The saddest war poem in the world

[RedRalph]

Link to video.

Wait for me, and I'll come back!
Wait with all you've got!
Wait, when dreary yellow rains
Tell you, you should not.
Wait when snow is falling fast,
Wait when summer's hot,
Wait when yesterdays are past,
Others are forgot.
Wait, when from that far-off place,
Letters don't arrive.
Wait, when those with whom you wait
Doubt if I'm alive.

Wait for me, and I'll come back!
Wait in patience yet
When they tell you off by heart
That you should forget.
Even when my dearest ones
Say that I am lost,
Even when my friends give up,
Sit and count the cost,
Drink a glass of bitter wine
To the fallen friend -
Wait! And do not drink with them!
Wait until the end!

Wait for me and I'll come back,
Dodging every fate!
"What a bit of luck!" they'll say,
Those that would not wait.
They will never understand
How amidst the strife,
By your waiting for me, dear,
You had saved my life.
Only you and I will know
How you got me through.
Simply - you knew how to wait -
No one else but you.

This one brings a lump to my throat and even a bit of a tear to me eye. Watch the video, it's short but very well read by Lawrence Olivier.

Can you beat that for sadness?

 

[History_Buff]

Nah, the saddest war poem in the world is Stan Roger's House of Orange. It's even geographically relevant!

Link to video.

After that, I'd probably say And The Band Played Waltzing Matilda.

 

[Danielion]

Link to video.

Dulce et Decorum Est by Wilfred Owen

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame, all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots*
Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.

Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime.—
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams before my helpless sight
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin,
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs
Bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,—
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.

 

[red_elk]

This one brings a lump to my throat and even a bit of a tear to me eye. Watch the video, it's short but very well read by Lawrence Olivier.
Can you beat that for sadness?

Translation is very good, the poem sounds almost like original version.
I know a few poems which sound similarly impressive as "Wait for me", but cannot find a decent English translation, unfortunately.

"I was killed near Rzhev", A. Tvardovsky

Spoiler :

I was killed near Rzhev
In a nameless bog,
In fifth company,
On the Left flank,
In a cruel air raid

I didn’t hear explosions
And did not see the flash
Down to an abyss from a cliff
No start, no end

And in this whole world
To the end of its days -
Neither patches, nor badges
From my tunic you’ll find

I am where the blind roots
Seek for food in the dark
I am where the rye waves
On a hill in the dust

I am where the cockerel cries
In the dew of the dawn
I am where your cars
Tear the air on highways

Where – small stalk to small stalk –
River’s weaving its grass
Where for the remembrance
Even my mother won’t come

In a bitter year’s summer
I was killed. And for me
Neither news nor bulletins
Will come after this day

Would you, the living, count
How long before that
For the first time in front news
They named Stalingrad

The front burned without stopping
Like a scab on the flesh
I was killed and I don’t know
Is Rzhev ours at last?

Have ours held their ground
There, on the Middle Don?
This was the month of horror
Everything was at stake

Could it be that by autumn
He already took Don?
And he broke through to Volga
Riding onto its bank?

No, it’s not true! That mission
He could never complete.
No way I say, no! Even for the dead
It would be too terrible to hear

Even the dead and voiceless
Have one last single joy
We have fallen for the Motherland
But it’s finally saved.

Our eyes have faded
Out is the flame of our hearts
And up there, at roll calls
They are not calling us.

We’re like bumps or stones
Even darker and dumber.
Our memory eternal –
Who is jealous to it?

Our ashes are rightfully
Owned by black earth
Our eternal glory
Is of little delight.

We shall not wear our
Battle awards
This is all for you, the living,
We have just one last joy

That we didn’t fight in vain
For our Motherland
Let our voice be inaudible
You’ve got to know it now.

And you had to, my brothers,
Stand fast like a wall
For the curse of the dead
Is a terrible wrath

We are forever given
This bitter right
And it is forever ours
This bitter right

In the summer of forty-two
I was buried without a grave
Everything what came later
Was taken by the death

All, what has been for many
So clear and common
But then may it all be
In accord with our belief

Brothers, maybe you didn’t
Lose the Don battlefield only
And were dying in battles
Fighting behind Moscow

And in steppes behind Volga
Dug your trenches in haste
And in battles you marched
To the limits of Europe

For us it would suffice
To know for sure
There was that last inch
On the road of war -

That very last inch:
If it is abandoned,
There’s nowhere to put
The foot that had stepped behind

And you drove the enemy
Back to the West
May it be so, my brethren
And Smolensk’s now ours

And you’re crushing the enemy
On the other front,
And maybe it’s the border
Your are nearing now?

