De jobbigaste fotografier som finns att beskåda är de som är tagna vid krigsskådeplatser. Just nu är det Syrien, 1972 var det napalmattacker i Vietnam och 1916 var det första världskriget och Slaget vid Somme.
The intense vehemence of bees surpasses
All borders, crosses every line. Riled,
They summon their poison, drive their tiny barbs
Deep into men's flesh, so their own hearts
Are ripped out in sacrifice.
Jag kommer bara att publicera ett foto i detta avslutande ekfras-inlägg. Det är taget vid byn Pozières 28 augusti 1916. I fjol var det alltså hundra år sedan Slaget vid Somme. Poeten Simon Armitage har sammanställt en bok med foton tagna från slagfältet och tillfört texter om konflikt, landskap och mänsklig (o)värdighet.
***
(From Still : a poetic response to photographs of the Somme battlefield, by Simon Armitage. London : Enitharmon Press, 2016.)
A time will certainly come in these rich vales
When a ploughman slicing open the soil
Will crunch through rusting spears, or strike
A headless iron helmet with his spade,
Or stare, wordless, at the harvest of raw bones
He exhumes from the earth's unmarked grave.
***
In this place no one can tell wrong from right;
When war stalks the world wearing its many masks
There's no honour in tilling the land, and the fields
Run to seed. Now the sickle's crescent
Is recast as a sword whose yield is death.
The East is armoured and armed, Germany marches in;
Neighbouring cities have shredded treaties of peace;
Nation meets nation in all-out attack;
The whole planet hurtles into catastrophe,
As when a chariot bolts from the starting line,
Picking up speed with every lap - suddenly there's no saying
Where it might end, no reining the clattering horses back.
(From Still : a poetic response to photographs of the Somme battlefield, by Simon Armitage. London : Enitharmon Press, 2016.)
A time will certainly come in these rich vales
When a ploughman slicing open the soil
Will crunch through rusting spears, or strike
A headless iron helmet with his spade,
Or stare, wordless, at the harvest of raw bones
He exhumes from the earth's unmarked grave.
***
In this place no one can tell wrong from right;
When war stalks the world wearing its many masks
There's no honour in tilling the land, and the fields
Run to seed. Now the sickle's crescent
Is recast as a sword whose yield is death.
The East is armoured and armed, Germany marches in;
Neighbouring cities have shredded treaties of peace;
Nation meets nation in all-out attack;
The whole planet hurtles into catastrophe,
As when a chariot bolts from the starting line,
Picking up speed with every lap - suddenly there's no saying
Where it might end, no reining the clattering horses back.
 |
| The French village of Pozières taken 28 August 1916 during the Battle of the Somme |
***
The intense vehemence of bees surpasses
All borders, crosses every line. Riled,
They summon their poison, drive their tiny barbs
Deep into men's flesh, so their own hearts
Are ripped out in sacrifice.
***
I morgon inleds Birth-perioden för 2017. Och så här kommer veckoschemat att förgrena sig:
Måndagar: Fem modersmål (v.11-15), Alfabet Båttermer (v. 16-20, halva alfabetet)
Tisdagar: Poeter med akronymer (fem veckor), Poem of the week (fem veckor)
Onsdagar: Versopolis (tio veckor med tio olika festivaler som ingår i Versopolis)
Torsdagar: Utblicken
Fredagar: Debut Albums (huvudsakligen inom bluesgenren)
Lördagar: Barnpoesi
Söndagar: Tria Carmina (tio poetporträtt; med dikter tagna från olika tidsperioder av deras karriärer)
Måndagar: Fem modersmål (v.11-15), Alfabet Båttermer (v. 16-20, halva alfabetet)
Tisdagar: Poeter med akronymer (fem veckor), Poem of the week (fem veckor)
Onsdagar: Versopolis (tio veckor med tio olika festivaler som ingår i Versopolis)
Torsdagar: Utblicken
Fredagar: Debut Albums (huvudsakligen inom bluesgenren)
Lördagar: Barnpoesi
Söndagar: Tria Carmina (tio poetporträtt; med dikter tagna från olika tidsperioder av deras karriärer)
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