I had a few favorite books at the Albany County Public Library (once I got over the horror of it moving from its gorgeous old two-story brick building, which I’ve just learned was a Carnegie Library, to its current home). One of them was a slender volume of poetry written by American soldiers in WWI. I checked it out more than once, and sometimes I’d just sit and read it when I visited the library.
Years later, I can still recite the first few lines of of a poem about a shell attack in France, that started, “In a wood they call Rouge Bouquet there is a new-made grave today, built by never a spade nor pick, yet covered by earth ten meters thick.” Today, after a Vonnegut quote in Elizabeth Bear’s Veteran’s Day blog post set me Googling to find out why we celebrate Armistice Day as Veteran’s Day, I remembered that poem, and went looking for it. I found it here, along with an account of the attack and a photo of the funeral for the dead buried in their bunker. (If you’re allergic to “Taps,” or you’re at work, you might want to mute your speakers or put on headphones.)
And then, I found something else. I found the book, whose title I had long since forgotten, at Archive.org. It’s called Yanks: AEF Verse, and it was a compilation of poetry originally published in The Stars & Stripes, with proceeds devoted to The Stars & Stripes Fund for French War Orphans.
It’s not all great poetry – but it’s powerful, and some of it’s funny, and, in the spirit of my Berlin Wall post a couple of days ago, it’s a reminder that history and the news aren’t dates and abstract nouns – they’re people, and they’re stories, and that’s important.