May it be… Let the holy oath’s
Words be fulfilled :
For Berlin, if you remember
Was named near Moscow

Brothers, who now trample
The stronghold of enemy land
If the dead and the fallen
Could only cry!

If only victory salvoes could
Resurrect us for an instant,
Us, deaf and numb,
Us, who rest in eternity

O, my faithful comrades,
Only then at this war
Your limitless happiness
You would realise!

In this happiness there is
Our inalienable part,
Our, severed by the death,
Faith and hatred and passion.

All is ours! We did not cheat,
In this cruel fight,
We have given all ours
And left nothing to ourselves

Everything is bequeathed to you
For all time, not for a term
And this mental voice of ours
Is no reproach to the living.

For we had no distinction
In this war at all:
Those living and those fallen –
We were all equal.

And no one of the living
Is indebted to us
Those, who took up the colours
From us on the run

Only to fall one step later
For the holy cause,
For the Soviet power,
Like all of us.

I was killed at Rzhev,
And he – somewhere near Moscow…
Where are you, warriors, where,
Is there anyone alive?!

In the million-large cities
In the villages, at family homes?
At the military garrisons,
On a foreign land?

Ah, does it really matter
If it’s foreign or ours
If it’s snow-covered or blossoming…

I bequeath you to live –
What more can I do?

I bequeath you to be happy
In your life over there
And to serve your Motherland
With honour for long.

When in sorrow – be proud,
Do not bend down your head
When rejoicing – don’t boast
In the victory hour.

And to safeguard, brothers, this victory,
The happiness of yours, -
In the memory of your warrior-brother
Who has fallen for it.

1945-1946

And this:

My comrade, in your death-agony
Don't call your friends in vain!
Instead let me warm my palms
Over your steaming blood.

Don't you weep, don't moan,
You are no small child
You are not hurt, you have simply been killed.
Let me take off your boots as a keepsake,
For we shall yet have to advance.

Ion Degen.

 

[Cheezy the Wiz]

And the Band Played Waltzing Matilda does it for me. It has the grim reality of war that Dulce Et Decorum Est and others have, plus the apathy and inability of people to understand the veterans who return after the war, which is probably a worse fate than death.

 

[ParkCungHee]

And the Band Played Waltzing Matilda does it for me.

An excellent suggestion. Since that's been suggested, I'll offer the patriot game.

Link to video.

 

[holy king]

Link to video.

 

[Domen]

Some translated poems by Krzysztof Kamil Baczynski can be found here in external links:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Krzysztof_Kamil_Baczyński

 

[Veles]

This thread is full of sad.

Here goes the saddest song in the Universe. It's called "Not for me" an is old cossack song of the times of the Civil War. If you're a Russian-speaking person and won't cry (at least deep inside) while listening to it, you're officially a heartless bastard.

I've tried to translate it with the halp of Google, but it didn't turn out as poetic as it sounds in Russian...


Link to video.

Not for me the spring will come,
Not for me the Don will flood,
And a girl's heart will be beating fast,
Overwhelmed with delight... not for me.

Not for me, the gardens will bloom
And the grove will blossom in the valley,
There a nightingale will greet the spring,
And not for me he will be singing.

Not for me, the murmuring streams
Will be flowing like a streams of diamonds,
And yonder, that maiden with dark eyebrows...
She will be growing up not for me.

Not for me, the Easter will come,
And all the relatives will gather at the table,
And "Christ is risen" will be heard everywhere...
That Easter day is not for me.

And not for me the flowers will bloom,
And roses spread their aroma:
You pick a flower, and it withers...
No more of this life for me.

And for me - a piece of lead,
Will rip into my white body,
And lots of tears will be poured...
Such a life awaits me, brother.

Meh, after translating it doesn't sound as cool. But belive me in Russian it's very touching and really good poetry (for cossacks).

This is the same song with a better video, but less cool singing.


Link to video.

 

[Cheezy the Wiz]

не для меня is a very sad song indeed.

Here is a very good recording of it. It really conveys the burden of war that the cossacks held, but I think it translates well to all soldiers.


Link to video.

 

[red_elk]

It's called "Not for me" an is old cossack song of the times of the Civil War.

Good song. I like Kuban Cossack Choir performance of it:

Link to video.

