The people who voted for Obama are either ok with that or they were incredibly ignorant when they cast their vote. We're at a point where nearly half of the nation's adult population is either dependent on the government and/or thinks big government is the solution to all our problems. Somehow a President who added more to the national debt in 4 years than any of his predecessors, lied continuously to the American people about what happened in the Benghazi attacks and invented the notion of a crisis in access to birth control in order to pick a fight with religious organizations was re-elected. I see my country disappearing before my eyes.
America has been in decline for decades. Obama is not the cause of this decline but a symptom of it. I had hoped that maybe the 2012 election was our chance to slow down the decline; maybe even begin to turn the country around. Some are saying we have passed a point of no return. I'm afraid they may be right.
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| America's new Statue of Libertinism |
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| "Going over the top" - World War I trench warfare |
November 11th, Veterans' Day
November 11th, marking the end of the First World War in 1918, is celebrated in many countries. In the USA it is Veterans' Day. In Great Britain and other European nations involved in WWI it is Remembrance Day. In Poland it is Independence Day, since the end of WWI meant the renewed independence of the country after 123 years of subjugation by foreign powers.
I remember when in school we used to have an assembly in the gymnasium to commemorate November 11th. There were typically war veterans present, even some from WWI (those old guys have long since died). At 11 a.m. we would all stand for a minute of silence since the First World War ended "at the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month." There were always a few kids who whispered or giggled during this moment of silence, but most of us were respectful. I always felt a strong wave of emotion at this moment. It's hard to describe what my emotions were exactly: a mixture of patriotism, gratitude and grief for the fallen soldiers, I suppose. I always hoped the other kids wouldn't see that my eyes had moistened up and so after the minute of silence I'd keep my eyes lowered to the ground and clear my throat a few times until I was "back to normal." Oh, the anxieties of school days!
I have a slim volume of First World War poetry that I've been reading through this past week. Many of the poets were soldiers in the war - and a lot of them died in battle. Rudyard Kipling, famous for his novels Kim, The Jungle Book and others, lost his only son in that war and there are a handful of his war poems included. The poems in the book range from enthusiastic and patriotic to bitter and disillusioned (sometimes from the same poet!). There's plenty of beauty, tenderness, black humor, sadness, anger and resignation in this volume.
Frederic Manning was an Australian who had settled in England before the war. At the age of 33, though in poor health (he'd been sickly since childhood), he managed to enlist in the British army and saw combat in France as a private in the infantry. He survived the war and died in a nursing home in 1937. Two of his poems from this volume are particularly touching for me as they deal with both the personal and universal in a profound way. Feel free to see the relevance of 'The Sign' to our present day turmoil. I do.
The Face
Out of the smoke of men's wrath,
The red mist of anger,
Suddenly,
As a wraith of sleep,
A boy's face, white and tense,
Convulsed with terror and hate,
The lips trembling . . .
Then a red smear, falling . . .
I thrust aside the cloud, as it were tangible,
Blinded with a mist of blood.
The face cometh again
As a wraith of sleep:
A boy's face, delicate and blond,
The very mask of God,
Broken.
The Sign
We are here in a wood of little beeches:
And the leaves are like black lace
Against a sky of nacre.
One bough of clear promise
Across the moon.
It is in this wise that God speaketh unto me.
He layeth hands of healing upon my flesh,
Stilling it in an eternal peace,
Until my soul reaches out myriad and infinite hands
Toward Him,
And is eased of its hunger.
And I know that this passes:
This implacable fury and torment of men,
As a thing insensate and vain:
And the stillness hath said unto me,
Over the tumult of sounds and shaken flame,
Out of the terrible beauty of wrath,
I alone am eternal.
One bough of clear promise
Across the moon.
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