The Illiad (excerpt – Priam’s request)

Homer

“Think of thy father, and this face behold!

See him in me, as helpless and as old!
Though not so wretched: there he yields to me,
The first of men in sovereign misery!
Thus forced to kneel, thus grovelling to embrace
The scourge and ruin of my realm and race;
Suppliant my children’s murderer to implore,
And kiss those hands yet reeking with their gore!”

These words soft pity in the chief inspire,
Touch’d with the dear remembrance of his sire.
Then with his hand (as prostrate still he lay)
The old man’s cheek he gently turn’d away.
Now each by turns indulged the gush of woe;
And now the mingled tides together flow:
This low on earth, that gently bending o’er;
A father one, and one a son deplore:
But great Achilles different passions rend,
And now his sire he mourns, and now his friend.
The infectious softness through the heroes ran;
One universal solemn shower began;
They bore as heroes, but they felt as man.

In Book XXIV, after the death of Hector, King Priam of Troy wishes to bury his son. So, he moves into the Greek camp at night to entreat with Achilles, who killed his son. In the back of your mind when, remember that after Achilles killed Hector, he strapped his body to the back of his chariot and dragged his body around the battlefield, shredding it. Priam makes his way to Achilles tent, at great risk, and pleads with him as a father to be allowed to properly bury his son according to custom. The two end up in tears and Achilles releases Hector’s body to Priam. I really couldn’t say it better. “They bore as heroes, but they felt as man.”

Even in bronze age warfare there was an understanding of the shared humanity between enemies.

Every day I select a war poem, and respond to it, generally in poetic form. But perhaps not. Each poem grabs at something a little differently. Sometimes the themes blend together, sometimes they contradict. Many poets, were veterans themselves, others not. Their perspectives vary, and the poetry does in response. I’ll continue to do this as long as I keep finding poetry that explores novel or meaningful themes. You know, until the well runs dry.

Father’s promise

When first my eyes, lay upon my boy
Swaddled and small, a tender tiny thing
Smaller than a meal, a modest stone
But I am not Cronus, to feast upon my son

I held him to my chest, kept him warm
His tiny hands, and swollen eyes wide
I swore a father’s oath of protection
To this babe, his head upon my chest

To raise him strong, brave, honorable
A good and noble man, with courage
Until that day, to be that man, stronger
Than I was, am, could be, for him

These boys, they grow, and the best
Grow greater, more than their fathers
Heroic and feared, a force all his own
His enemies scattered on the battlefield

He will send them home, to their fathers
Swaddled in linen, gray, cold and still
Meals too small for the great titan of war
Never sated, by the gored bodies of sons

But every father makes promises, to their son
Who picks up the sword, tightening his grip
With heroic delusions, of slain enemies, and…
No boy is invincible, few promises unbroken

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