If you're a Russian-speaking person and won't cry (at least deep inside) while listening to it, you're officially a heartless bastard.

Watch this, I think it's just untranslatable.

Link to video.

The song is about soldier who has returned from war and found that his whole family was killed by enemy.

 

[Veles]

^ That's classic.

We need some bright sorrow, before it all gets too depressing:

Link to video.

 

[Sofista]

Three ones by Giuseppe Ungaretti (with translations):

VEGLIA
Cima Quattro il 23 dicembre 1915

Un’intera nottata
Buttato vicino
A un compagno
Massacrato
Con la bocca
Digrignata
Volta al plenilunio
Con la congestione
Delle sue mani
Penetrata
Nel mio silenzio
Ho scritto
Lettere piene d’amore

Non sono mai stato
Tanto
Attaccato alla vita.

Spoiler :

Vigil

A whole night long
crouched close
to one of our men
butchered
with his clenched
mouth
grinning at the full moon
with the congestion
of his hands
thrust right
into my silence
I've written
letters filled with love

I have never felt
so
coupled to life

SAN MARTINO SUL CARSO
Valloncello dell’albero isolato il 27 agosto 1916

Di queste case
Non è rimasto
Che qualche
Brandello di muro

Di tanti
Che mi corrispondevano
Non è rimasto
Neppure tanto

Ma nel cuore
Nessuna croce manca
È il mio cuore
Il paese più straziato

Spoiler :

San Martino Del Carso

Of these houses
nothing
but fragments of walls

Of all who
would talk with me not
even so much

But in my heart
no one's cross is missing
My heart is
the most tormented country of all

SOLDATI
Bosco di Courton luglio 1918

Si sta come
D’autunno
Sugli alberi
Le foglie.

Spoiler :

Soldiers

There we are
like leaves
on trees,
in Autumn

 

[Birdjaguar]

"Gone to flowers everyone..."

 

[.Shane.]

Link to video.

When I was a young man I carried my pack
And I lived the free life of a rover
From the Murrays green basin to the dusty outback
I waltzed my Matilda all over
Then in nineteen fifteen my country said Son
It's time to stop rambling 'cause there's work to be done
So they gave me a tin hat and they gave me a gun
And they sent me away to the war
And the band played Waltzing Matilda
As we sailed away from the quay
And amidst all the tears and the shouts and the cheers
We sailed off to Gallipoli

How well I remember that terrible day
How the blood stained the sand and the water
And how in that hell that they called Suvla Bay
We were butchered like lambs at the slaughter
Johnny Turk he was ready, he primed himself well
He chased us with bullets, he rained us with shells
And in five minutes flat he'd blown us all to hell
Nearly blew us right back to Australia
But the band played Waltzing Matilda
As we stopped to bury our slain
We buried ours and the Turks buried theirs
Then we started all over again

Now those that were left, well we tried to survive
In a mad world of blood, death and fire
And for ten weary weeks I kept myself alive
But around me the corpses piled higher
Then a big Turkish shell knocked me arse over tit
And when I woke up in my hospital bed
And saw what it had done, I wished I was dead
Never knew there were worse things than dying
For no more I'll go waltzing Matilda
All around the green bush far and near
For to hump tent and pegs, a man needs two legs
No more waltzing Matilda for me

So they collected the cripples, the wounded, the maimed
And they shipped us back home to Australia
The armless, the legless, the blind, the insane
Those proud wounded heroes of Suvla
And as our ship pulled into Circular Quay
I looked at the place where my legs used to be
And thank Christ there was nobody waiting for me
To grieve and to mourn and to pity
And the band played Waltzing Matilda
As they carried us down the gangway
But nobody cheered, they just stood and stared
Then turned all their faces away

And now every April I sit on my porch
And I watch the parade pass before me
And I watch my old comrades, how proudly they march
Reliving old dreams of past glory
And the old men march slowly, all bent, stiff and sore
The forgotten heroes from a forgotten war
And the young people ask, "What are they marching for?"
And I ask myself the same question
And the band plays Waltzing Matilda
And the old men answer to the call
But year after year their numbers get fewer
Some day no one will march there at all

Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda
Who'll come a waltzing Matilda with me
And their ghosts may be heard as you pass the Billabong
Who'll come-a-waltzing Matilda with me?

 

[Heretic_Cata]

Billy Bragg's Everywhere


Link to video.

