so, I was catching up on some of my Ravelry friends' blogs when I discovered one friend was talking about a friend's new blog. A Slice of Liberal Tongue on Wry, how could I not click over with a title like that? (and the rest of the world says in a big voice, "Quite easily actually.")
the March 19th post is interesting, if only from an English perspective about the current use of the word "romantic." Anyways, I do not normally pull the politics of the world in this space. There are plenty of other people to do that and they enjoy it.
why bring this up? (and feel free to quit reading at any time) Because I am knee deep in the humanities and the aforementioned blog reminded me of a poem by a trench-war poet, Wilford Owen. Dulce Et Decorum Est is not my favorite of his works, though it is probably the one read most often. I found Owen in my English Lit 2 survey class as an undergraduate, and haunted bookstores for two years looking for a complete collection because I have been burned by those "complete works" before. My copy is currently standing beside Virgina Woolf on my bookshelf, but in any case I am rambling.
shortly after reading Owen, I better understood how people felt about the Great War. I mean, for the first time, the western world saw the damage science and technology could bring about. The people before then could boast of all the wonder things that the modern world had and think themselves superior. Science and technology were suppose to make life better and cure just about anything you had. But then the complete and utter destruction of war came about. War was no longer glamorous and played by a code and play book.
let's all be honest, war has not improved much since then. Sure, we have better toys and weapons, but it is still devastating even with the reduced body count. I admit wholeheartedly to being a pacifist and anyone who knows me in real life is not surprised by this admission. After all, my dolls were ambassadors from the U.N. who negotiated trade and water rights. Still, Owen's poetry confirms my belief that peace, not war, should hold the title of 'romantic.'
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.