Before I die, I must just find this rhyme.
Be quiet, my friends, and do not waste any time.
We’re marching off in company with death.
I only wish my girl would hold her breath.
There’s nothing wrong with me, I’m glad to leave,
Now mother’s crying too, there’s no reprieve.
And now look how the sun’s begun to set.
A nice mass-grave is all that I shall get.
Once more the good old sunset‘s glowing red.
In thirteen days I’ll probably be dead.
7 August 1914: seven weeks later Lichtenstein was dead
Translated from the German by Patrick Bridgwater
A final reminder that on this Thursday, October 27, Anne Fletcher will lead a discussion on the Poetry of the First World War. See the SCHEDULE PAGE for a list of Anne’s selected poems (and prose). Anne also invites members to bring their own favourites to read and discuss.
Please also bring your ideas and suggestions for topics for 2017.