Dig in boys for an extended stay
Those were the final orders to come down that day
Waiting to be saved in the Philippines
You'll wait forever for the young Marines

Now I believe to be here is right
But I have to say I'm scared tonight
Crouching in this hole with a mouth full of sand
What comes first the country or the man

Look at those slanted eyes coming up over the hill
Catching us by surprise, it's time to kill or be killed

Over here, over there, it's the same everywhere
A boy cries out for his mama before he dies for his home

All my life I wanted to be
As clever and strong as my best friend Lee
We grew up together along Half Moon Bay
Lee was Japanese, born in the USA

When Tommy was fighting Jerry along the River Seine
Me and Lee wanted to do the same
Then they bombed Pearl Harbour at the break of day
I was headed for these islands while Lee was hauled away

They said look at his slanted eyes, he's guilty as guilty can be
Sent here as enemy spies to sabotage the Land of the Free

I never got home, my platoon was never saved
That little fox hole became my island grave
Lee got out of jail but a prisoner he remained
Till he ended his own life to lose that ball and chain

And they said Oh Little Slanted Eyes can't you forgive and forget
And he said, Oh Mr Friendly Ghost
Can you catch water in a net?

 

[Linkman226]

That was beautiful

 

[Flying Pig]

Spoiler :

Link to video.

When I was a young man I carried my pack
And I lived the free life of a rover
From the Murrays green basin to the dusty outback
I waltzed my Matilda all over
Then in nineteen fifteen my country said Son
It's time to stop rambling 'cause there's work to be done
So they gave me a tin hat and they gave me a gun
And they sent me away to the war
And the band played Waltzing Matilda
As we sailed away from the quay
And amidst all the tears and the shouts and the cheers
We sailed off to Gallipoli

How well I remember that terrible day
How the blood stained the sand and the water
And how in that hell that they called Suvla Bay
We were butchered like lambs at the slaughter
Johnny Turk he was ready, he primed himself well
He chased us with bullets, he rained us with shells
And in five minutes flat he'd blown us all to hell
Nearly blew us right back to Australia
But the band played Waltzing Matilda
As we stopped to bury our slain
We buried ours and the Turks buried theirs
Then we started all over again

Now those that were left, well we tried to survive
In a mad world of blood, death and fire
And for ten weary weeks I kept myself alive
But around me the corpses piled higher
Then a big Turkish shell knocked me arse over tit
And when I woke up in my hospital bed
And saw what it had done, I wished I was dead
Never knew there were worse things than dying
For no more I'll go waltzing Matilda
All around the green bush far and near
For to hump tent and pegs, a man needs two legs
No more waltzing Matilda for me

So they collected the cripples, the wounded, the maimed
And they shipped us back home to Australia
The armless, the legless, the blind, the insane
Those proud wounded heroes of Suvla
And as our ship pulled into Circular Quay
I looked at the place where my legs used to be
And thank Christ there was nobody waiting for me
To grieve and to mourn and to pity
And the band played Waltzing Matilda
As they carried us down the gangway
But nobody cheered, they just stood and stared
Then turned all their faces away

And now every April I sit on my porch
And I watch the parade pass before me
And I watch my old comrades, how proudly they march
Reliving old dreams of past glory
And the old men march slowly, all bent, stiff and sore
The forgotten heroes from a forgotten war
And the young people ask, "What are they marching for?"
And I ask myself the same question
And the band plays Waltzing Matilda
And the old men answer to the call
But year after year their numbers get fewer
Some day no one will march there at all

Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda
Who'll come a waltzing Matilda with me
And their ghosts may be heard as you pass the Billabong
Who'll come-a-waltzing Matilda with me?

That's a great song. The same bloke wrote another one, called No Man's Land, which apparently Tony Blair sent to an Irish girl who wrote to him about life under the Troubles. I shan't quote it all but a particularly poignant verse goes:

And I can't help but wonder, Willie McBride
Do all those who lie here know why they died?
Did you really believe them when they told you The Cause,
Did you really believe that this war would end wars?

However, the best poems of this sort are always the simplest ones. As much as I can recite Dulce et Decorum Est from memory and consider it to be a great poem, the poetic equivalent of shock advertising loses its appeal after a while. In English we have Housman:

Here dead we lie, because we did not choose
To live, and shame the land from which we sprung.

Life, to be sure, is nothing much to lose.
But young men think it is
And we were young.

And I think Simondes did it rather well also; a free translation:

Go tell the Spartans, passer-by
That here for Sparta's law we lie

 

[.Shane.]

@HC, love that song! Great addition to the thread.