Stephen Crane, Poet Against War

It's been a while since I sent out one of these poetry spam things. But in case you hadn't heard, today was declared a day of Poetry Against the War. I figured it was appropriate.

Why today? A few months ago, Laura Bush made the mistake of inviting a group of prominent poets to the White House on February 12 to celebrate the work of Emily Dickinson, Walt Whitman, and Langston Hughes. (If you didn't know, those last two were outspoken social critics.) When she caught wind that some of them were going to present her an anthology of new anti-war poetry, the event was indefinitely postponed.

The poets, led by Copper Canyon Press publisher Sam Hamill, have carried on anyway.

I like to think Stephen Crane would approve.

He died before his 29th birthday, but produced two classic novels (including The Red Badge of Courage), 90 short stories (including The Open Boat), reams of news writing and a few well-known poems. He's one of the founding fathers of the "naturalist" school of writing, pitting heroic human frailty against an awesome, uncaring universe.

After dropping out of seminary and then engineering school, Crane got a job with the New York Tribune, and began writing about life in the ghetto. He was fired for using sarcasm, but went on to travel through the American West and Mexico, and soon became a war correspondent in Greece.

In 1897, he was shipwrecked trying to smuggle supplies to Cuban rebels. The following year, as the Spanish-American war broke out, he became known as the best American correspondent in Cuba.

He died of tuberculosis in 1900, one year after publishing "War Is Kind & Other Lines," his reflection on what it means to fight and to die on the battlefield... and, moreso, what it means at home.

So, here's the first section:

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From 'War Is Kind'

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Do not weep, maiden, for war is kind.
Because your lover threw wild hands toward the sky
And the affrighted steed ran on alone,
Do not weep.
War is kind.

Hoarse, booming drums of the regiment
Little souls who thirst for fight,
These men were born to drill and die
The unexplained glory flies above them
Great is the battle-god, great, and his kingdom--
A field where a thousand corpses lie.

Do not weep, babe, for war is kind.
Because your father tumbled in the yellow trenches,
Raged at his breast, gulped and died,
Do not weep.
War is kind.

Swift, blazing flag of the regiment
Eagle with crest of red and gold,
These men were born to drill and die
Point for them the virtue of slaughter
Make plain to them the excellence of killing
And a field where a thousand corpses lie.

Mother whose heart hung humble as a button
On the bright splendid shroud of your son,
Do not weep.
War is kind.

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If you'd like to read the following sections, the full text of "War Is Kind & Other Lines" is posted up here.

There's also good information about Crane's life here, especially concerning his common law wife Cora, a fellow war correspondent and the former madam of a Jacksonville, Florida brothel.

Posted by grant at February 12, 2003 01:48 PM