptition, bit it scans!
ReplyDelete